my fabrengen dvar torah

Additionally, during the fabrengen, the host is expected to speak. So, I prepared a Dvar Torah for the week.

The Torah portion the week of my birthday was Vayigash. In this portion, the saga of Joseph and his brothers was continued. We picked up with Judah and his brothers trying to secure the release of their youngest brother, Benjamin, after Joseph planted his goblet in Benjamin’s bag to frame him.
The portion explains to us that the brothers see all their misfortunes as part of the unending punishment for what they had done to their brother Joseph, their father’s favorite, whom they had 22 years previously thrown into a pit and then sold into slavery. It is explained that all of them these 22 years have been able to think of hardly anything else, continually haunted by Joseph’s memory and concern over what has happened to him, and how they might rediscover him. And yet.
The brothers had now spent countless hours in direct company of Joseph, now second in command only to Pharaoh in Egypt. True, he is in a very different circumstance then they had last seen him, and true, he is speaking now in a different language, but Joseph is still in fact himself. He was 17 years old, very nearly a man, when he last saw his brothers, and so in all likelihood his appearance is not so wholly alien to what his brothers last knew him to be. It seems a bit odd that his brothers, who constantly think on him, would still fail to know him, even after he exclaimed who he is to them, after having spent so much time in his company.
And so this brings me to wonder, why we so easily can find ourselves obsessed with something, thinking of and hoping for just one thing for years and years, and yet when it is right in front of us, even after it has identified itself to us, we fail to see it for what it is.

Too often, we worry so much about finding the forest, we don’t realize we are in the midst of the trees. We are so hardpressed to what we think we are seeking, we don’t even realize when we have found it.

Being Jewish means having two birthdays

One of the things I have learned during my time here is that being Jewish means you have two birthdays. My Hebrew/Jewish birthday is the 4th Tevet, the same as my good friend here, Irina. On a Jewish birthday, we are meant to give extra tzedakah, eat a new seasonal fruit we haven’t eaten yet, give friends brachas, increase Torah study, and host a Fabrengen. Irina and I decided to take on the challenge.
This year, 4 Tevet was on December 21st.
Rivka Marga offered us her home for our fabrengen, which we excitedly accepted. For our fabrengen, Irina and I set off for the shuk early in the morning to buy the necessary things to have brownies, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate covered strawberries (my new fruit) and bananas, veggies and humus, and pomellos. We then came back to Mayanot for the afternoon class, and then straight back to Rivka Marga’s to get to cooking and preparing. With some local help, we set up quite an elegant little table with the fruit and baked goodies and even a few candles. Everyone had written cards to us throughout the day, and during the evening, as typical during a fabrengen, the girls took turns saying warm fuzzies about Irina and myself, making a very comfortable and sweet evening, where we didn’t leave Rivka Marga’s until after 1am.

Back to Hebron, December 18/19

I had arranged to go with Miri to Hebron for Shabbat, staying by the Cohens, who run the Chabad house there (what a sentence I never thought I would say!)
Every Friday night, Bat Sheva hosts a Shabbat dinner for about 40 of the soldiers stationed in Hebron, and so when girls go to stay by her they need to get there early, and are expected to help and work.
I don’t know if I will ever understand how this woman really keeps her sanity. In addition to having this massive dinner every week, for which she makes all the food fresh, she also has six children from the ages of 12 years to 4 months, the first five boys (and you can imagine how crazy five boys are to have), and she is a perfectionist down to the manner in which the napkins for the table are folded.
Miri and I arrived by 9:30, and we were right away chopping, folding, cooking and slicing (with the occasional eating breaks…Bat Sheva is a Jewish mother, after all) until nearly 3 when we went upstairs for a short rest and to shower and dress for Shabbes, and then go to Machpelah, the cave where Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Rebecca, Jacob and Leah are buried to pray, and then came home for dinner, during which we were very helpful. In truth, the amount of work that we were doing during the meal was not entirely necessary all the time as there were five girls there doing this and just one entry to and from the kitchen, but there would have hardly been any reason to stay seated. The seating had been arranged so that I was sitting only with the other girls who were there, and the parents of one of the girls who were visiting Israel. Although I desperately wanted to speak with the soldiers, talking with them about their experiences and lives living and working in Hebron, in such an environment, I could tell that it would not be the most appropriate thing for me, as a woman, to do. The limitations to entering certain worlds…

After dinner and cleaning up, I was sufficiently ready to go to bed. Miri and I were staying in the Chabad guest house on the roof, literally 15 or so feet from a guard post where a soldier keeps watch 24 hours a day, and as it was such a chilly, windy night, before turning in I made the soldier a cup of tea and wished him good shabbes. Then Miri and I retired, having a long conversation about my actual feelings towards the apparent theology of the Chabad movement. She took it pretty well. Saturday morning I slept very late, still getting over my cold and tired from the day before. The benefit of being shomer shabbes is there are no alarm clocks, so no one can be angry at oversleepers . After reading a bit from The Five Books of Miriam on my own, I went downstairs to help put lunch together, a much easier task as there would only be 15 of us (crazy to think, ONLY). After lunch, which was just as perfect as dinner, Miri and I went on a tour of Hebron, given by a local who had lived in Hebron for 33 years. He took us on a tour of the Old (not ancient) city, and we were accompanied by about 20 armed soldiers, and a few lovable stray dogs. The level of needed separation was odd to see, and the level of guards seemed extreme, but another girl told us that on a previous tour, local Arabs had thrown rocks and even a knife at them…hard to reconcile the situation….
We returned home for a snack and Havdallah, and then directed ourselves for the bus stop to return to peaceful Jerusalem.

Chanukah in a flash

It was a bit of a readjustment being back to classes full time after so much time away, but it was almost easier, as I slept much more than I had been doing, and before I knew it, the whole week was up, it was Shabbat again, and the start of Chanukah. This next in/out Shabbat, for dinner Friday night, I went to the family of John Medved, an American venture capitalist that I had met when here on my birthright trip with AIPAC when he had spoken to our group, and I had in fact been the one to introduce him. Dinner was delicious, company entertaining, everything wonderful. Adding to all this, my friend living nearby was away for the week, and so I was watching her cat/having use of her apartment for a bit of respite when needed, so after the meal I went back to her apartment for the night where I could sleep star-fish style and play with the cat, who is the greatest cat/dog like animal I know in Israel. The on Saturday, and I joined up with Hayley and one of my roommates to go to lunch by a family up the road, giving Chanukah a very delicious and fun beginning. During the week, different girls signed up to take different days, organizing Chanukah events for everyone. Musha, Hayley and I signed up for the fourth night, having a ‘mystery maccabbee’ as well as a sufganiyot decorating party, in addition to the nightly communal candle lighting and the frequent parties hosted by different women in the community for us. And again, before I knew what had hit me, it was Shabbat again, out once again, and the last night of Chanukah.

December already?

Somehow, just after Chelsea left, it was December, and already on Tuesday we were having to say goodbye to Hillary, and then to Dani on Wednesday. Monday night, therefore, we all went out AGAIN, this time to Herzl where we had the place to ourselves. We laughed, joked, passed around the frog-hat, all and all, a good time. Hillary accidentally spilled a decent amount of red wine on my white skirt, which proved the true value of tide-to-go, when it got all of the stain out. Red wine, out of white cotton. Amazing. I’d be a spokeswoman for the product any day.
Just after saying goodbye to a friend a day for three days, it was another Thursday night before an out-Shabbat, so the usual suspects were again to be found at Herzl, spending the night dancing away from our senses.

Eager for some reprieve, I went to Tel Aviv to stay at Anna’s for the weekend, spending the time with a bit of solitude after weeks of constant (but very welcome and enjoyable!!) company, hanging out with Anna Friday night, spending Saturday day on the beach with my favorite sandwich and a book, and then seeing Shai for a coffee Saturday night before heading back to Jerusalem.
Shortly into the week, I had a very nice distraction—Joel Soffin, my rabbi growing up, was in town and had his last evening in Jerusalem put aside to meet with Jess, Matt and I, his little protégés living in Haeretz. Although the meeting was cut shorter than hoped since he had a last minute TV interview to give before heading to the airport, it was great to see him.

L'Hitraot, Chelsea!

Next on the tour was to stop by Kever David (David’s Tomb). While this is portrayed just like all the other kevers, with a proper tomb-like shrine and beit kenesset full of praying Jews, from what I understand no one actually thinks that this is the location in which King David is buried. ANYWAY.
So we went to the kever and explored around there, and additionally, the guide book claimed the room of the last supper to be in the building of this same plot, somewhere hidden around and above. So we decided to play crusaders, in the most Monty Python way possible. Eventually we found what may have been the room, and took some funny pictures that may or may not have bordered on respectable (her idea, we sat in the middle of the room and pretended to eat imaginary food).

Next on the agenda was a break at a coffee shop downtown to revive on lattes. Although it was a Sunday, we all rallied for another night out with Nechemia, Irina, Laneia, Hayley, myself, and of course Chelsea, and spent in the most ironic way, at the cheesiest tourist bar in town, where we all continued to fail to be able to blow smoke rings (though not for lack of trying)
Monday morning, before her sherut was to come, Chelsea and I set off early for the shuk so she could buy some things to take home, such as halva and dates, and to get a final falafel sandwich, getting us back to Mayanot just in time to say goodbye.

the grave of Oskar Schindler

Sunday, Chelsea’s last full day in Israel, was going to be spent visiting different tourist attractions. After I had attended my morning classes, the two of us set out for the Old City so I could drop by Jeff Seidel’s office to hand in my paperwork, and then we set off for the grave of Oskar Schindler, stopping off at the Old City Holocasut memorial museum along the way.

Following the guide books directions, we managed to find the cemetery easily enough. The path led out of the old city, east from where I live; the roads were a little less clean, a little less smooth. Eventually we found the Christian cemetery we were in search of. It was very nondescript but for the small, cheap looking sign telling people “Oskar Schindler’s grave.”
Oskar Schindler, although originally motivated by economic opportunity during the reign of the Third Reich, began to care for his Jewish workers above his own fate and fortune. Saving more than 1200 individuals—unskilled workers, women, children, handicapped individuals—bribing the SS and Gestapo, and even once going so far as securing the return of individuals sent to Auschwitz. Although at the height of his career he was among the economic elite, his unyielding efforts ate away at his fortune, leaving him impoverished after the war, needing to largely rely on social welfare, even for his final hospital bills.
Oskar Schindler was honored as a righteous gentile, a Righteous Among the Nations, in 1963 by Yad Vashem, and he died 11 years later, interred—according to his wishes—in a Franciscan cemetery on Mt Zion, making him the only member of the Nazi party to be buried in Israel.

There was one other man in the cemetery when Chelsea and I were there, presumably looking for the same thing we were.
According to the book’s information, the grave itself was fairly poorly marked, in the lowest section of the cemetery four rows from the left, or something to that affect.
After looking around for a bit, Chelsea and I were not exactly sure how we would find what we were searching for, without literally going through every grave.
Then in the distance I saw a simple grave that differed significantly from its neighbors: it was covered in rocks.

(this is a Jewish custom, to leave rocks on the headstone)

I knew I had found my man.
It seemed simultaneously appropriate and odd that Schindler, who had at great personal risk saved the lives of so many, should in his final state be so plain. There was no special marker from Yad Vashem. There was nothing from the State of Israel, or from the Federal Republic of Germany honoring him. He lays alone, having divorced from his wife in the 1950’s, and is surrounded largely by unknowns, as well as a decent amount of garbage from years of neglect to the cemetery at large. Why is it seemingly acceptable that such a man should be in his end so treated?
And on the other hand, while his actions were indeed great, they are what in theory ought to have been by so many more; his behavior in an ideal world would have been the norm, going to great lengths to insist on an acceptable level of humanity, not the exception. He has been granted all of his final wishes, being buried in Jerusalem, and so perhaps the relative simplicity of his actual legacy—greatly supplemented by his virtual legacy built by Steven Spielberg—is appropriate for a man who acted as we would hope should be ordinary in times that were far beneath him.
In either case, I had done what I considered a responsibility for myself, not only as an Ashkenazi Jew, but as an ordinary human being: going to pay my respects to one of the few men who managed to maintain their expected decency and normality in a time of unexplainable inhumanity.

thanksgiving in Haifa

After eventually returning back to Caitlin's and still in a bit of a foul temper (taking much after my father ;) ) Chelsea and I decided it best to go back to sleep. Later that day, we all went with Caitlin to explore her favorite vintage shop and get a hot drink in the hipster area of Haifa, Rehov Masada, all the way at the bottom of the Carmel, until it was time for the three of us to head to our Thanksgiving dinner.
Looking at the map, we could see that from where we were to where we were heading would only be about 800 meters, an easy walk, so we decided that we would save the taxifare and trek. What we forgot to account for was that these 800 meters were straight up the Carmel. I guess we thought we were mountain climbers.
At every point along the way, when we would check directions with someone, everyone tried to convince us that it was not a walking distance that we were going. Even Reber laughed when we told him we were walking. Oh well.

It took us nearly and hour and a half, but eventually we arrived. We were having thanksgiving dinner with Reber, who went to Temple Shalom with me, and friends of his in Haifa from when he used to live there. It was mainly Americans who had made Aliyah, with a few Israeli spouses. Especially luckily, the hosts of the dinner were in culinary school 
Although it was a long way from Plymouth Rock, it was a very traditional Thanksgiving, complete with corn muffins, potatoes, yams, a beautiful turkey, pumpkin and pecan pie, and of course, the football game.

After dinner, we decided to head back to Motzkin instead of staying in Haifa for the night, since most of our things were there. Even though it was just a 30 minute train ride there, due to a series of unfortunate events, ranging from a slow taxi driver, to oversleeping girls, it took us about 2 hours to finally get home. Thankfully, keys were left for me.

Although T was away for the weekend due to the happy arrival of his new niece, we were allowed to stay by the apartment for Shabbat, and so we ventured out into town to equip ourselves with food for the next couple of days before heading back to Jerusalem Saturday night, to spend Motzei Shabbes out with the usual suspects.

a bit of rage comes out...

Chelsea and I woke early the next day, intent on returning the car immediately, and proud to be just within the mileage allowance (200 kilometers) for a one day rental. It needed to be returned by 10, so we left before 8 am, with 177 km on the dashboard, confident of ourselves and armed with our Avis map, showing a center located directly in the heart of the old city of Haifa.
Two hours, 50 kilometers, several stops asking for directions, and a decent amount of swearing and shouting from me, coupled with unanswered phone calls at the center, and I decided to head toward the center just on the edge of Haifa, which, while less convenient and off of the map of Haifa that Avis equipped us with, proved much easier to find. However, by this time, we were 33 kilometers over the limit allowed, which would cost us an additional 60 shekels in fees. Also, when we arrived, we were informed that the center we had been circling the old city for an hour trying to find has been closed for a year, even though it is still on their map. And now they want me to pay an overage fee. Unacceptable.
After a bit of a heated discussion with the agent at the Avis center, and the involvement of the manager, I succeeded in convincing my way out of the extra fee. That's right, Avis, don't mess with me.

goodbye, golan, hello haifa

After the winery, and a decent respite so that driving would not be an issue, the three of us loaded back into the car to head to Haifa—that’s right, I would need to drive in an actual city.
Following the directions of the map were easy enough, and once into the city, we were able to follow signs to the University of Haifa most of the way, asking for directions from neighboring drivers as we got closer: “yashar yashar yashar, v’smola” until after a few times needing to turn and correct ourselves, we managed to find Caitlin and park by the dorms. The four of us then went inside to settle—Hayley still barefoot—after which we returned to the car, all shoed, to head into town for a bite and a bit of catching up with Caitlin. After playing with the life-size spider man statue in burger ranch and taking a nice walk around the area, we set our way back to the campus to set to bed before needing to get up first thing in the morning to return the car by 10 am, and not need to pay for a second day.

No shoes? no problem! anachnu rotzot lishtot ktzat yayin bGolan

After the sun had set, we decided to complete our Golan experience by visiting a winery. Based on some recommendations and the tour books we were armed with, we selected the Golan Winery, not too far from the reserve. After getting a bit mixed up with directions (as long as we didn’t end up in Lebanon, I think it was a success) we found the winery. Just one more obstacle to overcome. It was already late, so we weren’t sure if tours were still being given, or even if the place was still open. Hayley was napping in the backseat, so Chelsea and I went in to investigate.
“Hi,” said the hostess. “Can I help you?”
“We have two questions,” I asked, while Chelsea waited a bit anxiously, knowing what was coming. “One, are you still giving tours?”
“We aren’t,” she replied, “But we are still offering tastings”.
“Great. Second question: So we are traveling around in Israel and today was our only day in the Golan, and so this morning we went hiking at the reserve. As you know, it rained all day yesterday, and so the reserve was incredibly muddy. Our other friend, who is still in the car, doesn’t have a second pair of shoes with her, and her sneakers are really disgusting. Would it be okay for her to come in just in clean socks?”
Chelsea and I were barely keeping a straight face by this point.
“Sure, no problem.” Not even a snicker, no appearance of surprise. Israelis are pretty chill.
We went out to rouse Hayley and inform her of the good news, and the three of us, in various states of muddiness, went in to speak with the sommelier in order to select the three wines we would each taste, as well as to look around the show room explaining the processes in a winery. Coincidentally, Hayley and I selected the exact same set—a sparkling Yarden white wine, a light red Golan, and a dessert white from a newly started company. Chelsea also had two whites and red, but very different from ours. It was dusk, we were sitting in the Golan, sipping our three glasses of wine each, and enjoying the evening. All for 10 shek a piece. What else is needed in life? The dessert wine Hayley and I had was very very nice. I bought a bottle to save for my birthday.

a hiking trip

Although I was very nervous getting behind the wheel—I had never driven a rental car, never driven outside of the US, didn’t know where I was going, and hadn’t driven at all in a few months—but I maneuvered out of the parking lot sans accident, so so far, so good. Chelsea sat in the front as navigator, which made her motion sickness better, but she doesn’t read any Hebrew, so this would be funny. Actually, she did a great job—and Israel is pretty good about making all signs trilingual (Hebrew, Arabic and English). That, and it a pretty easy route we were taking, just driving north to the Kinerret, and then following around the lake from one high way to another and then straight on to Katzrin and the Yehudiya reserve. Having the car was a very nice luxury, allowing us to just throw all of our things into the trunk and backseat, and not need to carry, or hold or worry about what is where.
Since daylight is a scarce thing, we thought it would be best to head to the reserve first to get some hiking done. We found the place well, packed up the back pack with our lunch food, and head out with our map. It may not have been raining anymore, but the evidence of the rain the previous day was certainly there. The woman at the desk had told us, had even warned us, but we were sure that mud wouldn’t stop us. Well, I guess technically it didn’t, but it did slow us down a bit. It was a very special kind of clay-like mud infused with cow excrement that would build up upon itself on our shoes, resulting in three inch platforms that needed to be regularly kicked off. It felt like walking on moon shoes.
Looking at our trail map, we had decided to head to the spring pools—even though it was very cold and rather muddy, we decided we would take a swim. It would likely be a very short swim, but since there would be no one else around, we would be able to lay in the sun and dry up afterwards while we ate our lunches. Except we never managed to find the pools. We were where they ought to have been, but all we saw was a small stream. And a crab (did you know there were freshwater crabs that hang out outside of the water? Did you know there were crabs in Israel? Not kosher…) So instead of the pools, we just hung by the stream, Hayley drank some brine, and we all enjoyed the weather and the beautiful scenery of the Golan. Since the reserve would be closing at 4 (the sun sets then) after lunch we turned back, traipsing back through the mud and swampyness (on the way in, I had fallen in a bit of swamp. Wet.). When we finally arrived back at the car, the level of mud and much on our shoes was beyond what we had expected possible. Chelsea and I luckily had another pair of shoes in the car. Hayley was not so fortunate. Needless to say, none of the muddy sneakers were worn into Siva—they were all quickly abandoned into bags (and at the time, I thought maybe forever; although I have since managed to clean them of almost entirely and have been wearing them again).

go north, go sea, go lan!

Although we were sad to see Caroline go, there was no downtime. Monday evening, Chelsea and I, now accompanied by Hayley, packed our bags and boarded a bus heading north, starting our upward expedition, basing ourselves out of Motzkin (a suburb of Haifa). We awoke early the next morning (okay, 7:30…it was a vacation!) and headed off around 8:30 to make our way to Tsfat, one of Israel’s most mystical city. We spent the afternoon exploring the winding streets, endless art galleries, and beautiful synagogues, seeing the filming of one of Ben Snouf’s music videos and stopping for a Yemenite lunch along the way. As the sun began to set, the three of us set course to Tiberias, on the Kinneret (the Sea of Galilee). The plan was that from here, we would see the Kinneret and go up into the Golan heights. The snag in the plan was that it had been intermittently raining throughout the day, and was pouring the entire bus ride from Tsfat to Tiberias. A rainy Kinneret might be a full one, but it is not a good climate for hiking. I assured the girls that God would see to this: it would rain the entire bus ride, cease for the two hours after we had arrived to Tiberias so we could find a hostel, get some food, etc, and then rain all night again so that the morning would be clear.
Believe it or not, even though the weather reports had predicted a week of rain, I was 100% correct. Spooky.
In Tiberias, for dinner we found a great little shwarma stand (only 15 shek!), and some interesting people to talk to before heading in for the night.
The next morning, we packed our things, prepared ourselves for our day of hiking, checked out (storing our bags) and went off to the bus station to go to Katzrin in the Golan. We found out the that the next bus wouldn’t leave for Katzrin for a couple of hours, and the last one coming back would be at 2 pm. This wasn’t going to work well at all. After talking with some taxi drivers, we ruled out taking a cab, too (they wanted nearly 400 shek!) Being the adventurous girls we are, I remembered seeing an Avis center in town. Bingo!

We moseyed on over to inquire about acquiring a vehicle, and after jumping through some hoops because none of us were 23 (meaning we had to pay the young driver fee, and were not eligible to buy the extra insurance) and none of us had our passports (so we also had to pay the tax that tourists are exempt from) we hopped into our little silver car and hit the road. Or more precisely, while the girls went to get our things from the hostel, I asked the Avis guy every possible question about Israeli driving laws possible, from right on red to legal BAC limits, merging, speed limits, gas regulations, you name it. That’s right: I was the driver.

Farewell, Caroline

Sunday night, in honor of Caroline, the three of us went to Waffle Bar, where we indulged in waffles with toppings and the largest salad ever created, and then joined with a few others for a final goodbye evening. The next morning, after coming to Rivka Marga’s class again, Chelsea, Caroline and I went to take a tour of the aqueduct tunnel, graciously arranged for us by Nechemia and Zack. This tour is extremely interesting, and not for the claustrophobic. Or people whose hips are too wide…even skinny Nechemia needed to turn sideways occasionally.
By the time we returned to Mayanot, we just had time to eat some lunch, take one last walk over to Aldo Max Brenner’s for Caroline to get some ice cream, and then to wait for her Sherut to arrive to take her to the airport.

Remembering

Sunday was Caroline’s last full day in Jerusalem. In the morning, she and Chelsea joined me for one of Rivka Marga’s class, and then the three of us grabbed lunch for the road and set off to visit Yad VShem, the Holocaust museum in Israel. It was a bumpy ride just getting there, which didn’t sit too well with motion-sickness prone Chelsea.

I hadn’t been to the museum since my Birthright trip in 2006, before the renovations had been completed. Going through it, especially with my academic background, felt extra meaningful in this context; I was walking through the Israeli Holocaust museum with two individuals on their first trip to Israel. Ever since I had begun my studies in German and Holocaust history, visiting such museums has taken on a new meaning for me. So many of the places displayed and discussed in the exhibition were places I knew and had been to: Babi Yar, Auschwitz, Dachau, Sachsenhausen, Buchenwald, Weimar. Many of the background locations to the marches, speeches, and actions by the Nazis were places that I have grown to love: Unter den Linden, Brandenburger Tor, the Reichstag building, even random streets whose names meant something to me just throughout Berlin. Being able to read the signs and understand the speeches of the Nazis, and feeling connected to the Hebrew captions, individuals giving their testimony in the loschen kodesh, gave the three+ hours spent traversing the winding space a deeper sense of inner comfliction. Reading through the stories of the resistance fighters, I began to wonder if I would have the strength, physical and spiritual, to do what they had done if God-forbid the need should ever rearise.

I tried to help guide my friends a little through the exhibit, being supportive, informative, and not overbearing. The one thing I really wanted them to take away, however, was best explained by the way the exhibit ended: the exit from the museum leads onto a promenade overlooking Jerusalem and Israel as a whole. This, I told them, was the whole point, and what was too often misunderstood: The history of the modern state of Israel did not begin with the Holocaust as so many would claim. Rather, the history and the tragedy of the Holocaust against the Jews of Europe—whose aim was complete genocide many peoples, particularly the Jews—ended with the rebirth of the state of Israel.

Chelsea and Caroline do Shabbat

Friday morning, we got started (relatively) straight away. Chelsea wanted to get some pictures at the Kotel, so we went there first to get them done before Shabbat, and then trekked on to the shuk in order to buy some food for our shabbos day picnic the next day. Because Shabbat comes in ridiculously early in the winter, after this was done it was time to go home and get ready. Along with most of the girls from Mayanot, we then climbed the snake path again to go back to the Kotel to daven before the meal. When we got back we were all sufficiently hungry for dinner, and got straight to our jobs to put the in-Shabbat meal on the table. After we had all had our fill, true to form Rabbi Levinger went around the table having everyone speak, including Caroline and Chelsea. Although it was their first fabrengen, they got right into it and Caroline was even moved to tears while she spoke, which made a big impression on the Mayanot crew as a whole.
Saturday morning, I picked the girls up at Jess’s, and the three of us went to picnic in the park near the windmill, one of my favorite overall locations in Jerusalem. From the shuk we had gotten a delicious challah, tomatoes, the unripest avocados ever, and some amazing cheeses from what may be the greatest cheese/wine shop in the world (we had a pesto cheese and something else I don’t remember…it was a little pricey, but with all the samples that were thrust at us while waiting our turns in the store, it was worth it). In addition to our picnic, we played cards, and did the ultimate shabbos day requirement: took a nap. That night after Havdalah, we of course went out, as it would be Caroline’s last weekend night in Israel before she left on Monday.

coming back to Israel

Our bus arrived back to Taba around 4 am. As we were crossing through the Egyptian side, Caroline decided she needed to go to the bathroom. Knowing that the Egyptian side does not believe in the practice of toilet paper, I decided to wait the next 200 meters and pee in Israel. After paying the 2 pound exit fee, we approached the Israeli side and were shocked: it was 4 am, and apparently everyone in Russia had chosen this hour to enter into Israel. Seriously, this was the time to go in and conquer, because no one was left watching the motherland, even Putin might have been there and in the throngs no one would ever have known. And because when entering Israel, the border guards question everyone, particularly non-Jews, and because seemingly none of these Russians spoke any English, let alone Hebrew, it would be more than four hours before we got through the last 200 meters of the border. So close, yet so far. And no bathrooms. Ouch.
When we finally got through, Caroline and Chelsea had no problems. I, on the other hand, had entered, left, and re-entered Israel once already since I had been here, and was still waiting for my official visa, which I need to be here longer than three months. Although we had chatted in a friendly manner, the immigration official meant to stamp my passport called the higher-ups, and informed me that while yes, I would get my 3 month tourist stamp now, if I have not received my actual visa before I leave, the next time I come back again they will only give me a one month stamp.

On the way back to Jerusalem, the girls and I decided to stop for the afternoon at Yam haMelech—the Dead Sea. It may have been late November, but that didn’t stop us from donning our swim suits and playing in the lowest place on earth. I think the girls were glad I had convinced them not to shave for the entire week previous.

We then came back to Jerusalem, settled back a bit into Mayanot, and then went to meet Jess, who had kindly agreed to host Caroline and Chelsea. Not wanting to stop, after a short respite from the previous few days, along with Jess, we all went downtown for a night out. New York never sleeps, and neither do New Yorkers.

The last day in Cairo

The next morning we all slept in, going for breakfast at 9 am. After breakfast, we gathered our things and checked out, leaving our bags at the hostel for the day while we did more touring. The first stop was to be the Egyptian Museum. Once again, student IDs were handy. After a few hours of hieroglyphs and mummies, we left to go to Khan el Khalil market to get some lunch and do some souvenir shopping. I hadn’t finished my meal, so I packaged it up in my purse and brought it from the restaurant. The stray pooch who I gave it to really appreciated it. The market place was huge, with a local side selling fabrics and clothes and wares, and a tourist side, with 7 or 8 varieties of shop selling belly dancer clothes, hookahs, pyramids and the like. While perusing the wares, we ran into our friends from the border, the students from the university in Ramallah, so we all stopped to have tea. This evening was then a huge soccer match between Egypt and Algeria ( I think), so everyone was going crazy for it the entire day, carrying flags, wearing painted faces, banging drums etc. This craziness inspired Chelsea, Caroline and I to want to get to the bus station early to avoid any problems with traffic, etc. So even though our bus didn’t leave Cairo until nearly 10, we were at the station by 8. After buying our bus tickets and getting our change literally all in change (we each had handfuls of single pound coins—felt like pirates), we made camp upstairs in the station by a burger café, were a dozen or so men were gathered to watch the game. We ordered some dinner and played cards while the hooligans went through ups and downs with their team, and the poor performance led to a couple of big fights breaking out in the mall. In Egypt, they don’t drink alcohol: just goes to show you that men can be stupid and belligerent while completely sober, too. On the plus side, the custom of service in Egypt is so high that even the burger and fries I ordered were served to me on a silver tray, with my tea in a real tea cup. We finally boarded the bus, braced ourselves for the long, uncomfortable, and freezing night ride ahead of us, and tried to go to sleep.

In de Nile

Through Amman, the American guy we had traveled to Cairo with, we had agreed with our cabby to get to our hostel for 14 Egyptian pounds. When we arrived, he tried to tell me 40. I said no, explained the crucial difference between 14 and 40 (although the 14 had been agreed upon in Arabic between the driver and our friend), told him I would not give him more than the 15 I was intending to give him, and he eventually said okay and we got out of the car. Interesting start. We found our place, Lialy Hostel, fairly quickly, but were uncertain of it by the somewhat shady state of the entrance. We walked up the three flights of stairs to the entrance, and upon seeing the charming lobby, we were completely reassured.
After a warm greeting from the receptionist, Shady (Sha-D), we checked into our room. Technically they were out of triple rooms, so he offered us a double and a single, but we decided that we would fit the three of us into a double room (and agreed to pay the triple rate: three showers, three breakfasts, etc.) and although we imagined two of us doubling up in bed, Shady brought in an extra mattress for us. The bathrooms were clean, the room was charming, and breakfast was included. All of this for the equivalent of $6 each per night. After having some dinner and doing some planning, the three of us decided to turn in early, still tired from our odyssey to Cairo, and intending to leave by 6:40 am to make our way to Giza, and the pyramids.
Following the tips of Lonely Planet, as we began our trek we sought out a meter taxi, knowing it would give us the best deal to Giza. Before we had even completed getting to the pyramid plaza the onslaught began: “You want camels? Come to my stables, good prices, good deals.”
We wanted to wait by the window to make sure we could buy our tickets to the plaza right away, since they only sell a limited number per day. Having our student IDs was definitely a good idea—Cairo is big on student prices. After successfully acquiring the tickets, it was time for camels. We were aware that the ministry of tourism had set the official price at 35 egyptian pounds an hour (less than $7) and we were also told to haggle. We eventually agreed with a man for 30 pounds and hour, and taking a two hour trek, so 60 egyptian pounds each. My camel was named Michael Jackson. It was a thriller.
Our guides were two: a mid 30’s seeming man, and a young teenage boy. The boy did most of the work, leading on foot, while the man rode a horse.
The pyramids were everything they are expected to be, and more and real and surreal. We took tons of touristy pictures, as well as walking around on the base of the pyramid and around the Sphinx.
Because we had arrived so early, we were finished touring and playing in the pyramids before 11. Caroline and I had thought it would be funny to eat lunch at the Pizza Hut across the street. We got there and it was still closed. That is what happens when you start the day at 6 am.
We stop for some Fanta, relax and bit, and then make our way back to Cairo, where we went straight to our hostel and our 30 minute nap turned into nearly 5 hours. Oops. So we got up, got some dinner, and then went for a tea and nargillah, and then going for a stroll along the Nile, having a lazy Arabian night.

Oh, PS, crossing the road in Cairo is a permanent game of frogger. My hand was hit by a bus. Aval kol beseder.

CAIRO OR BUST

Since we first talked about Chelsea and then Caroline coming to visit me in Israel, we also talked about taking a trip to Cairo and seeing the pyramids. Although Chelsea and Caroline had managed to get visas in New York (Americans need visas to Egypt when traveling over land) I had as of yet not acquired one, after a disastrously failing attempt to do so a few weeks previously at the embassy in Tel Aviv (the post is only open from 9am-11, Sunday through Thursday, and it takes 24-48 hours to process, meaning I need to surrender my passport to them). I had read that it could be gotten at the consulate in Eilat easily, but was still concerned that I wouldn’t be able to, and then no one would be able to go (I had tried to convince them that, should I not be able to get the visa, they ought to go without me).
We caught the last bus from TA to Eilat, which left at midnight and would arrive very early the next morning. Egged buses are not necessarily comfortable places to sleep. They also aren’t exactly warm places.
We arrived to Eilat around 4:45 am, and schlepped into the bus station, where we haphazardly went back to sleep until around 7:30, at which time we would head out to the consulate. When we eventually get there—a there that is not the same there that is listed in the maps in tourist books—I handed in my form, my photos, and my 65 shekels and less than an hour later, poof, a visa. The Tel Aviv Embassy is so much less helpful. While waiting, the three of us started to chat with the four others—two girls and two guys—who were also waiting on their visas. We found out that these four, who studied together at a university in Ramallah in the West Bank, were also going to Cairo. Because they were studying at a West Bank university, they were unable to acquire student visas from Israel and therefore needed to leave the country every few months, and then hope to be able to get back in.
Because we were all going to the same place, and these four all spoke some level of Arabic, we decided to stick with them and travel to Taba (the border point) together. After getting through, the now seven of us hired a minibus to take us to Cairo—it cost an extra $4 a person than the standard bus would have, but made the trip 2 hours shorter, and infinitely more comfortable. It was also convenient, because even though the Egyptians would mainly only be speaking in Arabic, two of our new friends—a Moroccan-French girl and a guy from Germany—spoke German, and so I was able to covertly find out what was going on in Arabic from them by speaking in German. Multilingualism is helpful.
Seven hours later, we arrived to Cairo, hailed a taxi to take us to our hostel with the help of one of our new Arabic-speaking friends, and parted ways with the other four (after exchanging contact information).

Trying to catch up. Please have patience with me.

So. Caroline and Chelsea arrived in the evening on Thursday, November 12. They took the sherut from Ben Gurion to Mayanot, where we reunited, washed up, and made a plan. Wanting to kick things off the right way, we decided to go out that night. They were graciously allowed to stay by Rivka Marga’s that night, so we went there to drop off their things and then went to meet the girls and boys downtown. We girls were deciding where to go, so we chose this bar up the street. Just as we are about to order, one of the boys lets us know we can’t go there: N and Z are banned from there because of a fight a few years back. Right.
So Laeneia, Hayley, Hillary, Irina, Chelsea, Caroline and I (we are like the Pink Ladies) leave the place where we were sitting and go meet the T Birds outside the Square and decide what to do next. We end up at Herzl, a bar on the main bar street, but up a level so it escapes the stigmas associated with the main strip (a place for 18 and 19 year old yeshiva kids trying to flirt with one another and smoke cigarettes). As a group of 14, we pretty much took over the place. It started off a quieter night, the boys were out to cheer up Z who had just ended a relationship, we girls were out to welcome the tired Caroline and Chelsea, so in theory it was going to be a quieter, chill night having a few drinks and relaxing. I stepped out onto the balcony for a little while to get some air and talking to A, and suddenly we come back in and the entire room is a dance party. Rumor has it that Chelsea and Caroline started. So much for jetlag. And so much for a quiet night ;)

Friday after a trip to the shuk, where Chelsea and Caroline discovered the joys of dried fruit, halva, and schwarma/falafel stands, we left for a weekend in Tel Aviv, where we would room by our old couch surfing friends again for the night. After coffee and cake, Caroline and Nevo had a recording session, performing ‘Let it Be’. With the ridiculous amount of equipment they had, Dor managed to make a high quality, synced video of the performance (which can be found on Facebook). The next day, the girls and I had brunch with Nevo, Hayley, and Anna and Omer. After we dropped off our things at Omer’s, the New York girls headed south toward Yaffo, stopping at a particular ice cream shop in Neve Tzedek on the way. Walking through Tel Aviv and Yaffo along the beach, watching the sun set over the Mediterranean, is like nothing else.
Along the way, we found a playground unlike any we had seen before. This naturally required a short pause to play.
Saturday evening, we were going to stay by Nevo again, except that late that afternoon, his grandmother passed away. Of course we felt very sad for him and his family. We also realized our predicament. Having nearly decided that we would sleep on the beach for the night, Anna and Omer came to the rescue, arranging for us to stay at the former apartment of Omer’s new roommate. Israelis are pretty cool.
That night we went out with Etan, who lived in the apartment we were staying at, to Apartment, a decent club in TA. The next morning, although he had to leave early for work (also a pilot in the IDF) he left us his keys and allowed us to use the apartment for the rest of the day. Again, Israelis are pretty cool.
After a lazy morning, Chelsea, Caroline, Hayley and I headed off to eat at our favorite sandwich place in Tel Aviv—the best sandwiches ever perhaps, with a full condiment/salady bar, tons of sandwich options, and friendly sandwich makers. Satisfied from our lunch, we mosied across the street to the greatest juice bar, where we each got a fresh squeezed something (I had pomegranate and green apple). We then went back to the apartment, where caroline decided to take a nap, and Chelsea and I walked Hayley to the bus station, where we would meet up with Laeneia, and go to get my passport photos taken for my Egyptian Visa that would hopefully be procured in Eilat the next day.
The rest of this day comprised of a trip to Kikar Rabin to see his memorial, poking in vintage shops, and going back to wake Caroline to go to a final picnic on the beach. Around 10 pm, the four of us gather up, picked up all our things, and left for the Central Bus Station, from where Laeneia would return to Jerusalem, and the adventures would just begin for Chelsea, Caroline, and myself.

what is to come...

It has been nearly two weeks since I have made a single post. There is a LOT of catching up to do.
Here is a sneak peak of what to be looking forward to:
*Chelsea and Caroline arrive in Israel
*first night out with the girls in Jerusalem
*weekend in Tel Aviv
*going to Cairo
*Pyramids, market places, tea shops, and the museum
*coming back from Cairo
*Dead Sea
*Shabbat in Jerusalem
*farewell, Caroline

week in review

Sunday, after class, Laeneia and I decided to go to the Shuk. On the way there, while walking along Rehov Tel Hai I suddenly heard from behind me, ‘Elizabeth?’

Turning around, I see Jess, a woman who had gone to my synagogue, whom I have known since I was maybe 10 years old, and hadn’t seen in about five or so years. She had just moved to Jerusalem, is studying at an institute very close to mine. Only in Jerusalem.

Monday a few of us went to the shuk again. It was time to buy supplies for the weekly guac night. After, we watched ‘Big Fat Greek Wedding.’

Tuesday night was guac night. Making guac by hand with bad supplies takes a few hours. But when you can buy 4 pounds of avocadoes for less than three dollars, it is worth it.

Today is Wednesday. When I came into the classroom this morning, Tanya informed my there was a cat sitting on one of the chairs. Rivka Marga wasn’t thrilled. I managed to bribe it out—very sweet animal. Too bad the yeshivah won’t adopt it. Tonight, with Hayley, Laeneia, and possibly some others, I am going to see Balkan Beat Box at the Black Party, a municipally sponsored party to raise awareness against drunk driving.
Tomorrow, Chelsea and Caroline arrive and the odyssey begins.

don't stay...go Kfar! :my weekend in Anetevka

Last weekend, Mayanot went on a mini Shabbaton weekend to Kfar Chabad, a moshav (village) about 5 miles southeast of Tel Aviv. Although it is geographically extremely close to the most progressive, modern city in Israel, culturally, Kfar Chabad is worlds away from Tel Aviv, and far closer to Anetevka, Russia.
We left Jerusalem before 10 am, packed in our bags and toting along bagged lunches (I had made a schnitzel pita sandwich from the previous night’s dinner, knowing the lunch of the day would be tuna). Arriving at Kfar Chabad before 11, after dropping off our things at 770* we were escorted over to the Roeber factory, where the family-owners of the company leather-bind books. Although most of the books they work with are religious siddurim, tehillim, etc, they do custom work and will bind anything. During the factory tour, our host (one of the sons of the family) showed us some of the more intricate and artistic works that his father has done, combining different pieces of colored leather, designs with individually, handstamped designs, etc. It was truly inspiring to see that this sort of artisan work is still done and appreciated anywhere; I am considering getting a book bound, something really special. The biggest holdup is deciding which book to bind (the book 2001 Things to Do Before You Die lists getting your favorite book bound in leather as one of the things to do…maybe Anthem, or something from Jane Austen?)

After leaving the leather factory, we returned to 770 and had a tour of the building, as well as a video presentation on the life of the Rebbe (Moses Mendel Schneerson, deceased 1994). We saw clips from different meaningful figures, such as Yitzchak Rabin, Ariel Sharon, and Bibi Netanyahu speaking about their encounters with Schneerson, as well as confessionals from average people about the way he touched and altered their lives in a single sentence. We were then shown the building as if it was the actual 770—“this room was where the Rebbe slept, this was his little schul, this was where he received visitors,” etc (except that the Rebbe never actually came to Israel, let alone to 770 in Kfar Chabad). People still come to this place in order to daven and to feel connected to the Rebbe, and even to write letters to him.

Right. Idolatry.
If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, and walks like a duck...
That is all I have to say about that.

After the tour, we ate our lunches on the lawn in the front of the building, and then went to go and walk through one of the largest etrog orchards in Israel ( I got to take a fallen etrog…smells wonderful). By this time, it was nearly 3, and since Shabbat was in 4:30 it was time to head to our host families. I was to stay with three other girls at the M- family, the home we were all going to Fabreng in that evening. Since we would need to bring all the fabrengen food with us, we were given a ride.
The family lived in a beautiful home. Both the mother and father had grown up in Kfar Chabad, and now lived there with their 9 children, ranging in age from 16 years old to the youngest, Mussia, just 1 year. I had expected to get right to work helping to get ready when we arrived, but our host mother, Chana, insisted she didn’t need help, and we should go upstairs to rest and get ready.
One of the girls wanted to daven at schul, but we discovered when we got there that the women’s section wasn’t open on Friday evenings, so we went home, and had a delicious Shabbos dinner.

After dinner had finished, the rest of the girls began to arrive for the fabrengen, led by one of the local rabbis. A fabrengen, in theory, is supposed to be an organized, social, casual but intellectual discussion. Instead, it became a lecture. Our guest Rabbi, when answering a question about why the fabrengen wasn’t so cooperative, made a joke. He said, “I was told not to tell girls jokes on Shabbos, because you aren’t allowed to prepare things for after Shabbos during Shabbat, and if you tell a girl a joke on Friday night, she won’t get it until Sunday.”
Then he had the nerve to ask if we got the joke. I don’t think I even need to say anything more here.
I slept until nearly noon the next day—the benefit of being Shomer Shabbos, is no one expects you to use an alarm clock. After dressing, I went down to help Chana get ready for lunch, but as she was nearly done, I mainly played with Mussia.

After lunch, Chana encouraged us to go upstairs to nap before needing to go to another home for Havdalah- Shabbat leaves as early as it comes in. It wasn’t hard to convince us of the nap.
Havdalah was relatively uneventful, and afterwards we went back to our host-homes, gathered our things, and headed back to 770. There, we played an ice breaker game, ate (really good) pizza (since it had been a whole hour since the last meal we had all eaten together), and then got back on the bus to head home shortly after 9 pm. On the way out of the building heading toward the bus, my heel caught on a stair and I fell…the theology of the building may not have killed me, but it had a bit of a go at it.

Leaving Anetevka, I was able to appreciate especially where, as Ashkenazi Jews, we have come from and where we are going to. Despite the constant bickering of two of the girls I was staying with, and the constant gaze of the Rebbe from pictures, portraits, and videos the whole weekend was lovely and relaxing, although it was nice to get back to the ‘modern world’ of Jerusalem.

* 770, the name for 770 Eastern Parkway in Crown Heights, is the headquarters of the Chabad movement, having been purchased by the Friedliche Rebber (Schneerson’s father-in-law) when he arrived from Europe to New York. The 770 referred to in this story is an exact replica of this center that is located in Kfar Chabad, Israel. There are seven 770s in the world, from the original in Brooklyn to one in Kfar Chabad, and at Rutgers in New Jersey, one in California, one in Australia, Italy, Brazil, and Argentia. Because in the Lubavitch community, anything connected to the Rebbe is nearly deified considered holy, replicas of the building are seen as especially holy and spiritual places—and at least the one in Kfar Chabad was built under the direct instruction from Schneerson, and instructed to be an exact replica, down the fixtures on the doors and the stained-glass windows. Even a handmade table that the Rebbe davened at was replicated.

a lesson in acceptance

After this last post, confessing my short comings, I feel the need to share this story (which I learned long before coming here)

There were once two angels—a head angel and his apprentice—walking through a town. As the night began to fall, the two, disguised as traveling men, knocked at the door of a very great and rich house. The owner of the house came to the door, and the angels asked the man for food and shelter for the night. After trying to turn them away, the persistent angels were granted entry, allowed to sleep in the damp basement for the night, and given bread and water after being roused early to start again on their way.
While they were in the basement, the head angel saw a crack in the wall of the house, and to the apprentice’s surprised, fixed the crack.

Continuing to walk, as night began to fall the next day, they angels came to a small, poor farmhouse. They approached the door, which opened before they even knocked. The owners, an elderly couple, saw the angels as weary travelers and welcomed them into their home. Although they were extremely poor—they had only one cow!—, the couple shared the best of what they had with their guests, and that night, they insisted the angels sleep on the one bed in the house, while they themselves slept on the floor. The next morning, after having slept in and been given a meager but generous breakfast, the angels set to leave. The apprentice looked out the window, and saw the couple in their field, crying because during the night their one cow had died.

Later that day, the two angels were walking again. The apprentice turned to his master and, exasperated, demanded that what had happened be explained.
“In the home of the rich, selfish man, you fixed—actually fixed!!—his wall!” the apprentice accused, “and yet this couple who have nothing and yet offered us everything, you sat by as their one cow died?!”

Unsurprised, the head angel calmly looked at his pupil. “In the rich man’s home, he kept his gold in an unknown hole in the wall. The crack I sealed was the way in which it was accessed. As for the cow—last night, I was awake when the angel of death came to the farm. But you don’t realize, the angel came for the famer’s wife! I convinced him to be appeased with the cow in her stead.”

We may all sometimes loose our cows, but what we don’t see is what was saved in its place.

my confession

This is my confession.

In many ways, in many concerns, I am an extremely arrogant person. From an optimistic, positive perspective, this can be interpreted as confidence, but in reality, it is a very fine line between arrogance and confidence, and that line is often defined by how much the one making the judgment likes the individual in question. So I will adjust: depending on whether or not you like me, I am generally a confident person, or an arrogant one.
In many situations, this often extreme level of self-assuredness can be beneficial, if not truthful; it helps a person to overlook what might be meant to offend, to condescend to others instead of to doubt one’s self, etc. On the other hand, this self assuredness can be very dangerous, in the time when something that the person could not control and could not predict comes to fruition, and it crushes.

I. was. not. accepted. to. the. internship. at. the. bundestag. in. berlin.

I found out last Tuesday. Two letters arrived, one from the consulate in California, the other from Berlin, to inform me of this. I guess they thought one letter alone would not convince me, but that to make the job clean, they needed to reject me twice. And return my application, in order to completely terminate my applicancy. As the letters were delivered to my home in New Jersey, I found out through an email from my father, in which he endearingly typed up the German rejections. Although he could not read, he knew what was being said—I wonder if it is harder to receive bad news about yourself, or to have to literally type the bad news, which you know will be painfully received, to someone you love? Abgeordnete Frau Dagmar Freitag thanked me for my interest, ensured me of the overwhelming number of qualified applicants, and wished me only the best of luck in my future endeavors.
I read the email in the morning, sitting at the table waiting for class to start. I silently shut my computer, left the room, and went upstairs to my room. I had felt so good about my chances, so good about the prospect, so confident in the position being a part of the greater plan of my life. Even though it was just before 10am in Jerusalem, making it just before 4am in New Jersey, I called my father, and began to cry as he answered the phone, knowing already why I was calling.
I think that the whole thing may have been nearly as hard for him as for me, especially since he could not be here to help me through it, and I can’t say enough how meaningful his support has been through this.
As I sat on my bed, the arrogance poured out of me in disbelieving sobs, slowly shifting to shocked gasps, and trickling away in hurt, betrayed tears that leaked from me steadily for the next hour, and resurfaced for the next day and a half whenever anyone asked me if I was okay, and still manage to spill over whenever I need to think or speak about it directly.
If I had not been so confident in my chances, the rejection would not have hurt so much. But how could I have gone as far as I had without that confidence? How could I have asked for the recommendation letters, write the application, tell people what I was doing, FLY TO BERLIN FOR THE INTERVIEW.
Mayanot (my yeshivah) was also in shock. The girls who had davened for me at the time of my interview felt sorrow, disbelief. Rabbi Levinger was surprised, had no words. Chaya asked me if I was embarrassed to tell people.
I sat upstairs for two hours. I decided to come back to class; sitting alone and missing what I was here for would not change the reality. It was a lie to tell people I was fine. It was impossible to have to tell people the truth.
When Hayley saw me and asked me if something was wrong, I couldn’t even stay in the room. In the bathroom, I confessed to her. I spent the next two hours in class distracting myself with the internet. During lunch and the following afternoon, she sat with me in my room, playing phase ten. She is hooked on the game, even though I won.

I am still in mourning. I think that even the initial mourning process will fairly take at least a week. I have realized that what I am grieving after more than anything is not the job, but the life that I had been reestablishing for myself in Berlin. The relationships I had assumed would have more time, the friendships that would become a more regular part of my days, the dynamics that would have had the time to be developed, this was all the life there that I had already begun to live, to plan there and now will not have. I am mourning for my stillborn life in Berlin, dead before living.

What have I learned from this all? Everyone here tells me that Hashem has a plan. What about my fucking plan?
I don’t really mean that. I do believe that things happen the way they are supposed to, that we may not understand what happens but that we should trust that what happens truly is for the best. But at the moment, I don’t want to hear that.
In truth, has this made me any more humble? Do I feel that I wasn’t qualified enough? No, not really. And maybe that is better, that I don’t think that the rejection means I am lacking…maybe that is one of the benefits of being arrogant.

sigh...it is a constant struggle.

And still again:

Today in class we are talking about Lech L’cha. She recognizes and praises Abram’s ‘obvious natural attraction’ to the land of Israel, since without knowing where he was going, he went to the land of Israel; she admits that no one has it written this way, but that it is simply obvious that the land itself pulled Abram to it.
However, I countered, verse 1 in the chapter contradicts this assertion that it was Abram’s magnetic pull that brought him to Canaan- “Now the LORD said unto Abram: 'Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and from thy father's house, unto the land that I will show thee.” Unto the land that I will show thee. So, Abram was not brought to Canaan by his inner compass that unconsciously knew that the land of Israel was the land to which he was meant to go, but rather he used GPS directions—God Personally Spoke the directions to him. Continue 500 meters, than make a right at the mountain after the flock of goats out to pasture.
Teacher listens to this opinion. ‘Yofeh!’ she confesses. ‘this even strengthens the conviction that Abram was drawn to the land by his neschama!’
I don’t know why I bother.

A little while later…

In the parsha it talks about the ‘souls that Abram and Sarai made’ in Haran—the converts to Abram’s new ways that were following them on their journey. Rashi further elaborates that Sarai taught the women, and Abram the men—and Teacher asks us why this is so critical and important to acknowledge within the oral law. She says that even here, Abram and Sarai knew that the ‘essence of men and women were different, necessitating the separation for the women to learn from Sarai, the men from Abram,’ proving that even before the Torah, Abram and Sarai knew the importance of the separation of the men from the women, already knew the idea of tzniut (modesty, unquestionable disparateness.)

Slightly cynically, I would argue that this comment by Rashi, erudite as he was, came roughly 2500 years (according to the Jewish calendar) after Abraham’s lifetime (who was born 1948 according to the Jewish calendar, while Rashi lived around 4600, and now is 5770), when these ideas of Tzniut were already ardently adhered to; of course it would make sense to analyze the past in a way that would concur with the present in order to assuage those who would question the validity of the current standards.

One more interesting tidbit:

Men, women, and children are meant to enjoy Chagim, and Halakha has a different standard for each; children, through sweet things to eat. Women, are supposed to be bought something new (clothes and jewelry) for the Chagim by her husband. And men, they are to enjoy the Chagim through meat and wine. (and probably scratching themselves while burping.)

This discussion began by asking if we are actually meant to be vegetarians, since in the time of Eden we were, and in the time of the Moshiach we will be.

what happens in some classes...part 2

Monday morning. Another class with my (sarcasm coming) favorite teacher, the same spoken of before.
I spoke with the Rabbi last week, expressing my concerns of this teacher, as well as her adherence to the topic of her class. He assures me he will address the problem.
The first half of the class goes by fairly innocuously. Alas, this, too, will pass.

We are discussing why it is important for Jews to stick together, literally, secluding ourselves from the rest of the world (the topic of the class is the book of Genesis). Teacher explains that ‘our’ [Israel’s] commitment to the ‘annihilation of terrorism’ is what gives the US the courage to stand up to Bin Laden. Annihilation. There is a good plan for a peaceful ending. And a good word for a native English speaking teacher to use to her students, some of whom are particularly impressionable. Strike one.
Then the topic turns to the Jew’s innate attraction to the land of Israel, evidenced by even those like ‘Herzl, who turned [his] back on the Torah, on Hashem!’ who were drawn to the Land.
Just because people are Haskalah does not make them heathens. Who are you to place such judgement? Living in a glass house…

what I miss from home...

Israel doesn't really do Halloween. I miss candy corn. And anything with pumpkins.

Murphy ('s Law) defines the weekend

Right. So this past weekend was an in/out Shabbat, meaning we could either stay at Mayanot, or leave. Bit of a reminder, I am living and studying with about 30 women between the ages of 19 and 29. 24 hours a day. Women are weird. I decided I needed to get away. My very gracious friend T, hearing how stressful the situation in the seminary was sometimes getting, offered to let me come to his apartment in the suburb for the weekend, while he would be spending Shabbat at his parents’ home in the city. It would be nearly a 3 hour train trip from Jerusalem to T’s, but I couldn’t pass up the offer. If for no other reason, his guest room has a queen size bed, and I sleep on a bed that is 2.5’ by 6’. I decided to take the train, a little bit more comfortable than the bus. Leaving from Jerusalem Malkah at 11:34 am Friday morning, I would then arrive to Tel Aviv at 1:03 pm, getting onto the next train at 1:19, and arriving at my final destination at 2:48, where T would pick me up from the train before heading to his parents’ home in time for Shabbat, which began at 4:25 pm.
Around noon, the rain began. At 12:30, about 15 minutes after passing by a bunch of camels, the train stopped. Due to the rain. 15 more minutes later, the announcer informed us that due to some technical issues, we would be stuck another few minutes. Around 1 pm, still at least 20 minutes from Tel Aviv, we still weren’t going anywhere. I had missed the 1:19 train for sure. There would only be one more train according to my train schedule before Shabbos came in. The woman sitting in my compartment, coincidentally, was heading to the same connection as me, only intending to go four stops farther than I was. She managed to tell me what was going on, because all the announcements were in very fast Hebrew.
I called T to tell him what was going on. We decided I would keep him posted. I apologized via SMS, to which he responded “it’s not your fault.” Which of course means he is annoyed and cannot say so.
I finally arrive to Tel Aviv at 2 pm, an hour late. It should be another 75 minutes to my destination (once I am on a train). Okay, still doable. Except- the next train is going to be 15 minutes late. And then 40 minutes late. Now it is 3pm. I call T, not sure what to do. Should I still even bother coming? How will I get there? He needs to leave for his parents’ if he will make it in time…
He calls me right back; he is at the grocery store, buying food for me. I am worried about making things all hectic for him, causing issues with Shabbos; he is concerned he won’t buy the right food for me, that I won’t have enough to eat, and tells me he is getting me meatballs with peas, spiced potatoes, and a challah. Am I sure that will be enough? I am trying to convince him he doesn’t need to go out of his way to take care for me, I can manage, I had packed a couple of avocados and a pomegranate…he keeps asking if I want anything else, and I start to laugh. At the whole situation. He asks why I am laughing; how do I explain how funny it is that here I am, seemingly the most high maintenance friend ever, screwing up Shabbat because of the trains being all balagon, and he is only concerned with whether I will be hungry.

(side story: also on the platform, standing not too far away, is one of the most obviously German men I have ever seen before; later on, I hear him speaking to someone. He says he is Canadian. His English and Hebrew have the strongest accent I have ever heard. Weird people.)

Finally a train arrives, at 3:15 pm. Not sure if it will go all the way to where I need to go. No one seems to know. I ask a train attendant, asking him if I need to be worried that the train will suddenly stop, say “Shabbat Shalom” and leave me stranded in a place that is not my final destination. He assures me I won’t be abandoned. I believe him.

I call Hayley again, for about the eighth time in this whole debacle. I tell her my latest update, and about how sweet T is being, and how I laughed at him. She sees the humor in the situation.

The train is the only train for more than the last hour, in place of where four trains should have been, and is the last train before Shabbat. I have no choice but to stand for the next hour plus. I call T, tell him I am on the train. We are both pretty sure it won’t be going as far as I need to. I will have to take a taxi from the last stop that the train makes. Shit. Maybe it will go quickly, make it the distance.
Or maybe not. We get to the last stop on the train. Everyone gets off. There is no one left working at the station for me to ask for help. I call a friend of mine from the States who is also living in Israel, since he has a lot of friends where I am suddenly standing, dumbfounded. He happens to be there, too, so while he doesn’t know how to help me get to T’s, if I decide to stay where I am, I can just join him and his friends. Except a big bed and good food are waiting for me.
I share a cab with a Swedish guy going even farther than I am. The price of my journey just doubled from 50 to 100 shek.

Thankfully, I get to the apartment, find the keys left for me in the fuse box, and let myself in. I left Mayanot at 10:30 am, Jerusalem at 11:34 am, and have finally arrived, 90ish miles away, at 5:30 pm. Yeah.
Good sides, T got me the greatest challah I have ever had, and the food was delish. I watched Pride and Prejudice (streamlined), took a shower, ate my pomegranate, and went to bed, like a starfish (meaning all stretched out).
Overnight, there was a huge thunderstorm. Luckily, I had had the foresight to unplug the computers in case the power went out. I am psychic. It did. The next morning, I didn’t shower. Didn’t use the computer. Didn’t open the fridge. However, avocado and challah is very tasty.
After Shabbos, T calls to see how things are going. I tell him about the power, and he tells me how to fix it, which I manage to do, and eventually can then shower. It is good.

The next morning, Sunday, I head to Tel Aviv again, meeting up with Hayley and Laneia in order to go to the Egyptian embassy to get our visas for Cairo. We get there at 10:30. By the time we get to the window, we are informed that we need to fill out the forms, get photos taken, and photocopy our passports. And that the desk will be closing for the day in 2 minutes. WTF.
We resign ourselves to needing to handle Egypt another time, and meet up with the dearly departed (from Mayanot to Tel Aviv) Anna for lunch, and then head to her apartment for coffee, cake, and air conditioning before heading back to Jerusalem.

In a nutshell, Israrail has not heard the last from me.

karmic kleaner

So for most of last week, I suffered from sick symptoms…what this means is that I felt absolutely cartwheels in the grass fine, except for…well. Yeah.
I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I hadn’t changed my eating habits. I have always had a very strong stomach. WTF.
After several days needing to alter my days, I decided to go see Chaya, my local rebbitzin, known for her methods of holistic and spiritual energy healing.

I went over to her house on Thursday afternoon, and she set right to work. Without even touching me, she used her reference manual and went into a sort of trance state, fluttering her eyes and popping her hands, feeling my physical energy. She discovered that the sick energy had already traveled from my skin to my organs, showing it was on its way out.
After this, she read my emotional energy, looking for the reasons that my body had reacted sickly to begin with.
She told me to be taking the words that she was giving me as I thought to interpret them—they weren’t necessarily an absolute truth or anything, but simply the feelings and energies being drawn from me. At first, I saw what she said as completely kool-aid; she told me that one of my big issues was my relationship with Gd. Other feelings that came out were issues of blame, finality, and boorishness.
After a nap though, I remembered I was supposed to think about these feelings and what they would mean to me, not necessarily what they might mean in the context of someone else. And I realized that maybe I was having these issues—issues of having changed the way that I am religious, not out of feeling or devotion, but perfunctory respect for my surroundings, which although in theory more religious, actually enervated my personal spiritual level.
Since realizing this, I have decided to reevaluate what I am doing here, and why, going back to certain standards that had made me feel connected in the past. Oh, and the sick symptoms are gone. Thanks, Chaya.

sorry

It’s been a while since I made a post. This is going to be a time to play catchup.

I gave a dvar torah

This past Shabbat, I had been asked to deliver a Dvar Torah. Risking my modesty, I would go so far as to say it was perhaps some of my better work as far as Dvarim go, and I have given a fair few in my days. So, here, I am going to attempt to recreate it here.

The Torah portion this week was parshat Noach, the story of Noah. The biggest and most discussed part of this parsha is of course the whole deal with the flood-ark thing. Noah built it, gathered the animals, loaded the family, and waited out the raining and the draining. This story we know, we know what different metaphors and life lessons we get from this, the whole thing has been talked about a lot, in general and also during this Shabbat in specific. So I am not going to talk about Noah, or the ark, or the flood.

In the parsha, lots of things happen after Noah and his family and all of the animals came off of the ark. Noah gets drunk, his sons do and don’t show respect for him, things go a bit off, Cham proves a jerk, etc.
Later on, the descendents go down into the valley and decide to build a city. They decide to build a tower in the center of this city (the tower of Babel) that will reach all the way up into the heavens, solidifying the unity of the people and ensuring their future harmony. However, Gd sees this tower and says, “ Look at what this people are already doing?! This cannot be allowed!” and Gd destroyed the tower, and babbled the language of man, creating the different tongues of the world, and preventing easy communication and cooperation.
Well this seems a bit off. Why would Gd want to divide people, to prohibit cooperation and easy cohabitation? It seems that it would be a more peaceful, harmonious place where people aren’t preemptively misunderstanding each other due to language issues. So what happened?

It has been pretty much accepted (by me, at least) that details that are included in the Torah, especially details that seem unnecessary and unimportant are in fact just the opposite. When it talks about the construction of the tower, the Torah tells us that in the valley there were no stones, and so the leaders instructed the people to make bricks with which to build a tower that would reach the heavens. We are not told any dimensions of the tower, we are not told anything about what the tower will look like, we are not told about what the purposes and functions of the tower will be; this is a great contrast to what happened when the instructions for the building of Noah’s Ark, or the Tabernacle, which were described to the minutest detail. In this case rather, we are told solely that at the location where the tower was to be built, there was no stone, and they would instead make and use bricks.
So, what does this mean? Was it the advancement in human technological advancements that offended Gd so? And if so, then from a Jewish perspective are all of our technological advancements today, from laptops to medical advancements to ipods, equally heretical?
No. Let’s look again at what is said about the tower; we are not told exactly what the purpose of the tower is, but again, that it was made of manmade bricks in absence of natural, organic stone, in the absence of what was there without them—in the absence of Gd. It wasn’t the act that proved so offensive, but rather the godlessness of the foundation and inspiration of it.
In this way, if we, as individuals, choose to include Gd in the actions of our everyday lives, to realize that what we do which may seem so far separate from Gd, really is just as connected as water, trees, and air.

As a conclusion to my Dvar, in tradition with the environment, I gave all the girls a Bracha to be ‘fruitful and multiply.’*

From the previous week’s Parsha, Beresheit, we are commanded to be fruitful and multiply. The problem with this is that, especially as women, there is a very limited amount of time in which this mitzvah is even possible.
In the beginning of Noach, we are told that the toldot-offspring- of Noach are firstly that he was a righteous person and secondly the names of his children. Rashi explains that this is because the most important offspring of a righteous person are not necessarily their children (which are of course important) but their good deeds; based on this, we can all be fruitful and multiply in our deeds for our entire lives, filling the world with our most meaningful offspring, our mitzvoth.

what happens in some classes...

Today in class, our teacher questioned us:

If we [Jews] all have a neschama, and the Torah is in fact our true nature, than how is it possible that some people [Jews] do not live according to their true nature?

She asked us each to take a few moments to write our own thoughts to this question, and asked us to share what we thought. A good lesson: don’t ask questions of people you are not prepared to hear answers from.

My answer:

If we truly accept axiomatically that Jews are inherently and naturally constructed internally according to ideas of Torah and the Jewish neschama, and accepting the assumption that the vast majority of the people [Jews] who do not live strictly according to the Torah are in fact of sound mind and body (which is fair, as 1. we have not all been institutionalized, and 2. Gd has not found it necessary to smite us all, as the Torah tells us happened to the irrevocably perverse generation needed to be wiped out by the great flood), than the only logical solution that can be drawn from these statements is that what is today interpreted as the way in which one needs to live in order to be living according to the Torah has been perverted from what it in actuality means. Do not mistake this for my opining that those who do live a more traditionally lifestyle are wrong, but rather that the spectrum of lifestyle choices that are in fact acceptable according to what the Torah tells us is greater than is today recognized.

Again, if it is an accepted axiom that we, as Jews, are inherently drawn to living according to the Torah, to living in harmony with our Neschama, than it would be physically and psychologically unhealthy to live in a way that contrasts with the Torah. The reality of people being able to live fulfilling, healthy lives in a way that perhaps is not exactly in line with what the orthodox community sees as the canonical was of the Jewish life is proof that this script is not mandated and necessary for each individual Jew to live to his or her full potential.

I have just relayed this opinion to the teacher. She seemed thrilled, and then reiterated to the class what I had said; she said that the issue is that we cannot know our natures, and we misunderstand what the Torah is accepted as saying, because we don’t know what we are. She says how the rabbinical interpretations of the Torah are what understand what our true nature is, and that for the individual it is a constant battle to bring themselves to the understanding that will allow them to live in harmony with what the Halacha tells us is our nature. This is what the teacher understood me to be saying.

Sometimes I wonder why people ever even bother trying to say.

(side story:

This same teacher has multiple times used different examples of how people, starting from infancy, learn to meet the world; she explains that a child who crawls along the floor, sees something, picks up the brown unknown substance, and puts it into his mouth and discovers it is sweet, enjoyable, and his mother than encourages the child, explaining the substance as chocolate, offering the child more. The teacher explains that this is the important way in which people physically discover the world; however, this sort of behavior, encouraged and accepted, actually just encourages taking things from the ground and imbibing them, unsure of what the circumstances may be. Teacher, perhaps you encourage your children to eat strange things from the ground, but I would not do.)

Side story 2: According to the bias of Rivka Marga, when people cut out large parts of their selves, of their lives, in order to fit into what they think is the accepted mold to which they think they are expected to fit, it is not good. Rather, each individual needs to be able to create a tailor made relationship between themselves and Gd.

and I had an epiphany

I have realized a great thing, maybe for the first time since I have arrived here.

Sunday night, I walked into one of the girls rooms where a few girls were talking, two of whom are very good friends of mine. One of the girls got very uncomfortable, and told me that she didn't want to ask me to leave, and didn't want to talk about what she was talking about in front of me. I knew what she was talking about (a boy, which is awkward, because she is technically shomer negiyah, but had been hugging him and such at a bar). I also knew it wasn't a personal thing, but simply that I had not been there on the night this all happened, as the other girls in the room had. The other girls told me to stay, but I didn't mind her asking me to leave, so I did.

Later, she gave me a big hug and said she felt bad, and asked me if I was mad at her. I told her, truthfully, that no, I was not mad, but rather sad for her.

I realized that the worst thing that I could ever be, is someone who is so uncomfortable with myself, that I cannot face what I am doing in my life in front of my peers. If I am so ashamed of what I am doing that I cannot own up to it, than clearly either my standards or my actions need to be adjusted. However, I can honestly say that there is nothing in my life that I would not be able to admit to in almost any setting. And while I can feel that way, I know I am okay.

My father's cousin's daughter's husband's sister's family...

is technically family (in-law). Last weekend, since it was an out-Shabbat at Mayanot, I decided to contact Yamit and take her and her family up on their offer for me to come visit while I am in Israel.
Thursday afternoon, I traveled with Anna to Tel Aviv, helping her move all of her things there, and intending to meet Arlene, my first-grade teacher, who had arrived to Tel Aviv that morning. We got there easily enough, and indulged in the grocery store, buying hot dogs, french fries, and sweet wine to dine on that evening. Before dinner, while Anna took a nap, I walked to Arlene's hotel, where I had a glass of wine with her and her husband at the hotel lobby. Who would of thought that I would one day find myself having a glass of wine in Tel Aviv with my first-grade teacher.
Hot dogs are yummy, Anna has discovered the wonder of carembas, and I finally saw the movie 'Seven Pounds." Very beautiful, very sad. All very fitting for my goodbye slumber party with Anna.
The next morning, I checked out the antique market at Kikar Dizengoff, met with Musha and Anna briefly, and then went off to the bus station to head to Kfar Varburg, where I would spend Shabbat with Yamit, Assaf, Shahr (2.5yrs) and Ela (5 months). Bus drivers can be frustrating.
This was my first real time in a Moshav, and it is incredibly endearing. For Shabbaton, we went to Assaf's parents, where I met his sister, and where Yamit's brother, whom I had met at Emily and Boaz's wedding in June, also joined us. Dinner was delicious, and kugel with eggplant is a great idea.
The next morning, we joined six other families for an all day Jeep Tiyul. Starting at 9:30 am, the seven jeeps went off roading, stopping for a morning coffee break, an afternoon barbecue at the JNF Bulgarian Park with tons of delicious kebabs, burgers, and of course, hummus, as well as tons of good company.
The day continued with several more hours of off roading, exploring caves, seeing views and then a pancake break at sundown.

I had to head back to Jerusalem this evening to be ready for class the next morning. Serendipity let me meet up with some of the girls at arriving back, and we had a brief night out before heading home to bed.

Thanks for an amazing weekend, Yamit and Assaf!

lamah at ohevet tel aviv?

I made the decision to move to Jerusalem to do something different than the big, cosmopolitan city for a while. I am glad for this decision, but I still have been going to and from Tel Aviv a bit often. From both sides of things, this is often questioned...the religious in Jerusalem do not necessarily see the appeal of Tel Aviv, seeing as too big, too secular, too removed from the neshama. Those I know in Tel Aviv don't necessarily understand why, if I like Tel Aviv so much, I still choose to stay in Jerusalem. But really, these things aren't about choices, Tel Aviv or Jerusalem, religous or secular. That is the whole point of this--there isn't just the black and the white, I am here to further develop my gray zone. But no matter how much I am determined to stay in Jerusalem, to experience every aspect of what it means to live in this torn and tethered city, Tel Aviv keeps drawing me back. The city itself is like the sand on its beaches; beautiful, a bit dirtier than maybe preferred, but incredibly soft and fine, to the point that once you step foot onto the sand, it is unlikely to ever be able to wash it off of you completely.

Tel Aviv, yet again

Minus the Simchat Torah disaster, the time in Tel Aviv was lovely. Friday afternoon was spent doing a bit of shopping, Friday night by far the highlight.

After eating some dinner on the beach, I remained there, just thinking and relaxing and watching the ocean and the stars, when suddenly a man rode by on a horse. I immediately called Hayley, who reacted with surprise. She and I discussed ways we could convince the man to give me his horse, wondering if I would need to trade myself for it, in old Middle Eastern fashion. When he rode by again, I asked him where the horse came from. This man spoke no English, so I had to manage with my very minimal Hebrew. As it turns out, the horse was his own. After a bit more conversation, shockingly enough, he asked me if I wanted to ride! um...YES.

He dismounted, assisted me in mounting the steed, Anta, (a bit harder because of the soft sand and the hornless english saddle) and hung out by the gazebo as I rode up and down the beach for about 10 minutes.
Called Hayley back immediately after saying good night to the man--she was impressed.

Saturday was to be a total beach day, possibly one of the last good ones of the season. I arrived at 11 am, and left at 6pm, having spent the majority of the day with a few other American girls who had been sitting near me, all in various stages of Aliyah.

In the evening, I met up with an old NFTY-GER friend whom I hadn't seen in 7 years. Josh, less infrequently, I think :).

Sunday was to be a reunion day-- long lost Anna was back in Tel Aviv with her new friend, and after not seeing one of my partners in crime for nearly two and a half weeks, I went to the apartment she was staying at at 11 in the morning for a session of catch up, followed by lunch at the wonderful sandwich kiosk and an unplanned shopping spree, where we badly influenced one another. Then our trio was completed by the arrival of Hayley from Haifa! The three of us returned once more to the beach for the afternoon, before Hayley and I bid once more farewell to our musketeer and trekked back to the bus station to return to Yerushalayim.

Simchat Torah

Simchat Torah is a holiday that rejoices in the Torah, commemorating the end and beginning of the reading of the Five Books. In the States, I love this holiday, singing and dancing at Temple Shalom, watching as the cantor de jeur attempts to run the entire length on one breath. However, realizing how much a spectator I would need to be as a woman in Jerusalem, I decided to spend the holiday weekend in Tel Aviv.
Saturday night, after the Chag was over (by Israeli custom), a group of Beslov Chasids came to the boardwalk by the beach where I happened to be sitting, enjoying the water, and were dancing and celebrating with the Torah, encouraging passersby (males) to join in; in theory, I thought this was all nice and well enough. As I watched this happen, however, a sadness enveloped me. I remembered how it was to actually hold the Torah, and be able to dance with it, a privelage--a right--that had been struggled for by Jews in so many lands, and by women over so many centuries, that I in a way yearned for it. It was an absence that I imagine is felt in so many different sorts of relationships--the yearning of an absent lover, a parent kept from their child, and a child kept from their parent. The Torah, which simultaneously is what has maintained me and is reliant on me to be maintained, had often felt merely as an extension of me, and here I was, forcibly kept from it by a non-obligation turned prohibition, and my heart broke.

And then I got angrier than I have maybe been in a very long time. Sitting merely 30 feet away, I watched as one of the Breslovers jumped down to the beach, urinated on the beach (surrounded by a big city with endless bathrooms), and then returned to his fellows, holding the Torah to dance.
1. This man was not a child, nor an animal, nor stranded in the middle of the woods. In what world is it acceptable--reasonably--for an individual to simply pee, on a beach, where less than ten hours later people would be?
2. In what way is it at all appropriate for a man to go from holding his penis while he urinates to holding the Torah, and yet my holding the Torah would not be appropriate?

I stood for about twenty minutes, developing a bit of a speech (in Hebrew) to scold this man; in the end, I was not brave enough to deliver. It took a phone call to Musha and to Hayley, venting and elaborating on the ways in which this was unacceptable, before I was able to relax enough to fall asleep.

the little bird, to caitlin, with love

my lovely roommate caitlin leaves tomorrow, returning to haifa for a semester of academic study. She has a favorite Nigun (a chasidic song), called The Little Bird.

The little bird is calling
it wishes to return.
The little bird is wounded,
It cannot fly but yearn.

It's captured by the vultures,
Crying bitterly,
Oh, to see my nest again,
Oh, to be redeemed.

The little bird of silver,
So delicate and rare,
Still chirps amongst the vultures,
Outshining all that's there.

How long, how long it suffers,
How long will it be,
When will come the eagle,
And set the little bird free?

The little bird is Yisroel,
The vultures are our foes,
The painful wound is Golus,
Which we all feel and know.

The nest is Yerushalayim,
Where we yearn to be once more,
The eagle is Moshiach,
Whom we are waiting for.

When I was in Haifa on Thursday, after riding the cable car, I saw on the sidewalk a beautiful bird, it's wings splayed out to it's sides, very much alive, but clearly injured. I looked around for the first person I saw, and asked the man if he knew if there was someone we could call to help the poor creature. He said he didn't know, but while his wife, modestly dressed with a Hijab, and children waited, this man and I discussed what could be done for the bird. In the end, together we agreed that the best thing to do would be to move the bird to a less exposed place, and try to place some sustenance within reach. This episode made me think especially of my roommate and this Nigun she loves so much, and something seemed to poetic and beautiful about the fact that here was this actual injured bird, and the most that could be done for it was a collaboration between this man and me, him an Arab, a Muslim, me an American Jew.