It is the week of Tisha B'Av, and I am sitting in my living room in Newton, MA thinking about the big world around me. Here in Newton, there are newspapers on the kitchen table every morning. I feel far more connected to everything. This isn't to say that when I'm in Israel I don't read the news, but I guess so much of the news there is consumed with internal events and issues that everything else gets stuck in small print at the bottom.
I am also thinking about how history has just slipped by. If not for facebook, I would have forgotten that the evacuation (I paused when I typed that, because how can I really choose one word?) of Gush Katif took place around this time four years ago. I was thinking about it fairly recently when it was discussed at a conference I went to on Trauma and Early Childhood. But I forget that it happened in the heat of the summer, in the month of Av.
What really surprised me was that I was forgetting about the Second Lebanon War, just three years ago. I'm adjusting to a new schedule where the semester doesn't end until the end of June, or really does not end at all, I'm basically vacationing (slash writing papers) for a few weeks, and I forget what period of the year we're in. But how can I forget the war happening? I was in Maryland for the summer and had acquired a TV. My roommate and I sat watching the news for several days. When Tisha B'Av came and we were bored at the end of the day, we figured that watching bombs fall on our homeland did not count as being entertained by the TV.
Last year I wrote about how difficult it often is for me to experience Tisha B'Av. I think the Tisha B'Av that year, during the war, finally hit home for once. In just a few weeks I was leaving for two weeks in Israel for my brother's wedding. I knew that the war wouldn't really impact my trip, but it was pretty daunting what could be going on while I was there (it ended about a week before my arrival). When I got to Israel I witnessed the effects of war on a people. I was volunteering in a soup kitchen and several people who came were essentially displaced persons from the North. It was one of those "reality hitting home" moments, appropriate for Tisha B'Av, when I remembered that while we have Israel, there's still plenty to fight for.
Facebook is also reminding me of the most powerful moment of that war-- when my roommate and I saw on the news that Michael Levin had been killed in battle. I had no idea who he was at the time aside from him being American, but I quickly learned that his twin sister was a few years ahead of me at UMD. The following year on Yom Hazikaron, the UMD memorial service was centered around Michael. His sister Dara spoke along with several of his friends. The looks on their faces and tears in their eyes is seared in my memory forever. It put a face on the war, on what happens in Israel far too often. Since then I am amazed at how few degrees of separation I am from Michael. Everyone seems to have known him. Whenever his name appears in my news feed my world shrinks immediately.
I am currently writing a paper about secondary traumatization, or "what happens when the helpers get hurt." It's all about experiencing traumatic events through other people and the effects it can have on the listener or people close to the victim. Secondary Traumatic Stress Disorder is considered an occupational hazard for helping professionals (therapists, firemen, teachers). It is obviously something undesirable. On the other hand, thinking about the phenomenon of STSD is getting me to think about how to experience Tisha B'Av. Tisha B'Av is a day of communal mourning, but not all of us feel the same traumatic effects of tragedies that have happened to the Jewish people and to Israel. I think part of getting together on Tisha B'Av to say kinot is to work through each other to feel the meaning of the day and look forward towards a better future.
I know that all I have to do is think about Dara Levin speaking about her brother that first Yom Hazikaron, and the tears on my friends' faces as they planted a tree on the Hillel lawn in his memory. But I'm also thinking about the new Michael Levin z"l Center for Lone Soldiers which I know will help a lot of my friends, while I wish with all my heart that (even though it's really like camp and you're all a bunch of children) one day soon there won't need to be an army that so many of my friends will be called to serve in.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Katamon through the eyes of a 15 year old, and getting ready to move on
For the four years I was in high school, my brother was in college. About twice a year I would spend shabbat with him at Brandeis and have a blast hanging out with the "big kids." All his friends got to know me pretty well. I was (and still am) simply the coolest little sister ever.
Last week I got to host Tess. Tess, who is now 15, is the first kid I ever babysat for. I've known her and her brother for fourteen years. Even before I officially babysat for the kids I would go over all the time on shabbat afternoons. So when Tess asked if she could stay with me before going to camp up North, I was pretty excited. As the youngest in my family, I never got to play big sister the way my siblings did at college. The difference? When I visited Brandeis I was hanging out with people five years older than me, at a familiar place, and only twenty minutes from my house. Tess survived a shabbat full of meals and parties with people fifteen years older. To put that in other mathematical terms, they're twice her age. Add on top of that being 6,000 miles away from home, in a totally unfamiliar place, and in an environment she knew nothing of... I would say she was pretty brave (not knowing that she would need to be).
Now, Tess is a pretty smart kid. Of course this isn't surprising because I taught her most of what she knows. I gave her as much background info about this place as I could: most people are twice your age, some are creepy and some aren't, etc. It was funny hearing her reactions, how she picked up on certain situations between various couples and groups of people, and how she perceived the overall madness of a bunch of 25-35 year old single people thrown together in the phenomenon that is the Jerusalem social scene. It was humorous and only slightly disturbing when she talked about dilemmas interacting with boys her age and I informed her that fifteen years from now nothing will have changed. My favorite moments were when I encouraged her to stop by the "housecooling" party on Mendele (sometimes you need to take advantage of opportunities to see things) and prefaced it with "Remember those times I let you stay up late as long as you promised not to tell your parents? Well this is like one of those times, except this time you really can't say anything." The other favorite moment was when she said the funniest thing ever. "It's not, like, that these guys are so old, it's like... they should just be married already." Oh Tess, how much they would all agree with you. Anyway, I would say besides her getting lost twice within the first ten minutes of me letting her out of my sight and almost winding up in the gay pride parade, I was an excellent hostess and a paragon of virtue in every way.
And now back to the real world. Classes are over. My Hebrew final is over. I went to an interesting conference about trauma and early childhood. I only got bored in the middle of one session and retired to the napping room (it's so nice and empty these days). I have two more finals and five papers to get started on, but can't even imagine starting on any of that until I get over the next big hurdle in my life: moving. I have the keys to my new apartment. My landlord was ridiculously obsessive about having it painted and cleaned perfectly for us. Ilene, my new roommate, arrives on aliyah on Tuesday. I have some stuff moved in and my movers are coming Monday. I was on hold three times with the electric company before successfully switching the account into my name. I spent over an hour waiting at the municipality to put the apartment in our names, and tomorrow I take on the water company. My room is full of incredibly heavy boxes (movers here are like superheros- I don't know how they do it) and tomorrow I'm going to check out a fridge. Lisa is running around the apartment getting her stuff ready for movers coming tomorrow morning. And Harriet just plopped down next to me and started cleaning herself. Some things haven't changed... yet.
Last night Elie and Yoel (and Clive) came for dinner, as usual. This morning we davenned, also as usual, at the 8:45 Chovevei minyan and stuck around for kiddush. Alissa and I decided that next week we'll brave Ramban together. We even shook on it. Probably in two weeks we'll be back at Chovevei. It's not THAT much farther. Two weeks ago we celebrated Yoel and Alissa's engagement with an oneg (I'm not sure we could have moved out of this apartment before that happened) and last week we had one last hurrah with a seudat shlishit. And somehow out of our 20 or so guests only 3 or 4 were female. Yeah, that's our friends for you.
I don't feel a need to get all nostalgic and list all the things I loved about living here and with these roommates, and list everything I'm going to miss. Besides Harriet the Spy. I will miss the cute little par-par. Even though she's still sitting next to me cleaning her butt. As I said in the last post, it's amazing at how where you wind up living effects so much else. I felt the same way after graduating from UMD. I went there on a whim (okay, not quite a whim, but lets not get into that) and I can't imagine my life now without those friends and experiences. We decided to live in this apartment because it was the best deal with found. We had no idea who was living around the corner from here. Ted's kiddushs were something of a legend to everyone else but us. Elie and Yoel became our regular guests, and now my roommate is engaged to Yoel. I'm only moving a mile or so away. A 35 minute walk, tops. But this was my first home in Israel, and this is where I built my life here.
Now it's time for the next chapter, as we're calling it. New apartment, new roommate, new adventures, no cat. And I'm excited. I hate change. I handle change really, really badly. But it's going to be good. And in three weeks I'm going to the US for a month so my real start in the new place will be after being in the US and not straight from living here. And to my roommates- once a roommate, always a roommate. You join the ranks of some of the coolest people ever. Lisa- we met on August 20, 2002, spent 4 years planning our aliyah, and 5 years after that date made aliyah together. I think that's pretty neat. Then we found Alissa, and together the three of us braved the Jerusalem social scene for two years. We spent hours pondering the social dynamics and other mysteries of this place, and probably came up with nothing useful and conclusive. Except for getting Alissa engaged. Now I'll live with someone new to the scene and when she brings these issues up I can be like "oh that, we went through that last December, and sorry to say the situation is totally hopeless." How fun will that be?
That Par-Par is still next to me, and is now asleep. Furry ball of love. And I think that's the perfect way to end this blog entry.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Getting anything at all done in Israel: It's as easy as hoping the person you're dealing with woke up on the right side of the bed
Doing the paperwork to transfer a foreign license here is relatively easy (this is the part that happens before they fail you for no apparent reason, but that's a separate issue). You go to one of two optometrists in the city for an eye test and to receive a form. You then need a doctor to sign it. Then you bring it to Israel's version of the DMV with your Teudat Oleh and your license. This worked perfectly fine the first time. Then my teacher lost my form and it took two months for him to successfully tell me this (because all my contact information was on the form he lost).
Doing it all again was time-consuming, but not such a big deal. I got the form from the optometrist when I happened to be in town, and I needed a doctors appointment anyway. The tricky part was going to the Misrad HaRishui (DMV). They are open every morning and two afternoons a week. I first went in the afternoon before my babysitting job which isn't too far from the place.
After a reasonable 30 minute wait the woman behind the desk I was called up to turned to her co-worker and asked "Do we process these things during afternoon hours?" The co-worker said no. Now, these are the same people who work there in the mornings. Okay, whatever, no patience to argue. I leave.
Today after a successful morning working out arnona (property tax- paid by renters) with my roommates and getting paperwork at Bituach Leumi (national insurance bureau) to then go back to the municipality and claim I'm poor so I can get a discount on arnona I set out back towards Talpiot for an interview at an amazing gan. More on that later, if I get the job.
The interview went great and better yet it was over just after 11 so I had plenty of time to go back to the Misrad HaRishui to try again. I took a number and with 80 people in front of me I went across the street to do grocery shopping. I came back with 40 people left to go and within a reasonable amount of time it was my turn. I happily handed over the required paperwork. Or so I thought. "This license was issued after you made aliyah." "I know." "We need one issued before." "But that one expired and I have a new one." "Where's the old one?" "I have no freakin' idea." "You need to bring us something that says you had an older license.
UGH. Just when I was about to freak out at having to figure out what country my old license is in I remembered that I had a photocopy of it which I thought I needed the first time around (months ago). I even thought of bringing it today but then thought "That's silly, it's expired." I wasn't allowed to bring the wine I got into the building. Maybe they think it will be used as a weapon. Gee, I wonder why? I have no idea when I will have time to go there again.
In other news, I'm moving to Baka in 4-5 weeks. My new apartment is on Ben Yefuneh, down the street from where Ulpan Etzion used to be. The apartment is perfectly located near the good supermarkets and two blocks away from my bus to campus and my roommate's bus to the new Ulpan Etzion. I can't believe I am about to move out of my first home in Israel, and away from my first roommates in Israel (yes Harriet the Spy, you too). It's amazing how many things happened the way they did because of the area I lived in, who I see at shul, and who I run into on the streets. You know what I'm referring to. And if you don't, maybe I'll tell you one day. The new apartment isn't so far but it's going to be a whole new world for me. But come visit. I even got a couch for people to sit on. There might even be enough for for you to stretch out your feet, if you aren't too tall.
The next few weeks holds much excitement. Besides moving, I have a bunch of friends being sworn into the army next week, a kid I used to babysit for (starting when she was 1, 14 years ago) is coming to stay with me, I will sort of be done with my first year of graduate school (except for the 3 finals and 5 papers) and I have lots of friends coming to Israel in July (some even to stay!). And then I might go to the US for a month. Who knows?
I have some things to say about politics. And a piece about the social scene. I think I'll save them for later. Though later might be ten minutes from now.
Doing it all again was time-consuming, but not such a big deal. I got the form from the optometrist when I happened to be in town, and I needed a doctors appointment anyway. The tricky part was going to the Misrad HaRishui (DMV). They are open every morning and two afternoons a week. I first went in the afternoon before my babysitting job which isn't too far from the place.
After a reasonable 30 minute wait the woman behind the desk I was called up to turned to her co-worker and asked "Do we process these things during afternoon hours?" The co-worker said no. Now, these are the same people who work there in the mornings. Okay, whatever, no patience to argue. I leave.
Today after a successful morning working out arnona (property tax- paid by renters) with my roommates and getting paperwork at Bituach Leumi (national insurance bureau) to then go back to the municipality and claim I'm poor so I can get a discount on arnona I set out back towards Talpiot for an interview at an amazing gan. More on that later, if I get the job.
The interview went great and better yet it was over just after 11 so I had plenty of time to go back to the Misrad HaRishui to try again. I took a number and with 80 people in front of me I went across the street to do grocery shopping. I came back with 40 people left to go and within a reasonable amount of time it was my turn. I happily handed over the required paperwork. Or so I thought. "This license was issued after you made aliyah." "I know." "We need one issued before." "But that one expired and I have a new one." "Where's the old one?" "I have no freakin' idea." "You need to bring us something that says you had an older license.
UGH. Just when I was about to freak out at having to figure out what country my old license is in I remembered that I had a photocopy of it which I thought I needed the first time around (months ago). I even thought of bringing it today but then thought "That's silly, it's expired." I wasn't allowed to bring the wine I got into the building. Maybe they think it will be used as a weapon. Gee, I wonder why? I have no idea when I will have time to go there again.
In other news, I'm moving to Baka in 4-5 weeks. My new apartment is on Ben Yefuneh, down the street from where Ulpan Etzion used to be. The apartment is perfectly located near the good supermarkets and two blocks away from my bus to campus and my roommate's bus to the new Ulpan Etzion. I can't believe I am about to move out of my first home in Israel, and away from my first roommates in Israel (yes Harriet the Spy, you too). It's amazing how many things happened the way they did because of the area I lived in, who I see at shul, and who I run into on the streets. You know what I'm referring to. And if you don't, maybe I'll tell you one day. The new apartment isn't so far but it's going to be a whole new world for me. But come visit. I even got a couch for people to sit on. There might even be enough for for you to stretch out your feet, if you aren't too tall.
The next few weeks holds much excitement. Besides moving, I have a bunch of friends being sworn into the army next week, a kid I used to babysit for (starting when she was 1, 14 years ago) is coming to stay with me, I will sort of be done with my first year of graduate school (except for the 3 finals and 5 papers) and I have lots of friends coming to Israel in July (some even to stay!). And then I might go to the US for a month. Who knows?
I have some things to say about politics. And a piece about the social scene. I think I'll save them for later. Though later might be ten minutes from now.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
My Many Talents
I am Hebrew-Composition-BSer extraordinaire. Every other week I am supposed to choose from a list of 15 topics, of which, for some reason, at least half have to do with politics, and write something like sixteen sentences in Hebrew about it. The teacher then marks up the composition with a series of cryptic symbols for us to interpret so we can revise our work and hand it back in two weeks later. This morning I wrote about whether or not politics interest me. I don't know how much of what I wrote I actually believe but hey, as long as I have something to hand in. Why should my one page assignments be any different than my ten page ones?
I am also very cranky. I've been tired and lacking in energy and can't figure out why. And I went to five parties in the past five days. And my teacher confronted me (nicely) after class and asked if I was falling asleep because I didn't understand what she was talking about. I wasn't about to tell her that I don't think anything concrete is actually discussed in the class. Instead, in my expert I-now-know-how-Israelis-really-talk Hebrew responded "סתם, אני עייפה" ("I'm just tired"). I successfully stayed awake in the following class. I've been feeling really self-conscious about my head lobbing forward when I space out and get sleepy. It rarely has anything to do with the class. Probably has more to do with spending my days sitting through hour and a half long classes. I also noticed that I only doze off when my classmates are speaking. Probably because they just like hearing the sound of their voice. A note about my classmates though- my going away reminded them how fascinating I am in their eyes. They were eager to hear about where I'm from and then asked the famous question of "So we're glad you're here, but why in the world did you leave?" איך אומרים brainwash בעברית? Yes, I really responded that. I should probably come up with the Hebrew to be a bit more thorough in these conversations.
Back to the five parties in five days. Not surprisingly, this was all really overwhelming for me. Each party had its perks though. The first one was a fellow UMD grad celebrating his recent official declaration of aliyah. I pretty much only spoke to other UMD grads. It's sort of like my safety zone. No shtick, no small talk-- just shmoozing. The second one was a kiddush hosted by someone in Katamon in honor of his birthday. Same old. Feel free to refer to past postings for that. Well same old except for the game I mistakenly encouraged a friend to play. Mental note: Do not encourage a married person to get drunk and hit on random guys. She may take you seriously, and that's just wrong. The third party was in Nachlaot. I had never been to Nachlaot so this was more of an adventure, and I was happy to find two friends to at least somewhat willingly be dragged along as wingmen, and that they were friends equally weary about stepping foot in Nachlaot. We survived. I spoke to one person about plans to play catch and other stories from the weekend. I had no desire to attempt conversation with anybody else. If I had, this is pretty much how it would go:
me: Hey, how've you been?
person: Good, and you?
me: Pretty good.
person: How was the US?
me: It was great (depending on my mood, may add in cynical comment about how it was
wonderful and I should have never left)
person: Cool. I read your status updates.
me: That's wonderful.
[awkward backing up and both of us moving on to have exact sort of conversation with someone else]
At the third party I just spoke to the person next to me. We both went to UMD and didn't really know each other there, but now we have been to the same four parties in five days (among other events) and manage to have conversations that go beyond "You're in grad school, right? I know I use this as a conversation starter every time we talk but it's just easier this way."
And it is easier. I totally appreciate that. And I'm glad there are these constant parties with the same people because each time I have more people to say hi to and besides random encounters on shabbat or shabbat meals I have to face the facts: unless I make plans with people, this is when I'm going to see them. Making plans is tricky because everyone has different schedules I don't know about and... okay fine, I'm a wimp and even if I'm sure I'll have a super awesome time going out for ice cream with a few people I don't make the phonecalls. Is that reason for me not to have the right to complain? Eh, maybe. There's definitely more to overcome.
A few weeks ago when I was on my way from the airport to College Park I called my friend to let him know I was almost there. "We're going to a church rummage sale. Get here soon." This sounded perfectly normal to me, and we did in fact go to a church rummage sale. I wanted to buy something small but noticeable to have on an end table or something here in Israel and when someone commented on it I could casually say "Oh that, I got that a church rummage sale. Wonderful deal." Sadly I did not find anything worthy. Sometimes I wonder if in my post-college life I'm supposed to do more sophisticated things and not be as goofy. Maybe I get frustrated because I'm supposed to be different, or maybe because I am different and haven't figured out yet how I've changed.
In either case it upsets me that possibly except for the people who have been over for meals and seen my train set and read my picture books, or have asked questions about my interests beyond explaining what my degree is in, I still feel unknown. Not so much understood. When someone hears that I was so happy when I finally had the chance to go down that huge slide at Gan Sakker I have no reason to think they won't understand what I'm talking about (even if they don't admit it). I also used to be hopelessly optimistic about almost everything. Consider that for a moment.
The fifth party was last night in honor of Lag Ba'Omer. There was a decent bonfire and huge amounts of people. The party was in honor of a bunch of friends going into the army this week. While I was totally party-ed out, I felt it was a worthy cause for celebration. A few of them were guys I met pretty soon after making aliyah, and I know that finally starting the army is really important to them. So I went. But this time, I carefully selected who I was going to talk to. That basically meant I spoke to the few people I hadn't seen at at least one of the past four parties. I also targeted (wow, that word seems so wrong here) people I thought I could have conversations with that went beyond the script posted above. I think I was somewhat successful, but like in any social situation you don't always get to choose the people you talk to. I'm not trying to insult everyone else. Really. It just sounds that way. But last night I learned some important things about myself (and probably others picked up on it as well).
When I get socially overwhelmed, I am very good at getting cranky. When I get cranky, I can be more cynical. Add being tired and frustrated on top of that and I might border on being rude. I apologize to anyone who suffered because of that. Another thing to know is that when I get that cranky I need to unwind, and unwinding might involve spending an hour sitting in the park blowing bubbles. I am starting to seriously wonder how to present myself to my "new world" the way I want to be known and understood so that maybe the script can become an ancient blog entry. So lets start with that. Blowing bubbles is relaxing. I plan to partake in that activity in the near future. If you can appreciate that, that's awesome- lets talk. If not, we'll stick with the script. But I'd really rather not.
I am also very cranky. I've been tired and lacking in energy and can't figure out why. And I went to five parties in the past five days. And my teacher confronted me (nicely) after class and asked if I was falling asleep because I didn't understand what she was talking about. I wasn't about to tell her that I don't think anything concrete is actually discussed in the class. Instead, in my expert I-now-know-how-Israelis-really-talk Hebrew responded "סתם, אני עייפה" ("I'm just tired"). I successfully stayed awake in the following class. I've been feeling really self-conscious about my head lobbing forward when I space out and get sleepy. It rarely has anything to do with the class. Probably has more to do with spending my days sitting through hour and a half long classes. I also noticed that I only doze off when my classmates are speaking. Probably because they just like hearing the sound of their voice. A note about my classmates though- my going away reminded them how fascinating I am in their eyes. They were eager to hear about where I'm from and then asked the famous question of "So we're glad you're here, but why in the world did you leave?" איך אומרים brainwash בעברית? Yes, I really responded that. I should probably come up with the Hebrew to be a bit more thorough in these conversations.
Back to the five parties in five days. Not surprisingly, this was all really overwhelming for me. Each party had its perks though. The first one was a fellow UMD grad celebrating his recent official declaration of aliyah. I pretty much only spoke to other UMD grads. It's sort of like my safety zone. No shtick, no small talk-- just shmoozing. The second one was a kiddush hosted by someone in Katamon in honor of his birthday. Same old. Feel free to refer to past postings for that. Well same old except for the game I mistakenly encouraged a friend to play. Mental note: Do not encourage a married person to get drunk and hit on random guys. She may take you seriously, and that's just wrong. The third party was in Nachlaot. I had never been to Nachlaot so this was more of an adventure, and I was happy to find two friends to at least somewhat willingly be dragged along as wingmen, and that they were friends equally weary about stepping foot in Nachlaot. We survived. I spoke to one person about plans to play catch and other stories from the weekend. I had no desire to attempt conversation with anybody else. If I had, this is pretty much how it would go:
me: Hey, how've you been?
person: Good, and you?
me: Pretty good.
person: How was the US?
me: It was great (depending on my mood, may add in cynical comment about how it was
wonderful and I should have never left)
person: Cool. I read your status updates.
me: That's wonderful.
[awkward backing up and both of us moving on to have exact sort of conversation with someone else]
At the third party I just spoke to the person next to me. We both went to UMD and didn't really know each other there, but now we have been to the same four parties in five days (among other events) and manage to have conversations that go beyond "You're in grad school, right? I know I use this as a conversation starter every time we talk but it's just easier this way."
And it is easier. I totally appreciate that. And I'm glad there are these constant parties with the same people because each time I have more people to say hi to and besides random encounters on shabbat or shabbat meals I have to face the facts: unless I make plans with people, this is when I'm going to see them. Making plans is tricky because everyone has different schedules I don't know about and... okay fine, I'm a wimp and even if I'm sure I'll have a super awesome time going out for ice cream with a few people I don't make the phonecalls. Is that reason for me not to have the right to complain? Eh, maybe. There's definitely more to overcome.
A few weeks ago when I was on my way from the airport to College Park I called my friend to let him know I was almost there. "We're going to a church rummage sale. Get here soon." This sounded perfectly normal to me, and we did in fact go to a church rummage sale. I wanted to buy something small but noticeable to have on an end table or something here in Israel and when someone commented on it I could casually say "Oh that, I got that a church rummage sale. Wonderful deal." Sadly I did not find anything worthy. Sometimes I wonder if in my post-college life I'm supposed to do more sophisticated things and not be as goofy. Maybe I get frustrated because I'm supposed to be different, or maybe because I am different and haven't figured out yet how I've changed.
In either case it upsets me that possibly except for the people who have been over for meals and seen my train set and read my picture books, or have asked questions about my interests beyond explaining what my degree is in, I still feel unknown. Not so much understood. When someone hears that I was so happy when I finally had the chance to go down that huge slide at Gan Sakker I have no reason to think they won't understand what I'm talking about (even if they don't admit it). I also used to be hopelessly optimistic about almost everything. Consider that for a moment.
The fifth party was last night in honor of Lag Ba'Omer. There was a decent bonfire and huge amounts of people. The party was in honor of a bunch of friends going into the army this week. While I was totally party-ed out, I felt it was a worthy cause for celebration. A few of them were guys I met pretty soon after making aliyah, and I know that finally starting the army is really important to them. So I went. But this time, I carefully selected who I was going to talk to. That basically meant I spoke to the few people I hadn't seen at at least one of the past four parties. I also targeted (wow, that word seems so wrong here) people I thought I could have conversations with that went beyond the script posted above. I think I was somewhat successful, but like in any social situation you don't always get to choose the people you talk to. I'm not trying to insult everyone else. Really. It just sounds that way. But last night I learned some important things about myself (and probably others picked up on it as well).
When I get socially overwhelmed, I am very good at getting cranky. When I get cranky, I can be more cynical. Add being tired and frustrated on top of that and I might border on being rude. I apologize to anyone who suffered because of that. Another thing to know is that when I get that cranky I need to unwind, and unwinding might involve spending an hour sitting in the park blowing bubbles. I am starting to seriously wonder how to present myself to my "new world" the way I want to be known and understood so that maybe the script can become an ancient blog entry. So lets start with that. Blowing bubbles is relaxing. I plan to partake in that activity in the near future. If you can appreciate that, that's awesome- lets talk. If not, we'll stick with the script. But I'd really rather not.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
My Step-by-Step Guide to a Day in Paris
1) Book a flight with a 12 hour layover in Paris.
2) Have a friend coincidentally have the same flight to Paris, but with only a 4 hour layover.
3) Get the idea in said friend's head that 4 hours might possibly be enough time to maybe go into the city, see the Eiffel Tower, and get back to the airport in time.
4) Leave the friend alone during the flight to allow him or her to develop this idea on his or her own.
5) Upon arrival in Paris, don't say anything that suggests you truly think it's a crazy idea.
6) Spend an hour wandering around the terminal searching for the bus that supposedly goes to somewhere a short distance from the Eiffel Tower.
7) Fail to find the bus, and get on another bus instead. Bus ride should take longer than expected.
8) Enjoy your friend's company on the bus despite the friend starting to freak out that this was a bad idea.
9) Get off at the Opera House.
10) Get yelled at by a French guy in his car who claims you interrupted his friends to have them take your picture.
11) Say farewell to your friend as they get back on the bus a total of ten minutes later to go back to the airport.
12) Spend the day wandering around Paris, in and around museums, checking out all the highly inappropriate artwork that the city has to offer. Take pictures of your favorite stuffed animal in compromising positions with the statues.
13) Eat at a restaurant that makes their own pasta and tomato sauce.
14) Walk the long way to the Eiffel Tower because you'd think it would stick up over the skyline and we easy to walk towards. You will be very wrong about this.
15) After going up the Eiffel Tower take a cab to the Arc de Triumphe where the bus you planned on taking from the airport supposedly has a spot. Spend ten minutes wandering around looking for it and getting absolutely no help from the generally unfriendly French policemen and other locals.
16) Get in yet another cab to get back to the Opera House.
17) Arrive at the gate 5 minutes before boarding.
18) Pass out on the plane from being on your feet for 12 hours straight.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
ונאמר לפניו שירה חדשה
I have been putting off writing this blog entry because I've been swamped with shopping sprees, playdates with the cousins, and general holiday craziness. But tonight, when I am wired from a yom tov nap and can sleep late tomorrow while the rest of my family goes to shul for one last round, I have the time and energy to reflect on Pesach this year. I once again (see my entry from last year) spent the second seder reading comments in the haggadah since I had no real need to say every word of the text. Just like last year, I used the "הלילה הזה" haggadah. It is highly recommended, and nearly all the comments I'm about to make come from things I read in it.
Every year in the days leading up to Pesach I feel two "guilts." One is that I do not have the patience to sit with a stack of haggadahs and prepare comments and questions for the seder night. The other is that I can't fathom how to imagine myself as having gone out of Egypt. Even if I'm having a horrible week, and now when I have experienced the "end result" of making my new home in Israel, it just doesn't click.
This year, as I read the comments in the haggadah and pondered all this I started noticing how the seder night is not only a process in the sense that we start with step one of kiddush and end with nirtzah, but it also inserts the participants into the process of slavery to freedom and telling the story. When we do yachatz and break the matzah in half, we are emulating what poor people do when, despite being hungry, they put away half of the little they have to save for a meal much later. We then delve into the process of magid, telling the story, come to our "happy ending," praise God with Hallel, and start in on the meal. Okay, so that sort of does it. But there's something bigger here.
At the seder we tell the story of being in Egypt so we can explore the realities and feelings of being a slave. The idea is that we can connect the story of our past with anything we're feeling and experiencing in our present lives, or have experienced in the past. Everyone at the table participates. The entire seder is like this. We read the words from the haggadah, but the entire experience is interspersed with stories from our family and friends at the table. A lot of the narrative is told through midrash which does not directly tell us the story, but rather sparks conversation at the table. I grew up in a household where my father would randomly pull a chumash off the bookshelf and ask me what I thought about a certain midrash. I might be lounging on the couch reading a book, and I would eagerly drop it aside for these occasions. There are two "processes" going on at the seder-- moving ourselves from slavery to freedom, and taking part in the oral tradition.
Freedom is the privilege to speak openly. Everyone has their stories, and as free people we tell them at the seder. From the beginning of the seder, when anyone (including kids) who wants to recites the kiddush, we talk about the custom in my grandmother's home for everyone to say their own kiddush. The first time my grandmother partook in this custom might have been 90 years ago, and I continue it today. Everyone has a different story to tell- their own ways of connecting to the exodus from Egypt and the Pesach experience throughout the years. Every year new generations of stories are added to this process. The meal portion of the seder is the literal food, but the stories satiate us just as much.
One time in fifth grade we had this insane substitute for Hebrew class. I mean INSANE. He spent the entire class jumping around the room talking about the mitzvah of והגדת לבנך, telling the story of the Exodus to your children. I don't even think it was in the chumash we were studying at the time. He went on and on, emphasizing again and again how important it is to tell the next generations about our history and things that happened generations ago. Every year we go through the seder again, and we tell the story again. Part of the story is what people at the seder add in about "that time at my grandfather's house..." or "when my sister ate too much marror." The stories come together and reinvent the experience for subsequent years. We tell the same story of the Exodus every year because each time you notice new things the story takes on a different form. Maybe that crazy substitute teacher had a point.
The next part of my reflections comes from an idea that's been around for awhile. Why, in "Dayenu," do we say that if we had only left Egypt or only reached Har Sinai that it would have been enough for us? Because we appreciate each miracle as it is. Going with my "seder as a process" idea I was thinking that it's not just appreciating each miracle independently. It's understanding the process and what it took to get us from slaves in Egypt to where we are today. And obviously the story keeps going. We're still reaching for something. However you want to look at the Mashiach coming and what the future holds, there's something history is moving towards. So when I say kiddush because that was the custom in my grandmother's household, or learn a midrash with my father I am continuing something. And when my (other) grandmother tells me it's a good thing I'm living in Israel because that's where the family was always supposed to wind up I am working towards a new stage in my family's story and in the story of the Jewish people as a whole.
The Dvar Torah in shul today was about why we don't say Shirat HaYam at the seder even though it is such an important part of the story and all the miracles that took place. The answer given was that the seder is all about living in the moment, experiencing the experience from the depths of slavery all the way through the redemption of leaving Egypt. Shirat HaYam happened later, after the actual exodus. We do however say Hallel as a form of spontaneous praise for everything that happened. We begin Hallel at the end of magid because we are so excited about everything we "went through" that we feel an immediate need to praise God.
So maybe I still can't imagine myself as a slave in Egypt and understand what it felt like to witness a zillion miracles and then leave in the middle of the day, with all the Egyptians watching in disbelief. But I do know what it's like to be a part of something big, a part of the process, a part of history. One day when my children ask I will be able to insert myself into the story and tell them of my experiences in this world as a Jew. And as someone who picked up and moved to Israel, I definitely understand the end point, or at least the goal (who can really say what the "end" is?). In each generations we are saved-- from something-- so that we can experience the freedom we enjoy every day.
Every year we go back to the same story, the same paragraph of עבדים היינו "We were slaves." We tell the story and go through the motions, but every year it changes. We and the people around us at the seder add in their stories and reflections. The words of Hallel don't change, but I think the objective of the seder night is to reach the point where our personal history and national history inspire the outburst of song in Hallel...
ונאמר לפניו שירה חדשה
Every year in the days leading up to Pesach I feel two "guilts." One is that I do not have the patience to sit with a stack of haggadahs and prepare comments and questions for the seder night. The other is that I can't fathom how to imagine myself as having gone out of Egypt. Even if I'm having a horrible week, and now when I have experienced the "end result" of making my new home in Israel, it just doesn't click.
This year, as I read the comments in the haggadah and pondered all this I started noticing how the seder night is not only a process in the sense that we start with step one of kiddush and end with nirtzah, but it also inserts the participants into the process of slavery to freedom and telling the story. When we do yachatz and break the matzah in half, we are emulating what poor people do when, despite being hungry, they put away half of the little they have to save for a meal much later. We then delve into the process of magid, telling the story, come to our "happy ending," praise God with Hallel, and start in on the meal. Okay, so that sort of does it. But there's something bigger here.
At the seder we tell the story of being in Egypt so we can explore the realities and feelings of being a slave. The idea is that we can connect the story of our past with anything we're feeling and experiencing in our present lives, or have experienced in the past. Everyone at the table participates. The entire seder is like this. We read the words from the haggadah, but the entire experience is interspersed with stories from our family and friends at the table. A lot of the narrative is told through midrash which does not directly tell us the story, but rather sparks conversation at the table. I grew up in a household where my father would randomly pull a chumash off the bookshelf and ask me what I thought about a certain midrash. I might be lounging on the couch reading a book, and I would eagerly drop it aside for these occasions. There are two "processes" going on at the seder-- moving ourselves from slavery to freedom, and taking part in the oral tradition.
Freedom is the privilege to speak openly. Everyone has their stories, and as free people we tell them at the seder. From the beginning of the seder, when anyone (including kids) who wants to recites the kiddush, we talk about the custom in my grandmother's home for everyone to say their own kiddush. The first time my grandmother partook in this custom might have been 90 years ago, and I continue it today. Everyone has a different story to tell- their own ways of connecting to the exodus from Egypt and the Pesach experience throughout the years. Every year new generations of stories are added to this process. The meal portion of the seder is the literal food, but the stories satiate us just as much.
One time in fifth grade we had this insane substitute for Hebrew class. I mean INSANE. He spent the entire class jumping around the room talking about the mitzvah of והגדת לבנך, telling the story of the Exodus to your children. I don't even think it was in the chumash we were studying at the time. He went on and on, emphasizing again and again how important it is to tell the next generations about our history and things that happened generations ago. Every year we go through the seder again, and we tell the story again. Part of the story is what people at the seder add in about "that time at my grandfather's house..." or "when my sister ate too much marror." The stories come together and reinvent the experience for subsequent years. We tell the same story of the Exodus every year because each time you notice new things the story takes on a different form. Maybe that crazy substitute teacher had a point.
The next part of my reflections comes from an idea that's been around for awhile. Why, in "Dayenu," do we say that if we had only left Egypt or only reached Har Sinai that it would have been enough for us? Because we appreciate each miracle as it is. Going with my "seder as a process" idea I was thinking that it's not just appreciating each miracle independently. It's understanding the process and what it took to get us from slaves in Egypt to where we are today. And obviously the story keeps going. We're still reaching for something. However you want to look at the Mashiach coming and what the future holds, there's something history is moving towards. So when I say kiddush because that was the custom in my grandmother's household, or learn a midrash with my father I am continuing something. And when my (other) grandmother tells me it's a good thing I'm living in Israel because that's where the family was always supposed to wind up I am working towards a new stage in my family's story and in the story of the Jewish people as a whole.
The Dvar Torah in shul today was about why we don't say Shirat HaYam at the seder even though it is such an important part of the story and all the miracles that took place. The answer given was that the seder is all about living in the moment, experiencing the experience from the depths of slavery all the way through the redemption of leaving Egypt. Shirat HaYam happened later, after the actual exodus. We do however say Hallel as a form of spontaneous praise for everything that happened. We begin Hallel at the end of magid because we are so excited about everything we "went through" that we feel an immediate need to praise God.
So maybe I still can't imagine myself as a slave in Egypt and understand what it felt like to witness a zillion miracles and then leave in the middle of the day, with all the Egyptians watching in disbelief. But I do know what it's like to be a part of something big, a part of the process, a part of history. One day when my children ask I will be able to insert myself into the story and tell them of my experiences in this world as a Jew. And as someone who picked up and moved to Israel, I definitely understand the end point, or at least the goal (who can really say what the "end" is?). In each generations we are saved-- from something-- so that we can experience the freedom we enjoy every day.
Every year we go back to the same story, the same paragraph of עבדים היינו "We were slaves." We tell the story and go through the motions, but every year it changes. We and the people around us at the seder add in their stories and reflections. The words of Hallel don't change, but I think the objective of the seder night is to reach the point where our personal history and national history inspire the outburst of song in Hallel...
ונאמר לפניו שירה חדשה
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Post-Purim wrap up
I learned some interesting things/ made some interesting observations on Purim. Here are some of them. I think I'm getting really into itemized blog posts.
1) Walking around town in a cape never gets old. Having my face covered in blue paint and wearing a big red nose made it that much more fun. Except when a random person tried to pinch my nose. That was creepy. Though I did enjoy explaining my costume to a car full of sketchy Israelis as I was walking up Rechov Azza and they were stuck in traffic.
2) Europeans don't really know anything about Sesame Street characters. It's sad.
3) When your face is covered in blue paint, exhibit caution when giving someone in a nice sports jacket a hug.
4) On Purim people are as excited to get rid of junk food as they are to receive it.
5) The small chocolate store on Emek Refaim had megillah readings in it throughout the night. Probably Chabad related. How awesome is that?
6) There can be a zillion parties and cool things going on in an evening, but what beats catching up with an old friend in a cafe?
7) I once again showed that I can drink an entire bottle of wine (moscato) on my own and not get drunk. Even when it's followed up with a Smirnoff ice. I did get some interesting comments.
8) The seudah I went to in the late afternoon made me think of a shabbaton where everyone pregamed. It was all Bnei Akiva/NCSY sorts of songs but sang by people who could barely stand up straight.
9) If you want someone to take you seriously when you explain your job to them, do not also explain why your pants are wet and announce you have a wedgie (and proceed to address that issue as well). This is especially true if you are often on the news. I don't want to be watching a piece about Israeli soldiers in Gaza and think "that guy once spilled water all over his pants and picked a wedgie in front of me."
10) I've seen very few of my college friends drunk even though I went to a huge party school and many of them were drunk while we were there. I think I'm very happy about that though. Except for a certain incident on Simchat Torah when a certain someone was insisting that he could drive home safely, if only he could remember where he parked his car.
11) A combination of dishwashing soap and rubbing alcohol works well for removing facepaint. Also, Crayola marker washes off more easily than facepaint.
12) Shushan Purim is the best. You fast for a day, have a day to get really excited, and then the party begins. And on all those days you can wear a costume and be totally normal.
13) Purim makes the weird Israeli ladies with purple hair look normal for a few days.
14) I'm slightly jealous of Atara and Alexander. They're 8 and 6 and I didn't get to go to wild parties until I was at least ten or eleven. I had pretty low standards though.
15) Even though I wasn't drunk, can certain things I did after drinking the wine not count?
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