Doikayt (sometimes spelled do'ikayt or doykeit) is a Yiddish word with no direct English translation. It refers to a philosophy and practice of the Jewish Labor Bund, a socialist party that emerged in interwar Russia and Poland and fought for Jewish emancipation outside of Zionism, advocating instead for autonomy throughout the diaspora.
Doikayt literally translates to “hereness.” Not exactly in the Ram Dass meditation sense, like of “Be Here Now.” More like, “bloom where you’re planted.” Specifically, it encapsulates the right to live in safety, peace, and harmony, regardless of your religion or nationality, wherever it is that you happen to live.
What do Jewish values and histories from the Bund and beyond have to teach us today, a century after the Bund’s historical peak — as anti-semitism surges globally; as Israel carries out a genocidal war in Gaza; as pro-Palestinian protestors’ rights to free speech are quashed online and in ostensibly “liberal democracies” worldwide?
This webzine is a collection of artistic responses and interventions that aim to articulate Jewish values beyond the nation-state, seek new kinds of solidarity, and assert a sense of collectivity and belonging — even and especially in troubled, troubling times.
hint: you can scroll separately on the right and left halves of the website!
This project was conceived in March of 2024, shortly before Pesach (Passover) 5784, a Jewish holiday celebrating the liberation of the Israelites from Mitzrayim and the beginning of their journey towards freedom in the Promised Land.
This year in particular, the ancient story of liberation was fraught to re-tell, set against an ongoing assault by the State of Israel on Gaza and a wider history of occupation in Palestine.
The Jewish journey to liberation cannot be realized unless it is a fight for collective liberation — for the people of Gaza, for Palestinian people more widely, and for all oppressed people, the world over.
Here are materials from Seders (Passover celebrations) held in 5784/2024 that foreground the essential project of fighting for freedom, together.
From Degradation to Dignity by The Brothers Sick
"Wherever we live, that is our homeland." How doikayt lays the foundation for a Jewish conception of racial and economic justice - Movement Magazine
This is an eclectic (and growing!) collection of texts, podcasts, and other resources that might serve as jumping-off points for further learning.
This is not the first zine to delve into doikayt and disaporism! In 2012, Sol J Brager initiated a zine series called "Doykeit," about queer Jewish identity, anti-Zionism, and Palestinian solidarity. Thanks to Zisl for putting that project on my radar.
Some of the code for this project, including the fancy two-sided scrolling mechanism, was adapted from a template for making webzines by Neta Bomani, to whom I am forever grateful for converting me into a zine enthusiast and showing me that hand-making websites can be an act of care.
Likewise, every time I make a website, I give thanks to Melanie Hoff for the conviction that we are all "always already programming" as critical computer users, and the user/programmer binary is an invention of Big Tech ideology meant to limit our sense of agency.
The beautiful border around the top right-hand title of the zine comes from Max Bittker's Broider tool.
Thanks to all of the contributors who generously shared their work for this project, weighed in on its preparation, helped refine its direction, and made it what it is now.
Special thanks to Max Haiven, Daniel Shinbaum, Em Seely-Katz, and Liora Field for providing feedback on early drafts of the call for submissions for this zine, ultimately shaping its angle and direction.
A friend brings rue to our decolonial Jewish reading group. I know our ancestors wove this plant into their clothes before entering the temple. A holy relationship.
The rue is left on the table after we are done. I put the three stems in the pocket of my jacket. Weaving them into the receipts and small trash I carry with me.
I talk to her as I go about my day. Sunday becomes Shabbat with her. The tameh of doing dishes becomes tahor.
In the alley behind my home grows grass, dandelions, and plantain. The plantain is just starting and their leaves are still small. I greet them. I know that I cannot keep her.
Laying down one stem of my ancestor’s relative next to another’s kin; a tingle of grief falls down my throat as I say goodbye.
I think of the first sunset for that first human in Eden. How they thought that was the end. How many times do we need to cycle before we have trust in rebirth?
I lay down more rue, for the raspberries I pruned with such pain, and the cedar. I say a blessing over each and feel that thing I call Hashem. Unmanageable emotion.
But now, I walk home and can feel my body turning into soil. The cycle of return starting long before my death.
I understand that when I am buried here, I will nourish this land. I understand that as I live here, I will nourish this land.
This is Do’ikayt
pathways by Míchaél Sparks
I will be
In the bloodwater:
It makes our hands
Flaky cakes of snow,
Our breasts two punchlines in the eyes
Of a magic hack who wants us to know
We are loved in a way that should scare us.
I will be
Your thief,
If, while breaking in,
The thief is discovered,
Is struck and dies,
The thief has no blood.
That should make thieves of the rest of us.
I will be
A habitation, the wrong bed frame,
Copper sockets giving way
To curtains of goat’s hair,
We are a stiff necked people,
Forgetful with pillows, litigious:
The owner of the pit shall pay.
I will be
Your destruction, it will be
The love of your life,
After the honeymoon ends
In anticlimactic spats across the ark
You will realize the lack of truth
In you, it should’ve always been us.
I will be
A stranger, and here we suffer
Strangers, we know the feeling
Strange part of the night
Blows over, no fun.
Divested of our finery,
We finally glow a bit—shouldn’t have looked.
I will be
What gives them the strength to kill us.
Don’t know how to be sorry
In a way that sounds vengeful,
But we know how to kill without wanting to.
When the time comes,
In the moment it should—
I will be there with us.
Ceasefire - Enough by The Brothers Sick
I began working on this zine in a moment of immense personal loss, right on the precipice of my mother’s death. As her passing became imminent, I spent many, many hours scrolling on my phone — attempting to distract myself from the impending certainty of loss, and finding myself, instead, caught up in a different kind of grief: sadness and anger at the mounting death toll of the ongoing genocide in Gaza.
Grief at an inconceivably vast scale. Daily heartbreak for all the children losing parents and the parents losing children. In parallel with my own mourning process, I have been moved by the weight of collective grief — and the action it has inspired.
Now, as I carry out the Jewish ritual of saying the Mourner’s Kaddish for my mom every day for the 11 months following her passing, I also say Kaddish for the lives lost in the genocide in Gaza, which is ongoing as of this writing. (If a child in Gaza lost their parent in the first month of the war, they would be more than halfway through the 11-month Kaddish period by now.) I am grateful to Amanda Gelender for writing this beautiful Kaddish for the Soul of Judaism.
I have sought to make this a space for collective grief as well as collective learning and belonging. This project was undertaken in the spirit of the Jewish Labor Bund, as well as contemporary activist lineages such as Sasha Costanza-Chock’s philosophy of Design Justice, which points towards the crucial importance of non-state autonomy, especially for marginalized groups. Namely, do’ikayt and neo-Bundism embody Design Justice’s ethos of “building the new world in the shell of the old, rather than attempting to institute systems transformation from above by seizing state power” (168).
Finally, this zine is deeply indebted to Nathan Schneider’s wonderful Media Activism course at the University of Colorado, Boulder, for which it was initially conceived as a final project (although I hope that it will continue to live and grow beyond the walls of the University, as perhaps it already has). In his 2024 book Governable Spaces, Schneider nods to bell hooks’ notion of a "homeplace" — a space of care and resistance, in contradistinction to the “homestead” (or the centralized platform, or the nation-state).
This, to me, echoes with the Bundist notion that “wherever we are, that’s our homeland.” My sense of what constitutes "home" has shifted substantially in the past few months, as grief transmutes into an invitation to, as my mom would say, "bloom where you're planted." I hope that this zine, built in the legacy of DIY publishing and handmade, human-scale online spaces, constitutes something of a "homeplace," a place to bloom, a site of resistance.
Thanks for reading. May we hold one another's hearts with tenderness, welcoming each other into new spaces of resistance and reprieve as we continue to build a new world in the shell of the old, one prayer, poem, or slow website at a time, together.
- Adina Glickstein