"So, do you feel like you have changed at all?" My friend asked me. She is studying abroad in Tanzania and has been living in a whirlwind of difference.
Changed. Changed...Changed?
I knew that word was supposed to mean something, supposed to somehow sum up how my experience here had effected who I am. I searched through my memory, looking for a memory where the stamp "CHANGED" could be placed. Nothing.
"No. If anything, I feel like I have become more myself." I replied. This thought made me rather sad at the moment. Why HADN'T I changed? Didn't that mean I hadn't learned anything? What was wrong with me that I wasn't changing?!
Showing posts with label identity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label identity. Show all posts
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
Revelation.
I do not want to be a dancer.
I came to this realization this week. After spending so much time agonizing over why I am studying dance in Israel and why I am a dance major, this thought came to me in a moment of complete clarity while I was zoning out during class.
I do not want to be a dancer. I am not truly interested in the dance world. I have been privy to so many conversations here about famous choreographers, dancers and dance companies. A few months ago, I figured that I would start to get a grasp on who they were and would become really passionate about learning more about them. But I have not. Whenever I try to sit down to watch a YouTube video by some dancer the entire dance world has heard of, I get bored (it takes at least 3x the length of the video for it to load!) and wander off to do something else. I never seem to actually sit down and watch the videos.
I walk into dance class and I am glad to be there.
I came to this realization this week. After spending so much time agonizing over why I am studying dance in Israel and why I am a dance major, this thought came to me in a moment of complete clarity while I was zoning out during class.
I do not want to be a dancer. I am not truly interested in the dance world. I have been privy to so many conversations here about famous choreographers, dancers and dance companies. A few months ago, I figured that I would start to get a grasp on who they were and would become really passionate about learning more about them. But I have not. Whenever I try to sit down to watch a YouTube video by some dancer the entire dance world has heard of, I get bored (it takes at least 3x the length of the video for it to load!) and wander off to do something else. I never seem to actually sit down and watch the videos.
I walk into dance class and I am glad to be there.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Life of Many Tracks
I came to Israel for many reasons. Many good reasons, in my mind. I had planned on studying abroad in India, but knew that I had little reason to go there aside from being interested in the culture and huge fan of Indian food and Bollywood movies. When I went on Birthright last January, I was incredibly intrigued by Israel. I was fascinated by the coexistence of so many different types of Jewish people in one place. I was intrigued by the passion that EVERYONE who lives here has for the land and for the politics and for the history. Jerusalem is the birthplace of the three major monotheistic religions, evident in a quick walk around the city. When I returned back to Wesleyan, I realized that I wanted to go back. I wanted to know more, to see how/if I could fit into Israel, to live in a country where you were proud of where you came from and passionate about your heritage, something that I have always felt to be lacking in the left-wing American world I grew up in. With a bit of research, I found out that Israel has become over the last two decades a hotbed for modern dance. Dance and religion together in an old, historically rich, politically complicated place that had some connection to my Jewish heritage? Really, what could be more perfect? I petitioned the Office of International Studies to allow me to come even though I had not taken the requisite year of Hebrew, was approved, got into the program and am here today.
But I find myself constantly questioning WHY. Before I went into college, I fell absolutely in love with cultural anthropology. It shaped the way that I viewed the world while speaking to the respect and curiosity about other people and cultures that I was brought up with. I wanted to be an anthropologist. I was severely disappointed by the anthropology department at Wesleyan, but luckily fell in love with the freshness and openness of the Dance and Religion departments. There are many ways to learn about the world and I never feared the new perspectives that my two new passions would give to me.
Here, I have felt myself splitting. My interests in dance, religion and anthropology still remain. But they exist completely differently in these completely different worlds.
At Wesleyan, I can be a dancer even though I have no technical training and little knowledge of the greater dance world. I am taught to create and to think, to observe and to react. My dancing is whatever I make it and, as long as I commit wholeheartedly to that, I am accepted and supported. Likewise with the religion department. I am taught to write, to discuss, to engage with materials that I am given. But I sometimes feel I am lacking in real knowledge. At school, I am taught to be a person, and I am not forced to know anything other than my own thoughts and opinions.
In this world, maybe known as the "real world," everything is topsy-turvey. I have entered into a dance world where people came out of the womb with ballet shoes. They are technically trained and VERY aware of the dance world. They speak of Martha (Graham) and Merce (Cunningham) as though familiar with them. In fact, many of my teachers were in direct contact with many of the dance greats (something that doesn't impress me most of the time because I have yet to understand the greatness of these greats). I am often intimidated and constantly challenged by the idea that I might never catch up to my peers. But the question exists in my mind: do I want to?
I love movement, I love the human body, I love creation, I love art. This has translated easily into a love of dancing, a love of choreographing, a love of watching dance performances. But I have little real notion of where these loves will take me in the future. Normally I do not even worry about that - my "future" has always existed in fuzzy concentric circles in my head, not linearly. But here people speak of which company they want to join, who they would never work with, the ordeals of being a dancer.
I could have studied biology and run. I could have studied exercise science while doing yoga constantly. I could have taken tons of drawing and art history courses. But I am here, a dance major. A term with such different meanings at Wesleyan and in the "real world".
On the other hand, I have such strong anthropologist tendencies. A walk around Me'ah Sharim, a Hasidic neighborhood, awoke within me such a passionate curiosity about the lives and thoughts and relationships of the myriad of Hasidim living in the second oldest settlement in Jerusalem. I realized that I could be ecstatically happy if I settled in Me'ah Sharim as an anthropologist for 3 years or so and dedicated my life to learning about those people, then turning my work into an ethnography. In fact, that is EXACTLY what I feel like I have always wanted to do!
So, what do I do? It's like I have these two different tracks that my train wheels fit on so perfectly, yet they have completely diverged. How to connect them? How to not feel as though my time in the "real world" or at Wes are wasted as they are not furthering me on one track, but really taking me further and further away from the junction? How to handle this??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
I. Have. No. Idea.
But I find myself constantly questioning WHY. Before I went into college, I fell absolutely in love with cultural anthropology. It shaped the way that I viewed the world while speaking to the respect and curiosity about other people and cultures that I was brought up with. I wanted to be an anthropologist. I was severely disappointed by the anthropology department at Wesleyan, but luckily fell in love with the freshness and openness of the Dance and Religion departments. There are many ways to learn about the world and I never feared the new perspectives that my two new passions would give to me.
Here, I have felt myself splitting. My interests in dance, religion and anthropology still remain. But they exist completely differently in these completely different worlds.
At Wesleyan, I can be a dancer even though I have no technical training and little knowledge of the greater dance world. I am taught to create and to think, to observe and to react. My dancing is whatever I make it and, as long as I commit wholeheartedly to that, I am accepted and supported. Likewise with the religion department. I am taught to write, to discuss, to engage with materials that I am given. But I sometimes feel I am lacking in real knowledge. At school, I am taught to be a person, and I am not forced to know anything other than my own thoughts and opinions.
In this world, maybe known as the "real world," everything is topsy-turvey. I have entered into a dance world where people came out of the womb with ballet shoes. They are technically trained and VERY aware of the dance world. They speak of Martha (Graham) and Merce (Cunningham) as though familiar with them. In fact, many of my teachers were in direct contact with many of the dance greats (something that doesn't impress me most of the time because I have yet to understand the greatness of these greats). I am often intimidated and constantly challenged by the idea that I might never catch up to my peers. But the question exists in my mind: do I want to?
I love movement, I love the human body, I love creation, I love art. This has translated easily into a love of dancing, a love of choreographing, a love of watching dance performances. But I have little real notion of where these loves will take me in the future. Normally I do not even worry about that - my "future" has always existed in fuzzy concentric circles in my head, not linearly. But here people speak of which company they want to join, who they would never work with, the ordeals of being a dancer.
I could have studied biology and run. I could have studied exercise science while doing yoga constantly. I could have taken tons of drawing and art history courses. But I am here, a dance major. A term with such different meanings at Wesleyan and in the "real world".
On the other hand, I have such strong anthropologist tendencies. A walk around Me'ah Sharim, a Hasidic neighborhood, awoke within me such a passionate curiosity about the lives and thoughts and relationships of the myriad of Hasidim living in the second oldest settlement in Jerusalem. I realized that I could be ecstatically happy if I settled in Me'ah Sharim as an anthropologist for 3 years or so and dedicated my life to learning about those people, then turning my work into an ethnography. In fact, that is EXACTLY what I feel like I have always wanted to do!
So, what do I do? It's like I have these two different tracks that my train wheels fit on so perfectly, yet they have completely diverged. How to connect them? How to not feel as though my time in the "real world" or at Wes are wasted as they are not furthering me on one track, but really taking me further and further away from the junction? How to handle this??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
I. Have. No. Idea.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Just learning the wrong history
It's 3:30AM and I am awake. It is in fact the only time in the past 12 hours that I have felt lucid enough to do anything. Thus, I am catching up on life in the wee hours of the morning.
After spending that great day in Tel Aviv, I returned home for some quality R&R. For the first time since I was 12, I slept till 1 in the afternoon! Woke up at 11, ate breakfast, read, went back to sleep. It was amazing. Our apartment was also incredibly quiet - surprising how the absence of 2/5 people can make such a difference in the noise level!
When I woke up, I decided to go for a run. There had been some conversation at a little after-dinner get together about all the great places there are to run to/around in the area. After this conversation, I felt inspired to check out the area. I also hadn't run in about a month. Running is my favorite ways to see more of where I live (and to stay in shape!).
Running shoes on, clothes that I hoped were decently modest on, I groggily strolled out of the apartment. I got slightly sidetracked when I decided that I should find my mailbox. I have only lived here for a month, maybe it was about time! Unfortunately, my key didn't work! I stood in the creepy, narrow mail room for 5 minutes, jiggling the stupid key, while letters with my name on them sat there tantalizingly. Thank goodness for a friend of a friend who resolutely stood there rattling the entire wall of mailboxes until the latch on mine (and possibly a few others) clicked open.
Anyways, away I went. I decided to run to the Mt. of Olives. The Mt. of Olives is the oldest Jewish cemetery. It sits East of the Old City. I have been reading a fantastic book about the history of Israel and the Bible and was incredibly curious. Run, run, run. Thank goodness I am in shape! Because the hills here are relentless and seem to be about a mile long! Keeping my internal compass in check, I turned this way and that and found myself, after only 15 minutes, in a completely different world. An Arab neighborhood. Honestly, this isn't that strange. The Student Village is basically located in East Jerusalem and we are surrounded by Arab neighborhoods (student orientation went a bit like this: "So, don't go to any of these areas marked in red." Basically all the areas surrounding the Student Village...). I felt a bit of panic rise up in me. Honestly, the people in the neighborhood looked just about as shocked to see me merrily jogging along as I was shocked to have entered into such a completely different world. Whereas most of the street signs in the area that I traverse the most are written in Hebrew, Arabic and English, all of the signs in this area were written in Arabic (later, a friend joked that they could say anything, such as "beware of land mines" and we would have no clue!). I think Arabic is absolutely beautiful. As I ran, I found myself confronting this strange discrimination/prejudice that I wasn't really aware I had until in this situation. As an American, as a Westerner, as a Jew, there exist so many stereotypes and negative images of Arabs (whether Christian, Muslim, secular, etc.). But I LIVE in the Middle East. I realized that this was and is something that I need to think more about.
Running didn't last for very long, as I began to speed more and more out of control down a hill. Not to mention that it was the hottest time of day...Somehow, I made it to the Mount of Olives. I walked past the Tomb of Mary, technically where she ascended to heaven, and the beautiful Basilica of Agony, the last place that Jesus prayed before he was betrayed by the Romans. These were only a few of the beautiful places that I saw as I walked by, open-mouthed, dripping in sweat. I was also fascinated by the people. Everywhere in Jerusalem, extremely religious Jews are easy to spot. But here there were also Christians and Muslims in full religious garb. And so many tourists. I could just imagine what they were whispering to each other: "Such diversity! Look at all those religious people! And then there is that girl running, just like in any other modern city!" Or something along those lines.
After stopping to admire the stark white beauty of the Mt. of Olives and to try to forget about how thirsty I was (really, to ignore the irrational part of me that told me it wouldn't be disgusting for me to pick up a random bottle full of whatever and drink it. Cause that would be safe, right?), I began to make the trek back, having resolved to return as soon as I could.
Which I did. 3 friends in tow, we trekked the same route back to the Mt. of Olives the next day. We had done thorough research on the places we were visiting and were all incredibly enthusiastic about getting to spend so much time in such a religiously important, ancient place. I was so grateful to be traveling with such fantastic people! We talked about the historical, religious and political issues while gawking at the everything we passed. Truly tourists, we were, decked out in backpacks, water bottles, cameras and maps. When do you really stop being a tourist?
We visited tombs of prophets, tried to read the Hebrew inscribed on the graves, stared at the beautiful view of the Old City. I talked and talked about all I had read about: how, in the time period that the Second Temple was built, most religious structures were built facing the East. But Jews pray to the Western Wall because it was closest to the innermost sanctum of the Second Temple, the Holy of Holies, where, once upon a time, God was actually thought to have lived. We marveled at ruins dating back to the time of the City of David and the fact that these ruins exist underneath the ground that we walk/drive upon today. We wandered the Old City, traversing the Arab quarter in search of food, as that quarter was not closing down for Shabbat yet.
We ended our FABULOUS day sitting at a small lookout point above the Western Wall, the Kotel. I convinced the people I was with that it was imperative we stay to watch the actual proceedings of Shabbat, as my Shabbat spent there on Birth Right was a huge part of me wanting to return. So, we sat (and napped) for about an hour and a half as below us, the divided sides of the Kotel began to fill with men in black suits and hats and women in dark wigs and modest skirts. All of a sudden, we heard loud singing. An enormous circle had formed close to one of the entrances of the Western Wall area and people were hopping in, dancing around, singing a song to celebrate the arrival of Shabbat. I hummed along, my eyes filling! I find Israel such a fascinating, difficult place to understand. It is so charged, politically, religiously, historically. It means so much to so many people and I find myself empathizing more and more with everyone in their quest to claim it as their home. It makes me chuckle to think how entranced I am with the history of this tiny land; it is more passion for one place than I ever felt for American history. Watching the proceedings of Shabbat as the sun set and Shabbat, one of my favorite and one of the most meaningful holidays in my Jewish background, tugged at my heartstrings in the way my Birth Right Shabbat had. My Jewish identity, and Jewish identity in general, has often troubled me. I think it is a struggle for many people to understand themselves in this religion/ethnicity/nation. But watching Shabbat, where everyone is singing the same songs and praying prayers known to all, at a spot so holy to so many religions, where there are people of all colors wearing kippas, and the muezzins' call to prayer has begun from all sides and the bells in the Churches have just stopped tolling...it took my breath away.
And it all brings to mind the question: whose history are we really learning? Are you really learning? Running through those Arab neighborhoods was hard: sidewalks seemed so scarce, as there was no official parking. Back into the Jewish neighborhoods and everything gets nicer, less crowded, less dirty, less dusty. Am I part of the problem or the solution? I'm not really sure of the answers, but I know that I want to try to learn as much about every side of the history of this amazing, tough place.
After spending that great day in Tel Aviv, I returned home for some quality R&R. For the first time since I was 12, I slept till 1 in the afternoon! Woke up at 11, ate breakfast, read, went back to sleep. It was amazing. Our apartment was also incredibly quiet - surprising how the absence of 2/5 people can make such a difference in the noise level!
When I woke up, I decided to go for a run. There had been some conversation at a little after-dinner get together about all the great places there are to run to/around in the area. After this conversation, I felt inspired to check out the area. I also hadn't run in about a month. Running is my favorite ways to see more of where I live (and to stay in shape!).
Running shoes on, clothes that I hoped were decently modest on, I groggily strolled out of the apartment. I got slightly sidetracked when I decided that I should find my mailbox. I have only lived here for a month, maybe it was about time! Unfortunately, my key didn't work! I stood in the creepy, narrow mail room for 5 minutes, jiggling the stupid key, while letters with my name on them sat there tantalizingly. Thank goodness for a friend of a friend who resolutely stood there rattling the entire wall of mailboxes until the latch on mine (and possibly a few others) clicked open.
Anyways, away I went. I decided to run to the Mt. of Olives. The Mt. of Olives is the oldest Jewish cemetery. It sits East of the Old City. I have been reading a fantastic book about the history of Israel and the Bible and was incredibly curious. Run, run, run. Thank goodness I am in shape! Because the hills here are relentless and seem to be about a mile long! Keeping my internal compass in check, I turned this way and that and found myself, after only 15 minutes, in a completely different world. An Arab neighborhood. Honestly, this isn't that strange. The Student Village is basically located in East Jerusalem and we are surrounded by Arab neighborhoods (student orientation went a bit like this: "So, don't go to any of these areas marked in red." Basically all the areas surrounding the Student Village...). I felt a bit of panic rise up in me. Honestly, the people in the neighborhood looked just about as shocked to see me merrily jogging along as I was shocked to have entered into such a completely different world. Whereas most of the street signs in the area that I traverse the most are written in Hebrew, Arabic and English, all of the signs in this area were written in Arabic (later, a friend joked that they could say anything, such as "beware of land mines" and we would have no clue!). I think Arabic is absolutely beautiful. As I ran, I found myself confronting this strange discrimination/prejudice that I wasn't really aware I had until in this situation. As an American, as a Westerner, as a Jew, there exist so many stereotypes and negative images of Arabs (whether Christian, Muslim, secular, etc.). But I LIVE in the Middle East. I realized that this was and is something that I need to think more about.
Running didn't last for very long, as I began to speed more and more out of control down a hill. Not to mention that it was the hottest time of day...Somehow, I made it to the Mount of Olives. I walked past the Tomb of Mary, technically where she ascended to heaven, and the beautiful Basilica of Agony, the last place that Jesus prayed before he was betrayed by the Romans. These were only a few of the beautiful places that I saw as I walked by, open-mouthed, dripping in sweat. I was also fascinated by the people. Everywhere in Jerusalem, extremely religious Jews are easy to spot. But here there were also Christians and Muslims in full religious garb. And so many tourists. I could just imagine what they were whispering to each other: "Such diversity! Look at all those religious people! And then there is that girl running, just like in any other modern city!" Or something along those lines.
After stopping to admire the stark white beauty of the Mt. of Olives and to try to forget about how thirsty I was (really, to ignore the irrational part of me that told me it wouldn't be disgusting for me to pick up a random bottle full of whatever and drink it. Cause that would be safe, right?), I began to make the trek back, having resolved to return as soon as I could.
Which I did. 3 friends in tow, we trekked the same route back to the Mt. of Olives the next day. We had done thorough research on the places we were visiting and were all incredibly enthusiastic about getting to spend so much time in such a religiously important, ancient place. I was so grateful to be traveling with such fantastic people! We talked about the historical, religious and political issues while gawking at the everything we passed. Truly tourists, we were, decked out in backpacks, water bottles, cameras and maps. When do you really stop being a tourist?
We visited tombs of prophets, tried to read the Hebrew inscribed on the graves, stared at the beautiful view of the Old City. I talked and talked about all I had read about: how, in the time period that the Second Temple was built, most religious structures were built facing the East. But Jews pray to the Western Wall because it was closest to the innermost sanctum of the Second Temple, the Holy of Holies, where, once upon a time, God was actually thought to have lived. We marveled at ruins dating back to the time of the City of David and the fact that these ruins exist underneath the ground that we walk/drive upon today. We wandered the Old City, traversing the Arab quarter in search of food, as that quarter was not closing down for Shabbat yet.
We ended our FABULOUS day sitting at a small lookout point above the Western Wall, the Kotel. I convinced the people I was with that it was imperative we stay to watch the actual proceedings of Shabbat, as my Shabbat spent there on Birth Right was a huge part of me wanting to return. So, we sat (and napped) for about an hour and a half as below us, the divided sides of the Kotel began to fill with men in black suits and hats and women in dark wigs and modest skirts. All of a sudden, we heard loud singing. An enormous circle had formed close to one of the entrances of the Western Wall area and people were hopping in, dancing around, singing a song to celebrate the arrival of Shabbat. I hummed along, my eyes filling! I find Israel such a fascinating, difficult place to understand. It is so charged, politically, religiously, historically. It means so much to so many people and I find myself empathizing more and more with everyone in their quest to claim it as their home. It makes me chuckle to think how entranced I am with the history of this tiny land; it is more passion for one place than I ever felt for American history. Watching the proceedings of Shabbat as the sun set and Shabbat, one of my favorite and one of the most meaningful holidays in my Jewish background, tugged at my heartstrings in the way my Birth Right Shabbat had. My Jewish identity, and Jewish identity in general, has often troubled me. I think it is a struggle for many people to understand themselves in this religion/ethnicity/nation. But watching Shabbat, where everyone is singing the same songs and praying prayers known to all, at a spot so holy to so many religions, where there are people of all colors wearing kippas, and the muezzins' call to prayer has begun from all sides and the bells in the Churches have just stopped tolling...it took my breath away.
And it all brings to mind the question: whose history are we really learning? Are you really learning? Running through those Arab neighborhoods was hard: sidewalks seemed so scarce, as there was no official parking. Back into the Jewish neighborhoods and everything gets nicer, less crowded, less dirty, less dusty. Am I part of the problem or the solution? I'm not really sure of the answers, but I know that I want to try to learn as much about every side of the history of this amazing, tough place.
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