Who I am

I am 1/10 of the way to being a Rabbi. Just think about it. It's pretty fantastic.

#seminary #toomuchwork #stillwritingeventhoughschoolisover

Christmas in the (C)holy land

Now, when someone says they are in Israel for a year, usually that means going to synagogue at least every Shabbat, exploring Jewish sites, and experimenting with Jewish traditions. And for the past six or so months, that is what I have done. However, Monday night was a very different story.

        Christmas Eve has never been that important in either my life or my family tradition. Although many of my friends celebrate Christmas, it always seemed that erev Christmas was a time specifically for family or tradition, or something of the sort. Seeing as how I wasn't Jewish, I didn't engage in those traditions. Not until I went to college did I truly experience a full Christmas, but both times were not at school. Once with Nicole, in Pensecola and once in Oregon, with Aaron and his family. However, this holiday takes the cake.

        First, I went to the Jerusalem International YMCA. As the organization is a Christian one, they were well attired for Christmas. Even better than that, they were having a Christmas concert, of carols. Although we arrived thirty minutes early, there were no tickets left. We stood right next to the ticket counter, to ensure that we would get a ticket if someone was giving it away. We were pushed and shoved, but we remained there, watching the typical Israeli balagan and waiting to see if we would get a ticket. The best part was how typically pushy these people were. They continually shoved each other, trying to get to the front and get their previously purchased tickets. It didn't even make sense, because these people had already BOUGHT the tickets, they were just picking them up.

        However, once everyone who had already obtained their purchased tickets went into the theater, there remained a large jumble of people still converging on the ticket counter. It would seem that these were the people, like us, who assumed that we would be able to attain tickets at the door. Therefore, we continued to be pushed and shoved. But this time, I was in the middle of it. I went to the ticket counter, and in Hebrew convinced the ticket guy that I needed three tickets. He said he only had two, and I accepted. As I was the last one of the five of us to arrive, I gave the tickets to two of my classmates, as the other two had already gone in with free tickets from random people.

        As I stepped back and resigned myself to the conclusion that I would not be seeing the concert, this guy looked at me, smiled, and said he would be glad to get me one as well. Although he got a ticket, he was only able to get one. About three minutes later, the ticket seller said there were no more tickets that he could give out. I fought him, but still couldn't get in. I asked to talk to the manager, meaning that everyone else in the cluster-jumble also did. As I was the most assertive, I was chosen as the korban to confront him.

        Walking to the doors of the theater, I knew this was the last chance for me to get in. I put on my young kid, innocent face, and got as small as possible. I told him my friends were all inside and I just wanted to join them, that there was even a seat next to them. The guy asked if I was alone, and after I nodded, he let me slip in and locked the door behind me. The best part of all of this was a. this was free, b. I did it in Hebrew and c. it wasn't even that great. But it was still Christmas music and still a good study break.

        

In the middle, I had to consider whether or not I was willing to stay out and go to Christmas mass. I decided that there was no other option to do this, so why not. Walking up Yafo, I stopped at Thailandia and picked up pad thai to go. Of course, Asian type food for Christmas! Even though it made my tummy hurt, it was a great choice!

        I found the church and walked in. It was cool, but nothing that spectacular after being at Emmaus monastary in Latrun. However, once the service started, I was blown away. The entire service was in Hebrew. The prayers often started with the first six lines of most Jewish prayers, ברוך אתה ה' אלוהינו מלך העולם and even continue with many aspects of Jewish prayers. There were parts of the service that were reminiscent of Jewish services, with vidui and other parts.

        However, my favorite part was the sermon. I felt like I was in the states. I mean, the entire thing was in Hebrew, but it was slow and steady, following a direct line of thought and easy to follow. But it was the cadence of this man's voice that struck me as so similar. It felt as though I was listening to dad give a sermon, minus the fact that it was Christian and in Hebrew.

        I enjoyed the service. There were psalms, although they weren't Carlebach themed. And I just enjoyed listening to Hebrew and understanding it.

       

However, now it is still finals time. I have one more final. Exhaustion has settled in. Functioning is no longer occurring. I am too tired to think. My head feels heavy. I can't even run to actually wake myself up because I am toooo tired. But alas, one more final, and then I am done. And then I get to lead services for Birthright! And then, New Years Eve and New Years in Tel Aviv. And then Aaron comes. Word expulsion. Complete. 1/10 of Rabbinical school, complete in one day (as this was written yesterday, that means TODAY I AM 1/10 OF THE WAY DONE WITH RABBINICAL SCHOOL)

Pain, Passion, and Prayer

I’m supposed to be reading, in order to have all my sources read by the end of tonight, in order to write my Israel Seminar paper tomorrow. Hwoever, my stomach has decided it does not want to cooperate, so instead, I will write about the past few days (really 24 hours or so).

            Sam, Max and I were all sitting in services, ready to participate in our own unique way. We had already lit the Hanukkah candles as well as the Shabbat candles, and were each doing our own individual review of the week. I was looking around the Beit K’nesset, surprised by how many people were there, but only until I realized that there was a Bar and Bat Mitzvah class and most of the kids and families were from that. My eyes settled on the door, where I saw Someone standing, looking frantic. She gestured at me and I came immediately, unsure why I was being summoned.

            In the fore room to the Beit K’nesset, Someone’s 8-year-old daughter was throwing a fit. She was screaming and hitting, seemingly miserable with something. However, this is not a typically developing girl. Rather, she has PDD and therefore doesn’t always express herself in the most proficient way.

            I immediately knelt down, to be on her level and tried to talk to her. Although my Hebrew is not great, I can communicate with a child in meltdown. She wasn’t happy, so slammed herself in the bathroom. Fortunately, she doesn’t yet know how to lock doors, so I went in and sat on the floor with her. Eventually, I restrained her, to keep her from both hitting me, herself, and her mother. We sat there, in a stand still, each waiting for the other to make a move. Every time I slowly released her, the girl pushed against me, flailing her fists.

            Finally, I needed to let her go, because holding her simply wasn’t working. She simply crawled outside, howling. Getting to her feet, she walked around the bushes, seemingly desiring her mother’s and my attention. Neither of us were going to follow her, but nor were we willing to let her sounds out of our awareness. After a little bit of coaxing (and a short walk with her brother), she came back, not calm.

            Deciding to ignore her, I zeroed in on her little brother. He was being ignored and the two of us had fun playing games of Hebrew language and communication. Finally, the little girl came back, pouting and desiring attention (as well as still frustrated). This time, I treated her like I would any other child: teasing her and then throwing her on my back. That one caught her by surprise, so I then just ran with it, almost literally, and we walked around the Kibbutz for a while. We walked and talked, me mostly making sure I wasn’t going to drop her and focusing on understanding her words. She was having a blast, away from the commotion of the Beit K’nesset and getting individual attention.

            Once we returned, I was able to re-enter the Beit K’nesset, with my little monkey firmly attached to my back, for the noisiest part of the service. She sat on me quietly, simply observing, knowing that I would protect her. When I tried to set her down for a quick moment, just to receive a glass of juice, she balked and almost began screaming again. Picking her up, I quickly replaced my hand on her back and she calmed almost immediately. We remained until the end, where I made a retreat back to David and Miri’s house (after Sam decided to do the one bite sufganiyah challenge that Em Hy, Rachael, and Max had done the night before and Max dared Sam to do).

            Dinner was, fortunately, uneventful. Well, minus the fact that it was absolutely spectacular and that the dinner guests included someone with whom dad attended ELEMENTARY school! She didn’t have any good stories, but she did know him, and his siblings, which was really neat!

            After dinner, someone ended up looking at the news and we found out that there had been a shooting at an Elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut. I was stunned. It seemed strange, that something like this affects people, even from halfway across the globe. We turned on the television around 11pm, all remaining glued to the screen until around one in the morning. I was fascinated and distraught by the destruction, both in the same instant. I wanted to do something, but knew not what. We talked about it, about the fact that this was breaking news, yet very little information was actually available. We discussed that parents would hug their children a little tighter and a little longer, just to ensure that they get that hug. Truly, we were in shock.

            This morning was typical, spent reading, running (for me), and relaxing. During lunch we talked about Zionism, the separation between church and state, whether the Israeli army should be an army for all Jews or just for the state of Israel, and much more. Within David and Miri’s home, life is constantly revolving around discussion and discovery, with people always finding new ideas and impressions. David is never without something to say, and often offers profound words to prod and provoke, attempting to help people shape their opinions.

            Later in the afternoon, after Alon had finally returned home for the first time in a year (everyone was INCREDIBLY excited), we settled down and were waiting for our afternoon activity. The television was turned on, simply to find out if anything new was happening. Honestly, not much had changed nor had more information been released. People were grieving, parents were preparing to bury their children, families were in shock. But no new information on the shooter or the people who were actually killed within the school was released.

            Sam and I talked about this kind of reporting, where the reporter is on the scene and has to keep talking, to keep people interested, even though no new news is actually being released. They interview parents, teachers, friends; trying to ascertain both who the shooter was and what actually transpired within the walls of the school on Friday morning. The talent that it takes to report on that is unbelievable. Even more incredible is that a viewer truly sees the rough edges, recognizes that this is not all polished and pretty, but rather, the reporters are also straining to keep themselves together.

            At some point, I couldn’t take it anymore. I got my phone and called dad. It just wasn’t a situation I could process alone, while I was stuck in Israel, finishing school. Something about the fact that I was halfway across the world, but felt a need for action propelled me to call dad. We discussed the fact that there is nothing I can do from here, nor would there be anything I could do in the states. In fact, I am in the right place, in a place where I will gain the tools in order to help in this kind of situation if, God forbid, it happens again.

            And then, we packed up and went off to the Emmaus Catholic Monastery at Latrun. We watched a prayer service that they performed in their beautiful chapel (with a painting reminiscent of medieval Christian art, incorporating biblical imagery (Jacob’s ladder and the angels), high and low Jerusalem, Mary Magdalen, and many more biblical figures like Abraham and Isaac and more. The entire service was beautiful, but felt very strange. Regardless, I was glad to be able to experience it.

            We all walked down the hall (made me feel like I was in a haunted house, with the cracked walls and old floors and doors), entering a giant dining hall. We did Havdallah in a circle, all these people from all over the world, representing the Czech Republic, France, Poland, an East Asian country, Israel, America, German, and likely more. It was pretty incredible to be with so many people, many of whom didn’t really know the ritual, but participated in the song. After that, we all joined together in lighting the Hanukkah candles for the Eighth and final night. The beauty of the light shone in everyone’s face and emanated throughout the room.

            The holidays are supposed to be a time of family, of love, of joy, of beauty. Yet tragedy struck a small, well-to-do down in Connecticut yesterday. One girl asked her mother if this was her 9/11, as she had not been born at that time. Although I do not recall the mother’s answer, the question is poignant. We all turn to those around us who are wiser in times of need, of pain. Some turn to spirituality, some to parents, some to inflicting pain on others. I choose to write, to reach out. Today, I wish peace on this earth. For Israel, for the citizens of Newtown, Connecticut, for the families who are grieving. But most of all, for everyone. Everyone deserves peace. I don’t expect this planet to suddenly wake up and embrace everyone who walks among it. But at least, learn what tolerance looks like. Learn that love is powerful, much, much more powerful than hate. Amen.

Why I am in Rabbinical school #5

You know you're in Rabbinical school when you get incredibly excited about finding books for your final paper in the library, because you end up with five instead of 2...

Books can come in all shapes and sizes

It turns out I am a nerd. Now, this is not a new fact by any stretch of the imagination, but I need to put it out there for the entire world to be privy to. In addition, this is not a bad fact or characteristic to demonstrate. Rather, it allows me to fully take advantage of the life I am currently living, because (surprise, surprise) I am in Rabbinical school where it is practically required to be truly enjoy school and relish learning. Fortunately for me, I am reminded of this fact often enough that the amount of class I am forced to slug through on a daily basis, and then the homework I stare at blankly for hours afterwards, become less daunting and more of a small hindrance.

But, back to the topic at hand: learning! I ventured into the library to procure a book or two in order to write my final paper for Israel Seminar. Having chosen a topic of Mt Herzl, collective space, and Yad Vashem (surprising, I know, to find that I chose to write about the Holocaust, or at least death, in any case), I looked to two different places in the library and came across a veritable plethora of treasures. Almost all of the books were on Israeli Judaism and/or civil religion in Israel. In and of itself, a fascinating topic; I could have remained among the old spines for hours, whispering with them and determining their not so ancient secrets of this secretive people (Israelis).

Not only was my adventure within the narrow alleyways of the library part of my mental stimulation, but my lunch partners previous to this were just as engaging. Andrew and Justin had spent the morning visiting Mea Shearim, Ben Yehudah, and Machene Yehudah; peeking into bookstores and chachky stores alike, looking to see what secrets these opposing universes held. While one was full of black and white, a disparate neighborhood just waiting for a welfare board to come in, the other is packed full of food and shops, the hustle and bustle here one of productivity and prosperity. Oddly enough, having been in Mea Shearim yesterday, the comparison seems rather hollow. Both places are alight with productivity, seemingly like bees abuzz. Both are crowded with bodies, moving every which way, noises ricocheting off the construction, store counter and cars alike. But the backbone of the places is inherently different. One is based on religion, on commandedness. The other, on culture and social society.

Regardless, Andrew and Justin were leaving a venture into both worlds, one after the other. We met up for lunch at Mandarin, to enjoy yet another culture experience, that of Chinese. Over egg drop soup (for me) and vegetable Lo Mein (for them), we discussed Hebrew as a language, philosophy of religion, the future of the Reform movement (as well as all the movements), and again touched on monogamous versus 'accepting' relationships, and where the biblical basis for this comes.

Piggy backing on the discussion we began last night, on whether or not it is permissible to be in a relationship with one person, but then have extra-marital sexual relations with another, if it is previously agreed up, we continued discussing. Although I am not one for multi-partner monogamous relationships, both gentlemen made a decent argument. I disagreed, but a fragment of my being can see their point and appreciate where they are coming from. However, I then remember that the entire conversation began talking about arranged marriages in the Orthodox world and the whole conversation changes. Therefore, I suggest, if you are not part of that Orthodox world, that it is worthwhile to find a partner with whom you agree and can be satisfied without the necessity of an outside, third party interloper.

Market day on the side of the road in Ethiopia

Regardless of where this conversation began, we ended up talking late into the night last night, almost like I was back in college, at least what it would have been like if I wasn't in bed by 11:30 most nights...Anyway, we discussed adventuring the world and communicating with people, showing them who you are and learning about how to read people, how to understand the pain and suffering seen in the world, or at least steps to take in order to alleviate that pain [read: Elana talked about her time in Ethiopia and the pain and suffering she saw and began to work to combat]. We discussed the horrors that I saw there, the open wounds and the pain and desolation. The scent at the Mission, where I went for almost two weeks straight and often spent time with the children, making up games and languages, has stuck with me to this day. However, I met a man who showed me that the impossible is never that. There is always a way to do more, to make changes. That man, Dr. Rick Hodes, was the first one who really demonstrated to me that I need to persevere in this world if I truly want to make changes. I have always kept that teaching and those lessons in mind, even as I struggle to do a daily task.

Dr Rick Hodes, with his son Mesfin, in Addas Ababa

In the midst of that conversation, we all three realized that the work each of us want to do will change the world for the better. We are working to become positive role models for the coming generations, each in our own way (Rabbi (Elana), clean energy engineer (Justin), educator (Andrew)), but we all knew from an early age that we wanted to make a change in the world. As I told the two guys last night. You can teach someone what they need to know. You cannot teach compassion. Nor can you teach passion. Passion is something that burns within. And that is the motivating factor that ultimately underlies the work each of us will do to change the world.

Slaaaaaaaaaam Dunk!

This evening, I attended a basketball game, Hapoal Yerushalim versus Lithuania. After going to a hockey game in the Czech Republic, I though I knew what to expect. A big stadium and lots of noise and professionalism. However, that is not the scene that greeted me at the Malcha Stadium (and that was only after we almost got dropped off at Malcha mall, not Malcha Stadium, 5 minutes down the road).

            Waiting for everyone to show up, Chase, Scott, Max and I gathered around two of our teachers, Jeremy and Dave, discussing the culture around sports in Israel and life in general. As a side note, it is always fascinating when one sees or interacts with teachers or role models in a non-professional setting. The demeanor from the classroom ebbs away and the real persona of the person shows through. However, with our two teachers, they are real in and outside the classroom, making our engagement with them that much more enjoyable.

            Outside the stadium, which was housed in one of the most unassuming buildings I’ve ever seen used as a sports facility, the fans were slowly trickling in, not showing the rousing enthusiasm I expected. They milled about in groups, but it was incredibly calm.

            Walking into the arena, I was struck by the feeling of being at a high school hockey rink. Unfortunately, that is the only upper-level sports I have from which I can make a comparison. There were tables with homemade sandwiches for 10 NIS ($2.75), same with popcorn and soda for $.50 less. The whole idea of not having incredibly expensive food was mind-blowing! Not only that, but the seats were this ugly orange plastic thing, reminiscent of uncomfortable high school seats. Homemade signs were hung from the basket ends of the court, and I could easily see from one end to the other, and all members of the crowd. But the crowd wasn’t really a crowd. Almost everyone remained in his or her seat throughout the game, cheering, but not getting overly excited. The boys and I, on the other hand, were on our feet the whole game. However, that might have been a direct repercussion of our seats being in the corner and our view being blocked if we remained seated.

            There was one group of people who did show a large amount of excitement, and that was the cheering group on the other side of the court. These folks were dressed in the traditional red of the home team, Ha Poel (meaning the Worker). The red, previously of Communism, now of this all-over-the-place team, represented passion tonight. These young men (between the ages of 16-25 or so) showed their team spirit by waving flags, leading incomprehensible cheers, and taking off their shirts every now and then. At least they made the game interesting!

            Then there was the game itself. Although I make no claims to be any good, I started playing basketball with my classmates almost every Saturday afternoon in the park. Having that ‘insider knowledge’ made watching the game all that more exciting. I now knew what it took to make specific shots and appreciated the way each team played offense and defense. Sports still seem like a waste of money, with people running up and down a field/court etc., but they are much more enjoyable when I understand them! Not only that, but I came to realize how much TOUCHING IS NOT ALLOWED IN BASKETBALL. It turns out that I am often at fault and should basically be fouled all the time when I play. I’m not entirely sure why there are SO many fouls in basketball, but I definitely recognized when they happened and appreciated the game for what it was worth.

            All in all, a great experience. Would I go again? In a heartbeat. Something about Israelis at sporting events just make them all that much better. I didn’t really care who won, I was more watching the game and the people, but I enjoyed the atmosphere. The only thing that I wasn’t such a fan of was the amount of noise from the blow horns. Those things drive me mad. But other than that, it was wonderful! Yalla!!!

Connecting to God through prayer

Honestly, we often just go through the service without looking at what the words mean. although I do it, and feel something from the practice, I don't necessarily feel as though I am connecting to God. Because for each person, God looks and seems different.

To me, I get release, a sense of calm from praying the Amidah. When beginning, I often question why I am there. Praying is silly and I don't know that I believe in it. However, going through the process means I have a specific outline which I can follow as reference. When I reach the end, with אלוהי נצור, i feel that weight lift. Whatever has been bugging me and therefore weighing me down is no longer as pertinent. Each time I reach this part of the Amidah, I say this prayer to watch my speech and then head into a personal, silent prayer. In this prayer, I always request aid for those in need of God's help and support. Continuing, I acknowledge the blessings in my life and thank God for those blessings. Even more than that, I ask for assistance in finding the tools to keep my life and self in a good place.

Before I began Rabbinical school, I wasn't sure I believed in God. Yet, I continents to engage in worship and silent prayer. My prayer did not include the name God. Yet now, God is the entity at which I direct my prayers. Although personal connection may not exist (God has never spoken through me or anything like that), I do find that determining that connection is important. And now, the words penned by a 17th? Century rabbi make up the bulk of that. It reminds me to guard my lips, making sure I am remaining true and not speaking ill of others. However, God is the one indicated here. I am not one to say God does all and I have no free will. I cannot take the will away from myself, because then, why bother? All ability is then detached from my onus. That onus is what allows me to continue to work, to follow this path. My path is in conjunction with God, not because of God's will.

This prayer gives people a starting off point, a place to find support for prayer without completely taking away the desire for free will. Congregants can use it to come to terms with a lacking belief in God, or a confused one, and use it to engage in conversation with clergy or self

Majestic moments in the midbar mountains

Majestic mountains complete with calming breeze and warmth

We’ve just returned from a four-day trip to recharge our batteries from the stresses and frustrations of school. Midterms were over and it was time for a well-deserved break. And break it was: we hiked, snorkeled, sang, prayed and talked. What an adventure.

            Just getting out in nature, not on my bike, and feeling the majesty of nature around me reminded me of why I love life. Standing at the top of Har Shlomo, gazing out at Egypt, Israel, Jordan and even Saudi Arabia at almost the same time was an incomparable experience. I recognized my insignificance in the place while at the same time seeing that I gain incredible power from being in that place. I will not bring about world peace, nor will I solve the problem of world hunger. I will however be able to harness the beauty I found in this place and bring it back to Jerusalem to help those around me.

Extra vertical

Taish's adventure's with my camera, on the way up

            I felt so calm, being up there, in shorts and a t-shirt, sweaty and gross, stinking as if I hadn’t showered in days. And that was just the first hour. We all sat there and marveled as the sun beat down on us and our own abilities dawned. We truly experienced the power of a strong united force, helping each other to conquer a rather steep climb. (I even got to do a little side – well, vertical – climb!)

            The way down was much longer. We slowly made our way across the Eilat mountains, grasping the hand rails for dear life and carefully placing our feet below us. As the entire thing was downhill, my knee ached, but I ignored the pain for the most part. Besides, what good did it do me to dwell on it when I needed to concentrate on NOT FALLING OFF THE SIDE OF A MOUNTAIN!

The way seems tough, but with patience, is feasible

            Throughout the hike, I was right behind Taish, our guide. By the way, he was incredible, humorous and all in all pleasant to be with. He even told us bad jokes (What is brown and sticky? Etc). But he was wonderful for Hebrew practice and aid. And a great source of amusement when it came to his English (we taught him the difference between be cautious and use caution) and the fact that our Hebrew was way worse than his English!

            However, the most important thing I realized was a need to exercise patience. No matter where we were on the mountain, I was in the front. In order to not lag behind, I often stay in front on hikes and found that this was no exception. At one point, Taish inquired as to where my off switch was. He simply was wondering if I knew how to slow down, and I of course told him no. Although that is not quite true (I do need to sleep every once in a while), I recognized the importance of sometimes slowing down and watching the world around, or taking the time to actually take in the sights.

            Fortunately, the Mincha service that Ben and Benj planned was much along that same vein. They didn’t use prayer books. Instead, we sang the words that have been imprinted upon our minds and hearts in the past few months and years. We joined as one voice, hearing our voices echoing throughout the canyon. The best part by far was the Amidah, where we found our own personal spaces to communicate with God, personally deceiphering the message we wanted to transmit. I found a space on top of a rock, looking out into the valley, and simply thanked God for the ability to be there, to appreciate my body and my abilities.

            The next day dawned early, bringing with it sore bones and a nasty head cold. However, physical sickness has never truly hindered me. So, I went out again, this time to Kibbutz Lotan. That is a place where I definitely want to spend more time, learning about Eco-living and farming/gardening in a place that is both in and not in Israel, depending on the person being asked and the time (shmita year or not-the year when the fields of Israel need to be left bare).

            From there we drove down to Eilat, through the city and past many plants and piers. We ended up at a Coral reserve, where we had two hours to enjoy the beach, sand, warmth, water, coral, and fish. Enjoy, I did! I immediately changed into my bathing suit and took my snorkel over the bridge to get into the water past the reef. The pier was placed there to protect the reefs, so people enter the water past the reef and will not accidentally trod on the delicate animals. I was awe-struck by how beautiful the reef was. Although not St John (in terms of warmth, beauty of the water, and sand), it out-shown it by a long shot. This was a straight reef, following the shoreline and full to bursting of fish! I saw eel, clown fish, giant Rainbow fish and more. I’m pretty sure a puffer fish showed itself at one point!

            I was in heaven. I swam around in the water, away from the protected reef site, and hung out above a reef for a while, relishing the feeling of being in the water and experiencing another eco-system at work. What an incredible experience. When I eventually tired of swimming and feeling my joints locking up from cold, I swam in and simply enjoyed the sand and warmth for a while.

            Back at Kibbutz Yahel, we prepared for Shabbat and together walked over to the Beit K’nesset. Danny and Sam led me in one of the best Kabbalat Shabbat services I have EVER had, full of music, joy and warmth. The feeling of calm and peace that engulfed me was enough to last even to the moment, as I type these words back in Jerusalem. The two of them were enjoying themselves, and their excitement was strong in the air. Sara and Chase followed them with an equally lovely Ma’ariv, which led nicely into our walk back for dinner.

            Once the dishes from dinner were cleared (replete with Danny’s chastisement of another table “If you aren’t clearing, you’re doing the wrong thing” as a throwback to camp table-clearing), we pushed all the tables together and joined in a rousing rendition of Birkat Hamazon. Never in my life have I heard it sung with more gusto! Following that, we all continued to sing, doing all those songs we love most from camp and with passion! The sense of community I felt overwhelmed me and I was glad to be with such an amazing group of people.

            A few people weren’t completely satisfied with the amount of singing, so we took our sidduring outside the Moadon (“club”, but really hangout space) and continued to sing for another two hours or so. We were all smiling and laughing by the end. Shabbat with a group of people is such a joyful experience and I wouldn’t trade that opportunity for the world!

            The next morning continued the beauty, as we ventured into the desert for Shachrit. Shana and Max led an incredible service and truly amazed me with the pop-culture they used to tie the service together. At one point, when we weren’t sure if we were going to have a Haftorah reader, we took turns saying a bracha of something we were greatful for, to which we all replied with a shouted AMEN! The reverberation of our voices in the mountain was incredible.

            My d’var Torah was tweeked slightly by our location. Instead of starting in front of everyone as I initially intended, I went up on a rock behind them. Simon was lying down and I simply used him as a prop, having God (me) tell Jacob (Simon) that he and his ancestors would be as numerous as the dust on the earth. It was a beautiful way to start a d’var and allowed me to get into the moment and truly enjoy.

           This tiyul brought many surprise, including a new friend. Michael and I started talking on the road back in the machtesh, discussing the army and his service in it, and just kept talking through the weekend. I realized that I enjoyed talking to him. It was so odd, to realize I had spent almost five months with someone, yet knew very little about him or her. Although we interacted on a basically daily basis, we never got past the basics. Finally, we broke through that and got to know one another. Not only that, but I gained a friend. I'm most amazed by the small details of a change of scenery that can significantly change  perspective. I gained the older brother I’ve always wanted and just had a blast. He said he had to give in to me like a younger sister, but that I was pretty okay as they went. Seeing as I’ve always wanted an older brother (besides Noah, who is my OTHER honorary older brother), I’ll take it.

The Har Shlomo group, connected and happy after the hike!

            Lucy said it best. It was wonderful to truly reconnect with our classmates and realize how well we all get along. We are all incredible people and at this point in the year, we were finally willing and ready to open up to each other. We all met and interacted with new people on this trip and I will forever be grateful for the opportunity to make new friends and enhance my relationships with these people who will be my future colleagues.

            Although I sit at my kitchen table with a congested head and little energy, I am filled with joy, strength and passion, and cannot wait to see what that renewed sense of purpose will bring to the future. Thank you to everyone who made this experience happen. It was well worth it. And, we even got to return to Jerusalem with a cease-fire in place!!!

Vayeitzei (And you will go)

--> I gave the drash in the desert, during our tiyul this past weekend. I began standing on a rock, as God, proclaiming Jacob's future as the father of the Jewish people. The following are the words which I penned:

Jacob lay down his head to sleep. Now, most of the time when we go to sleep, we don't expect to have a memorable dream, we simply go through the motions of falling asleep, to then awaken the next morning. Here too, we assume that Jacob was no exception. Yet, as we know, Jacob will become the father of the Jewish people. As active readers, we see that this particular dream, found at the beginning of this week’s Parsha, vayeitzei, begets that legacy that created who we are today.

God is in...

God appears before Jacob in Gen 28:13-14, at the top of the ladder, telling him [hebrew]; "...the land on which you are lying I will give to you and to your descendants. And your descendants shall be like the dust of the earth." God continues speaking, telling Jacob that his descendants will spread out through all directions of the earth, that God will help Jacob and his descendants find blessings. Oddly enough, the Torah does not speak of Jacob's descendants as simply being blessings, but that they will FIND blessing. God continues to say that God will watch over Jacob, in fact, ושמרתיך, God will protect him and guard him. When Jacob awakens, he says in Genesis 28:16, אכן יש ה׳ במקום הזה ואנוכי לא ידעתי.  "God was in this place and I did not know."

We see in Jacob a promise of the future, of both what the future will bring and what it entails. This promise comes before Jacob falls in love with Rachel, working for Laban for fourteen years and first marrying Leah. This promise comes before Jacob has his 13 children, from four women. This comes before Jacob takes more than half of Laban's sheep and does magic in order to increase his own stock. This comes before Jacob has yet another dream where it is requested that he return to his native land.

In spite of all this, Jacob is called to be a blessing for all of us. He is the past, the present and the future. He is the great one whose descendants eventually became the Jewish people. However, he is also the individual who did not notice God's presence. Rashi commentates that Jacob would not have slept in the place he chose, because God was present in that place. Jacob is unaware that the place where he is about to sleep is holy, that indeed every place is holy. If he knew this tidbit, at least before he lay down to sleep, he likely would have refrained from sleeping there. Regardless, he slept on holy ground. However, the p’shat, or simple, way of discovering the parsha is seeing that God is in everyplace, as Julie Silver’s popular camp song refrains, I am all around, in every day dream. I am all you are, and all you know. It then flows into the Hebrew that we heard above: achein yeish adonai, b’makom ha zeh, vanochi lo yadati. The I in the song is God, and God is referred to as being constantly around us, surrounding us. Jacob feels God’s presence, just as strongly the next morning as he did in the midst of his dream.

The blessing in all of this is that we CAN find God and the presence of God everywhere we go and within everything we do. God is truly all around us, supporting us, helping us. Even here, in the middle of this desert, God surrounds us. Some of our people’s most profound experiences took place in the desert. Every time we are in search of God, sanctity, connection we as Jews end up in the desert. We may not feel God, but we know God exists, that God is here. God told Jacob he would spread out, yama, tzafona, vkedma, vnegba; West, North, East, and South. We are in negba, the Negev, named after that Biblical direction, the Southern part of the land of Israel.

The sun, bursting through the seams of cloud

Here, in the middle of the desert, we find serenity from the attacks and hatred that usually greet us on the news or in the streets. We are surrounded by majesty instead of hatred, by magnificence instead of despair. This place, hanegev, is the escape of our people, from Biblical time to now. A few weeks from now we will read the 40 year wandering saga, most of which took place in and around this desert, away from other peoples. Only there did we unanimously answer na’aseh and join in a covenant with God, and did the people begin to converse with God. Our ancestors often ventured into the desert to converse with God, for connection or sanctity.

So the question then becomes, why are we here now? The connection we create to this place through the story is stronger than time. By being here, we see ourselves relative to the larger world. We are re-connecting and re-committing to both who we are and what we want to become. We are like Jacob, laying down wherever we find a place and then commenting on it in the next moment. However, we must rise above Jacob’s example and ask what we want to take out of this experience. We go through our lives, doing the necessary work to receive what we desire. Again, instead of simply doing the work, we must ask who we will represent in this world, what we will stand for. We are even more like Jacob when sit today as the continuation and part of the fulfillment of the legacy he was promised.

Here, in the desert, we are part of the reality of the covenant, but it is still just us, together, now. We must decide to accept the yoke of the covenant that God made with Jacob, to recognize that if God is all around, the way we act in business or relationships or daily life matters. We cannot simply dismiss negative behavior or actions. Rather, we must continue to engage in a conversation. We must actively decide to be better, to pursue honest and just work practices and relationships. Today, I take Jacob’s promise to heart and, here in the majesty of the desert, recognizing my insignificance, I pledge to continue to work for the realization of that covenant. To work for the compassion and honesty and Godliness that should be in the world. Do you?

We remember

A reading before Kaddish Yatom (Mourners Kaddish)

They are gone, but their memories live on.
We remember, we cannot blink them away.
Today we see your souls, your light a blaze.
Encouraged, we move forward.
Whether 8 months or 80 years, we remember.
We acknowledge your life and bless your presence.

Monday, 19 November 2012; 14:06

Why I am a Reform Jew

It's been a while since I've written. A regular update to come soon, as so much has occured (I just attended the Israeli rabbinical ordination, last week I spent 2 hours talking with people in the West Bank....). But for now, just a simple essay we had to write for one of our classes entitled, Why I am a Reform Jew

            Choice. Freedom. Growth. Passion. Adventure. Discovery. Reform Judaism, in its many facets, has afforded me the opportunity to explore both who I am as a professional and as an individual.

            As a Reform Jew, I have the ability to choose what practices work best for me. I can daven with an Independent, Egalitarian Minyan or with an ultra-Orthodox congregation. The doors of any synagogue, especially in Jerusalem, are open to me and offer a unique prayer service. However, my knowledge base was not strong enough to allow me the opportunity to attend my choice of service. Yet, as I explored the customs and traditions that grew from generations past, I became aware of an immense beauty in the amorphous liturgy. Reform Judaism gives me the opportunity to learn from this plethora of institutions, and then truly decide which place works for me. Although I appreciate the traditional Ashkenazi shul, with a high mechitza separating the men from the women of the congregation, that is not the place for me. I like an Egalitarian service, but one that goes through the entire service, reads the entire Torah Portion. I like knowing what the full service looks like, with all the different pieces and parts. The experience of knowledge enables me. Without it, I cannot choose what I want because I am not in possession of all the individual pieces. Reform Judaism allows me to then piece together the aspects of tefillah that most resonate with me and find the passion within myself. I get a feeling of kesher, connection, to the generations.

            Reform Judaism has a huge base in aggadic tradition, looking more to moral and ethical guidelines than to the ones prescribed in the Torah, as supposedly given by Moses on Sinai. The options are endless for how a Jew may choose his or her practice, and my life is no exception. I can dress modestly (which I explored for a short time), I can choose to keep strict Biblical Kosher and wait a certain amount of time before I eat. I can decide that I do not want to touch men until I am married, and then only my husband. And those are just a few examples of outward signs of what Judaism might look like. However, I do not personally choose all of those things. I want to explore them, to potentially understand how those practices might enhance my life, but as a Reform Jew in the twenty-first century, I am able to make a choice. I choose to keep Kosher, but only to the point where I do not mix milk and meat. Keeping two sets of dishes does not necessarily resonate with me. I will wait until the table is cleared to eat dairy after meat, but not an hour or 6. I choose to touch men now, for two reasons. One, that I want to know what I’m getting into before I marry and because it can enhance a relationship or be a significant part in discovering if a connection between me and another person is sound.

The symbolism of how a person interacts with their environment is often a telling way of ascertaining what their beliefs are (especially here in Israel, where a kippah or skirt deems someone as religious). However, as a Reform Jew, my Judaism is fed from within. I am proud to be a Reform Jew when I lead a worship service that utilizes guitar, piano, and pure voices. I am proud to be a Reform Jew when I see the power the Union has to assert help for the victims of Hurricane Sandy on the East Coast. I am proud to be a Reform Jew when I go to Ethiopia, to Haiti, and see the immense continuing relief work that the JDC engages in on behalf of the Jewish people.

            Education and synagogue attendance may not be the highest they have ever been, but those who are engaged in Jewish education and who attend t’fillot regularly are ones I am proud to be associated with. They are passionate about what they are learning and even choose to pass on the knowledge to others, ensuring that Judaism will live on! I get to be a part of that. Not only that, but the passion and spiritual depth of the youth of this Movement will carry Reform Judaism (and every strand of Judaism) into the next generation. I look forward to the fact that I will one day teach these young people, bestowing upon them the same sense of adventure and love of learning that NFTY and Jewish camping instilled within me. I am a Reform Jew because NFTY and the URJ Camps, specifically GUCI, inspired me and continue to offer so many the opportunity to see Judaism in action, to live Jewishly, even for one month and a few weekends out of the year. The discovery that occurs at camp, helping children understand how special Reform Judaism is, demonstrating to them that Judaism is a living breathing entity that they are indeed apart of; that is my inspiration. Just walk into a chadar ohel after any meal at most URJ camps and the amount of ruach, spirit, is overwhelming. That inspires me and keeps me going, pursuing Reform Judaism and the Rabbinate in particular.

            Not only that, but Reform Judaism doesn’t go away. It isn’t pushy about what people should and shouldn’t believe and allows people to create their own personal path. My congregation at home instituted a program called IJP: Individualized Jewish Path. This project helps individuals or families figure out what their most profound Jewish journey is and what steps they individually need to take in order to see it to fruition. Although the number of individuals who took advantage of this opportunity was not public knowledge, the direct impact was that many more lay leaders emerged within the congregation. People started planning their own personal Mitzvah projects, creating a Mitzvah garden on the synagogue grounds or developing a Mitzvah tree, with different Mitzvah opportunities available for congregants to do. Passion evolved and demonstrated the power of individual choice on a congregational basis. Each time I came home from school, I saw more people at services, more people eager to take control of their own Jewish journey. I am proud to be a Reform Jew because I am both part of that movement and that people. I have seen the inspiration of many a person and been personally instilled with a sense of responsibility for not only my fellow Jew, but my fellow man. I am a Reform Jew because we, as Jews, care about all people and take pride in being both willing and able to help anyone in need. We help those individuals explore their personal connections and aspire to assist them in as sincere and singular a way as possible, in order to allow them to pursue their dreams and desires.

            The path of conversion used to be something that was kept a secret. Not only that, but if you were homosexual, there wasn’t an option to be a part of many congregations. Now, due to the hard work of the then UAHC and the CCAR, both converts and people of any sexual persuasion are accepted into the Reform Jewish world. I welcome everyone to daven, to learn, to engage in Tikkun Olam with me, and cannot be more appreciative and respectful of the stand Reform Judaism takes.

While dating someone who was not Jewish, I began feeling a stronger desire to go to services. I wanted to learn more and be able to engage in deeper discussions about the meanings behind traditions. Even more than that, he constantly asked me questions about a particular practice and what it meant. I would get frustrated, feeling that he should know the answers. Yet, now that he has developed a deeper understanding of the ritual and the tradition, he pushes back and engages in a dialogue all his own.  He encourages me to understand my practice and why I do it, not because he doesn’t understand, but because his practice is so different from my own. Reform Judaism allows us to engage in a dialogue about the future, about him becoming Jewish and what that looks like, of him having a woman help him through the process of conversion. Reform Judaism is the reason he is choosing to be Jewish and therefore I am incredibly proud be find my home here! Although we are no longer dating, he has continued to explore Judaism on his own and hopes one day to convert. I saw first hand the power that Judaism can have in someone’s life as well as how much I personally enjoy teaching it. As a Reform Jew, I have the opportunity to do that!

Thoughts #2/3

Thought #2: Choice Through Knowledge

Judaism is everywhere, even in secular Tel Aviv

            In choosing where I was going to attend Shachrit services yesterday morning, I had a plethora of options. There was Shira Chadasha, where I know I am both comfortable and get a traditional worship experience. There was Moreshit Yisrael, close to me and therefore easy to get in and out of in time for lunch. There was Kedem, where I am slowly finding my voice and confidence in the more traditional liturgy, all the while having the opportunity to ask questions and learn when I don’t understand. Or, I could venture out of my self-imposed comfort zone and experience a new worship space.

            Sara and I both decided we were up for exploring, so headed down to the Ashkenaz synagogue in Yemin Moshe. If I had thought about it, I would have realized that the synagogue was likely a remnant of the beginnings of the settlement and therefore much more traditional with mehitza and a significant amount of silent, quick davening. As soon as we walked in, we knew it wasn’t the kind of place either of us enjoyed. Although the mehitza did not reach the ceiling and we could see over it, we were facing the mehitza instead of East. Also, although we walked in at 8:45, the congregation had already arrived at the repetition of the Amidah. By the time I personally went through from Barchu until the end of the Amidah, I realized this wasn’t where I wanted to pray. Sara concurred and we slipped out the back to go to a much more communal service at Kedem.

            Kedem is an independent, egalitarian minyan where Sara was given the honor of an aliyah and I, hagbah [lifting the Torah for all to see, in respect of what was given by Moses at Sinai]. We both let out a deep breath when we walked in, as they were just getting to Barchu and we would be able to pray an almost full service with them. Not only that, but men and women were seated next to each other and the atmosphere was more welcoming.

            As we walked around the city, going from service to service to lunch, we discussed what we wanted to find in a service. In the past, my answer was traditional, right off the bat. Give me somewhere that does the whole service. But as we talked, I realized that my answer has morphed, even in the past five months. Not only do I want traditional, I want a service where I can feel like I am part of that community, that my voice is not only desired, but necessary to make up the minyan required for certain prayers. I want a place where voices are raised together, not in something that seems like a garbled chant, but in song and beauty. Moreover, I desire a community where I walk in and immediately feel like the community welcomes me, as both a visitor and a member of the congregation.

            By this point, I know the liturgy well enough to lead a Reform service (which, were it not for needing to add iyunnim and other odds and ends, I could likely do in my sleep). However, that isn’t the point. The point is that davening is a prayerful thing, allowing you to lead the congregation, but not necessarily separate you from it. That is what I have found. The place where I want to pray, both in this year and in my future life is a place where I am both welcome as a Jew, made to feel comfortable in the environment, and given the opportunity to wear my tallit.

            Reform Judaism has allowed me to explore all these avenues. I am not required to wear a tallit or wrap t’fillin, nor are any of my classmates. We, at the end of our learning, are expected to KNOW about the ritual and the meaning behind them, but we are expected to make our own decision as to whether or not it resonates with us. That is the beauty of where I sit. I can daven in a traditional setting while at the same time spending Shabbat afternoon cooking dinner for the homeless. And that is okay, because that is what makes Shabbat special in my life. I choose my own adventure. Choice through knowledge: it works! [Thank you Rebecca Vogel for helping me understand the importance of this idea]

Thought #3: Passion, talk, avenues of life

            I went to dinner with someone I met at shul the other week. While I truly enjoyed talking to him, by the time we hit the hour (of two hours) mark, I found myself getting tongue tied and losing words. Not only that, but a feeling of pure exhaustion settled over me. Normally, I am an eager dinner companion, ready and able to volley the conversation back and forth, keeping up a good stream of information and talk. However, for some reason, I found myself allowing the ball to drop more and more as I settled into my chair and gazed at my surroundings.

            Later that night, I realized something: we had spent two hours talking about Judaism. Usually, I am all for that. But for some reason, I couldn’t play out the game. I needed a break. After leading services, going to class, doing a 2-hour bike ride, and going to the shuk, I had spent almost all of my day either practicing, working on, or talking about Judaism. My dinner was supposed to be about getting to know the person. And it was. But it was all about Judaism.

You never know what is around the corner.

 

            Then something clicked. I love Judaism. I love it passionately and speak about it an inordinate amount. Hey, I’m in Israel studying to be a Rabbi, so it’s allowed, right? Of course! But, as such, I also need a break every once in a while. I need to keep my gambit of ‘other activities’ fresh so that I always have another activity or topic to turn to when Judaism simply cannot keep me talking. My life is Judaism, but that isn’t all it is. I am a friend, a daughter, a teacher, a cyclist, a photographer, a writer and so much more.

            A few days later, I found myself at an intimate lunch with a few classmates. We were waiting to start lunch and talking about the future of Reform Judaism (go big or go home, right?). Somehow the topic of incorporating other parts of life into Judaism came up and I jumped on it. Having realized my opinions on the thoughts a few days previously, I stepped in with my half-formed opinion, intoning that life was about more than just davening. My friend then took every one of my interests and related it back to Judaism.

            Somewhere in that conversation, I realized that where we are and how we look at the world often depends on the person into whose eyes we are looking at the time. In their eyes is reflected our own thoughts and goals, wishes and ideals. Through them, we gain insight into ourselves, and truly learn who we are and want to be by engaging in dialogue with them.

            I have to shape my life to be what I want it. If I want to be outdoors and connect with nature, I have to find time for that. If I want to pray three times a day, I also need to make that a part of my life. That is the beauty of Reform Judaism. I have the power and ability to actively do that, to decide how I want Judaism to be reflected in my life and how I want to teach and bring it to others.

The labors of my harvest

Last Friday I participated in olive picking with a group called Rabbi's for Human Rights. The following is my reflection on the work we did and what it means, especially with regard to the past week's Torah portion, parshat Noach.

While my parents were here, we went on a 20 km hike. At the very end, the Israel trail traverses many groves of fruit trees. We passed some trees which smelled absolutely incredible and I wanted to figure out what they were. I wanted to know what kind of citrus was bring grown here and if it was ripe. One particular piece had a pinkish-orangish tint and I picked that one. Opening that fruit, someone working in the grove next to me shouted out at me. Although I wasn't sure what he said, I knew he wasn't happy. Walking away, I continued eating and enjoyed the wonderful grapefruit.

About a week later, I was in an olive field, picking olives with Palestinian farmers in the west bank. Instead of being uncomfortable, I felt at home. The people we were working with were picking right next to us, with people from very different places peacefully standing next to each other. There was no negativity towards us, no hostility, only strength from them and passion of the work they themselves were engaged in.

However, I realized, in the de-briefing from our trip, that to take fruit from another persons tree is something discussed in the mishna. One masechet says that you can take the figs that fall from the ground, but to take from another's tree is forbidden. The fruit of those trees is their hard work and their profit, what will bring them profit and support them. Yet, there I was, standing in an olive field, picking dozens upon dozens of olives of another persons tree. This time, it was for good, on behalf of someone else. I was not doing something wrong. I was helping but balance back in the world.
The wrong was there, it seems to follow closely in many places of the world. There are the soldiers who won't let people into their own fields, or only allow them in for a very short time. There are the people in the town or settlement or village a few miles away who come in the middle of the night and steal olives or burn trees past the point of salvage. There are natural causes that don't allow the trees to prosper for that year. Whatever the reason, the olive harvest does not always look so positive, laid-back, and community building.

The olive, the representation of land that the dove brought back to Noah after the flood. The ideal of peace that now girds our minds and our hearts, hoping to see peace and connection between divergent peoples. The light and source of light for many centuries. The food source and cooking staple that still resonates in our kitchens. That piece of fruit, one of the seven species that make up Israel and demonstrates the growth that can be found here, represented connection to a people not that different from those on the other side of the border. The Palestinian harvesters were our friends for a few hours, wanting to show us their lives and how they lived, that they weren't much different than us. The olive formed that connection and the oil that flows from them will hopefully one day flow freely between the borders and allow a shared community to be fostered.

Thought #1

Why I am a Reform Jew, Thought #1

I re-remembered why I love Reform Judaism. I get to choose what I want in my service. Music, especially guitar, can be a large part of that experience. Not only that, but the music and singing that we do doesn't necessarily need to be in Hebrew. Although some might say that detracts from the overall prayer experience, it enriches my practice and brings passion and serenity to my worship.

Besides, in this fashion, I get to not only experience prayer each day, but I get to re-imagine or examine that prayer practice and see what it adds to my overall prayer. If something doesn't resonate with me, I don't need to include it next time. If it does, it stays! In this way, I can grow my experience into something that truly becomes me and describes both who I am and how I connect to the world. Prayer is an impressive and powerful entity and tool!

Today during T'fillah we used this song. Check out the power of the music!

Clarification: someone pointed out to me that song and prayer are not always the same thing. With that, I agree. They also suggested that song can often take away from the prayerful experience, to which I also agree. In considering their opinion, I realized that my own is not far from that. However, I also recognize that each person is unique and what one might find meaningful, another may find dull or impeding. Song has certainly taken from as opposed to adding more to my worship. In this instance, I found song to be a powerful addition to my prayer and linked me in a special way to the reforms of traditional Judaism begun in Germany by the likes of Zacharias Frankel and Abraham Geiger.

Don’t talk about it…we’re in Jordan.

Part I of my Jordanian adventure: -->

            For the last few years, whenever I travel to a new place and proceed to write about it, people have suggested I become a travel blog writer (which is basically what I was doing anyway), or that I write tour books. What’s funny is that almost all of the tour books sound the same, with a slightly different format, color scheme, and organization. Each time the comment was sounded, I replied with a steadfast NO! My writing isn’t good enough, I couldn’t support myself, blah, blah, blah. However, I realized that the way I narrate my adventures (yes, I narrate my own travels, to myself) sounds very much like the guidebooks that I frequently come across. Therefore, apologies/qualifications in advance for some of my rhetoric and free reign to anyone who might feel inclined to use my information in the future:

Israeli/Jordanian border

Getting there: Petra is a city only reachable by taxi, private car, or camel (but only if you have MANY hours to spare and are prepared for the really sore body that will come later. Once you pay the 103 NIS to cross the border from Eilat (there is an airport in Jordan, but it does not seem like the most commercial place, nor the best place to fly into) and get your passport stamped approximately 5 times, you will enter the no man’s land between the two countries. Before entering however, you may be engaged in a discussion that goes something like this:

Clerk: Excuse me!

Elana: Yes? What did I do wrong?

Clerk: Nothing yet. But you will if you don’t take off your necklace. And don’t put it under your shirt. You don’t want to advertise that you are Jewish.

Elana: Thank you (and then I proceeded to share this information with the group, to which we grumblingly un-Jewified ourself)

Another exchange had on the Israeli side:

Elana: Who wants a crembo? I bought one for each of us, just to chill us out!

Danny: Wow…such a Jewish mother!

Elana: eye roll

Worker: walks by, eyeing the crembo…

Sam: (to the worker) Can we bring bottled water that we just bought into Jordan?

Worker: Officially, no. But for the most part, yes.

Elana: (opening bag full of food) What about this? Can I bring this in?

Worker: Again, just close your bag and don’t worry about it. Crembo was definitely a good idea. Enjoy it.

Elana: Would you like one?

Worker: Really? (Elana nods) Only if we do it sneakily…

Ben: Way to bribe him, Elana….that does NOT seem legitimate!

Elana: At least we’ll get in! And whats the big deal. It wasn’t a bribe. I was just being nice.

Sean: Uh huh…whatever you say.

And for the rest of the trip, if you HAPPEN to do something like this, you will be accused of bribing the Israeli policeman. It will be worth it!

Once you reach the Jordanian side, after potentially saying shechechiyanu or some other appropriate prayer and potentially singing lech lecha, members of your party may suggest that the Hebrew, Jewish, and Israel talk cease. It is a good idea. Although Jordan and Israel currently have the most friendly border, there still exists animosity about Israel’s right to existence.

In addition, make sure you know for sure who your leader is. When you get eight people together, 5 or 6 of whom are strong leader personalities, it often becomes a mess of trying to direct the activity and happenings. Even if you are also a leader, sit back and let things happen. You will get there eventually. You might just have to settle for it being a little slower than your liking.

The guy at the border will ask for your guide (read: driver), who has all your passport numbers (or is supposed to and therefore supposed to be waiting inside the Jordanian half of the border) and then make you wait approximately half an hour for him to come through. Once that happens, it will be easy for you to get your visa and split into cars for the 1.5 hour ride to the city of Wadi Musa.

Mini-mart near our Hostel

Wadi Musa is the city that sprung up around the ancient city of Petra. You know, the place with all the electricity, running water, dirt, restaurants, cats, hostels, hotels, homes, taxis, taxis, and taxis. But honestly, it’s not that bad. It is all located on a giant mountain/hill (what do you call a giant mountainous rock formation that seems like a mountain from the bottom but doesn’t even begin to compare with the natural border between Jordan and Israel?) and will be incredibly hospitable to all who choose to venture there! The people love Americans, and love ripping them off. But mostly just love meeting new tourists, even if their English is rather non-existent. Some facts: 1. Wadi musa is Arabic for “stream bed of Moses”. Interesting that the town is named after Moses and you can see Aaron’s tomb from the High Place of Sacrifice. Coincidence, I think not! 2. Foreign girls are well liked. If alone, Jordanians will offer them food, hot tea, free food, and many other things, if not marriage itself. While they are completely genuine, I suggest going with at least one or two guys to make sure the females don’t get hassled…