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…