Nora Savosnick

A PORTRAIT OF JEWISH LIFE

Growing up in Norway, my mom kept sending me to Jewish summer camp. Since Jewish moms generally want their kids to grow up and marry other Jews, we would pair ourselves up with one of the two dozen kids in our age group, and the camp counsellor would throw inner tubes around us when we were dancing to encourage coupling. It was done to the rhythm of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On.” To my rabbi’s dismay, I didn’t marry Daniel. He had a girlfriend back in Trondheim. The hurt of my breakup with Daniel wasn’t going to be my last Jewish struggle.

A few weeks after the summer holidays, my mom sent me on a small trip for Oslo’s Jewish youth. Fifteen of us, including my own sister, gathered in front of the city’s only synagogue. Later, that same weekend, a drive-by shooter fired eleven shots right where we had been standing. 

We didn’t speak about the shooting, and that year, like always, we went skiing on Passover.

Growing up, as my ‘Humba Buba’ bubble expanded with the passing years, I realised that most people I met didn’t understand what a Jew is. I, too, grappled with this. Our presence was, more often than not, confined to black-and-white photos in textbooks or, less flatteringly, misused as a swear word in our schoolyards. 

As a younger self, I therefore decided it would be smarter to hide my Jewishness outside of camp and ask my mother to remove Jewish symbols in our home in Oslo when friends visited.

I was in this limbo of wanting to learn about my heritage and also remove myself from it. As a result, I snuck a Holocaust book from our attic the way another child that age might sneak candy or sneak into an R-rated movie. The book echoed for me,  knowing my grandfather was among the 38 Norwegian Jews who survived the Holocaust. Years later, I spent hours discussing the horror of these photographs with psychologists.

With A Portrait of Jewish Life, my aim is to capture photos, in colour, of relatable moments from Jewish homes and lives today. 

I hold a belief that the essence of a great photograph lies in its ability to become a mirror for the viewer. When someone gazes at an image and sees a reflection of their own life intertwined with the subject, that’s where connection happens. 

How does that happen? I honestly don’t know. I began this project as a photography student and have continued it in search of understanding. My plan? To capture ordinary, everyday moments. For instance, when I transitioned to being one of the adults at the camp, I took a photo of Sara, Sarah, and all the kids watching ‘Kung Fu Panda’ one evening. I remember arriving with my backpack and spending time with Nov Bar-Nathan and his family in the lead-up to his Bar Mitzvah. I stayed until the end of his party, photographing the moments after most guests had left, with his family cleaning up and his closest friends still enjoying soda under the disco light. There’s also the self-portrait where I sit with my mother in our family home. This project has expanded beyond Norway, delving into the world of the Hasidic community, focusing on those contemplating leaving but held back by fear, and a story of a woman who longs to join the ultra-Orthodox community but is not welcomed.

It’s a whimsical yet earnest exploration of what being Jewish today is like. Ultimately, I hope not just to tell a story but to start a conversation that resonates with everyone, Jew or not, about the universal human experience.