Weeks

Time has had a weird feel to it for the past couple weeks. Months ago, time passed slowly; now, weeks fly by and I barely have a glimpse of events that prove to be meaningful and formative. I have trouble existing in the moment because I know that these experiences will impact my future and as the moment develops I think about how this event will change my life.
Two weeks of incredible intensity began with the lead-in to Yom Hashoa. Pardes brought in two survivors to speak to us about their experiences. The first, a woman, survived Auschwitz. She dreamed of coming to Israel but ended up in America. Years after being married and having children, she and her husband finally moved to Israel. She told her heartbreaking story with honesty and passion and emphasized that we should continue to tell survivor's stories and appreciate the beauty of the life we have.
The second survivor who spoke to us survived the concentration camps because of his artistic talents: the nazis commissioned him to make paintings and cards for their families. He too, made aliyah, married, and had children.
Listening to these survivors was incredibly powerful and served as an interesting juxtaposition to the discussions and ceremony at Yad Byad. For the first time in my life, I heard the story of the Holocaust (a simplified version for 1st graders) told in Arabic. When the siren sounded throughout the country for 2 minutes, I stood in silence with Jews, Christians, and Muslims. This integrated environment has very much influenced who I am and how I react to situations of race conflict.
Two days after Yom Hashoa I boarded a bus to Hevron, one of the most conflict ridden and violent cities in Israel. I was traveling there with a program called Breaking the Silence (שוברים שתיקה). Even as I write this, I am hesitant to completely discuss my experience there, why I went there, or my views on the situation. Life in Israel is very polarized. There are more extremes than imaginable ad it is incredibly hard to hold the multitude of complexities that plague this country and make it what it is. I hesitate because I know that some of you who read this will take one extreme position, and others will take the other. I'll attempt to describe the day as accurately as I can.
When we arrived in Hevron, it was immediately apparent that this city was not the way it used to be. Some buildings were in rubble, anti-Arab (and some anti-Jewish) graffiti was rampant, and the streets were empty. We would pass an occasional outpost of soldiers or a group of children who would stop playing and look up at the bus. Before we could get off the bus, we had to wait for two vans of policemen (and women) to arrive. We descended the stairs of the bus and saw that we were to be surrounded by about 40 police escorts. The police were not there to protect us from Palestinians, no--the few present soldiers would take care of any incidents. The police were there to protect us from the settlers. As we walked through the streets of what used to be a lively neighborhood and a bustling market, the "official" spokesperson of the Hevron settlers followed us with a megaphone shouting the following (I've paraphrased):
"You are helping the terrorists. All of you are the same as the Nazis. You walk on the blood of your fellow Jews. Stop consorting with Hamas and Hezbollah. You will be the death of the state of Israel."
It was hard to hear our guide over the shouts into the megaphone. I know that no side is innocent. We walked by sites of terrorist suicide bombings. We heard about bombings and the 1929 massacre. But as I walked through the streets, I wanted the city to disappear. The complete injustice that characterizes this city pained me. Jews have been killed and have killed here. Palestinians have been killed and have killed here. The fact that a piece of land had caused so much death and hatred was painful. If the government didn't have to pay for soldiers to protect the Settlers from the Palestinians and for the police to protect the Palestinians from the Settlers, where could that money be allocated? The problem is more complex and more gigantic than I can even begin to describe or even understand, but ignoring it won't do anything to help.
I arrived back in Jerusalem just a few hours before Shabbat. My brain couldn't really begin to process what I had seen and heard and I took comfort in a sweet and lovely Shabbat dinner with close friends.
The next evening, several friends and I began walking (Shabbat wasn't over yet) toward Malcha Stadium where we were to see a football game (soccer, for we Americans). Beitar Yerushalayim was playing Ashdod. Dressed in yellow and black, we joined in with the (very) enthusiastive cheers. Most cheers were positive cheers (go beitar!), while some ended in anti-Arab slogans. Some chants turned into "milchama! milchama!" (war! war!). It should be noted that Ashdod is not an Arab team. This blatant racism definitely put a damper on the evening. We found out later that Beitar fans are infamous for their vicious cheers. As they chanted these slogans, I thought of the 6 year old Arab children I have been working with for almost 7 months.
These two events were a difficult lead-in to the following week. Yom Hazikaron (Rememberance Day) was immediately follwed by Yom Haatzmaut (Independence Day). I reminded myself that what I had been seeing for the past couple days was one extreme of Israeli society.
Indeed, as I sat in Kikar Rabin and stood with thousands of others while the siren sounded, I felt a deep sadness for those who had died for Israel. The ceremony in Tel Aviv that night was incredibly moving. Mournful songs (to which the audience often softly sang along) were interspersed with stories told by families who had lost a family member: mostly mother's speaking about their sons. As we sang Hatikva at the end, I looked behind me and saw that many people were crying and everyone was singing. (I am always surprised and impressed that it is common practice to sing along to the national anthem here; that is not my experience in the States). The following day I went to Har Herzl (a large military cemetery) to go to the official ceremony and walk among the thousands of graves of fallen soldiers. The sun shone on the white marble and carefully placed flowers and flags. The radio played sad songs and the TV stations broadcast the name, age, and picture of every soldier that had fallen defending Israel. As the sun set on this mournful day, the air changed. My friend and I went to a ceremony to switch between this day of mourning to a day of incredible celebration. We gathered with hundreds of others outside a syngagogue and sang hallel (which one only sings on holidays and festivals). After the service, we headed downtown for fireworks and street parties. I spent about 3 hours in the courtyard outside of the city municipality with about a thousand other people, dancing. This was no ordinary street party; several huge circles danced in unison doing Israeli folkdance. Old songs and newer ones filled the square and Israelis (and a respectable number of Americans) young and old danced. It was a welcome evening of happiness.
The next day we followed with the Israeli tradition of a barbeque in the park.
Wow, I'm looking at the calendar and realizing that I don't have a span of two days where I don't have something to write about.
I'll leave you with this for now.
I'm going home in less than two weeks and will definitely be writing about my attempt to bring this year to a meaningful close.
Shabbat shalom.

Craaaaziness

I sincerely apologize for my lack of blog activity. Life has been so busy that I keep putting off blog-writing until I have more brain energy. Like that will ever happen.

I've been on vacation for almost a week now, and I have about 2.5 more weeks. The time surrounding Pesach is fun, stressful, and exciting. I spent the beginning of this week camping, hiking, and exploring the Golan with my amazing sister. We successfully avoided accidentally entering Syria, Lebanon, and the West Bank (on the way back). It was absolutely stunning. Spring has begun and everything is completely in bloom. Yellow, pink, blue, and red flowers dot expansive fields of greens. Mountains swell up from fields. Even though it seems utterly expansive in comparison to a small insignificant human, the Golan isn't actually that big. We drove all around it and became familiar with the roads, the countryside, the mountains...
At night it was completely silent except for the occasional dog bark or far off gunfire (there were practice firing zones not far away).

One of our hikes was down to the ancient city of Gamla.

The city was stormed by the Romans around 65CE. It is believed that about 9,000 people were killed there. The city was beautiful. Ancient ruins sat rooted in the giant hillside that was flanked on either side by deep valleys. From the peak, one can face one way and see the Kinneret (the Sea of Galilee) and turn the other way and see far off waterfalls in one valley and extensive grass and trees in the other valley. It was quite a steep hike down (and back up) but it was well worth it. I can't even express how beautiful the Golan is at this time of year. We saw cherry blossoms against a background of green hills, a snow capped mountain, and clear blue sky. What an incredible place.

Before and after our camping trip, Maya and I spent time with our "family" (not actually related to us, but who says you can't choose your family?). It's so nice to have a home-y home base here. It makes things very comfortable. I'm going to be sad to leave the life I've made here. I have another 2 months-ish to enjoy! I'll try to be better about posting.
Chag sameach! almost.

Shabbat At the Carlebach Moshav

Several weeks ago, a group of Pardesians ventured to Modi'in to spend a Shabbat the Carlebach Moshav (more info on Carlebach: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shlomo_Carlebach_(musician)). We stayed with a very generous family which regularly has 20-30 people for Shabbat dinner and lunch.
The weather was beautiful, the view from their house absolutely stunning, and the generous atmosphere was warm with excitement about Shabbat, music, and community. From the backyard (that looked more like the Garden of Eden than anything else I had every seen...maybe the grass could have been softer), we could see, in the distance, the towers in Tel Aviv, and beyond them the Meditterranean Sea. On a clear day, we could see miles and miles in all four directions. There were beautiful shade trees where we relaxed in the pre-Shabbat warmth. In this one yard, the family had planted and cared for all seven of Israel's national speces (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seven_Species). The land we explored was spotted with ancient ruins: a wine press, and olive press...This felt like a new and old Israel.
Before Shabbat, we set the tables (for 31 people) and relaxed in the backyard, listening to our host play the dulcimer. The sun lowered in the sky and we walked the one-minute walk to the synagogue for a very musical (sans-instruments, of course) Kabbalat Shabbat. The rest of the day was full of Torah, music, beautiful weather, hikes, more song, sleeping, community, and general shabbat beauty. Needless to say, it was hard to go back to "real life" after this Shabbat.

Things I have yet to share with you...

Shabbat at the Carlebach Moshav (X)
Hamentaschen making
Purim
Shabbat in the Mechina
My daily life
Hachnasat Sefer Torah at Kedem
Potlucks
General thoughts on volunteering

I'm sorry I'm so far behind. I'm so overwhelmed with the amount of information I should share that I can't bring myself to sit down and just write.
It'll happen soon.

So Moved

February was the longest and most transformative transition in my recent memory.

This year has been a year of growth and discovery and spontaneity. However, I've found that such things do not manifest themselves alone. Along with growth, I experience growing pains; with discovery, I lose an element of pure simplicity; with spontaneity, I find limits.
I've spent more time alone this month than I ever have before. I was not lonely, because I always had a purpose. I find that purposeless aloneness causes sadness and insecurity. But my time alone this month allowed me time to reflect and calm down. I listened to NPR while packing and cleaning, I listened to NPR as I ran errands, I listened to NPR while...
Really though, I did spend a lot of time reflecting. I'm ready now to stop reflecting about my reflections and restart having more positive experiences that induce this kind of thought.

Moving out of my apartment was such a relief. The process was painful and I'm still dealing with a crazy landlady, but changing spaces is so important. Removing myself from bad associations will allow me to have a freer mind that is more ready to relate to my community and to my surroundings.

I'm looking forward to another 3 months of growth and discovery. I don't want my actions for my last months here (and even while I'm home) to be characterized as adult actions or kid actions, but human actions. I've found that I occasionally feel uncomfortable with my own actions or thoughts because they don't fit with the construct I (might be) growing into. That was confusing...I'll keep you updated as my thoughts become more clear.

Shavua tov!

Spiritual Homework

I am fortunate enough to take many interested, inspiring, and difficult classes at Pardes. Two of these classes involve "spiritual homework." Here is a taste of my spiritual homework from Chasidut from the past two weeks:

-Try and think of the central personalities in our lives. Not the people who are distant from us (celebrities, etc.) Think of the concentric circles within our reach. Who are the people who serve as focal points. Who are they? What is their message? How do they relate to us and the world? Shouldn't we be spending more time with these people?

-The רז'נר rebbe knew what his function and role was and how to do it. Do I know what my function is in this world? Do I know how to play that role? Am I moving in that direction? Do I need to refocus? What is my function in this world? What wavelength am I broadcasting on? What are my strengths?

-Sit down and examine our potential. Am I fulfilling my potential? Am I doing everything I can? Learning? Mitzvot? Am i expanding my borders and then filling them? Do I have the spiritual strength to expand my borders? Can I sustain my expansions? If I do have it, or don't have it, am I moving on? Which sorcers of spirituality do I need to tap into? What will be the sources of my spiritual strength next year?

-Look at the two kinds of Chasidic stories. Think about your expereince and discern which stories in your life are like mircale stories and which were more like real stories. Which ones moved us subtlely? Which are the ones that made us who we are?
Come back to the stories: am I walking around with our hands over our eyes? Why don't we take our hands off our eyes? Am I one of the people whose vitality and light disappears when I leave a specific place of spirituality? Can I take that light with me?


It's a lot to think about.
Happy learning.

Change

The irony of my last post is that I no longer go through those motions. My schedule has changed and I no longer find myself passing the mirror man on Monday and Wednesdays. Instead, I now spend 10 hours at Pardes on Monday, and almost 15 hours at Pardes on Wednesday. I think it will take me another month before I find my rhythm again.


This is a time of change. The world watched Barack Hussein Obama become President Barack Hussein Obama; the recent war in Gaza killed many but may have some positive lasting effect; it's starting to feel like spring here (which is bizarre). On a more personal level, my dear roommate is leaving after a crazy and powerful 5 months. I'm going to miss her, and not just because it's been a pain in the butt to find someone to replace her in this apartment. The next four months, I believe, will be just as transformative as the past five. They will be difficult in different ways: I've found a community, but where do I fit in this community? What from all of these experiences will I take home with me? Now that I only have four months left, what do I want to focus on? Am I trying to live life in a "constant climax" )as many people my age are attempting to do)? Or am I trying to find a rhythm, a pattern, that allows me to experience a solidity that I've created? I want to think more about these questions; first, I must find a roommate. (If you know anyone who is looking for an apartment in J-lem, let me know!)

I've made friends with the new guard at Yad Byad (the bilingual school). Every morning I walk through the gate and smile at him (I learned today that his name is Guy). He asks me, "ma nishma?" (how are you?) and I respond appropriately, though I am occasionally caught off guard by his friendliness. Small talk isn't really an Israeli thing. Today I passed through the gate 6 times (the teachers at Yad Byad needed some things at the convenience store, "let's send the friar volunteer!" (trans. friar: a sucker)). Every time I walked by Guy, he was doing something different: smoking a pipe, playing saxophone, fixing a radio... The friendliness at Yad Byad is refreshing because it seems to radiate from every face and every classroom. I'm grateful to have such places in my life, even if they do send me on errands.

I started a new class this semester called "Spiritual Texts and Practices." Just so you know, if you rolled your eyes or giggled, I'm expecting that. I'm aware of the "granola crunchy" nature of my activities. Every week, we learn about, discuss and participate in a different Jewish spiritual practice. Last week, we began with quieting. One focuses on his or her breathing, attempting to clear the mind of any thought. During this stage of mental quietness, one begins to focus on a holy verse ("God is truth," or something of the kind). After binding the mind to this holy thought, one makes a bakasha, or request for some kind of character perfection. This request must be positive, not negative ("Let me have more energy" not "Make me not lazy"). After this request, one utters a holy phrase and end in singing the phrase: "הורני ה דרכיך," "Show me, Oh Gd, Your path."
After attempting this practice several times, I found that I was completely unable to focused. I was so unfocused, that I even forgot that I was meditating. I forgot the process and I could not, in any way, control my thoughts. I couldn't even sit still. I was encouraged by the fact that my mind began to clear when we began singing. Too bad the music ends the practice.

This week we are discussing love and spirituality in the community. We read Kabbalistic texts and the "Beit El Contract," both relating to the value of communal love. For our prayers to ascend to Heaven, says R. Hayyim Vital, we must concentrate on loving all of the members of our community so that our prayers "ascend, bound up with all the prayers of Israel. By this means his soul will be able to rise above and effect tikkun" (tikkun: repairing of the relationship between the lower realm and the upper realm). We refer to this communal love as "havurah," or fellowship. Reading these texts is both inspring and grounding: the beautiful words of the strong connection between a coherent and loving community and spirituality are a welcome reminder of my strongest core values and essentially why I continue to be a passionate Jew. Our homework this week is to try to incorporate the phrase "love they neighbor as yourself" "ואהבת לרעך כמוך" into our morning ritual as a reminder that we should try to love and appreciate all members of our community.

I am also taking a class on Hasidut. We learn about the great Hasidic masters and their teachings. Our spiritual homework this week: "The רג'נר rebbe knew what his function was in life and he knew how to do it. Do I know what my function is in this world? Do I know how to play that role? Am I working in that direction? Do I need to refocus? What is my function in this world? What wavelength am I broadcasting on (this is a Kabbalistic question, crazily enough)? What are my strenghts?

I hope I made you think a little bit. Or I gave you a way to clear your mind.
חודש טוב