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
Monday, November 23, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
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.
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…
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
