Falling in love...

I've fallen in and out of love this year. I've heard that happens, that you can fall out of love. But it seems that it's not falling out of love. Instead, one of two things happens. Either a. you were never in love in the first place and so when you fall out of love you are actually falling away from a lust or b. you simply weren't willing to put in the time and energy to make the relationship work and foster the love.
Now, one of the hardest parts is recognizing which kind of love you had and therefore which kind you are now either in or not in. This year, I have experienced both. However, the longest and most faithful relationship, the one that has outlasted all my other flings and romantic forays, is still in tact. In fact, I am ready to step up the level of commitment. I'm ready to move in. Buuut, that may have to wait. I need to tie up a few loose ends, make sure I have my life in order before I am ready to commit. But think of it as paying first and last month's rent on an apartment. I've done that. So now I just need to move all my things in.
I have fallen in love with two different things this year. One being myself, another this country. Guys have come and gone, but I have remained and this country is still here.
First, me. Wow! Looking back at the girl who hobbled off the plane, on crutches and also in need of a crutch for her heart, I am shocked. That girl has weathered heart break and sadness, loneliness and stormy thoughts. Yet she has also loved and lost, grew, experienced, expanded and settled in. I have settled in. Finally. I accept who I am. I even love her! And I am so proud of the woman I have become. I am someone who believes in myself. Even when fear paralyzes me, I believe in me.
Of course I make mistakes, silly decisions that leave me angry, upset and fuming. But I also know that I can recover from them. That the person I am is an individual who has the power to move forward. I have the passion, insight and determination to continue on.
Even my Jewish identity has grown. I am sure in my love for Judaism and belief in God (although what that means I'm not yet prepared to outline). Reform Judaism has helped mold who I am since I was very young and continues to do so to this day. However, I have discovered that there are different parts of the Jewish world which I love, whether it is a more traditional service, where all the pieces are present, or doing the traditional hand washing before a festival meal. The traditions have come alive to me. My task now is wrestling with the why, because simply DOING isn't enough, especially in the Reform realm.
Which leads me to my other love. Arriving in this country, I was prepared to do my year and get safely back on a plane to finish the next four years of Rabbinical school in the states. I would maybe visit Israel every once in a while, but it wasn't a place I felt a great affinity toward. Something changed in me this year. I no longer feel passe about leaving and I cannot just walk away. Israel has found her way into my heart and soul and become a part of who I am. The language, the culture, the people - it is all so vibrant and beautiful (even the parts that I cannot stand like the honking and awful driving and everything always being a little broken). We're past the honeymoon phase, we've moved into the figuring things out stage. And so far, we are doing that. And now, I am ready to step up the level of commitment. I am moving in.
I now know how to say no. I know what it means to respect myself and my boundaries. I can create distance when necessary and demonstrate that I am confident and proud of my decisions. With that in mind, I will be saying goodbye to my country today, with the knowledge that I will be back in a little under three months. A little tanner, a little smarter, a little older. I will be back, ready to start the next leg of my journey.

Parshat Shemini, D'var Torah

Although it's from a few weeks ago, here is the text of my D'var Torah!

Shemini D’var Torah

Elana Nemitoff

Shachrit, 4 March 2013

Silence.

Silence is uncomfortable. Silence is painful. Silence is funny. Silence often has a reason.

In Parshat Shmini, Leviticus 10:3, we hear, וידם אחרון, Aaron was silent. Why? This occurs after Aaron’s two sons bring אש זרה as a sacrificial offering and are swallowed by God. Aaron is represented as silent in the following moment, as God dictates that God will be sanctified through these two boys, saying בקרובי אקדש ועל-פני כל-העם אכבד. The Torah continues with the disposal of the bodies, and in verse eight, God begins speaking directly to Aaron, telling him the rules of what he can and cannot imbibe.

However, looking back at 10:3, Aaron has still not uttered a word. Why not? Is he silent because of his leadership role? Or, is he reacting to Moses’ retelling of God’s chilling words that he will lose his sons to God?

Most of the medieval commentators had different interpretations of Aaron’s silence. Rashi says Aaron is silent in order to receive a reward - aשכר טוב על השתיקה. Instead of blaming Aaron, Rashi suggests that Aaron directly received the gift of the word of God, which until that moment had only come to him through Moses. Aaron might suffer from the deaths of his sons, but the reward is greater than the pain.

I disagree with Rashi and am inclined to agree with Ramban who offers two suggestions for why Aaron is silent. One is that הוא בכה ואחר-כך הוא וידם, he was crying loudly and ceased once Moses stopped talking. He listens. The other interpretation, using Lamentations 2:18, אל תדום בת-עיניך, saying, don’t let the apple of your eye cease, is that the word וידם actually means cessation and not silence. Aaron stops crying but isn’t silent. Ramban’s assertion is that Aaron must grieve privately, not that he must cease his pain.

    Another interpretation from Midrash גור אריה (vayikor yud bet, bet) suggests that Aaron is silent because Moses had already told him of his sons’ impending deaths and he had time to process the pain. He didn’t need to call out. Ramban still seems to have the strongest argument, as pain is pain, even when expected!

    A more humanizing interpretation comes from Matthew Berkowitz of JTS. He suggests that Aaron is silent in a moment of humility, showing him t as a role model for how to bear pain and mourn. Ron Wolfson, writes that the bible often shows people wailing in pain. Yet he also writes that when people first hearof a familial loss they go into shock and often don’t know their emotions or just go through the motions. It would seem that is Aaron’s fate. Aaron is distraught over his son’s deaths. His silence is not passive acceptance or anticipation of a reward. Rather, it is him taking a moment to internalize the memory of his son’s.

    In our lives as Jewish professionals, we will often work with individuals who have suffered harrowing losses. Our job, which we see from Aaron, is both to allow the outburst of tears, anger, frustrations – whatever emotions we may find peope displaying – and give them time to recall the positives of the deceased individual’s life. Not only that, but we must be the example, caring for our own grief as well. Aaron takes the opportunity to mourn, however short it is, in order to continue on in his role as high priest. We too, have and will continue to have taxing roles in our community. However, unlike Aaron, we must recognize that it is not only acceptable, but necessary to take the time to grieve appropriately. Wolfson suggests that only when one takes the time to grieve, can life move on. Otherwise, one remains stuck in a constant dead-hold of depression and denial.

    Therefore, we must recommend, both to others and ourselves, that time is necessary when it comes to grief and mourning. The initial outburst, as well as the after-effect of shock or other emotions are all normal. They should be cared for delicately, and only after the fact can one truly return to everyday life. Aaron teaches that life moves on, but we must listen to our hearts and pause a moment or many moments to recognize our sorrow. In the periods of שבעה, שלושים, ירצית, יזכור, we slowly return to our lives. We return to our lives having taken care of the pain we felt. We allow the pain to continue, but in doing so, we also make room for the memories of our loved ones. We take Aaron’s example and learn to continue on, but as we do, we will always remember.

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.

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!!!

The cycle of our days

Sunset from Kibbutz Gezer

ופרוס עלינו סכת שלומך

The Hebrew prayer Hashkiveinu, asks God to protect us throughout the night, that we may rise the next morning to life renewed, safe and full. The request, and the simple idea of asking God for something that isn’t even tangible, the guardianship of our soul, is an incredible one. We ask daily that good guard us, and in the morning pray again, thanking God for returning our soul to us, for allowing us to continue God’s work.

            The miracle of the morning is indeed incredible. Awesome, some might say. To me it surly is. Life is about each day, about the adventures we take and the people we will find. Who are we to take advantage of the time we have here on earth, to mess with the amazingness that is each one of us. Our unique qualities, combined with those around us, create daily blessings, ones we simply have to look for in order to appreciate.

            However, with each life, as with every thing in its time, the final moments arrive. Still, as Jews, we say Hashkiveinu in the evening and Modah Ani in the morning. Whatever opportunity is the last to be given us, we have thanked God for our souls, either for protecting them in advance or for restoring them to us. And in the end, there is thanks. Maybe not in that specific moment, but in some moment. We all matter. We all have souls, Nishamot, worth saving and protecting. We all need to remember to shelter ourselves, to protect ourselves, to nurture ourselves.

            Judaism teaches that if you save a man, it is as if you have saved an entire world. In this case, if you save yourself, you will save whatever might be coming next. Consider it. You too are important. You too are worth saving. Maybe prayer is not the way you need to do it. Maybe words and God are not your modus operendi. But whatever your way of connecting with the world, recognize, even for a moment, the power of you.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?” –Marianne Williamson