Reconciliation

This past Sunday, the entire school went to see a musical called פרח נתתי לנורית (I gave a flower to Nurit). Although based on a children's book of the same title, the musical takes a dozen or so children's songs and compiles them into a story of what it means to be strong and believe in yourself. Truthfully, I was so excited to be back in a theater that anything would have been enjoyable to me, although this show touched my very heart. Many of the offhand comments the actors made to their fellow players were exactly the kinds of things we explicitly tell our students not to do. Yet, although I cringed inwardly, I watched to see how they would rectify the wrongs played out on the stage. And fix them they did. The last song of the play, entitled מתפייסה,  means something along the linesמתפייסה of to make right or to make nice/good. That as well as the word בורגוס were unfamiliar to me. Regardless, I understood immediately that the point of. Song is that we must make right the wrongs we do in order to demonstrate how we want others to treat us. As I've been told over and over, if something is worth doing, it's worth doing right. The main character Danny spends the play learning to believe in himself and in the end even shows how magnanimous he is by inviting all three other kids to play with him (even after they made fun of and harassed him for so long).

Oddly enough, this relates directly to the relationship between Jacob and Esau. A few weeks ago we read about the birthright which Jacob was promised by  Esau when Esau simply desired a bowl of soup.  Now, many years later, Jacob wants to make right with his brother. After sending the message that he wants to meet, Esau returns saying he is coming with 400 men (interesting-either his family is rather large, or he believes in strength in numbers). Jacob splits his family into two camps on either side of the river Jabbuk, (a tributary of the mighty Jordan) and prepared the gifts he would present to his brother.

If you will permit me, a small detour into the parsha offers an interesting glimpse into the dexterity with which these stories are crafted. Genesis 32:25 has Jacob wrestling with a creature. As the day is breaking, the creature realizes he is being bested so touches and strains Jacob's thigh (which is why we don't eat thigh meat now). The creature then requests release, but Jacob does not relent. Instead, he demands a blessing in exchange. The name Israel is bestowed upon Jacob, meaning he who will struggle with God (the verb in Biblical Hebrew, ש.ר.ה. only appears twice in the whole bible, but definitely seems to have an association with struggle and perseverance. An interesting thing to look into further). The future connotation of the word suggests that Jacob and then the people who share his name will be blessed/plagued with struggles with God, but will persevere. Because not only is the word about struggle, but about perseverance. Which is very apt to the initial play, as the whole play is about Danny struggling with himself, with his self-esteem and courage. Three tasks are placed before him Dan three times he succeeds. Each task provides an opportunity to learn, and each one Danny finds a want to excel.

Now, as we turn back to the reunion of the estranged brothers, we see the direct correlation to התפייסות, which, As it turns out, when input into a translation machine, means reconciliation. How fitting. Esau runs to meet Jacob and falls on his throat (another example of possible mistranslation due to convoluted pronoun use) and kisses him. The reunion is complete and the brothers are connected.

Regardless, the brothers do have their reconciliation, their התפייסות. Although obviously difficult for each party, they find the inner strength to appear before the other and beg forgiveness. This lesson of putting aside one's pride and simply apologizing, or extending the hand of welcome is imperative for us to teach our children. For, if our children learn this lesson, plain and simple, they will be able to carry it into their lives and therefore be able to bring greater humanity to all those they encounter. 

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.

Bulgarian Blessings B'yachad

The chairs are set up in a square, a table laid with green tablecloth and Torah stand in the middle of the room. People flow in, quickly filling up the seats, despite the fact that services do not start for another ten minutes. By six thirty, the room is full, yet the service handout has not arrived in the hall. As soon as it appears, we begin singing, a building round of Shalom Alechim.

Oddly, the beautiful synagogue with elaborate Sephardic artwork and woodwork, stood cold and dark, empty but for the side chapel where three men and just as many women, many not even Jewish, sat rushing through the Kabbalat Shabbat service. I left quickly, eager to join in the magic of what would soon follow. The Bulgarian synagogue remained a museum, frozen in the chasm that segregates the community and closes their hearts.

Between translations, I lead the congregation in worship. We follow the outline of the service, only bare bones for these people who have not stepped foot in a synagogue for maybe sixty years. We are the Judaism they haven't experienced or don't know how to identity with.

 

When V'shamru comes up in the service, dad and I belt out an off-key version of the traditional. Yet, the congregation sits silent. An older gentleman speaks up, saying now they will do the Bulgarian traditional prayer. A singer in the congregation begins and immediately everyone chimes in. Dad and I sit there awestruck. This congregation not only knows the liturgy, they can sing it! Were we to give them an opportunity to open their hearts and sing, who knows what would come from their beautiful voices!

 

As the service comes to a close, dad suggests that individuals mention the name of a family member of friend who they are remembering. Every person minus the children in the room said a name. Each name was a family member, a friend. As my father's hand and eyes passed around the room, each person first met his eyes, then mine, demonstrating their desire to connect. Yet each name had not been said, had not been remembered with Kaddish for many years, if not ever. It brought tears to my eyes, making me recognize the importance of community, of helping people open their hearts and their minds. And, coming to the words of Kaddish, the rest of he congregation stood with us and recited what they knew from memory. The words washed over us and seemed to lift up the congregation, buoying us into the conclusion of the  service. This was truly beauty at its finest.

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)