In dissecting a conflict in which each side views the situation as unilateral, Goldschmidt broadens the perspective, inviting the reader to rethink the very terms of the conflict. Goldschmidt argues that race and religion, which are ambiguous yet sensitive constructs, hold extremely personal definitions and in exploring the concept of diversity and tolerance, more attention must be paid to the subjective definitions in order to really understand such constructs. Goldschmidt introduces the idea that the way one interacts with the present is based upon one’s interpretation of and experience of the past. In the Crown Heights conflict, ascribing the term “riot” or “pogrom” to the violence was extremely indicative of each group’s perspective and identity. The black community was extremely sensitive to white preferential treatment, and from their perspective, they saw a series of events blind to the mind of the Jew, that suggested racism. The Jews, on the other hand, came from a history of religious persecution and associated their present situation with the pogroms of the past, consciously oblivious to the racial constructs, but perhaps subconsciously having imbibed some of the white perspectives of blacks of the time. Thus each side unilaterally blamed the other for the violence, resting the cause for the violence on constructs with which they associated, creating a root misunderstanding.

I found it extremely interesting that the blacks in Crown Heights saw the Jews merely as “Whites,” while the Jews barely thought of themselves in those terms. I myself often struggle in filling out forms that provide check-boxes for identity constructs that trap me in the box of “White” (as I am certainly not going to check off Latino, Asian, or even “Other” although I contemplate that) when I see that as only a peripherally identifying factor. That the community outside from “white” viewed the Jews as dominantly that which they think of themselves as only peripherally created a conflict based more on misunderstanding, on differing definitional terms.

After reading the introduction and chapter one, I also thought that perhaps the blacks’ identification of themselves based on race might not be mutually exclusive to defining Jews based on religion. Blacks might have felt looked down upon by more privileged groups, which may not have all been constructed along racial lines. That they were relegated to lower social statuses does not necessarily have to mean that the constructs of the various groups in higher social statuses are purely racial. I wonder how these blacks would have related with the Haitian blacks, or others who lived along more privileged lines. I also wonder what involvement and/or accountability the Italian whose car crashed into Lifsch’s ever carried through this whole situation.

Henry Goldschmidt presents a very interesting complex among the residents of Crown Heights. It is not surprising that both the Afro-Carribeans and the Lubavitch Hasidim saw the events of August 19, 1991 with a different perspective or even historical historical narrative, as the saying goes: “There is always two sides of the story.” The larger context is that each understood the events through a different lens: Race on the one hand and religion on the other.  Goldschmidt wants to make the claim that in modern day America, race was the most important distinction between groups. Even if it was not actually the most important difference, race was “superimposed (pg. 33)” on all categories. Therefore, according to his logic, the fact that the Lubavitch Hasidim disrupted this idea because they believed their identity was religious and not racial was the cause of the tension in Crown Heights. This is not a fair conclusion to make. The Lubavitch Hasidim saw themselves as the chosen people, but because they were such an insular community, conflicts with their neighbors should have been avoided. The Afro-Carribeans were Gentiles, but other than that, the Jews should not have been particularly bothered by how their neighbors lived their lives, and Afro-Carribeans should have had no problems with the Jews.

Therefore, there has to be a bigger picture here. How did this tension escalate into the violence that occurred in August 1991? Yes, the Lubvaitch Hasidim had very involved and unique religious practices, but what Goldschmidt fails to mention is how these beliefs and ideals bothered or contradicted the Afro-Carribeans way of life.  Nonetheless, Goldschmidt makes a very good point without going through a specific checklist of grievances that the Afro-Carribean community did to the Lubvaitch Hasidim and that the Hasidim did the Afro-Carribeans. The tension was inherent in the idea that these two groups of people had very different views of the world. It was not just specific acts or even different perceptions, but “the fundamental, and universal, process through which culturally specific narrative forms define the taken-for-granted contours of social reality (pg. 39).” In this reality, both Blacks and Jews are minorities, just in different ways. The Blacks are a racial minority, while the Jews are a religious minority. However, it is these differing elements that give each group their identity which is why Blacks care about race and not religion, and Jews care about religion and not race. The term Black-Jewish difference perfectly sums up this phenomenon, as Black and Jewish are not the same type of category, but that is exactly the point. Two differing ideologies, that may overlap at moments, but cannot be easily brushed aside.

Crown Heights – a neighborhood of Brooklyn in which, within just hours, two lives were tragically taken – and many more were injured in the violence that followed. However, in Henry Goldschmidt’s work Race and Religion Among the Chosen People of Crown Heights, Goldschmidt argues that this event was far more complex than merely tension between opposing groups.  The violence was caused by a long history of misunderstanding and fundamentally different ways in how exactly each group viewed themselves as related to the other.

Goldschmidt’s argument interests me because we tend to portray concepts in the world as black and white, when in reality there are various areas of gray. It is just not possible to classify anything in such simplistic terms.  Although it would be easy to say that the Hasidim and the Afro-Caribbean groups disliked each other due to cultural differences, Goldschmidt argues that there are deeper issues at play – the two groups do not even share the same basis in classifying their differences. For example, the Afro-Caribbean tends to make the distinction based on race, grouping the Hasidim within a bigger group of Caucasians – in effect, black vs. white. The Hasidim, however, view the differences in the context of religion. They view themselves as the chosen ones and the others as “Gentiles.” They make the distinction between religion rather than race, and this fundamental misunderstanding of each other could certainly be the foundations of longstanding tension.

Another aspect that I noted is Goldschmidt’s commentary on our limited view of “diversity.” I agree with his argument that instead of truly celebrating diversity, we merely tolerate it (though I also wonder if realistically that is the only possible solution). I found it interesting how he describes how we compartmentalize diversity into pathways that are more comfortable for us – such as how we “celebrate” diversity by ordering foods of different cuisines. I am curious as to what Goldschmidt’s solution is to truly be more accepting of different cultures and backgrounds.

Elizabeth McAllister’s text “The Madonna of 115^th Street Revisited: Vodou and Haitian Catholicism in an Age of Transnationalism,” provides an epilogue of sorts to Orsi’s text. This piece picks up where the book left off, centering on the same community with now only 750 Italian residents left. In the stead of the once entirely Italian Catholic neighborhood, a wave of Haitian immigrants with a new method of worship, although of the same Madonna statue, is the focus. The church, the very same described in Orsi’s book, has transformed from a place almost exclusively Italian where woman had once crawled on hands and knees up to the alter to plead for a reversal of their fortune, to instead “a center of spiritual power where [Haitian immigrants] will be welcome.” The ceremony once almost exclusively made up of Caucasian attendees has become “a sea of coffee-, mahogany-, and cinnamon-colored bodies,” “a multiethnic social stage that is vastly more diverse.”

This article provides a look at a changing landscape in the aftermath of a community in which as their prosperity increased, the original Italian occupants left their first home in New York behind for “middle-class suburban communities with lawns and fences.” The migration of these people is extremely significant as it makes way for a new wave of immigrants to come to the United States, people who also, like their Italian predecessors, allow Harlem to become a cultural and religious center and connection to the countries they left behind. The Haitian people parallel the Italians of East Harlem in many ways, among which is the fact that people travel from all over the United States to attend the “Fête du Notre Dame du Mount Carmel.” The Haitian fête, which like the Italian festa is a religious celebration during which entire families flock to the church in special attire, make themselves look extra presentable, and come to the shrine of the virgin to worship, even follows the schedule of the original festa. The fête in fact is still the very same festa organized by remaining Italian priests of the church, now complete with masses offered hourly in every language from English to French, Latin to Spanish, and lastly, but certainly not least, Haitian Creole to Italian.

While candles are still a large part of the ceremony, a new twist on the worship of the Madonna in this ceremony is the use of guns and firecrackers to “heat up” the prayers. This piece tells of a mother whose child was born with illness. Just like an Italian mother would do in the same circumstance, this mother prays to the Madonna and when her child makes a full recovery she wears blue and white, the Haitian colors of the ceremony, every day until her communion. The similarities of the two services are easy to pick up on, however things like vodou and the belief of the Madonna being able to possess those attending the church. Their worship may be different but this piece centers on a new wave of people who find solace in the Madonna statue, her human hair a symbol of strength just as it was for the Italians who came before these Haitian immigrants. McAllister shows us that Italian Harlem has become the home for latinos and Hatians and people from all different areas who still follow in the footsteps of the people who paved the streets before them in their devotion and dedication to their reverence of the Madonna.

While most of the description of the festa centers on Italian Harlem and its dwellers, Orsi makes a brief yet fascinating sojourn detour in which he describes how the festa fit into American history. Religious authority in Italian Harlem wanted recognition from the Vatican, and the immigrants themselves wanted recognition as part of New York’s longstanding fabric. Father Tofini’s appeal to the Pope stated that the Madonna deserved a crown because she was of “longstanding antiquity”—even though the festa was only two decades old at that point. According to Tofini, this was barely a generation by European standards but was an era by American ones.

This got me thinking about how we view our own history. Americans have the most abbreviated history of perhaps any country. We tend to disregard Native Americans and Spanish colonization and begin with the English settlers of Jamestown. This gives us barely five hundred years to work with, and is probably the reason why we tend to view very small periods of time as being entire epochs. More importantly, it is probably why we develop such a personal connection to our political figures. The reason we constantly reference the Founding Fathers in our political discourse is that they did not die all that long ago. In our language, in the way we constantly ask ourselves what the Founding Fathers would have wanted, we portray them not as founding legislators but as scarcely deceased grandparents. Tofini was right. The American conception of time is very zoomed in, affixed to details, able to extrapolate huge themes and epic struggles from short amounts of time.

The other thing which interested me was Orsi’s idea of a female spiritual hierarchy. The Italian immigrants were obsessed with the image of the suffering mother, and they sought to live that image whenever possible. To be a woman, married or unmarried, was then to experience constant pressure and to be expected to endure it for the sake of the domus and the community. This, more than anything else, was the ideal trait of a woman in Italian Harlem: the ability to suffer unceasingly without complaint. It is strange that the Madonna, who provided the template by which the community subjected women to such pressure, also served as a spiritual friend to those same women.

During our last class discussion, we focused on the complexities of power in Italian Harlem – what is power, and who truly wields it? Throughout The Madonna of 115th Street, Robert Orsi continually suggests the domus, itself, was what retained power over the residents of Italian Harlem. Although I largely agree with his conclusion – it is true that most decisions made in both the public and private lives of those living in Italian Harlem centered around the strengthening of the domus – I feel Orsi overlooks the fact that the domus (and the power attributed to it) was inherently a creation of the Italians – an attempt to exert power in defining themselves in America.

What struck me from the latest reading, then, was the way in which the men and women of Italian Harlem relied on the Madonna to both maintain the power of the domus and escape from the limitations of the domus and immigrant life. During the festa, women found freedom in expressing their devotion to the Madonna and marching alongside the statue. As Orsi states, “Once a year… the power of women… was publicly proclaimed.” Yet, female restrictions were still present – men upheld their public facades as all-powerful by retaining authoritative roles in the event and at church. Thus, women identified with the Madonna, and turned to her for strength and consolation when faced with the “terrible fragility and power of their reputations as men defined them.”

Moreover, both men and women felt powerless against their dependence on labor. The festa served as a brief escape from the trials of immigrant life: it held no time limits and troubles were forgotten. In celebrating the Madonna, the men and women of Italian Harlem were also given opportunities for religious sacrifice – an integral part of Italian Catholicism. Although not apparent at first, this too, was an assertion of power. By choosing to suffer, the men and women of Italian Harlem convinced themselves that they had control over their lives, even when bound by social or economic constraints. Furthermore, ” by freely assuming suffering, as opposed to merely enduring pain… [they] were declaring something of their pride and sense of self-worth.” Here, however, Orsi notes the possibility of such religious sacrifice as masochistic self-suffering in response to repressed anger towards the limitations of the domus.

Though I am unsure if I agree with Orsi, I recognize the reasoning behind the Italians’ dependance on the Madonna. Devotion to the Madonna and religious sacrifice in her name served to give meaning to the suffering endured by the residents of Italian Harlem in their defined roles as men and women within the domus and roles as immigrants outside the domus. Although I understand that the men and women of Italian Harlem had little to no control over their financial obstacles, I believe they maintained power over the domus and therefore, had the ability to change their society – after all, it was they who had created the domus and bestowed upon it such power. Whether or not they truly wished to redefine the domus or recognized their ability to do so, however, remains another question. As Orsi notes in his example of a woman who lit a candle for the Madonna every week out of gratitude for her son’s newfound employment, her sacrifice “bound her tightly to the tradition which insisted that women must suffer on behalf of their families…” Ultimately, her actions “contributed to maintaining the culture that bore down on her,” and similarly, other men and women of Italian Harlem continued, through their choices, to recreate a society they both revered and despised.

Is a life as a married woman given the utmost respect and the power in which “no family decision [can] be taken without [your] participation” (131), worth being “reduced to silence and subservience” (129), with no choice but to “obey all male relatives, even those only distantly related and much younger than [you]” (129), in your formative years? In a life where “the only future imagined for women was marriage” (129), the idea that once that union was forged a woman would go from completely powerless and at the mercy of her male relatives to the most revered and important member of a domus seems wildly counterproductive. The only way for a woman to secure influence in her family would be to allow herself to act entirely at the whim of every relative of hers fortunate enough to have been born with a Y-chromosome.

A woman on whom the burden of mourning, administering discipline, controlling finances, and deciding whether or not their children’s dates are suitable falls is the very same woman who in public is not allowed to show affection toward her husband for fear of seeming anything but respectful. The hierarchal ordering demonstrated to the public eye completely contradicted the actual, in which the matriarch was tasked with making all the important decisions, but only if she’d followed the single path toward marriage and motherhood as prescribed by the family members she will then be looked up to by. It seems contrary for a person to go from the wildly ordered submissive by way of circumstance to a figurehead constantly needing to be on the lookout for relatives who mean to manipulate their power for their own self-interest.

The domus seems a paradoxical structure in which women go from the slaves of a sort of their male relatives, doing jobs that would be embarrassing for men to do to preserve their honor, to the real “head” of their families, with a word in every decision and the face of the family being reflected in everything from her “cleanliness” to the way she maintains the reputations of her children and grandchildren. The shift of no power to absolute authority of a woman is both undermining and senseless, in which you must surrender your aspirations outside of the single mother/wife role in order to become all-powerful and an invaluable asset to your domus (as was the woman whose death lead her grandsons toward a fear that all members would go astray) seems unfair and illogical to an outside eye, but is a respected turn of power in the domus-dominated society of Italian Harlem.

The dynamic of the domus is very complicated. Orsi repeatedly states that the woman is the center of the Italian Harlem family, and thus the real person of power. However, through the examples shown, that is not necessarily the case. The mother always answers to others when an issue concerns the traditions of the family. The mother may not have to answer to her children, or even her husband, but when resolving an issue, or even conducting daily rituals, women do not make decisions or traditions themselves.

A mother of the family must answer to four different people. Her own mother, who instilled her own traditional values unto her, her mother-in-law who continually tries to instill her own, different, values onto her daughter in law, the community, who constantly scrutinizes and judges every move the mother makes, and finally, the Madonna, or rather the idea of the most ideal mother, that every Italian woman seems to strive to.

Keeping all of this in mind, it becomes a lot easier to understand why women were considered so inferior to men. Their roles were too important, and no one expected a mother to instill the proper values to her family alone. A woman may have seemed powerful in her domus, but that power stemmed from a collection of values and ideas that were instilled onto her, and were constantly being instilled onto her by other women.

Men on the other hand, were more or less free from this type of judgment, and did not have to necessarily answer to anyone. Their decisions and their judgments were final, because that’s what they were raised to believe. Women were, perhaps, the ones who strove for some sort of perfection in the domus, while men were the ones who made the hard and fast decision for his family. Women were expected to judge and scrutinize the actions of other women, perhaps as a means to perfect their own domus. Men, however, did not have to strive for this type of perfection. They had to worry about the survival of their family, not the survival of their traditions. Surviving in itself, in a new city as an immigrant, was all that was necessary. As a poor immigrant, all men were in the same shoes, and so no man could judge another.

And so, the woman may have been considered inferior simply because she was always being judged by everyone in the community, whereas men were not.

-Christina Torossian

The role of the Italian women as Orsi describes it is puzzling. They seem to be held to contradictory expectations. On the one hand “married women with children were the source of power and authority in the domus….” And yet when Covello interviewed Marie Concilio, she told him that Italian women were really just supposed to “help mother in spoiling father and the brother…” It seems strange; women hold the power to make all of these decisions about everyone in the domus, and yet they act as the servants of the household.

If Mother was so powerful, why was she waiting on everyone else? She had worked hard to get to where she was, enduring the grueling years of being meticulously watched through her childhood and adolescence and ensuring that she did absolutely nothing to taint her reputation. Once she was settled in her role as the matriarch of the domus, she did not seem to reap the respect that she earned.

I think the answer to this conundrum is reflected in the next section of the reading, where we took a closer look at the intense devotion that the Italians had to their religion and traditions.  The faithfulness that these immigrants showed towards their Southern Italian lifestyle is astounding. They worshipped their statue of the Virgin and held the procession of the festa one week a year to reaffirm their devotion. The Madonna was the center of their life, and she was the solver of all problems.

What helped me to better understand a woman’s place in Italian Harlem was when Orsi wrote about women going to pray to the Madonna for help. He writes, “ These problems were never presented as personal…the crisis always threatened the domus.” The Italian matriarch was not a dictator; she was a selfless leader, devoted to using her power as head of the domus only for the good of the domus.

This is what respect means for the Italians. We’ve already discussed that Italian immigrants were willing to work the worst of jobs and hours if only to benefit their families. This was the true role of the Italian woman, to work hard to ensure the continuity of the domus. Her working to serve everyone in her household was not a sign of her low status. On the contrary, it meant that only she was capable of caring for everyone and deciding what was best for each member of the domus. The power given to her in her role in the home was to be used for, and only for, the good of the domus.

Robert Orsi brings into light the predominant traditions of Italian Harlem by painting a vivid picture of the largest annual celebration of the area. The festa of the Madonna of 115th street was an energetic and colorful celebration fueled by extreme religious devotion. The fervent Catholicism of Italian culture took root in the new immigrant communities of the late 19th century. The most vibrant display of this carry-over of tradition was, then, the festa—a celebration dedicated to the Virgin Mary, or la Madonna. The Madonna of 115th was a statue depicting the Virgin Mary, and in her arms a portrayal of the infant Jesus. This physical statue was much revered by the people of Italian Harlem. Even beyond the confines of Northern Manhattan, Italians from distant areas of the United States traveled to New York to join in the celebration that worshipped the statue. Food, games, and superstitious acts of penance were all common aspects of the lively celebration. In a procession sponsored by merchants and members of the New York elite, a statue of the Madonna—mounted on a float with a box to collect money and jewelry from the impoverished penitents—weaved its way through several blocks of the Italian community.

In the next chapter of the book, Orsi discusses the motives and backgrounds of the average Italian Harlem immigrant. The immigrants came mostly from Southern Italy—but even then they chose to maintain subdivisions by identifying with narrower regional boundaries. Italian immigrants left the bitterness of life in their home country for questionably less deplorable conditions in the Western world. And knowing of the horrible state from which these poor immigrants fled, the entrepreneur’s smile grew wider. Italian immigrants were used as strikebreakers, a business practice that aggravated ethnic tensions and urban progression. The account of Vincent Scilipoti only confirms an unremitting exploitation of the working class—something already very much established as a rulebook tactic of the rising capitalist.