Selichot

I am asleep, but my heart is waking, slowly
To the sound of a still, small voice
My alarm clock, going off at 3:30 in the morning
I dress slowly, try to focus, but my body longs for cool sheets and soft pillows

The streets have an eerie emptiness
Like when I arrived here
At 5 am
While everyone here was still in bed
The usually bustling, no crowded, streets of the shuk
Are totally empty
A ghost town
Like on Shabbat
But different
I feel the pulse of building energy, of anticipation

On the small balcony where my knees barely fit into the small space between the pew and the wall,
I hold my cup of hot tea
I want to be sleeping, but the music pulls me out of a waking dream
El Ado-o-n Ha-se-lee-chot

I hold my fist over my heart
The voice of my beloved is knocking
“Open to me”
But how can I?
With all of my imperfections, flaws, mistakes I have made
So many, blocking the way

Then He cries, begs
Calls me loving names, tells me I’m perfect the way I am
Each shofar call arousing His compassion
Outside, the sun rises illuminating the dew drops on the buildings
The dampness of the night still clings in the air
As we wander through the empty streets
Looking for You among the borekas and cappuccinos

Teshuva part 2

I am stumbling from the dizziness
Of this calendar It keeps going in circles
As I try to walk in a straight a line
Like in “Pin the Tail on the Donkey”
I grasp blindly in some direction
Reaching for an unknown, unseen place
To pin down the end of the story, make a complete picture

I am in the same place I was last year at this time, or a few years ago
I am listening to the same song over and over again
Going back to familiar streets, but the storefronts have changed
It is only on these same streets that I recognize the difference in my gait

A man steals because he is poor
Later, when he has sufficient means, he stops
But he has not returned to himself, walked along the path of his poverty, looked at the same hole-ridden boots and chosen to go hungry
Only then, has he returned

I wonder if things are different now
Am I different
Are these new skin cells, fingernails, hair follicles?
Or am I just a more recent copy of the original
Having collected a few footnotes and smudges along the way?

A new approach:

She tells me that repeated behaviors make tracks in our brains
The neural pathways become worn and paved
That part of the brain dies, like a footpath where grass no longer grows
Changing behavior forges new neural connections
A new path is created
For skipping, playing hopscotch, wheel-barrel races, a hike
And the brain cells grow all around
Begonias in a well-tended garden, where the weeds have been picked to make room for them to come in this year,
And next year, and the one after that.

Teshuva

Return again, return again
Return to the land of your soul (2x)

Return to who you are
Return to what you are
Return to where you are
Born and re-born again

Return again, return again
Return to the land of your soul

schoolsickness

Every time I go away from home I expect to get a bit homesick. I miss Andy, my kitchen, my bed, my bathroom, the comforts, the Tivo, Coolidge Corner, my gym, etc. The thing I was most nervous about this time was missing my school. While I do feel some longing for home and Andy, the thing that can bring a tear to my eyes in an instant right now is thinking about HC having orientation, all the new students who I won't meet until December, the shabbaton, the elul term, the teachers, my classmates.

It began on Thursday when we used Pardes's video-conferencing to talk to our class back home. They were eating breakfast. Oh--and apparently there is a new caterer who is amazing and makes eggs and hashbrowns! no fair! Anyway, there was something about seeing the 6 people back home sitting in the classroom all together and not being there that really got me. They were telling us about their schedule and just trying to find a time to have another video-conference with them reinforced just how different our experiences are going to be this semester.

I am sad to feel like I am missing out on something really amazing even though I am in Israel supposed to be having all of these great experiences. The summer was awesome, but my transition to Jerusalem has been difficult. It feels meaningless and pointless. As I sit in Cafe Hillel using their free wifi to write this blog post, I can't help but think that it isn't any different that sitting at JP Licks in Brookline--except that the menu is in Hebrew. The people around me are mostly speaking English. I just ordered a hot chocolate--okay, they made it Israeli style by melting actual chocolate in milk, but other than that, not so different.

I feel like everything hinges on the learning here. I don't have the community I want, I don't have my boyfriend, I don't have my usual comforts, but if the learning is great than it will be worth it. Still, I am worried that the learning at HC is just as good (if not better) and that there really is no point to me being here. I need to find something redemptive. I also worry that when I get back it won't feel like my school anymore with all of the new students and the collective experience of the coming semester.

As I read through the orientation materials, I couldn't help feeling like I would rather be studying with Jane and Jonah and Ebn and Or and Sharon and Allan and Natan and Dan and working on the tefilah committee and planning community time. I was really involved in a lot of the planning of orientation and shabbatonim in the past and now it feels like it is all going on without me. It is. And it sounds even better than the previous years. One thing I can say that I'm looking forward to is getting back and enjoying watching new people step into leadership roles and getting to enjoy the fruits of their labors. I just hope that my time in Israel has its rewards too.

Poems

I originally wrote these poems in Hebrew, so if they sound a bit contrived in English that's why. I'll try to upload the pdf's of the Hebrew for those of you who can read them that way

Shai (which means gift in Hebrew)

You were three when you returned to the States from Israel
I was so happy
And then it became clear to me that some things had changed between us
You weren’t “my baby” anymore
You didn’t want me to feed you a bottle and fall asleep in my arms
You had learned to speak, but in a language that I didn’t understand

So I too learned Hebrew
And you didn’t know it then, but it was a huge gift to me, Shai

You loved “boy things”
Trucks
Batman
And whenever we were driving in the car with your mom and we saw a tractor
She would say, “Shai, look what it is! A tractor!”
And you would be so happy, even if you had been crying the minute before

Now you are big, with a low voice, and if you wanted to, you could grow a beard on your face
And you’re starting university soon
And I am in disbelief

And now you are in the States
And I am in Israel
When I see a tractor, I am not happy, but scared
Because now “they are trying to push the Jews into the sea” with tractors
But after I pass it safely, I am happy, because I’m here, in Israel
And I wonder to myself: Would you be able to read this poem today?
Would you understand it?


Holy Place

They built the Tel Aviv Hilton on top of an old Arab cemetery
At least that is what our Jaffa tour guide told us
Now the tourists sleep on broken bones
But they can’t really feel them underneath the mattresses that were brought in from the U.S.

I see them, the tourists, off in the distance
But my eyes keep returning, returning
To the minaret that is in front of me
And the Arab houses that they have turned into galleries for jewelry and art

Across from the kindergarten that we destroyed there is another mosque
It’s not clear to me if people still pray there
But there is a sign next to the gate that says: “holy place.”
And if you look closely
You can see that they white-washed over the words “please don’t piss.”

I once wrote about the stones of Jerusalem--
How they are so slick from years of hands and feet on them--
Our Holy Place
And I wrote that if the tourists walk in just the right way
They will wind up with pieces of thousand-year-old souls stuck in their shoes

Today I am thinking about the souls of those whose graves lie under the Tel Aviv Hilton
I hear them screaming from inside the sewers
Mixed in with all of the piss and shit
Raging
Because someone decided that it is allowed to piss on a holy place

hirhurim (musings)

I especially love the pool at the "country club" that I joined here. I put country club in quotes, because even though that is what they call it, it's more like a cross between a really mediocre gym and a public pool. The pool is actually really lovely. The workout room (called the kosher room in Hebrew) is small and dinky. The guy who works there is hilarious. I can just picture him as a drill sergeant in the army. Every time I go there he says "tank you very much, nice to meet you" but it sounds like he's actually saying "why do I have to put up with stupid, wimpy American girls in my gym." Anyway, I like the pool.

On my way back from the pool, feeling cool and refreshed, I heard a minyan davening the kedusha. I looked up and there were about 10 men squished on a small balcony. The nusach (tune) was the same, but slightly more exotic sounding. I knew pretty quickly that it was a shiva minyan. Why else would they be davening at someone's house? Then I noticed that down on the ground level the patio was filled with people. One observation was that it must be nice not to have to worry about having a minyan of people who know how to pray. On the other hand, it was only men. In any case, I felt bad for the family and wondered who the person had been, what had happened, etc.

One interesting this about this summer has been the juxtaposition of emotions. I wouldn't call them mood swings, because my mood has stayed steadily happy. I feel like my life is going well, I'm enjoying my everyday existence and I'm feeling grounded. However, sprinkled amidst that happy mood is my recognition of the pain and suffering going on around me. The homeless men sleeping on cardboard outside the bus station, the refugees from Sudan and Eritrea who are seeking asylum in a country that doesn't really want them and is trying to segregate them into the northern and southern parts of the country, the crowded "kindergartens" of the foreign workers and just the general fatigue of the city. Noticing these things makes me sad and it's an interesting kind of sad, because it is a sympathy sadness. It is also shortlived. Again, I wouldn't describe this as a mood swing, but more as a peppering of sadness in an otherwise sweet kugel mood.

I must be getting tired. I really wanted to write about the rest of the Talmud classes with Ari which have now come to and end and the people who are leaving the program, who will be greatly missed, but that will have to wait for now. So I'll just say this: Jill, Ellie, Alissa, Billy and Meredith--may your journeys be blessed with continued learning, may you encounter people and things that challenge (makshe) you and may you have what it takes to respond to (mefarke) them. Please stay in touch.

we all have two heads-- at least

Today

Part I
Plimo asked Rabbi what the halachah would be for a person who has two heads--upon which head should that person lay his tefilin? Our Talmud Teacher, Ari, noted that this is an obvious questions, because each of us has two heads--at least. This was how he began our Talmud class. How do we deal with our own ambivalence? We can take Rabbi's approach and deny it (he told his student to get out of his classroom or be excommunicated). But ultimately it will smack us in the face. A moment after scolding his student for asking a "ridiculous" question, a man came into the Bet Midrash announcing that a baby boy had just been born with two heads and they needed to know much money to give the Cohen for the pidyon haben. This story is so much of our story. It is the story of Jewish texts--the notion of makhloket (argument/dispute) that is so central to Rabbinic Judaism. It is a story of pedagogy and the need to learn from our students, give them the benefit of the doubt, and engage their questions. It is a story of internal struggle and our personal and collective psychology. It is the story of the "other"-- the person who we do not imagine in our midst or the person we ignore until we can no longer. I'm sure there is more, but I'll stop there for now. I'll just say one personal note: I often find myself in Rabbi's position. Wanting to banish ambivalence from my life and pretend that in my small sanctuary of reason all is clear. But today, after hearing about many of the difficult lives that foreign workers and refugees must face here in Israel, I wondered briefly if becoming a rabbi is the best way for me to do tikkun in the world. Does the overlap of my skills and where there is a need point to me staying on this path? I didn't banish this thought from my mind immediately. I considered it. Allowed it to sit in the Bet Midrash of my mind for awhile. Maybe I'll let it sit there a little longer. It's worth letting it be there, if for no other reason, than that it keeps the conversation interesting.

Part 2
Why Israel is good for me:
A few days ago everyone was asking me if I was exciting about coming to Israel, and to those with whom I felt I could be slightly more honest, I admitted that actually, not really. I didn't want to go. So why did I? Everyone was convinced I could have convinced my school that I didn't need to spend more time in Israel. After all, I already did my year in Israel. My reason was that I thought it would be good for me. I didn't know what I meant by that. But I figured that it would be like eating canned spinach--might not taste so great, but ultimately would give me huge muscles. Today I fell in love with Israel again, but for a completely different reason than in the past. This time it is about the people. I have always loved the Land of Israel and the culture to a certain extent, but this is the first time that I am interacting with Israelis in a semi-professional realm, getting to know Israelis my age who share my values and living in a part of Israel that is not dominated by Anglo culture. I'm sure this is a special group of people, but they are really amazing. They are creative and energetic. They are caring and thoughtful. They are deeply invested in their society, in taking care to build the kind of Israel they want to see. This is not meant to be a scientific statement, but if I were to summarize my observations I would say that I left a culture of consuming and landed in a culture of building, maintaining and constantly repairing the society. Don't get me wrong, Tel Aviv has its consumerist side. But that is not the motivation for life. That is not the mentality. People do not wait around for someone to offer them something. They are builders. In that sense, the Labor Zionist's ideals have really influenced Israeli society. I may be making some gross generalizations based on only two days of observations, but hey, it's better than the usual generalizations people make about Israelis. I feel really proud of Israel today. Not because she is a Jewish state with kosher food where I can flee if someday a crazy person decides to try to wipe out my people again, but because of the Jewish values that are steeped in the society.

Part 3
Beware of the Sabra--I'm not talking about a native-born Israeli, I'm talking about the fruit. You would think I would have known. I'm not new to this place. But I thought the pointy things were just on the cactus plant, not on the fruit itself. And it looked innocent enough. And when I picked it up it didn't hurt me. But my roommate yelled "quick, put it down!" She seemed to be overreacting. I didn't feel anything. As we sat eating figs and watermelon, she explained, "they have thin invisible spiky things that get into your skin and sting." Apparently you don't feel it right away. But a few minutes later I was tweezing my hand trying to get the little buggers out. But they are invisible. And too tiny for the tweezer.

Park 4
Too much happens here in one day to process everything, but it is especially tough when one of the things that needs to be processed involves senseless violence. Apparently some people think the best way to terrorize the Jews is to bulldoze Jerusalem. I was really skeptical the first time that it was a terrorist. I thought perhaps maybe the man was just crazy. I still think he might have been. But this seems to have been done with the intention to cause terror. What a stupid thing to do. 25 people were injured for no reason. This is not going to help the Palestinian cause. Instead, as I learned today, Israel will just stop allowing Palestinians to work in Israel. They will hire more foreign workers. And if you want to hear about human rights violations, just look into that whole system. It's too depressing to think about. Hurt. Death. Slavery. When will we learn?

Park 5
I have to end with something uplifting. At the end of this f***ing crazy day, I helped a friend think about possible names for his soon to be born child. He wanted a Hebrew name that doesn't sound geeky. Isn't that sweet! I can't wait to meet you piloni.

hairdryers are weird

I am totally jetlagged, but wanted to hang out with my friend and classmate Eliana. So she came in from Hod Hasharon and we went to the Azrieli center. We went to the top (50th floor) that has a panorama view. You can see not only all of Tel Aviv, but many of the surrounding cities. We could make out Herzilya's chof pituach pretty easily and in the distance we could see Netanya. We grabbed a lunch of Tosteem (panini) in the food court and then proceeded to walk around and talk about stuff. We got some coffee to try to help my jetlag. It had it's usual effect of making me punchy, but still really tired. Then we began the quest for a hairdryer. I owned an Israeli hairdryer last time I lived here, but I only used it once so I got rid of it. Still, for some reason, I feel like I will use it this time and that I really NEED it. We went to Super-Pharm, but they didn't have any. We went to an electronics store. The cheapest one they had was 200 shekels--a little more than $50. I told Eliana there was no way I was going to spend that much on a hair dryer. I'm pretty sure I paid about $5 for the one I have at home. Eliana spent the next 10 minutes asking just about everyone if they knew where we could get a cheap hairdryer and pointing at the silly American. "Hairdryers are so weird" she told me. Weird? I mean, they are everywhere in the US. You don't even have to take one with you when you go on vacation because hotels all have them. But most Israeli women can't be bothered with blowing out their hair and besides its usually too hot. Instead the prevailing custom is to shower and tight, roll your hair up in a bun and go to sleep with it wet. In the morning, you have nice waves that roll down your back. That doesn't work so well with chin-length half-aryan hair. So we went to the Mashbir (which I accented on the first syllable which made Eliana laugh because she said it reminded her of Sol Schimmel's makpid on time). The Mashbir is an Israeli department store. They had one for 100 shekels but they were all out of it. The next cheapest was 200 shekels. Given that I really feel like I need a hairdryer I bought it. Maybe hairdryers are weird, but Israelis seem to view them as a highly valued object--or at least one they can get a lot of money for.

I'm off to Israel again

In about 18 days I'll be heading to Israel again. This time the plan is to stay for 5 months. So, I thought I'd renew my blogging as a means of communicating some of my experiences with my dearest, although not nearest. Here are some initial thoughts to get the ball rolling:

How I started packing

If only the creativity and sheer power of will that went into today’s terrorist attack in Israel could be harnessed and used for good. An Arab Israeli, or perhaps a Palestinian, the reporters either do not know his status or cannot differentiate between the two—drove a tractor into oncoming traffic on Derech Yafo in Jerusalem. Ironically, or perhaps just coincidentally, a similar incident happened a few weeks ago just a block away from where I live in Brookline--only it wasn’t a terrorist attack, just a freak accident. Or at least that was the assumption. Whereas in Israel the assumption was that the perpetrator who “deliberately,” according to multiple news sources, drove his tractor into oncoming traffic shouting allah hu akbar, God is great, intended his actions to strike fear in the hearts and minds of the Jewish citizens of the city. I don’t know what to make of some of the disturbing footage I saw. As usual, I am craving more factual information, finding most of it filtered through some pretty thick lenses and at the same time not wanting to even deal with that part of my reaction. Of course, whether it was indeed an act intended to create terror, I am filled with dread picturing myself there in a few weeks, never knowing if someone might decide to “instill fear” at my expense.

Another coincidence: last night I could not sleep. Probably because I drank 5 cups of Pu-Ehr tea earlier that day, but it also meant my anxieties were running high. Flipping channels I came across a Christian network that I have seen before. Their entire show consists of fundraising for Israel and talking about their support of Israel as the Jewish homeland. They use interesting means of getting their message across. At one point they had on an Israeli man who was actually pretty moderate, but they kept trying to get him to say how important it is not to give up any of the land in exchange for peace. Then they had a segment on terrorism. They showed bloody scenes of suicide bombings and an interview with a young woman who had lived through one. She described her experience in unnecessarily gruesome detail. When she began talking about reaching up and feeling something wet on her neck and realizing it was blood I had to change the channel. I’ve been having enough nightmares about terrorist attacks in Israel as is.

Sometimes when I’m very angry with someone I love very much, I feel like I’m physically being pulled in two directions. Half of me wants to run out the door screaming, “I hate you and never want to be around you again” and the other half of me wants to run up to the person and hug them for a very long time. Often, hugging someone I love for a long time when I’m very angry will eventually cause the anger to dissipate. Similarly, when I hear about a terrorist attack in Israel I feel so scared that I want to stay as far away as possible forever and at the same time I feel especially drawn to it, as if I can just give Jerusalem a long hug and then feel less afraid. It is true that when I am there the fear takes on a different form. Rather than feeling overtly anxious and scared, I walk through the streets of Jerusalem feeling nervousness mixed with a sense of resolve. I say to myself: I’m here and there is nothing I can do to guarantee my safety so I am going to just live as if everything is normal. And for the most part it feels normal.

So today, after my initial feelings of anger about what happened and how it was being reported and worries about my own safety, I longed for that reconnection. I read through the packing checklist in my Year in Israel handbook, made my own packing list and highlighted things I need to buy using the Microsoft Word highlight feature. I imagined myself there and thought about what I might need. I began, in other words, to mentally connect. Despite my reservations, I renewed my commitment to going to Israel. Hug. I do feel a little less scared.