When you go to a restaurant in Israel, your experience will be quite different than the one you are used to if you are from the United States. You may or may not be approached to be seated. Often, you will be allowed to choose your table and only once you have sat down will you be spoken to by a waiter. They will gladly bring you the menu and take the order, but you must remember to ask for water as it will not be automatically given to you (there is a water shortage here, dontchaknow?). When you have placed your order, the necessary utensils will then be given to you. Your food will be brought quickly and, regardless of whether you are eating at a fancy restaurant or a cafe, the food will usually be presented very professionally. You will be asked how your food is and then you will be left alone. The waiters will come to pick up your plates if they see you have finished, but they will not then proceed to place the bill on the table. You can sit, talk, drink a coffee, stare off into space for however long you would like and they will never once hurry you in any way. No dirty looks will be given to you if you linger for hours without ordering anything else, you are free to enjoy your stay in the restaurant for as long as you desire. The bill will only be given to you when you ask for it.
As someone from the States (meaning: very shy when it comes to talking about money in any shape or form and someone used to being sped out of restaurants so that they can have as many customers as possible in order to make the maximum amount of money), this was very difficult for me to get used to.
But if there is anything I have learned during my time in Israel, it is that it really is all about the experience. What is, you may ask. Everything. Everything is about the experience.
Showing posts with label thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thoughts. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Havdalah: All Things Must Come to an End
Shabbat has always been my favorite Jewish holiday. When I went to interfaith classes to learn about being Jewish, the cantor taught us that it is the most important holiday in Judaism. It was the only holiday my family really ever tried to adhere to. We spent Shabbats sans electricity, sans cars, sans work of any sort (quite a difficult task for a high school girl with a social life). Shabbat became my favorite holiday. My Dad would make golden brown challah for dinner, we would light the candles and say the only blessings I ever really learned. The comfortable, simple blessings over the wine and the bread became my own because of their repetition, unlike the rest of Jewish tradition which I often felt had been left out of my DNA.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
"If you need a little touch of America, go to the West Bank"
"Hey, want to go to Bethlehem with us?" "SURE!"
You hear a lot of things about the West Bank. In America, there is an insecurity about this Palestinian land. In Israel, the opinions range, as do those of international students. Our schools and sometimes our families tell us that it is unsafe to go there. I have heard many people say, "The West Bank? Yeah, I'd love to go. But I'm Jewish. And I LOOK Jewish." (I always find that statement funny as I feel like internationals are identified more with their nation than with their religion, especially as the Jewish stereotypes that exist in America are not the exact ones that exist about Israeli Jews.) Other people are very nonchalant about it. I didn't know what to think, but I decided that, regardless, I was going to go.
I was invited on this trip by a friend who is interning with the UN. He absolutely loves wandering around the West Bank and he served as our tour guide throughout, explaining to us the political tensions, the best places to get fried chicken, and what we should see.
We boarded a bus at Damascus Gate. An Arab bus. That is really what people call them. Paid our 10 shekels and began to make our way through suburbs of Jerusalem that I have never seen before. All of a sudden, we were surrounded simply by hills with little groupings of houses on top of them. Some of them were settlements, distinguishable in their defiant-neatness. Others were Arab cities, looking much more ramshackle but filled with building materials, as though no one could decide whether they were being built up or torn down.  |
| The security barrier, which DOES not follow the green line at all. In some places, it is simply a fence, in others it is a wall, and in some places it looks like this. The overhang is so that people cannot shoot down at cars. |
As you can see, the Security Barrier cuts through many parts of the West Bank that it is not supposed to. Very clever, if you think about it, but it really, really has hurt the lives of Palestinians. It separates many farmers from their crops, people from their schools and jobs etc. It makes commuting disastrous and frustrating. Israel is taking over more land than it is supposed to regardless of the people whom they are taking the land from. One of the many things that I spent this short trip contemplating.
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| Green line = The line drawn in 1949 to demarcate the difference between Israel and a potential Palestine. The red line is the part of the security fence that has been completed. The purple is the part that is planned, as is the blue. |
The wall has been covered in art and words. This is not a phenomenon isolated in Palestine; art covers many walls in Israel. But it was obvious that the Security Barrier was a very relevant canvas for the people's protests, messages, thoughts, hopes etc.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Shaving with Rusty Razors
It is a sad fact in my life that I am terrible with transitions.
"I am so sad that we have so little time left here!" I moaned to a friend while walking back from school. He just looked at me like I was crazy.
Ok, so it's true, I am in Israel for 42 more days. (GAH! When I say it like that, it sounds like nothing!) But I am really horrible with switching from one thing to another and I have already begun to attempt to think a bit more about the lives that I will be heading back to in the States. I try to anticipate what I will feel in the future, which, although great ('cause I am usually right), is terrible because it takes me out of wherever I am in the moment. More than that, I have begun to mourn the loss of all the amazing people that I have met here in Israel. What random events bring people together. In two months, most of the people that I spend my time with will be spread across the planet once more. Some to return back to their home towns, some to remain in Israel for another semester, some to study abroad else where.
Which brings me to why I was shaving with a rusty razor today. Granted, this is not a rare occurrence in my life. Having grown up with only a bath tub, I have never mastered/been taught the art of preserving a razor without it rusting after one use. Hence, I often find myself looking at my razor with worry, then using it anyways. (I can imagine my Mom wincing now as she reads this). It probably doesn't help that I am usually in a hurry to shower, as I pride myself in wicked fast showers, and often emerge with little rivers of blood streaming down my legs...
"I am so sad that we have so little time left here!" I moaned to a friend while walking back from school. He just looked at me like I was crazy.
Ok, so it's true, I am in Israel for 42 more days. (GAH! When I say it like that, it sounds like nothing!) But I am really horrible with switching from one thing to another and I have already begun to attempt to think a bit more about the lives that I will be heading back to in the States. I try to anticipate what I will feel in the future, which, although great ('cause I am usually right), is terrible because it takes me out of wherever I am in the moment. More than that, I have begun to mourn the loss of all the amazing people that I have met here in Israel. What random events bring people together. In two months, most of the people that I spend my time with will be spread across the planet once more. Some to return back to their home towns, some to remain in Israel for another semester, some to study abroad else where.
Which brings me to why I was shaving with a rusty razor today. Granted, this is not a rare occurrence in my life. Having grown up with only a bath tub, I have never mastered/been taught the art of preserving a razor without it rusting after one use. Hence, I often find myself looking at my razor with worry, then using it anyways. (I can imagine my Mom wincing now as she reads this). It probably doesn't help that I am usually in a hurry to shower, as I pride myself in wicked fast showers, and often emerge with little rivers of blood streaming down my legs...
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Adventures in Arad and Conversations
How are friend groups created? Why are they? Why are they so important?
These were questions that were asked quite often last weekend on a trip (a "Shabbaton") to Arad, a small city in the Negev (desert). They were brought up with good reason. Most of the students who attended the Shabbaton have been here in Israel for at least a month. The 91 attendees went to Ulpan together and have figured out Israel together. We know each other from classes, from other friends, from living on an almost deserted campus for two months before the rest of the students arrived (see: problems with the way that schools attempt to acclimate their international students). But this Shabbaton was very different from the first.
The first Shabbaton began with my and my roomies sprinting outside after waiting for a roommate who had forgotten to set her alarm. We didn't know each other well and were glad to have this shared experience to talk about. We were all exhausted, as no one had been in Israel for more than 4 days. I met so many people on that trip, completely unsure of and not at all worried about who I would eventually hang out with. A friend of mine who I was introduced to on the trip always likes to make fun of the fact that I didn't remember anything about him for the first two weeks of our occurrence. I made the mistake of telling him exactly why this is the case for most of the people that I meet in the beginning of programs - you just don't know who you are going to end up hanging out with in the end. Remembering everything about them, especially when you have asked 50 people the same questions, is difficult and sometimes silly, as you might never talk to that person again
This Shabbaton began with me meeting friends who I knew were going in front of the buses. We worried about where a few of our friends were and I gave them a call, only to be informed they had woken up late and we shouldn't let the bus leave with them. We settled easily into our seats, comfortable chatting with, sleeping next to, listening to music with the person next to us. No obligations. We know we're friends. That's enough.
 |
| View from my window at an obscenely early hour. |
These were questions that were asked quite often last weekend on a trip (a "Shabbaton") to Arad, a small city in the Negev (desert). They were brought up with good reason. Most of the students who attended the Shabbaton have been here in Israel for at least a month. The 91 attendees went to Ulpan together and have figured out Israel together. We know each other from classes, from other friends, from living on an almost deserted campus for two months before the rest of the students arrived (see: problems with the way that schools attempt to acclimate their international students). But this Shabbaton was very different from the first.
The first Shabbaton began with my and my roomies sprinting outside after waiting for a roommate who had forgotten to set her alarm. We didn't know each other well and were glad to have this shared experience to talk about. We were all exhausted, as no one had been in Israel for more than 4 days. I met so many people on that trip, completely unsure of and not at all worried about who I would eventually hang out with. A friend of mine who I was introduced to on the trip always likes to make fun of the fact that I didn't remember anything about him for the first two weeks of our occurrence. I made the mistake of telling him exactly why this is the case for most of the people that I meet in the beginning of programs - you just don't know who you are going to end up hanging out with in the end. Remembering everything about them, especially when you have asked 50 people the same questions, is difficult and sometimes silly, as you might never talk to that person again
This Shabbaton began with me meeting friends who I knew were going in front of the buses. We worried about where a few of our friends were and I gave them a call, only to be informed they had woken up late and we shouldn't let the bus leave with them. We settled easily into our seats, comfortable chatting with, sleeping next to, listening to music with the person next to us. No obligations. We know we're friends. That's enough.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Dance is Not Comfortable
We have cycled through various choreographers during the last 2 months of the DanceJerusalem program as we prepared two different works. One is part of a piece called...by Vertigo. The other is part of Kamyot by BatSheva. This has been interesting, as we have received very different interpretations of the pieces we are in. Sometimes confusing, as this will often change the directions, but overall very enlightening.
The other day, we had a choreographer come in who was part of BatSheva for 10 years and just recently left. He was by far one of my favorite choreographers. The BatSheva piece that we are working on has often felt very peaceful. It was much easier for me to learn than the Vertigo piece because each movement is very specific and is part of a new story. However, this new choreographer refused to allow us to settle into the piece. He pushed us to go further into it, to really challenge ourselves and I LOVED it. He spoke to us as my coaches used to when I played field hockey. Usually, when we finish this piece, we are all fine, not breathing too heavily, ready to do it again and to correct what needs to be corrected. But, under his direction, we were all panting at the end of the piece. He would accept no less than this complete throwing of ourselves into the movement.
The other day, we had a choreographer come in who was part of BatSheva for 10 years and just recently left. He was by far one of my favorite choreographers. The BatSheva piece that we are working on has often felt very peaceful. It was much easier for me to learn than the Vertigo piece because each movement is very specific and is part of a new story. However, this new choreographer refused to allow us to settle into the piece. He pushed us to go further into it, to really challenge ourselves and I LOVED it. He spoke to us as my coaches used to when I played field hockey. Usually, when we finish this piece, we are all fine, not breathing too heavily, ready to do it again and to correct what needs to be corrected. But, under his direction, we were all panting at the end of the piece. He would accept no less than this complete throwing of ourselves into the movement.
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.
Waking Up in Israel: The Return of Gilad Shalit and 1,000 Prisoners
(Written while listening to Katy Perry's "Waking Up In Vegas")
Generally, I wake up with the sunrise. To the sound of the muezzin's call to prayer, a beautifully eery song echoing throughout Jerusalem. Sometimes I wake up to the crowing of a rooster. Sometimes to the banging around of my roommates in the kitchen.
This morning I awoke to the sounds of firecrackers, fireworks, sirens and helicopters. It is the day that Gilad Shalit, an Israeli soldier who has been held captive, will be released after 5 years in captivity, held by Hamas. In exchange, Israel has/will free 1,000 prisoners. Today, 477 of them will be freed.
Let me tell you, it is INCREDIBLY unnerving to be woken up by fireworks. To look out the window and to see an IDF patrolling balloon thing in the air. To hear parades of cars honking and people shouting: everyone is celebrating.
But everyone is celebrating something different and I cannot help but feel nervous. Many of the prisoners being released in exchange for Gilad helped mastermind suicide bombings and terrorist attacks on Israel. Most of them were foiled, resulting in their capture. But they are being returned TO Israel (although some of them have been expelled to Egypt). Wherever their final destination, their reincorporation into Hamas and/or Fatah seems only imminent.
I am a complete humanist. I am so excited that all these people are being freed, that they are returning to their families after years spent in a horrible, suffocating cell. How amazing it must feel to finally see the sun, feel the wind on your face. I cannot imagine how amazing it must be. There are celebrations taking place everywhere, people speaking, tons of people amassed to greet those who have been freed. I can actually hear joyful shouting and singing from my window.
But all of it makes me incredibly nervous. I live in East Jerusalem, so the people who are celebrating are/were Palestinian. I live in a Kfar of Hebrew University, so those who are celebrating on campus are Israeli/Israeli supporters. It creates so many questions in my mind. Of course everyone deserves to be celebrating. But they are celebrating such different things! What will come of it all?!?!? More deaths, more abductions?
Generally, I wake up with the sunrise. To the sound of the muezzin's call to prayer, a beautifully eery song echoing throughout Jerusalem. Sometimes I wake up to the crowing of a rooster. Sometimes to the banging around of my roommates in the kitchen.
This morning I awoke to the sounds of firecrackers, fireworks, sirens and helicopters. It is the day that Gilad Shalit, an Israeli soldier who has been held captive, will be released after 5 years in captivity, held by Hamas. In exchange, Israel has/will free 1,000 prisoners. Today, 477 of them will be freed.
Let me tell you, it is INCREDIBLY unnerving to be woken up by fireworks. To look out the window and to see an IDF patrolling balloon thing in the air. To hear parades of cars honking and people shouting: everyone is celebrating.
But everyone is celebrating something different and I cannot help but feel nervous. Many of the prisoners being released in exchange for Gilad helped mastermind suicide bombings and terrorist attacks on Israel. Most of them were foiled, resulting in their capture. But they are being returned TO Israel (although some of them have been expelled to Egypt). Wherever their final destination, their reincorporation into Hamas and/or Fatah seems only imminent.
I am a complete humanist. I am so excited that all these people are being freed, that they are returning to their families after years spent in a horrible, suffocating cell. How amazing it must feel to finally see the sun, feel the wind on your face. I cannot imagine how amazing it must be. There are celebrations taking place everywhere, people speaking, tons of people amassed to greet those who have been freed. I can actually hear joyful shouting and singing from my window.
But all of it makes me incredibly nervous. I live in East Jerusalem, so the people who are celebrating are/were Palestinian. I live in a Kfar of Hebrew University, so those who are celebrating on campus are Israeli/Israeli supporters. It creates so many questions in my mind. Of course everyone deserves to be celebrating. But they are celebrating such different things! What will come of it all?!?!? More deaths, more abductions?
Sunday, October 9, 2011
It is better to be eaten by a stranger than by your friend...
Yesterday was Yom Kippur. The day that culminates the High Holy Days in Judaism. It is a holiday to which I have never really connected. Also known as the Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur comes 11 days after Rosh Hashana, giving Jews a time to reflect on the past year and on the year to come. On Yom Kippur, you fast, abstaining from food for 25 hours (although I learned that the fast lasts 28 hours in Mexico and is more like 22 hours here in Israel). It is called the Ultimate Shabbat, a time to ask for forgiveness from God and from others, to repair wrongs, to generally cleanse yourself.
A few friends and I prepared the requisite big meal, but none of us had any intention of fasting. A table set with chili, quinoa, no-bake peach crumble, noodles and chicken, meat for the chili, an amazing cheese, and fruit, we sat down and ate until we could eat no more.
The next morning I woke up and realized that I was interested in fasting. Not because of any of the religious ideas - I may not know what I believe in, but I certainly know I do not believe in sins and repenting. I believe that forgiveness should not be dictated by a holiday and that the self-awareness encouraged by the High Holy Days should be present throughout the year. Moment one where I realized that I grew up in a very secluded world of thinkers: turns out that most people DON'T spend their days contemplating their existence and their effect on the world. Who knew?
I had an interesting conversation with a friend about how Yom Kippur offers us a time to think about the presence of food in our lives. Like me, he did not condone the idea of forced forgiveness or repenting for sins, but he fasted because he felt that it made him more aware of how lucky we are to have such a constant surplus of various foods.
I fasted last year, although the day after Yom Kippur, for myself. This year, I fasted for myself again. But I did it in a country where everyone was doing the same. Even the most secular Jews were abstaining from food. Although I think I actually spent less time contemplating my influence on the world and others, I was awoken to how much I take food for granted. Normally I wake up to the sounds of my roommates in the kitchen, opening and closing the refrigerator, preparing their eggs and oatmeal and cereal and toast. On Yom Kippur, there was silence. Normally, the kitchen and the connected living room are where we hang out and catch up. But these rooms were silent the entire day. We stayed holed up in our rooms, reading, watching TV, sleeping, trying not to think about food!!!
It was not even the food that I missed. I spend so much of my day preparing and thinking about food. I am most at peace when I am in the kitchen. Even as I type this, I am watching over a pot of tapioca pudding that is to be dessert for a huge meal some friends and I have planned for dinner tonight. I am so happy when thinking about what I will be making, when I am preparing it, when I am eating it. I truly enjoy food. At the hardest part of the day, when I was ready to break the fast before we walked to the Old City with a picnic, I began to cut up mango. It was so difficult not to lick my fingers, I threw away so much food that I normally would have snacked on. But just touching and smelling the food soothed me.
Moment two when I realized how sheltered I am: I had a conversation with someone on the way back from the Old City. We were debating the merit of Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashana. I explained to him that I feel that forgiveness should not be forced, it should be genuine. I told him that I also think that this level of contemplation should always exist and asked if he would normally think about his place in the world in the way he was required to on Yom Kippur. He told me that he would not, that he generally takes his Rabbi's and Judaism's teaching as the end-all-be-all guidebook. This astonished me. I have been taught to question everything, to take no guidebook for granted ever. I cannot imagine living by one source. It sounded so constraining to me, but he sounded happily grounded by it. As a religion major, this gave me a completely different, more realistic perspective on faith. As a person, it opened my eyes to the reality of human life.
Moment three when I realized how lucky I am to be so sheltered: I have existed in a world full of intellectual, curious, compassionate people who are concerned about their impact on the world and on others. I have been taught to seek out beauty and wisdom, to always try to be the best person that I can. I am also constantly surrounded by love. I carry around my keys on a keychain given to me by a friend, made because she knew that I always carry my keys that way and I would need a keychain in Israel. I carry a cookbook with recipes from different family members and friends, written to preserve their memory and to help me record my cooking endeavors. Multiple people think about me, care about how I am and who I am, miss me on a regular basis. I am so incredibly lucky.
This is a big thank to all of you. I would not be who I am today without you. I would not be able to feel so secure and so sure that there is good and love and compassion in the world without you. I hope you know how grateful I am for you!
A few friends and I prepared the requisite big meal, but none of us had any intention of fasting. A table set with chili, quinoa, no-bake peach crumble, noodles and chicken, meat for the chili, an amazing cheese, and fruit, we sat down and ate until we could eat no more.
 |
| The beautiful dinner!!! |
The next morning I woke up and realized that I was interested in fasting. Not because of any of the religious ideas - I may not know what I believe in, but I certainly know I do not believe in sins and repenting. I believe that forgiveness should not be dictated by a holiday and that the self-awareness encouraged by the High Holy Days should be present throughout the year. Moment one where I realized that I grew up in a very secluded world of thinkers: turns out that most people DON'T spend their days contemplating their existence and their effect on the world. Who knew?
I had an interesting conversation with a friend about how Yom Kippur offers us a time to think about the presence of food in our lives. Like me, he did not condone the idea of forced forgiveness or repenting for sins, but he fasted because he felt that it made him more aware of how lucky we are to have such a constant surplus of various foods.
 |
| The end of Yom Kippur celebrations. We sat and had a picnic with this great view of the Western Wall. Most people had already gone home to break their fast. We were late! |
I fasted last year, although the day after Yom Kippur, for myself. This year, I fasted for myself again. But I did it in a country where everyone was doing the same. Even the most secular Jews were abstaining from food. Although I think I actually spent less time contemplating my influence on the world and others, I was awoken to how much I take food for granted. Normally I wake up to the sounds of my roommates in the kitchen, opening and closing the refrigerator, preparing their eggs and oatmeal and cereal and toast. On Yom Kippur, there was silence. Normally, the kitchen and the connected living room are where we hang out and catch up. But these rooms were silent the entire day. We stayed holed up in our rooms, reading, watching TV, sleeping, trying not to think about food!!!
It was not even the food that I missed. I spend so much of my day preparing and thinking about food. I am most at peace when I am in the kitchen. Even as I type this, I am watching over a pot of tapioca pudding that is to be dessert for a huge meal some friends and I have planned for dinner tonight. I am so happy when thinking about what I will be making, when I am preparing it, when I am eating it. I truly enjoy food. At the hardest part of the day, when I was ready to break the fast before we walked to the Old City with a picnic, I began to cut up mango. It was so difficult not to lick my fingers, I threw away so much food that I normally would have snacked on. But just touching and smelling the food soothed me.
 |
| The empty streets of Jerusalem on Yom Kippur. Kids ride their bikes in the street, we walked in the street: NO ONE is out. In fact, a lot of the streets are blockaded. But that is a topic to bring up another time... |
Moment three when I realized how lucky I am to be so sheltered: I have existed in a world full of intellectual, curious, compassionate people who are concerned about their impact on the world and on others. I have been taught to seek out beauty and wisdom, to always try to be the best person that I can. I am also constantly surrounded by love. I carry around my keys on a keychain given to me by a friend, made because she knew that I always carry my keys that way and I would need a keychain in Israel. I carry a cookbook with recipes from different family members and friends, written to preserve their memory and to help me record my cooking endeavors. Multiple people think about me, care about how I am and who I am, miss me on a regular basis. I am so incredibly lucky.
This is a big thank to all of you. I would not be who I am today without you. I would not be able to feel so secure and so sure that there is good and love and compassion in the world without you. I hope you know how grateful I am for you!
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.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Like wings on water...
As always, strong Elisa won out.
After taking a class with the famous Ohad Naharin, two friends and I decided to brave Tel Aviv. It was decided that we were going to do this about an hour or so before we left and I assigned myself the task of figuring out where we would stay/how we would get back. Sadly, I (maybe unsurprisingly) got distracted after writing down a bus number and a few names of hostels. Thus, we ended up wandering around using my handy-dandy touristy Israel! book. After finding some delicious food (I ate shakshuka, a totally Israeli dish. Basically is sunny-side-up eggs cooked in tomato sauce. With a cute little loaf of bread on the side (lachmania in Hebrew!). Unfortunately, I have been abstaining from eating eggs while here, as they still freak me out. Thus, the meal was delicious, but a little strange. For dessert, I ordered vanilla gelato in a cup of espresso. YUM!), we attempted to find a hostel. We realized this morning that we walked the majority of Tel Aviv in our search! Finally we found one, paid and went to bed. Mission one accomplished. I have never in my entire life done something like that. Wandered around with no notion of where I am going to sleep. We contemplated sleeping on the beach, which would have been fabulous. Next time. But, like always, situations that could be problematic seem to put me in a state of complete calm and I was not at all worried about what would happen.
We woke up, ate breakfast and walked the two blocks to the beach. DE-Licious. The Mediterranean is beautiful, a deep blue, green. Walk in and take a close look at the bottom. You see little gray fishes swimming calmly around your feet. We floated for so long, rolled in the sand, floated some more. It was lovely. Then we began our adventure to try to get back. Once again, we had little to go off of but a map and the number of a bus. After sitting outside a vacant bus station, I reread the sign and realized that it said "lila" (it also said some other words, however, I could not read them!). We quickly deduced that that bus was probably not going to come any time soon, wandered around a bit more and made it onto the next bus to Jerusalem.
Sitting on the bus thinking, I felt very proud of myself. I have never been the type of person who really looks up to other people in the way that I feel most do. I always find the most strength and courage by reflecting on the things that I have been able to do in my past. This night was a true beginning to actually immersing myself in the world of Israel. It only makes me feel like I can do more, see more, learn more.
Tel Aviv is very different than Jerusalem. Walking around Jerusalem in shorts that would be considered a moderate length in the US can be rather uncomfortable. I simply feel disrespectful and very aware of the Hasidic, Orthodox and Muslim people around me. But in Tel Aviv, things are much more like what I am used to. Everything stays open late at night, there are many young people, there are dogs instead of the ridiculous number of cats that wander around Jerusalem. In our journey, we saw many parts of Tel Aviv. To be honesty, it felt a bit like Boston, but all the buildings are built with white stone. We walked past the tent cities, which look rather homey now, full living room sets placed outside of some. We wandered past beautiful gardens, many cute cafes, and stores that are oft seen in the US.
Traveling simply made me feel like I COULD accomplish all that I want to. We were hungrily attempting to read all the signs and trying to figure out what they said. We were listening to people talk and getting really excited when we recognized words or even phrases ("Yesh hadash?" "Ken": Do you have new (bread)? Yes.). It was a fabulous reality check.
Now I am back in Jerusalem with great plans to travel and sight see as much as I can during Rosh Hashana break. It is, after all the new year. Time to set the pace for the next one!
To you all, Shana Tova!
After taking a class with the famous Ohad Naharin, two friends and I decided to brave Tel Aviv. It was decided that we were going to do this about an hour or so before we left and I assigned myself the task of figuring out where we would stay/how we would get back. Sadly, I (maybe unsurprisingly) got distracted after writing down a bus number and a few names of hostels. Thus, we ended up wandering around using my handy-dandy touristy Israel! book. After finding some delicious food (I ate shakshuka, a totally Israeli dish. Basically is sunny-side-up eggs cooked in tomato sauce. With a cute little loaf of bread on the side (lachmania in Hebrew!). Unfortunately, I have been abstaining from eating eggs while here, as they still freak me out. Thus, the meal was delicious, but a little strange. For dessert, I ordered vanilla gelato in a cup of espresso. YUM!), we attempted to find a hostel. We realized this morning that we walked the majority of Tel Aviv in our search! Finally we found one, paid and went to bed. Mission one accomplished. I have never in my entire life done something like that. Wandered around with no notion of where I am going to sleep. We contemplated sleeping on the beach, which would have been fabulous. Next time. But, like always, situations that could be problematic seem to put me in a state of complete calm and I was not at all worried about what would happen.
We woke up, ate breakfast and walked the two blocks to the beach. DE-Licious. The Mediterranean is beautiful, a deep blue, green. Walk in and take a close look at the bottom. You see little gray fishes swimming calmly around your feet. We floated for so long, rolled in the sand, floated some more. It was lovely. Then we began our adventure to try to get back. Once again, we had little to go off of but a map and the number of a bus. After sitting outside a vacant bus station, I reread the sign and realized that it said "lila" (it also said some other words, however, I could not read them!). We quickly deduced that that bus was probably not going to come any time soon, wandered around a bit more and made it onto the next bus to Jerusalem.
Sitting on the bus thinking, I felt very proud of myself. I have never been the type of person who really looks up to other people in the way that I feel most do. I always find the most strength and courage by reflecting on the things that I have been able to do in my past. This night was a true beginning to actually immersing myself in the world of Israel. It only makes me feel like I can do more, see more, learn more.
Tel Aviv is very different than Jerusalem. Walking around Jerusalem in shorts that would be considered a moderate length in the US can be rather uncomfortable. I simply feel disrespectful and very aware of the Hasidic, Orthodox and Muslim people around me. But in Tel Aviv, things are much more like what I am used to. Everything stays open late at night, there are many young people, there are dogs instead of the ridiculous number of cats that wander around Jerusalem. In our journey, we saw many parts of Tel Aviv. To be honesty, it felt a bit like Boston, but all the buildings are built with white stone. We walked past the tent cities, which look rather homey now, full living room sets placed outside of some. We wandered past beautiful gardens, many cute cafes, and stores that are oft seen in the US.
Traveling simply made me feel like I COULD accomplish all that I want to. We were hungrily attempting to read all the signs and trying to figure out what they said. We were listening to people talk and getting really excited when we recognized words or even phrases ("Yesh hadash?" "Ken": Do you have new (bread)? Yes.). It was a fabulous reality check.
Now I am back in Jerusalem with great plans to travel and sight see as much as I can during Rosh Hashana break. It is, after all the new year. Time to set the pace for the next one!
To you all, Shana Tova!
Monday, September 26, 2011
What the hell am I doing here?
This is a question that has crossed my mind so many times recently. The question itself, I have discovered, is much more layered than it appears. Thus the answers produced range from the literal to the philosophical.
Literally: I am sitting here enjoying the internet that, after exactly 4 weeks, was FINALLY set up in my apartment!!! Thus, facebook chatting with someone who I can actually talk to if I stick my head out the window and doing other such silly things.
Literally on a bigger scale: Studying dance and religion. Living in Jerusalem, Israel. Going to school.
Emotionally: Trying to find my equilibrium. Attempting to balance so many hours of dance and school with establishing a life, while attempting to maintain connections to those who are much further away.
Physically: Trying not to fall asleep.
Mentally: Trying to wrap my head constantly around all the amazing things that I am doing and what they mean for my life and for the world. A few days ago I was in the Elah Valley, where David fought Goliath. David, who became Judaism's most beloved King, fought the giant Goliath in the valley where I slept a few nights ago. I can see the shining gold dome of the Temple Mount from my living room window. The place where Abraham almost sacrificed Isaac, where Muhammed ascended to heaven, only a few blocks away from the Church of the Holy Sepulchur, where Christ was resurrected. The Western Wall, the Mount of Olives, etc. All these places are a part of my daily life.
Which brings me to the more intense layers of this question. What am I doing here? All I seem to do is go to school. I have had little time to explore or engage with the place in which I am living. This is beginning to drive me crazy. With the week-long break that comes with the Jewish New Year, I plan to explore and spend quality time with this center of so many religions. But at the end of the day, what is it that I want to get out of being here? I am honestly not sure.
I find myself asking this question in dance class, when I am exhausted and staring at the clock, counting the minutes to when we will be done. When I am feeling absolutely hopeless about executing a piece of choreography that we have been practicing for weeks. When I watch the other dancers and hear them discuss the icons of dance, whose work and lives I know so little about. I am immersed in this world but, just like to Judaism, I came so late! It leaves me unsure of where I want to be and unsure of where I am. Thus leaving me feeling unsettled about the correctness of actually being here, in this program. Am I just wasting my time? What do I want to get out of this? What do I hope to do with these two fields of study? Usually when nagging strangers hear about my majors and ask why I am studying them, I simply reply that I love them and will gladly go where the wind takes me.
The wind has brought me here. What will I do now that I am here? I feel so exhausted by the whirlwind way that I have been moving through life, while am becoming so aware of my complete ignorance of the place that I am living. I am so caught up in this bubble of international students, in the bubble of dance students within that bubble and I feel unsure of how to escape. Time itself is moving so quickly. How to take advantage without being dashed to pieces?
The optimistic, strong Elisa who got me here with so much passion and curiosity and drive would set goals down here. Set goals about speaking Hebrew, about exploring as much of Israel as I possibly can, about not only reading but really touching and being touched by the people and culture and history of this beautiful place. The exhausted, yet to be emotionally settled Elisa can only think about how great those goals sound, but how much better some quality rest time sounds.
So let the winds blow. I suppose I will try to follow them where I may without getting lost.
And for now, maybe the literal answers to this question can ground me so that I do not feel lost as I search for answers to the deeper, philosophical ones.
Literally: I am sitting here enjoying the internet that, after exactly 4 weeks, was FINALLY set up in my apartment!!! Thus, facebook chatting with someone who I can actually talk to if I stick my head out the window and doing other such silly things.
Literally on a bigger scale: Studying dance and religion. Living in Jerusalem, Israel. Going to school.
Emotionally: Trying to find my equilibrium. Attempting to balance so many hours of dance and school with establishing a life, while attempting to maintain connections to those who are much further away.
Physically: Trying not to fall asleep.
Mentally: Trying to wrap my head constantly around all the amazing things that I am doing and what they mean for my life and for the world. A few days ago I was in the Elah Valley, where David fought Goliath. David, who became Judaism's most beloved King, fought the giant Goliath in the valley where I slept a few nights ago. I can see the shining gold dome of the Temple Mount from my living room window. The place where Abraham almost sacrificed Isaac, where Muhammed ascended to heaven, only a few blocks away from the Church of the Holy Sepulchur, where Christ was resurrected. The Western Wall, the Mount of Olives, etc. All these places are a part of my daily life.
Which brings me to the more intense layers of this question. What am I doing here? All I seem to do is go to school. I have had little time to explore or engage with the place in which I am living. This is beginning to drive me crazy. With the week-long break that comes with the Jewish New Year, I plan to explore and spend quality time with this center of so many religions. But at the end of the day, what is it that I want to get out of being here? I am honestly not sure.
I find myself asking this question in dance class, when I am exhausted and staring at the clock, counting the minutes to when we will be done. When I am feeling absolutely hopeless about executing a piece of choreography that we have been practicing for weeks. When I watch the other dancers and hear them discuss the icons of dance, whose work and lives I know so little about. I am immersed in this world but, just like to Judaism, I came so late! It leaves me unsure of where I want to be and unsure of where I am. Thus leaving me feeling unsettled about the correctness of actually being here, in this program. Am I just wasting my time? What do I want to get out of this? What do I hope to do with these two fields of study? Usually when nagging strangers hear about my majors and ask why I am studying them, I simply reply that I love them and will gladly go where the wind takes me.
The wind has brought me here. What will I do now that I am here? I feel so exhausted by the whirlwind way that I have been moving through life, while am becoming so aware of my complete ignorance of the place that I am living. I am so caught up in this bubble of international students, in the bubble of dance students within that bubble and I feel unsure of how to escape. Time itself is moving so quickly. How to take advantage without being dashed to pieces?
The optimistic, strong Elisa who got me here with so much passion and curiosity and drive would set goals down here. Set goals about speaking Hebrew, about exploring as much of Israel as I possibly can, about not only reading but really touching and being touched by the people and culture and history of this beautiful place. The exhausted, yet to be emotionally settled Elisa can only think about how great those goals sound, but how much better some quality rest time sounds.
So let the winds blow. I suppose I will try to follow them where I may without getting lost.
And for now, maybe the literal answers to this question can ground me so that I do not feel lost as I search for answers to the deeper, philosophical ones.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
To be a bird with(out) roots
This is a phrase that I have been meditating on this entire week, one that resonates with the complexities of my life as it has come to be thus far. Thinking about how it is that we, as human beings, and me, as a changing, evolving being, balance flying and stretching our wings with planting roots and attaching ourselves to places, to people, to things.
This week brought on a strong bout of homesickness, not dealt with well. It has been an exhausting, backbreaking week (kashe, in Hebrew!) and I was not sure when it would end. I needed to restore myself to a mental, emotional and physical place of solidity and balance. Thus a day spent skipping Hebrew class before the other dancers and I took a trip to an Eco-Art Kibbutz. I attempted to find that place of peacefulness that I so require in order to participate responsibly in the world. Isn’t it fascinating how quickly we attach ourselves to things and to people, regardless of their impending end. I leave here in about 3.5 months and find it difficult to not already regret parting with some of the amazing people that I have met and with this oh-so-complicated place in which I live.
Anyways, let me tell you about my travels! So, I went to this Kibbutz which is the home of Vertigo, an truly beautiful, interesting dance company. The project, housed on this Kibbutz, was started by a woman named Noa. Today, after an exhausting, sometimes painful day of rehearsals, she sat and spoke with us. Noa is a true storyteller. She talked to us for hours about her thoughts on life, how the company came about, her relationships with her dancers, how she creates her choreography…Just watching her was fascinating. I heard in her explanations many themes that I have encountered as I have begun to choreograph and think about the creation of art. Noa lives on this kibbutz with her three other sisters and their 12 children. She emphasizes the importance of honesty in her life and in her dances. In dancing as a human and not as a dancer, an element that was strikingly clear in her dance “Birth of a Phoenix”. My favorite dancer in the entire piece was a dark skinned, sinewy man. He danced with dark brown eyes so open and alert the entire dance that I would have been fascinating just watching his face. This was true of many of her dancers: they did not look like typical dancers. But they moved with such alacrity and poignance that their being brought new dimensions of meaning to the word dance itself. She told us how she questions the usefulness and sustainability of dance as is now. How can one live on a Kibbutz that is concernced with being environmentally friendly when one must carts tons of equipment and humans around to places around the world? However, she said, it is something she is researching. Always researching. “The best teacher is one who is not afraid to be a student,” she said with a sparkle in her eye. This is so true of both of she and her sister, who have taught us: they are fascinated by everything. Their work with us is always teaching them new things even as we learn from them. It also spoke directly to my recent thought, one that floats to the forefront of my mind when I am feeling frustrated with my inability to execute a movement in dance or to truly feel what I am doing for fear of being left two steps behind. In those moments I think about how much I JUST want to choreograph. That is where my passion lies, I tell myself, and this is good but I won’t always be struggling to keep up with others. Luckily these moments are balanced by others that remind me just how much I have progressed in the past few weeks and how good this program is for me as a dancer and as a human being. Like today when I gracefully completed a shoulder roll that flipped me over completely and a classmate congratulated me with such enthusiasm, as she knew I had been working so hard on it! Or when the director of the program looked me in the eye and told me how noticeable my improvement and hard work was. How well I was doing. But even more meaningful than those moments of praise are the moments when I myself feel truly immersed in what I am doing. When I am the one leading the group and am sure of the move to come. When I am able to stop worrying about where I am supposed to be moving to next and can really appreciate the place that I am in, even if only for half a second.
I left the Kibbutz feeling incredibly inspired and as though my feet are placed more solidly on the ground here. The faces of my peers are so familiar to me now. The different way that things work no longer make me blink. I am beginning to forget where I need to move to next and am actually sitting in the movement. This is making my experiences that much more fun and rich.
Random moments that I would like to share: This morning, waking up to shower at 6:30 in an open air shower with luke warm water. I was freezing. And very awake after it!
My hilarious roommate researching the difficult life of a T-Rex. How, for example, do you drink a glass of water when your arms are so tiny and you only have three fingers?
Walking into my apartment unsure that it was in fact my apartment. This is not actually a rare occurrence. The other day I was sitting in an apartment diagonal from mine and one of my roommates walked in. I mentioned that I was surprised to see her there and she asked why. “Because this isn’t our apartment?” Thankfully, turns out that one of the roomies had simply bleached the floor and put everything back in different places. And again, this makes me wonder about the need for comfort and stability. I am still not adjusted to the new living room configuration.
The several dinners that I have made with new friends. How important it is to have friends. The qualities you look for in a friend (people with similar views, levels of judgmentalness and bluntness, people who make me laugh).
How difficult it continues to be to connect with people from home. How sometimes that feels so important and affects how I feel about myself so much and how at other times, I really don’t feel that I need to be in contact at all.
How hard it is to walk when your ankles and knees (and shoulders and hips) are bruised. The marks of the art, darling!
What strange skills I have. Like the fact that making rice sounds strange and difficult to me, but making a caramelized pear sauce does not.
Life goes on. As does the research. As does my attempt to find a balance between roots and wings.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Going into detail!
Is not something that I do via blog, obviously! I'm just not mentally here. So, instead, I would like to refer all you blog followers, of which I believe there to be few, to a fellow dancer's blog about his (our) time in Jerusalem. He has all the deets on our dance program, what we do with our everyday lives and some interesting reflections on his time here in Israel thus far. Plus he's just really cool!
http://carloantonio.wordpress.com/2011/09/12/dance-in-israel-reflection/
My dance goals have changed this week from attempting to learn the choreography to actually being an alive, present dancer. This is a very difficult thing to do when you are unsure of where you are supposed to be moving next. So, I have adopted some of the strategies I used when trying to get better at field hockey (which, if you remember, I did rather successfully). Number one: GAME FACE. Always look like you know what you're doing. Number two: you can never practice enough. Number three: Concentrate. No more wandering minds (hmmmm, there is a dead bug on the ground, I wonder if somebody stepped on it). I am determined to reach my full potential as a dancer. As that wonderful, famous quote says:
“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 frightens us most. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
Maryanne Williamson
And isn't that the truth? Who I am not to be....
Even more so, who are YOU not to be?
http://carloantonio.wordpress.com/2011/09/12/dance-in-israel-reflection/
My dance goals have changed this week from attempting to learn the choreography to actually being an alive, present dancer. This is a very difficult thing to do when you are unsure of where you are supposed to be moving next. So, I have adopted some of the strategies I used when trying to get better at field hockey (which, if you remember, I did rather successfully). Number one: GAME FACE. Always look like you know what you're doing. Number two: you can never practice enough. Number three: Concentrate. No more wandering minds (hmmmm, there is a dead bug on the ground, I wonder if somebody stepped on it). I am determined to reach my full potential as a dancer. As that wonderful, famous quote says:
“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 frightens us most. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
Maryanne Williamson
And isn't that the truth? Who I am not to be....
Even more so, who are YOU not to be?
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