Bashanah ha'ba'ah neishev al hamirpeset...

Next year we will sit on the balcony...

There's been lots of good times on the mirpesot (balconies) of Jerusalem this weekend. On Thursday night, and continued on Shabbat afternoon, a group of us shared stories and wine on my friend Evelyn's lovely mirpeset. It was beautiful, and exactly the kind of evenings I was looking forward to having this year. It was really powerful to here the stories of what brought all of us here, to Pardes and to Jerusalem, this year, and what we're looking for out of our time here. Last night we watched the sun set and the stars come out from Evelyn's mirpeset, and it was awesome to see all of Jerusalem laid out before us at night. We did havdalah outside after, and listened to the sounds of families starting to build their sukkot around us.

On Friday night, the egalitarian minyan had Shabbat services and a potluck dinner at my friend Sheryl's, also on her mirpeset. The view was incredible, and it was really awesome to be praying and singing and celebrating Shabbat while seeing the whole city and being outside under the sky. As we were waiting for everyone to gather for dinner, we started singing to the melody of Bashanah Haba'ah. Od tireh, od tireh, kamah tov yih'yeh bashanah bashanah haba'ah. You will still see, you will still see, how good it will be, next year. It felt very right for right before Yom Kippur, on a weekend when we spent so much time sitting on balconies expressing our personal hopes for the coming year.

Israel turned its clocks back last night, ending Daylight Savings Time - just in time for fasting on Yom Kippur. Of course, it doesn't make the fast any shorter, it just means that it will end earlier in the day on Monday, around 6pm. The West Bank changed their clocks about a month ago - just in time for Ramadan. Love it that we all equally manipulate time and nature to serve our religious needs. There's an interesting article on Ha'aretz about how it came about that Daylight Savings Time ends so early, about a month before the US and Europe.

G'mar chatimah tovah and an easy and meaningful fast to all those who are fasting!

Which side are you on?

Shana tova! Rosh Hashanah in Jerusalem was wonderful - lots of food (to all of you who said everyone gains weight in Israel, you were right), services at no less than 4 different communities, and a little bit of rain (early in the year for Jerusalem).

My friend Sara, with whom I was a madricha (counselor) 2 summers ago for NFTY in Israel and is now living in Bethlehem and volunteering with an organization that does recreational activities for Palestinian youth, was with us for the holiday. She can walk to the checkpoint from her apartment in Bethlehem, and once through the checkpoint, it is a less than 10 minute bus ride to our neighborhood. Sara was telling me about how Bethlehem residents used to just walk over a hill and be in Jerusalem. On Friday night, Sara and I went to my cousins' for dinner. One of my cousins, on hearing where Sara was living, said, "We used to just walk over to Bethlehem to do our shopping. Just over the hill." It's poetic/tragic that both sides can have the same shared narrative and collective memory without even realizing it, yet each view it as uniquely theirs.

As Sara and I were walking to services this morning, we passed countless synagogues and minyanim on our way to our destination. There are so many prayer communities in this city, in this neighborhood particularly. I could hear it as I was walking on the street over the holiday, different prayers and singing rising through the windows of every community center and synagogue. People pray much louder here than they do in America. Not just the Jews...I wonder what it was like in the Old City today, with both Rosh Hashanah and Eid happening simultaneously. I could hear shofar all over the city today, even as I was getting ready this morning with my bedroom window open. In America, we pray behind thick walls and surround them with classrooms and social halls and offices and parking lots. It's much harder to get close to other people's prayers, to hear them. Even when a synagogue and a mosque are right across the street from each other.

Our apartment may be on the other side of the Green Line. For more on how we figured this out, see Naomi's excellent blog post about it. It's frustrating and angering that I moved into an apartment in some ambiguous no man's land between Jerusalem proper and the Green Line (see Naomi's for the detailed historical/geographical explanation of our neighborhood) without knowing. Shouldn't there be a sign or something? There is definitely no green line painted down the middle of Rehov Beitar. B'kitzur (in short), Jerusalem is a complicated place with lots of ambiguities.

הכול הפוך פה - Everything is Upside Down Here: the view from an Israeli street fair

On Monday night, Naomi and I wandered down to the "Shanaba'ah" street festival on Emek Refaim to meet up with some other friends from Pardes (really, the entire Pardes student body). It was a huge street festival, celebrating Rosh Hashanah this coming weekend. A picture's worth a thousand words (shout-out to Mat, who asked for pictures! Now stop reading my blog and go do your 1L reading), especially when it comes to the absurdity of Israeli street fairs...

As we wandered down Emek Refaim, we heard some music coming out of the courtyard next to the building where the minyan Shira Chadasha meets. Katie, Matan, and I peeked into check it out, saw a couple people playing guitar on stage with a sound system, and almost turned back out to the street...and then realized that it was Shira B'tzibur (singing in community), which Sarah K. had told me I absolutely had to check out while I was in Israel. The words to Israeli folk songs (by artists like David Broza, Shalom Hanoch, Haholonot Ha'gvohim, Arik Einstein, Yonatan Gefen) were projected on a powerpoint for everyone to follow along.

The entire event was made slightly more absurd because it seems that the staging area for the whole street festival and all of the street performers was somewhere behind the stage where Shira B'tzibur was happening. As we were singing, street performers of all varieties wandered in and out, down the aisle through the audience and back to the street, including a marching band (who knew there were marching bands in Israel?) that came in and out several times. Each time, the Sousaphone and trumpet players stopped to accompany the guitar and bass players on stage. Bizarre, but great.

Shana tova u'metukah l'kulam - a good and sweet New Year to all!

How do you say AGITATION b'Ivrit?

One of the classes I'm taking is a social justice track, which in addition to class 2 days a week includes guest speakers, tiyulum (trips), and coordinating the volunteering for Pardes students. Today we had a guest speaker, Rabbi Levi Lauer. It was INCREDIBLY agitational, a real shofar blast and wake up call, apropos to this week leading up to Rosh Hashanah. Levi is the director of Atzum (http://atzum.org), an Israeli non-profit organization working with the families of terror victims, Righteous Gentiles, and against human sex trafficking in Israel, and he was also the dean of Pardes for several years.

Major points of what he said that really resonated with me, that I’m still mulling over:

• The search for meaning is more of a Jewish value than comfort – this is incredibly counter-cultural in Western culture
• We exist only as we exist in relationship with the Other (Levinas)
• Never look into the eyes of another human being unless you’re prepared to take full responsibility for them (Peter Singer)
• B’tzelem elohim nivra adam – not “human was created in the image of God,” but “for the sake of God’s image you were created”
• It is theologically obscene to think that God cares if you turn on the lights on Shabbat but not if you care about Rwanda (for example)
• You need to have courage to fail – justice is brought into the world when we take on things, b’chol l’vav’cha, b’chol naf’sh’cha, b’chol m’odecha (with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your m'od - loosely translated as all of your all), that are TOO BIG and fail – but in the failing, we put justice into the hands of those who didn’t have it before
• God is relational: if God addresses you, it is an invitation to DEBATE, not to assent
• Hineni = here I am, ready for existential debate
• one of the best parts of Jewish culture is debate, one of the worst is the notion that words will suffice
• the real (dangerous) power of words is that they are so powerful that they dull you to the pain and the bodies in the street
• Tanach (from Genesis to Deuteronomy to Chronicles) is the story of God’s withdrawal from the world in order to make room for human agency
• There is no personal salvation in Judaism – why it’s so hard to be a Jew – it’s all collective – my salvation is bound up with my next door neighbor…there is either interdependence or stagnation
• Chevruta can be an internalization of the idea that we are created to be in relationship
• move Torah and learning to the street – live it, study Torah in order to make the world a better place
• before praying the Amidah, Rabbi Lauer asks himself, “did I do anything in the past 24 hours that merits asking God for ANYTHING?”
• that you’ll never do well enough is not an excuse to not do better – all or nothing will always lead to nothing

All of these points were incredibly agitational and he was a very charismatic speaker. But what happens tomorrow? My class was very shook up and agitated for the rest of the afternoon…but what is different now that we’ve heard this? I've heard Ruth Messinger speak on several occasions, and she always agitates me - but my behavior never changes the next day. One classmate asked if I still wanted to be a rabbi after hearing that, and my answer was emphatically yes. I deeply feel that by being a rabbi in a congregation, helping that community be in relationship with the Other and act on their values, through which we search for meaning in our collective Jewish life, then more justice is brought into the world.

The question I’m wrestling with now, in this week prior to the High Holidays, is how my study of Torah this year, Torah study that is purely for the sake of learning, can make the world a better place. How do I live my life (because this isn’t a year off from my life), no matter what I am primarily engaged in (learning, grad school, working, etc.) in a way that brings justice to the world?

Ultimately, much of what Rabbi Lauer said today is that it is more important to walk the walk than only talk the talk. 6-7 years from now, I don’t want to stand on a bimah on Rosh Hashanah and talk the talk. How will I walk the walk in this coming year? How will I be in relationship with the Other? How will I bring my Torah learning, that I am loving so much, to the street and live it?

(Shout-out to Christopher, who asked about classes and if I'd be writing about them in the blog! Best chevru-team ever!)

You saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you...

This is the story of my new Israeli best friend, Batsheva.

Banking (really, anything bureaucratic in Israel) is known to be a horrendous experience, particularly for Americans who are used to polite customer service and an orderly, patient line. Today was the day to venture into this particular part of Israeli society, to open a checking account, and I was dreading it. I was all ready to have an incredibly stressful experience, fighting through opening my account in Hebrew, with a grumpy Israeli bank teller.

Enter my new best friend Batsheva. Batsheva made sure that Naomi and I understood that there was a 13 NIS monthly fee for the account, and that was a lot for the little bit of money we'd be depositing each month. We assured her that we had done our research and wanted this bank (הבינלאומי, the First International Bank of Israel) - the real reason being that this particular bank has less involvement/investments/profit from the territories than other major Israeli banks. But Batsheva wasn't my new best friend at that point in the conversation, so we didn't share that reason.

Batsheva also invited us for Rosh Hashanah, and told us all about her daughter who spent the past year in Los Angeles with the Jewish Agency, and was taken in by families for every Shabbat and chag. And after patiently going over every form, and explaining everything, Batsheva gave us her direct line phone number, saying, "Call for me anything, not just banking - anything!"

When Batsheva handed Naomi a thick Hebrew packet with all the details of the bank account, we snickered at the thought that we'd be able to read it or understand. Batsheva, seeing our snickering, said, "It's ok, I don't understand anything in it either, and I've been doing it for 10 years. I've even signed the forms myself!" Reassuring, Batsheva, really...

No one is a stranger in Israel. An often transactional interaction with a bank teller has the potential to become a dinner invitation, another mother looking for more young people away from their families to take care of. Israeli society doesn't seem to have the gray area of polite acquaintances - you're either being screamed at, or you're family. Or sometimes both.

Y lloro, y lloro v'boche el hakirot...

Much to update about! In this blog post: visit to the Kotel and the Old City, 1st Shabbat in Jerusalem, classes, and exploring Jerusalem.

Boche el hakirot

The title of the blog post is a lyric from a David Broza song: "And crying, and crying, and crying to the walls." (in Spanish and Hebrew) We went to the Old City, specifically to the Kotel, on Thursday night for a mini-tiyul (trip). It was my first time in the Old City and the center of the city since I got here, and it's good to start getting my Jerusalem geography back. The Kotel is a weird place. On the one hand, especially at night, it is beautiful and I love people-watching there, seeing the diversity of the Jewish community walking by. On Thursday night, it being the middle of Ramadan, the prayers from "next door" were loud and clear, and I thought, beautiful. To my ears the Ramadan prayers sounded like crying, as one of our teachers was reminding us that the Kotel is sometimes called the Wailing Wall.

We looked at some verses from the Tanach about Jerusalem, including: "You will bring them and plant them in Your own mountain, the place You made to dwell in, O God, The sanctuary, O God, which Your hands established." (Exodus 15:17) I read the verses as a meeting place for all different cultures, a sanctuary built by God's own hands. That sounds like Jerusalem-as-it-should-be to me, a Jerusalem that I got a tiny glimpse of, as we stood in the Kotel plaza and listened to the Muslim community's Ramadan prayers.

The beggars at the Kotel, at least on the women's side, really really drive me crazy. I wish they didn't. They are humans - do I need to acknowledge them as human, if they don't acknowledge me as more than a walking American ATM? Melanie Kaye/Kantrowitz writes about her resistance to giving to a particular homeless person outside her New York apartment, because the recipient's actual need is so much greater than her ability to give. Maybe I'm disturbed by the beggars because I feel like they are reducing my experience at the Kotel down to a contractual relationship - you give to me - when I'm trying to be in a place of covenantal relationship with Makom (a word for both place and God)? Which brings me to - is there a way in which the giving of tzedakah can be more than contractual? I have lots of tzedakah that people back in the States sent me to Israel with, I don't want to give it to women at the Kotel so that they will leave me alone.

There is a new pedestrian mall (since the last time I was in Israel in 2007) between the center of the city and the Old City, the Mamila Mall. It is disgustingly opulent, full of American stores - North Face, the Croc Store, The Gap, H. Stern, it goes on and on. The opulence of Mamila really stood in contrast with the poverty of the Old City, and really didn't feel to me like it fit in with Jerusalem at all. Jerusalem's not that chic!

Shabbat Shalom...

This past Shabbat was absolutely beautiful. It's very uncomplicated here to be immersed and observe Shabbat. But not perfect...I went to Kehilat Kol Haneshama (a Progressive synagogue) for kabbalat Shabbat (where I felt absolutely 100% comfortable wearing my kippah), but walking home alone, I didn't feel comfortable leaving it on (although I know other women who do). We hosted dinner in our apartment - lovely company, delicious food - and then on Shabbat morning I walked to services with Naomi, walking down Derech Beit Lechem, which may be my new favorite street. It's beautiful - lots of little alleyways, and old houses with flowers. I'm starting to get my bearings here, and it feels more like home. One of my goals for Jerusalem has always been to know it well enough to feel at home here, to know my way around, to have places that are "my" places. It's also really nice to be in Machane Yehuda on Friday morning, or walk into services and know people. Which happens often in Jerusalem, but still, it makes it feel more homey.

There was a Pardes picnic in the park for lunch, followed by a fantastic 2-hour long nap, and seudah shlishit with my roommates and some guests. I loved the singing we did in the park and at seudah shlishit, but I miss singing with JOI at retreats for hours out of Rise Up Singing, or camp-style song sessions. As lovely as the singing was, it didn't wholly feel like mine. But of course, at JOI, I missed singing more Hebrew songs. I want (and need) to figure out how to create a Shabbat that feels uniquely mine, not just the default of the people around me at any given time.

Back to school, back to school

Classes are challenging, and intense, and hard, and wonderful. So far I'm taking chumash (Torah, focusing on the book of Exodus), Talmud (right now focusing on sections having to do with Yom Kippur), women and mitzvot, social justice (as part of a social justice track), and intro to Rambam. It's an intense schedule, and there's still one more class period we haven't even had yet (but I will probably be taking siddur), but I love the learning I'm doing. Women and mitzvot and social justice in particular today were almost antagonistic, but in a great, debate-filled, exciting way.

Exploring Jerusalem

I've been reading Amos Oz's memoir about his childhood in Jerusalem, A Tale of Love and Darkness, a book that's been on my reading list for awhile, but I was saving for a trip to Israel. Neal Gold suggested waiting even longer, until after I'd been living in Jerusalem, and knew the city well enough to recognize streets and places. The part I read on Friday night describes the walk Amos takes with his parents on Shabbat afternoon to visit his uncle in Talpiyot: "Shortly before four we would finally turn left off Derech Hevron and enter the suburb of Talpiyot...we turned right into Kore Hadorot Street as far as the pine wood, then left, and there we were outside Uncle's house." Derech Hevron is a few blocks from my apartment, and I cross it to get basically anywhere I go, so I was wondering where Kore Hadorot was. And then, as we were walking home from the picnic on Shabbat afternoon (just around the same time as in the book!), I saw a sign for Kore Hadorot Street, just a couple blocks down the hill from my apartment, I walk past it at least twice a day.

All in all, my first week in Jerusalem has been fun, exciting, and challenging. I've realized it could be very easy (too easy) to walk to school in the morning and go home at night, without exploring Jerusalem and Israel further, or even hearing and using my Hebrew. A challenge to continue to explore...

First Day of School...

...for me and all the children of Israel. As my roommates (Sarah and Naomi) and I walked to class this morning, every 5-year old in our neighborhood (which is a lot, because we live in a family neighborhood) was being walked to their first day of school by their entire family, shiny new backpacks and all. The first day of school was great, although overwhelming and exhausting - lots of people in not so much space, plus a long, long day, with new faces and new information.

Rabbi Landes, the rosh yeshiva of Pardes, taught a shiur to the whole school this morning. The piece from Talmud Yevamot that he taught opens with R. Hiyya and R. Shimon b. Rabbi arguing about which direction one should direct their eyes when praying - down to the Temple below, or up towards the heavens above. R. Ishmael bar R. Yosi comes in and says that his father's answer to this question was, "A man who offers up his prayers must direct his eyes to the Sanctuary below and his heart towards the heavens above."

The teaching off of it that I really liked was how these 2 directions represent the constraints of community and history (if you direct your eyes towards the Temple, which could alternately be interpreted as towards the community itself) and towards heaven is bringing your own self to Judaism. Both of these aspects - the community and the self - are needed for Jewish life, and they balance each other out. It reminds me of the Maya Angelou quote at the end of yesterday's post: "remember, you did not go empty-handed."

After a looong day of classes, the roommates and I braved the adventure known as an Israeli grocery store. Incredibly overstimulating, especially when faced with the task of stocking a pretty much empty pantry and refrigerator. It was crazier than MarketBasket, which I didn't know was possible. I'm pretty sure the people around us in line to pay just left their carts at the register and went on to continue shopping, then came back and nudged back into line. It was really sweet to come home (home!) to our apartment, unload the groceries, and cook dinner.

Tomorrow - first day of chumash and Talmud!