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