“I learned much from my teachers, more from my colleagues and most from my students.” – Yehuda Hanasi, Babylonian Talmud

New York City is incredible. I haven't actually lived here since high school, and now that I am finally back, it feels like a completely different place. Of course, I am the one who has changed. My own confidence and happiness seems to match the upbeat pulse of the city streets. I've been walking a lot lately, trying to soak in what's left of summer, and reacquaint myself with the sights, smells, and sounds of the sidewalks and subways (man, I LOVE alliteration). Today I had the misfortune of leaving my cell phone at home, which led to my walking a mile and a half through Harlem to reach an empty bowling alley, where I was supposed to meet a group of coworkers. They had cancelled the outing, and I, phoneless, walked 30 blocks unnecessarily. Another day I might have been bothered, but this particular day happened to be gorgeous, and I've never really spent much time up in Harlem, so I took it as an opportunity to immerse myself in my surroundings. I walked slowly, calmly. I kept my head and eyes moving, so I could take in every detail. I passed a chicken minding its own business in a church community garden. I passed a woman in full African garb, pushing a half-broken grocery cart uphill. I passed murals depicting bright young faces on ratty brick walls, and empty chain-link fenced playgrounds with basketball courts below surface level. The scent of hot dogs mixed with incense (pot?) and the occasional hint of urine accompanied me for blocks, and it all somehow blended together to form a perfect backdrop. I walked in step to the beats of the blasting radios I passed, and I weaved my way through 20 police cars vertically aligned against a building. I smiled at strangers, though not enough to invite trouble. I noticed architecture, and sidewalk chalkings, and the way a little girl's hair had been expertly braided into a masterpiece of texture and design. Even in a culture so different form my own, I felt oddly at home. I truly enjoyed every second of it. I truly love this city.

So, yes, I am back from Israel, and though the extreme cultural differences may occasionally overwhelm, I am generally quite content. I miss Jerusalem, of course. Like last time, I feel a sense of loss, let-down, even emptiness at times. I miss learning Torah with my friends, and feeling like every moment was soaked full of meaning and beauty. But nothing lasts forever, and I know that I will find meaning in beauty in new ways back here in the states – such as on a random walk through Harlem.

The past month has been packed full of events and experiences – my cousin's bar mitzvah in Seattle, a trip to Cape Cod with Ezra's family, hanging out with my siblings, parents, and incredibly cute niece, attending two weddings, and of course, starting my new job as a teacher at Beit Rabban Day School, and registering for graduate school at Bank Street College.

I'm a teacher! Well, not yet, technically. The kids don't arrive until next week. But work started last Monday, and so far, I've met a group of wonderful coworkers, as well as made a lot of headway setting up my classroom. We've been doing various workshops on teaching, classroom management, school environment, and other topics. These are extremely helpful to me, as I've never been a full time teacher before, and I am scared as anything. My co-teacher is a very nice girl named Mary, who worked at the school last year, and who also has a degree from Bank Street College, where I will be working towards my masters in general and special education starting this Fall. She has been extremely helpful in orienting me to the school, and showing me the ropes. It's hard to be a new member of the team, but almost everyone who works there is quite young, so I don't feel too out of place. I've learned so much already, and I'm sure that once the kids arrive, everything will go into overdrive. I will be teaching Kindergarten and first grade (the grades are combined, as part of the school's philosophy that learning should go by level rather than age) as well as the advanced Kindergarten math level (the whole school is broken into math levels, so that a very bright first grader might end up in a group with a slower third grader…interesting stuff). The school itself is very unique, and highly progressive. Their whole philosophy is that everything we do should have a reason, and this manifests itself in even the most minute (MS Word says it's "minutest" and not "most minute". I like mine better.) details. According to a book I am reading about the school, (Vision at Work: The Theory and Practice of Beit Rabban) even something as mundane as sitting in a circle must be accompanied by a reason or explanation: "let's all sit in a circle now, so that we can see and speak to one another". The kids are encouraged to think critically about everything we do, and are very involved in every aspect of their learning experience, from helping to come up with the class rules, to having a say in which topics they'd like to cover and investigate. Our two big interdisciplinary units this year will be food/plants, and subways, and we will be using those subjects to teach anything from math to social studies to art to history to science…to everything. It's a nice way to contextualize what they learn in real-world situations (apparently). Anyway, so far everything is still theory for me, so as soon as the kids walk in the door, I'll be able to actually speak about what the teaching is like. For now, I'm still learning how to put up bulletin board paper without leaving bubbles underneath. Which is a very big deal.

As for grad school – I registered for my first Bank Street class yesterday! Today was orientation, and I met a bunch of my classmates. They all seem very nice, and I noticed such a difference in the way it feels to meet them from how it felt to meet people on the first day of undergrad. Everyone is just much more….real. I guess that's maturity for you. Or maybe it's just me. Either way, I definitely enjoyed the atmosphere there, and I can't wait to get started. I'll only be taking one class this semester – Child Development - simply because I am afraid of juggling work with school, at least in the beginning.

In other news…Ezra is back in Israel, learning away in Yeshiva. It's definitely tough to be away from him again. But I feel that we've made the right decision in terms of following our own paths for now. Everyone needs time and space to think, grow, and prepare for what's ahead. Besides, what with work, school, and hopefully some type of social life, I'll barely have any time at all. I think that will help keep me distracted, though of course it will always be painful when I think of how many miles apart we are. Hopefully he enjoys his time in Israel, and we both gain a lot from the coming months.

Lastly, I should make mention of the fact that it is currently the Jewish month of Elul. Elul is…intense, in a word. It's the month leading up to Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, and is the time when we are supposed to reflect on the year, do tshuvah (literally, "return" [to your true self, to righteousness, to G-d, to whatever,] though "repent" is the colloquial English word for it,) and really prepare ourselves for the upcoming year. I've been trying my best to keep this in mind as I run around, and focus as much as I can on considering everything I've gone through this year, as well as everything I may have done to hurt myself or others. I have a few Elul-based classes on my ipod that I've been listening to on my subway rides to and from work, and today I actually made a list (while I waited for 20 minutes at the empty bowling alley in Harlem – a fine backdrop for self-reflection,) of things I regret having done, as well as things I want to improve upon. This is harder to do than one might think, if you take it seriously enough. I ended up with a knot in my chest as I read down my list afterwards. I included everything from the accidental (waking up my mother when I came home late one night, which, incidentally, Judaism considers a type of stealing,) to the purposeful (borrowing a book without asking, which, incidentally, Judaism also considers a type of stealing,) and from the tiny (acting grumpy in the morning towards people,) to the immense (saying mean things about someone behind their back – and yes, that one is immense). Of course, anything I've done to another person I now have to go apologize for if I haven't already, as well as ask for forgiveness. A daunting task, but hey, that's what Elul is for. Surmounting the daunting, reflecting, and returning to a level of being and relating that I can be proud of. I'm not going to ask for blanket forgiveness from people who read this post, because that's just silly and pointless. I guess I just wanted to put it out there that this is a good time to think about these kinds of things, and to actually resolve to make changes if need be. I certainly have a lot to work on. We'll see how well it goes.

I'm completely exhausted now, though it's a good kind of exhaustion. I worked hard today, I walked a ton, I came home and ate dinner with a glass of wine by the window, and I'm just about ready to watch the last episode of Weeds and fall asleep. Life is good…and keeps getting better.

Love, Shira

Addendum to My Last Post

I just had a class on Tishah B'av that I felt was important enough to warrant an addendum to my last post. I'll keep it short.

The class began with the Rabbi enumerating all the times we think about the destruction, much like I did in my post. When we eat, when we pray, when we marry, when we build our homes, and certainly during these 3 weeks. But then he asked the key question: Why? He said he was not looking for the stock response that we must mourn the loss of the Temple. If it were just about mourning, then we would not devote so much time to it. And besides, there is no such thing in Judaism as doing something just to remember. The only reason we do anything is to grow as individuals. So what kind of growth do we get from this? Why is this one aspect of Jewish history so integral to our lives, and what take-home message should we glean, beyond the sadness we feel? Who should we be on the day after Tishah B'av? How should we have changed?

The answer lies in the very cause for the destructions themselves. We know that the first Temple was destroyed because of 3 cardinal sins: idolatry, adultery, and murder. After a mere 70 years, the Temple was rebuilt. The second Temple was destroyed for only one sin: Baseless Hatred. And it has been about 2,000 years, with no rebuilding in sight. We learn from this that we should consider hating other people to be worse than all 3 of the cardinal sins combined. It is the worst thing we can do, to hate someone, to mistreat someone, to disregard someone. The Talmud says that any generation in which the Temple is not rebuilt should consider themselves the ones who destroyed it. This means: we are still mired in the exact same problems they were back then: We are still not loving one another enough, being good enough to eachother, kind enough, helpful enough. In the context of a religious Jew, this could mean that we are paying more attention to ritual laws than those that involve how we treat one another. That we are missing the entire point of being a holy person: holiness does not come from separating onesself, being aloof, judgmental, and putting more effort into our personal observance than into the way we treat others. Holiness means connection, loving kindness, and giving. It means friendship. It means family. It means being kind to strangers, to children, to the elderly, to the poor. It means honoring our parents. It means giving the benefit of the doubt. It means seeing the good in every person.

So, I want to update my last post with this:

May we all learn from the mistakes of our own history, and learn to love one another and be good to one another. We must not let this time pass by without growing closer to those we love, as well as those we dislike. May the pain of the past serve as a reminder that we must be better givers and comforters, better friends and family members, better people.

Sorry, I thought that was important to add in.

Have an easy and meaningful fast if you are fasting.

Love, Shira

3 Weeks, 9 Days

I am in mourning.

At least, I'm supposed to feel like I am. The past three weeks have been an extremely trying time throughout Jewish history, chock full of terrible attacks, destructions, genocides, and the like. We commemorate and memorialize all of the pain and death by going through a period of increasingly stringent and palpable mourning. For three weeks, we are told not to listen to live music, not to cut our hair, not to buy new clothing, and not to take showers for pure pleasure. Then, for the last 9 days, we up the ante by not wearing clean clothing and not eating meat or drinking wine. Finally, on the 9^th day of the Jewish month of Av, (Tishah B'av in Hebrew,) we reach the culmination, the peak of our sorrows as a nation. We fast for 24 hours, do not bathe, do not wear leather, do not wear perfume, and do not sit on high chairs. We do not even greet eachother "hello". We literally go into a state of mourning. The 9^th of Av was the day on which both Temples were destroyed (first by the Babylonians and then by the Romans, and by "destroyed" I mean that the entire city of Jerusalem was set on fire, thousands were murdered and starved to death, and everyone else was exiled). The 9^th of Av was the day on which the Jews committed the sin of the spies who spoke slander about the land of Israel thousands of years ago. The 9^th of Av was the day on which the entire city of Beitar was massacred long ago. The 9^th of Av was the day when the Jews were exiled from Spain. The 9^th of Av was the day when World War I officially broke out. The 9^th of Av is the day on which we remember all of these things and more, when we concentrate all of our pain and sadness over the past and current sufferings of our people, when we consider what we have gone through, what we have lost, and what we are still missing to this very day. The 9^th of Av will be this Thursday.

I decided to write this post because for the past 3 weeks, I have had to take on an extremely difficult task. I have had to try and force myself to concentrate on loss and destruction, during a time when I currently feel so content. Honestly, this summer has been wonderful (see previous posts). Everything feels like it's going right – I loved my Meor trip, I love my classes at Shearim, I love my friends here, I love my boyfriend, I love that I have a job waiting for me when I get home. I feel confident, I feel secure, and I feel self-aware. Most importantly, I have clarity, the same clarity that I've prayed for so many times before, that I've hoped for and striven for. It's finally here. I finally know what I want and where I want to go, and I finally have the courage to face life head-on, with the knowledge that plans are made to be broken, and I will end up just fine either way. And yet, with all this, I am literally commanded to not be all that happy right now. We are not, G-d forbid, told to be sad for three weeks. To the contrary, it is a mitzvah to always be happy, even as we mourn, which is interesting in itself. But we are certainly told to lessen that happiness, for the time being. And honestly, I'm having a pretty hard time doing that.

I tried focusing on all the things we are supposed to focus on. I've been learning the book of Eicha, or Lamentations, which is what we read on the night of Tishah B'av. It is the heart-wrenching, highly poetic prophecy/lament by Jeremiah, which chronicles the destruction of the Temple and all the terrible atrocities that came along with it. I certainly know a lot more about the graphic details than I did before – mothers eating their babies, babies sucking at the breasts of their dead mothers, things like that – but to be honest, after an hour a day of studying that, all I want to do is go out to dinner and forget about it. I want to exist in my happy state, get some pasta with Ezra on Ben Yehuda Street, watch an episode of Entourage on my computer, and fall asleep. I guess that's one response to tragedy, to try and get away from it. But I don't even think that's it. I think it's more that I can't relate to it in any real way. I'm not reading the stories of people I know and feel connected to. I'm reading the stories of people who were tortured and died long, long ago, back in a time which the modern world doubts most historical accounts of anyway. I'm learning about a Temple, a building, a time, that I have never seen with my own eyes, never experienced, and frankly, never really cared about. And I'm supposed to cry about that? I'm supposed to act the same way I would if my own family member passed away, G-d forbid? Please.

And yet, that's exactly what I'm supposed to do, somehow. What all of us are supposed to do, somehow. The Torah often tells us to feel things, even when we don't feel them naturally. We are told that if we have a wedding and a funeral on the same day, we must be happy at the wedding, and sad at the funeral. We are told that love is a choice, not something we "fall" into with no control over ourselves and our emotions. We are told to be happy during the month of Adar, and sad during the month of Av. We are told to feel as if we were leaving Egypt at the Seder table, and feel as if we were at the destruction on the 9^th of Av. All of this, we are told to feel. Not just to think, or study, or act out. But feel. As if we could control our emotions with our minds. As if we could tell ourselves to feel something. Imagine that.

I mentioned over dinner last night with a couple of friends that we are somehow supposed to be feeling sad right now, even as we enjoy each other's company. It's something that still baffles me, so I've spoken with a few people about it. One of them responded, "yeah, but it's hard to mourn the loss of Jerusalem when we are sitting in the middle of it, and it's thriving. We have it now." I was a bit taken aback by her comment to be honest. It really made me think. Do we "have it"? I mean, yes, we have the state of Israel, thank G-d. We have relative freedom to do what we want (as long as America says it's OK, ) relative religious freedom (as long as it doesn't upset local politics too much,) and most importantly, freedom to live openly as Jews (as long as we are not in the wrong place at the wrong time). And I am thankful for all of that, as we should all be. But do we "have it" in the sense that we are meant to? Does a higher state of being than this one still exist within our grasp? Can we even contemplate what that would mean? Right now feels pretty wonderful to me, both on a personal level, as well as on a nationalistic and cultural one. So what, then, am I mourning exactly? Over this not being good enough?

I tried to think of an analogy for myself, to help put it in clearer terms. Imagine someone holds out 2 envelopes, and tells me to choose one. I pick the one on the right, open it up, and to my joyful surprise, I find $100 inside! They tell me to keep it, use it on whatever I want. I feel great. I just got a free gift of a hundred bucks, and can finally afford those books I've been dying to buy (once a nerd, always a nerd). But before skipping off to the bookstore, out of curiosity, I ask what was in the other envelope. They open it up to reveal $10,000. Oof. My $100 doesn't seem quite as amazing anymore. I'm still happy to have it, but I leave with a slightly bitter taste in my mouth, knowing that I could have had so much more if I had just chosen the other envelope. By this analogy, I guess maybe the state we are in is that we don't even realize there is $10,000 to be had. We are so enamored with our $100 bucks that we skip around joyfully, completely oblivious to the existence of the other envelope, an envelope we could easily attain were we to do the right things. And then, to take it a step further – imagine that same person comes running after me as I am paying for my books, and snatches even that first 100 out of my hands. Now I am left with nothing but the memory of that which I had, and that which I could have had. Now, unless I convince myself that I am better off without any of it, I cannot be happy. So is that what we've all done? Convinced ourselves that we are better off with what we have now, which apparently is "nothing" compared to what we could be and have as a nation?

Just to throw a little confusion into the mix, we are also taught: "who is rich? He who is happy with his lot." So how on earth are we supposed to be happy with our collective "lot" as a Jewish nation, while simultaneously mourning our losses and lackings? Shouldn't we be happy with our lot of $100, or our lot of nothing as the case may be, rather than coveting after the $1000 all the time? We are literally CONSTANTLY remembering the fact that we have no Temple, and that G-d's immediate presence has left Jerusalem, and that we are in exile. We remember it every day, we mention it in every prayer and every time we eat and every Shabbat and every holiday, we remember it in our happiest moments, such as at weddings when the groom breaks the glass (everyone yells mazal tov then because they figure it marks the conclusion of the ceremony, which, if you think about it, is quite a perversion of the actual point of breaking the glass). And of course, we remember it right now, in these 3 weeks, 9 days, and finally the 9^th of Av itself. We certainly are not happy with our lots. Is this not a contradiction in terms?

But maybe I can answer my own question here. Throughout the year, we do mention the destruction constantly. But we don't focus on it in a negative way, we don't go through our lives feeling empty and sad. On the contrary, we are told to always live happily. We exist on two levels: one of reminiscence and one of living for the present. We "never forget," as we say about the Holocaust, but we also keep the commandment to "be happy always." We are human beings, and we are nuanced and multifaceted and complicated enough souls to be able to handle this constantly contradictory existence. Except for right now. Right now, we do focus on one side of it: the negative, the pain, and the loss. We do lament the lack, and we consider what we could be if we were to have true glory again. We recognize that we only have the envelope with $100 and maybe not even that. We recognize that while it may feel nice and happy right now, we are still not where we could or should be, and we could still be so much more. We think about the pain of our people, and we relate it to our own lives. And then, after we mourn, we get right back up again and celebrate life. The happiest day of the year is the 15^th of Av – a mere 6 days later. Weddings start up again immediately, music is played in the streets, and we rise from our mourning like phoenixes, renewed and ready to rejoice with full hearts. So maybe it's all about having a structure for our sadness. The entire concept of Jewish mourning when someone passes away is to have a comfort for the living. To allow yourself the time and space to mourn so that after Shiva ends, you can get back up again and reenter the world. Earlier this year, I wrote about my friend's mother who sat shiva here for the first time when her mother passed away. She said that it was an incredible experience. People who never really take the time to feel the pain and sadness of loss will never really be able to move on from it. So maybe these weeks are a time for us as a nation to do just that. Take all of our suffering and persecution, which we have way too much of, and compact the pain into a 3 week, 9 day, 1 day period. And more than that, to force ourselves, just once a year, to recognize the state we are in. To understand the loss we should feel deep down, even if it is not apparent to us in our daily lives. To notice that our people have been oppressed, and killed, and persecuted so often and so brutally, and to force ourselves never to forget their suffering. To take a step back from our happy go lucky lives, and feel like we are a part of something greater, a family that needs us, a history that yearns for our attention, and a future that begs for our input.

 

Last week, a three year old girl fell into an uncovered manhole near a playground in Jerusalem. A passerby saw her fall, and without hesitation he jumped in to save her. But the hole had been filled with garbage over the past several years, and the poisonous methane gasses had grown strong within it. She was dead before he could reach her.

A story like that hits you hard, somewhere between your throat and your stomach. But it hits you even harder when you get to school the next day and find out one of your teachers is missing because that little girl was her great-niece. When you think about your own little niece, and how much you love her and how empty the world would feel were anything to happen to her, G-d forbid. And a story like that forces you to mourn, even if just for a few minutes, over the pain of another person you never met. If that's possible, then maybe it's also possible to take that feeling, and extend it to the thousands, the millions of others who have gone through such indescribable loss, such inexplicable and irrational suffering. Maybe this Thursday, it will be possible for me to sit on the ground, and cry. Maybe.

 

May all of you only know simchas and happiness your entire lives. And should you encounter pain, may you feel connected enough to your family and your nation to know that everyone else will feel your pain with you, and that no one will ever forget it. Until the time comes when everything makes sense, and when the 9^th of Av switches from a day of mourning to a day of rejoicing, may we all have the strength and clarity to make it through our most trying times, as individuals, as families, and as a people.

 

Love, Shira

“The great thing in the world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving.”

The last couple of months have been, in a word, wonderful.

I was a madricha on the UPenn MEOR Israel trip, which went really, really well. I met incredible people, had deep and meaningful conversations, and was able to teach, learn, and grow throughout. The touring was fun as well, though I’ve been to most of the places we went to already, such as Ein Gedi, Eilat, and the Dead Sea. The real fun was in the mornings, when I learned together with the students. I’ve heard many of the concepts before, especially having been on the trip as a student myself, but it’s still invigorating and refreshing to hear it all again from this new perspective, having learned and lived it for the past several months. The students were inquisitive, challenging, and stubborn – which made it all the more exciting to learn alongside them. I had my moments of difficulty, such as when people would doubt my intentions or my resolve in terms of my own life choices. But in the end, those moments made me stronger, and I feel blessed to have been given the opportunity to test my own convictions, knowledge, rationality, and heart. I believe I passed.

After the trip, a few students chose to stay longer to learn for a couple more weeks, so the other madricha and I put together a whole other learning program for them. That was definitely a bit of a logistical maze, as well as a financial nightmare, but we persevered, and made it happen. It went very well, and I was even able to run a couple of the workshops myself, which was great. I also was in charge of putting together all the Shabbat plans – I brought my girls to three extremely different experiences, each with its positive and negative aspects. The most important thing, I felt, was that they get a sense of different communities, and different ways of doing things. There is no one way to be a Jew, to keep Torah, to observe Shabbat. Diversity is so important, and while many people have the misconception that to be religious, Jewish or otherwise, means to become narrow-minded and singular in ones approach to life, I have made it my business to try and debunk this unfortunate myth. Of course there are reasons why such an idea exists – but it is not the Judaism I practice, and is certainly not the one I would recommend to any healthy person. The point is to be who you are, not who someone else tells you to be. To express yourself, not to express people who have no connection to you or your circumstances. I could go on and on about this, but yeah, that’s why I wanted to bring them to families who keep Shabbat in a variety of ways. Not everyone agreed with every type of household, and not everyone felt comfortable in every setting. I think that’s fine, in fact, I think that’s great - as long as one knows how to be respectful either way, and not judge others. No one does it “right” or “wrong”. Everyone just does, and is, and exists, and has a right to the respect of everyone around them. My girls learned that – and had a great time, as well.

OK that’s enough about that. Sorry, I just get into these things.

What else…oh yes, I got a job! Starting in September, I will be teaching Kindergarten/1^st grade on the upper west side of Manhattan. I’m extremely excited about this. I’m going to wait to write about it until I know more details. But yay!

Since the end of the learning program, I have been back at She’arim, which is the seminary I have been in all year. I really love it here. I am so close with the girls here, as well as the teachers, and it just feels like a second home to me now. It’s so nice to have a place so far away that will always feel so close by. I know that for the rest of my life, anytime I come to Israel, which will be extremely often, I will have a place where people know me, and are happy to see me. I also love learning here. I just feel so much more in tune with myself when I can sit and focus, concentrate, discuss, question, delve deeply into concepts without fear of rejection or ridicule. I’ll be here for another few weeks, and I’m definitely trying to make the most of it before having to return to the states, where it will be much harder to make the time and space for this kind of thing, especially when juggling a job and possibly grad school. I also happen to be in an incredible living situation, rooming with one of my best friends, and enjoying the seniority of having been at the school since September. All in all, I love where I am.

As for the learning itself - I’ve been doing a lot of independent study lately, reading very interesting contemporary texts, some more troubling than others, regarding issues I am still tackling in terms of philosophy, life, priorities, etc. It’s a challenge to be sure, but an extremely rewarding one. I am left constantly questioning my beliefs and decisions, which is so important. I think that the day I stop questioning would be the day I lose my hold on myself, and on reality. I don’t feel like getting more specific, since I’ll probably just sound like a child trying to explain nuclear physics. But while I may not always understand, and I may not always feel comfortable with the conclusions I draw, at least I know that I am doing my research, putting in the effort that I can, and making informed decisions for myself. I know that in the end I can't have all the answers, and I never will. I’m only human after all, and there will always be someone smarter, someone more eloquent, someone more convincing towards their way of life or their opinions and ideas. I guess I just have to trust myself and my instincts, and live accordingly, all the while constantly reexamining my own foundations. Of course, this can get tricky when the ultimate goal is to give to others. That balance of self and other is one I still need to work on striking. But hey, it’s a process. A long one.

Ezra has also been here for the past several weeks, which has been amazing. I love having him nearby, even if we don’t speak or see each other every day. We are so rarely even in the same city, and it’s a comfort just being in the same time zone as him. His parents came to visit as well, and that was really fun. We hung out, went out to eat at my favorite restaurant, drank wine, etc. It was so nice of them to come here – they’re wonderful people. Clearly the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.

Shavua Tov, everyone. Thanks for reading this long overdue post.

Love,

Shira

Long Time No Speak

Hello Friends!

It's been quite a while since my last post…about two months, I believe. A lot has happened since then, and I really don't think anyone wants to hear all the details of my two months bumming around in the states, so I'll just give a quick run-down, for funsies:

On one foot: I was in Chicago for two weeks, then I was in Brooklyn for Pesach, then Maryland for a week with Ezra's family, then up to Boston for a weekend to visit my sister, brother-in-law, and amazingly cute baby niece, then back to Brooklyn for a bit to do some applying and interviewing for next year type things, (more on that in a moment,) then down to Myrtle Beach, SC for some beachy vacation time, then up to the Upper West Side of Manhattan for David's Columbia graduation, and finally, FINALLY, back to Israel again. PHEW.

I definitely think I made good use of my time while I was at home. I managed to see lots of family and friends, be at my brother's graduation, figure out a basic plan for next year, AND watch all of the HBO On-Demand that I had missed. Pretty good, right? I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do next year, and while my heart is still here in Jerusalem, I know that I need to get moving on the whole get-a-job-and-make-some-money thing. So I sent out my resume and cover letter to a bunch of elementary/middle schools in Manhattan, and also started checking out graduate school programs in education. I've waffled a lot on what I want to do career-wise, and while I am hoping to take on many roles over the course of my life, I think education is the best place to start. I'm applying to get a master's in middle school education, so we'll see how that goes. I also had interviews with a couple of schools, and I'll hear back shortly about whether I have a job. All in all, I'm quite happy with my choices and my direction at the moment. I'm actually thinking even further ahead, and considering pursuing a degree in counseling as well, or maybe social work, depending on what makes the most sense. But one step at a time. L'at, L'at, as they say here in Izzyrael.

So, what the heck am I doing back here? Basically, I couldn't stay away. I know it sounds corny, but I've really started to feel like this is a second home. I've missed my friends and teachers here terribly, and it felt so amazing to see them again. And just being here, in this atmosphere and this country that I love so much, feels perfect. I am literally drinking in the air, appreciating every moment. I'll never be able to stay away too long, I know that for sure. I actually came here as a madricha (counselor) on a three-week trip to Israel called Meor, which is the trip I came on last summer. It's for college kids, and is a combination of touring Israel, and learning the basics of Judaism – honestly, it's an incredible trip, and I'm so lucky to be able to go on it again. It also feels great to be able to give back to Meor, as they've done so much for me throughout my time at Penn, as well as during my months in seminary. I'm basically helping to watch over 35 recent college grads from Penn, which is funny, considering I'm only a year older than they are. Somehow, I feel much older when I am around them. I guess being in the "responsible" role does that to you. Anyway, they're incredible, and the trip is going really well so far. We started up North, where we went hiking, jeeping, swimming in the kinneret, and touring Tzfat. We arrived in Jerusalem last night, and this morning they had their first learning session, which they loved, and it's really great to be able to discuss everything with them, especially coming from a perspective of having spent several months learning in sem. My job mostly consists of taking head counts, herding people to activities, and being an information kiosk for the students. But the best part is just talking to them, learning with them, and being an example for them. It's pretty cool.

After the trip, I'm planning on going back to She'arim until August 2^nd. It'll be good to get in a last burst of learning and connection before heading back to the states for the long-haul. Also, Ezra will be here for 6 weeks over the summer, so I'm pretty excited for that. Not sure what's happening in August, other than my cousin's Bar-Mitzvah in Seattle, which will be a ton of fun, as spending time with my family always is.

Anyways, hopefully I can keep this up a bit better for the next while, and hopefully you're all still somewhat interested in what I'm up to.

Have a great summer, everyone.

Love, Shira

Reverse Culture Shock

Wow, has it really been this long since my last post? Yikes. Sorry about that, and thanks to everyone who emailed me to complain about it. It's nice to feel loved.

Well, a lot has happened since then. Yes, my computer is still dead, despite sending it back to HP for repairs. But I've gotten along without it, somehow. Oh, yeah, and I'm back in the states.

WHAT?!?! Did she say she's back in the states?? Yep. Yep, I did. Allow me to explain.

I'm not done with Israel yet, by any means. I probably never will be. I've formed a bond with that country that is difficult to explain, but to which I'm sure many can relate. In a more immediate sense, I plan on going back in May, at least until the end of the summer if all goes well. I came home because everybody needs a break, and I know people see this year as having been a break in itself, which is true in some senses, but not in others. Yes, it was a break from the rigamarole of society, the constant academic stress, the emphasis on success and achievement that followed me everywhere for so many years. A break from grades and GPA and honors and resumes and interviews and internships and all of life is focused on your career mentality. It was a break from being forced to involve myself in things that were not truly me, and a break from norms that never felt quite right. And in many senses, I still need that break, and am still on it, regardless of my geographical location.

But much as I have been taking that type of break for many months now, in other ways, I have been doing entirely the opposite. I feel like I am finally involved in my real life, rather than waiting around to begin it. I feel like I have spent the past several months really thinking, really finding myself, really involving myself in situations and conversations and activities and classes that make me feel real, make me feel like I am finding the true self that has been hidden for so long. And that's as far from a break as you can get. So I think I needed to come home because while that has been an exhilarating process, and one that of course is not finished yet and hopefully never will be, it can also get exhausting. While I managed to escape the pressures of Western society for a time, I found myself mired in a new type of pressure, an internal one that required me to try and find the best within me, and achieve that at all times. That's a good thing, but it can get tiring. Sometimes a girl just needs to sit on a couch with her family and watch a TV show (without analyzing whether the characters realize how empty and mundane their relationships are, and then laughing at how we turn everything into a deep discussion now. Ah, I miss Sem...:)).

Of course, now that I'm back, it's a pretty odd feeling. The culture shock has been interesting, to say the least. (Wikipedia: "Reverse Culture Shock (a.k.a. Re-entry Shock) - Returning to one's home culture after growing accustomed to a new one can produce the same effects as described above, which an affected person often finds more surprising and difficult to deal with as the original culture shock." So true.) People keep asking me what the main differences are between here and there. I think in general, the biggest difference has been the general higher consciousness people have, or at least choose to share with others. Back in Har Nof, which is a religious community that certainly doesn't represent all of Israel by any means, people always had deep things to say, talk about, and ponder. Life was about meaning, purpose, values. It wasn't a paradise or anything, and it's not like everyone there is a good person or a genius or something, I just mean that because of the religious sensibility, there was a palpable feeling that there is something more going on, something we all need to seek out. There was an understanding between people that each of us is on a journey, and are searching out our true selves, and our higher goals in life. Har Nof also happens to have several ba'al tshuva yeshivas and seminaries in it, so the town is like a religious college town, if you will. Families there are used to having students over for shabbat, and I of course spent months living with girls just like me, who were on the greatest "break" of their lives. So coming back to the states, and realizing that conversation here mostly revolves around Obama, the economy, and the latest Daily Show segment was a bit jarring. I don't think the people are any less deep or intelligent or thoughtful. It's just a cultural difference, a difference in what's expected out of casual conversation, and one that I hadn't considered. for example, I'll be sitting and talking with friends about what I've been up to, and while my mind is racing with spirituality and intensity and beauty, I keep having to respond to questions about how Israel is responding to the economic crisis. I don't mean to sound belittling by any means: of course the economy is an important topic, one that needs to be discussed and understood. And for people who have not spent the past several months delving into the topics I have been, there is no reason why they would be considering the same ideas. It's just different, that's all. Also, I can't bring up G-d around here. I never realized how taboo He is in this country, at least in the circles I am part of...which is kind of ironic I suppose. Or maybe not. Anyway, I feel like mentioning anything religious automatically labels me as some sort of crazed brainwashed fanatic or something, whereas in Israel, even in totally secular society, it's normal to consider these things, and find them inspiring and meaningful. Yes, there is a divide between religious and secular, but in general people are less afraid to believe in something, even if it's not the same exact thing. And so much of this is politics, anyway, which I've been thankfully avoiding for so long. So I'm a bit of a loner in that department as well.

Since I've been home, I've been in Chicago mostly, visiting Ezra. It's really nice to see him again, spend time with him. We've just been hanging out, making dinners, reading books together, learning a bit, talking a lot. We've been learning the Haggadah together in preparation for Pesach, and it's really cool to learn about all the stuff I've always taken for granted in there, like the weird passages about rabbis learning all night. It finally is starting to make some sense, which is cool. I also go to his office with him most days, where I can get a lot of work done (I still have that part time job with the SEO text writing. Pretty boring, but makes for good pocket money at least). We came back to NY unexpectedly last week because Ezra's grandmother passed away unfortunately, so I met up with a couple of friends, and also surprised my Dad. I hadn't told him I was coming home, basically because I knew how happy he would be to see me, and I really wanted to make that moment amazing. We had a really nice time, and I saw Cindy and Keri as well, which was great.

I'll be back in NYC on April 2nd, and I'll be there over Pesach, after which I'll be in Maryland for about a week, and then in Boston for a weekend, and then I guess back to Brooklyn for a while. I'm pretty excited to cook and clean for Pesach. I know that sounds silly, but it makes me feel more adult to be able to take care of those kinds of things. I learned a lot living in Israel, not least of which being how to be much more independent than ever before. You'd think four years of college would do the trick, but take-out food, movies on demand, and high speed internet leave you a lot more dependent than you realize. In Israel I actually cooked dinner every night, I had to occupy myself with things other than TV and internet for the most part, and I learned to be a real person. It was nice. And I guess I'm just excited to use those skills back home. As for my plans now...I guess I just want to figure out what's next. I've already sent out a few job applications and resumes to a couple of elementary schools in Brooklyn (I'm back on an education kick now. Where will she end up next?) and I'll be looking into masters programs soon as well. I want to work for a few months at least before I decide what degree to get, but I'm leaning towards education (maybe Jewish) and social work. Maybe counseling. We'll see what happens.

I realized I never wrote about Purim on here. I sent out an email to some people about it, but not about what the actual day was like. Basically, it was incredible. EVERYONE dresses up. And while in some parts of Israel it ends up being a bit more like Halloween in terms of the debauchery and excuse to wear the sluttiest outfit imaginable, in others, it's much better than that. Sure, people get drunk, run amok, act a bit crazy. But the difference is in the underlying meaning of it I guess - people realize there's a reason for it all. Also, everyone is walking around all day visiting each other with Mishloach Manot (gifts, food, candy), which also looks a lot like Halloween, but instead of going door to door to take treats, people are giving to one another. I really liked that. It just felt great to have a whole day about giving, and it was also hilarious to see all the crazy costumes. I took some cute pics of kids dressed up, but my camera chord is being weird right now. I'll try to post things to facebook. Also, I ended up dressing up as 5 different things this year: a burglar, a blueberry, a blessing in disguise, a rainbow, and Baby Spice. Adar was basically incredible, full of happiness and fun. I've never really felt that here in the states, and while Purim is always a good time, its a whole different ball game over there. The whole month is one big party, and not the kind you want to leave early from.

Anyway, I've typed a lot, and while I have more to say, I think I need to go start getting ready for Shabbat. Ez and I are going to spend it at by a Rabbi whose family Ez has gotten pretty close with lately, so I'm excited for that. I'll write more soon, as I have a lot on my mind. All in all, it's great to be back, and I can't wait to see everyone, catch up, and prove to you all that I haven't gone crazy. :)

Shabbat Shalom!

Love, Shira

“For when a woman is left too much alone, sooner or later she begins to think; And no man knows what then she may discover” - Edwin A. Robinson

The oddest things force us into existential contemplation.

At the moment, my ailing computer is the culprit. Last week, at approximately 8:15 AM on Monday morning, my dear laptop crashed. The screen went black, then blue, then blank. Then it wouldn’t turn back on, then it did, then it didn’t again. When it finally came to, it started throwing an arsenal of error messages at me, with language that can best be described as technological potty mouth. We had a war of words for a few minutes before finally, a capitulation: “Do you want the system to repair itself?” Yes! Please! Do that! A few glorious moments of dan he coo it? (see my brother or the muppets for translation,) and then: freeze. Done. Dead.

I brought my lump of plastic and wires to the Israeli computer wizzes, (MS Word thinks this is spelled “whizzes,” so in the interest of intellectual honesty I’ll mention that spelling,) who proceeded to fiddle with it for a number of days. Finally, this Monday, I got the call: “hamachshev mesudar,” the computer is ready. I raced over to pick it up, excitedly pressed the “on” button, and enjoyed about 5 minutes of sheer pleasure clicking through my icons and intact documents. And then: freeze. Done. Dead.

I’m telling you there is something wrong with my finger tips, they touch computer keyboards, and things go haywire. It’s something out of the X-Files. (And I would know, considering I’ve seen every episode – yeah. I’m cool.) Anyway, they held on to it for a couple more days, and last night, I again get the call. More skeptically this time, I headed over to pick it up, and things did seem to be in working order. I paid them their 100 shekels, and brought home my laptop. I turned it on, ready to actually get some real work done for the first time in over a week. And then: freeze. Done. Dead.

Actually, this time it gave me a scary beeping noise first. Then it made weird pictures all over the screen, as if a menu bar had repeated itself over and over again. So now I have to bring it back to the computer guys, get my money back, and tell them to just reformat the damn thing (not before saving all my documents first, obv).

So why am I chronicling this sad state of affairs? I started off by saying something cryptic about existential contemplation. Basically, being without my computer for the past several days has really thrown me for a loop. It’s insane how dependent I am on that thing. And at first, I felt pretty silly. I was actually feeling a deep loneliness, as if one of my friends had gone away for a while. And my friends here would give me hugs and tell me that it’s just an object, Thank G-d it’s not my health, yada yada. And of course, they are right. They couldn’t be more right. But at the same time, I think there’s something to this whole loneliness thing. I have so much of my life on that laptop, so much writing, so many pictures, my job, my connection to everyone back home. Sure I can use the school computers to send emails (and type blog entries,) but it’s just not the same. It’s like eating breakfast in someone else’s kitchen after a sleep over. Something is just off.

In college I took a few bioethics courses, and one of the topics we discussed was the interaction between humans and technology. You can talk about this in medical terms, especially when you consider all the people walking around with pace makers, people on dialysis, on respirators, using artificial limbs. (How many artificial body parts do we have to have to be considered more machine than human? Where does our humanity lie? Ah, bioethics. I miss it.) But even before you reach the point of machines entering our very flesh, we have to realize that we really are just as dependent on them already, in terms of memory. We use our computers as extra memory banks, and our brains come to rely on them for storage, much like when we become very close to another person, and they start sharing our “load” of memories and experiences, though of course that is a crude analogy. In an article I read at Penn, we learned about how part of the pain someone feels when a loved one passes away is the pain of losing a part of themselves, in a very literal way, in the form of all those memories stored up in that person’s mind, which have just been lost forever. This is why, when someone’s computer “dies,” they actually feel some of that same pain – as tested with brain image scanning and whatnot by men in white coats with pocket protectors and taped up glasses. Obviously it would be ridiculous to say that losing your hard drive feels like losing a person you love. But there is a very specific element of that loss that is similar, and that is the loss of some small part of you that you had stored up within the other, which is now gone forever.

We can make all kinds of judgments on that, of course. Sounds pretty scary, actually, and something about it rubs us all the wrong way. But even just acknowledging it as a fact of reality is weird. I am in pain without my laptop. Not because it is expensive, not because I am in love with it, not because I am addicted to it. It hurts because part of my memory is in there, and I am separated from that. As a writer, my stories and poems and essays and rants are a huge part of my self-definition, they are a record of myself, a statement of my existence, a testament to my past and present. And it’s just hard to be away from that part of myself, to have to give that part of myself to an Israeli computer guy, or type it out on random old desktop computer, like I am doing now. Thankfully I didn’t actually lose my files, and hopefully I still won’t. But just being unable to access them right now is really tough. Lonely, even. Which brings me to the real point of this entry.

The reason I started writing this post is because we just read a piece in class by Rav Soloveitchik called “The Community”. It’s a very interesting philosophical essay on whether man is at his core a lone individual, or a member of a community. Judaism says it is neither, and both. Adam’s creation is recounted twice in the Torah: once at the same time as Eve, and once at different times. He is at once a singularity and a member of a partnership. And those have different connotations for his relationship with himself and others, and different implications on his behavior and mindset. The essay is fascinating, so I definitely recommend it. It really got me thinking about who I am at my core: am I essentially on my own or part of a partnership or group? Am I more one than the other? And I don’t think the answer is so easy. In fact, I think it is different for each person, though we all need both elements in our lives. I’ve always been the type to love being around one or two close friends – somewhere in between alone and part of a crowd. But in general, I think I may actually be the alone type. Not alone in the sense of a sad person sitting at home wishing they had more friends, though I’ve definitely been there before, as we all have. I just mean that I think I thrive better when I have space, even if I may often crave the opposite. Of course I am definitely the relationship type, but I think that’s more a craving for unity, in a spiritual sense, than for community. (Marriage in Judaism is probably the most beautiful concept I have ever learned, and rather than being defined as a partnership, it is defined as an actual coming together as one, like two flames that join. Deep stuff, but an awesome concept, that often gets taken for granted.) Everyone wants to be loved, but that’s a different feeling than the one I am describing. Anyway, I know I’m digressing. But according to this essay, alone-ness (as opposed to loneliness) is essential to creativity, uniqueness, and individuality. So maybe as a creative type, that alone part of me is stronger than I’ve acknowledged in the past. Maybe the fact that I’ve never been the type to have a large group of friends, but rather individuals here and there who I get very close to, indicates something deeper about who I am. Rather than lament that and wonder why I’m not more “popular,” I need to embrace that as something beautiful, something deep. And maybe the fact that I feel a strange type of pain when all my writing has been taken away from me (in the form of a computer stroke,) just means that I so identify with myself as an individual that losing the concrete manifestations of that self feels almost like losing a part of my own personal internal community.

No one can exist in a vacuum, and I believe we can only reach our greatest spiritual potentials as members of a partnership, a family, a larger whole. But it helps sometimes to recognize the importance of our alone-ness as well. Our modern world is one of alienation and loneliness, characterized by fake online relationships, distant communication, and the ability to survive without ever having to leave your house. This is of course an unhealthy extreme. But interestingly, in that state, we actually lose our sense of self even more than we would as part of a real community. The trick is knowing how to be part of something, while maintaining yourself as an individual, and knowing when to take the time to make that happen (see previous post). Maybe being alone isn’t so bad, as long as you know how to define that state, and use it towards enhancing those times when you are with others. I could go on and on, but I’ll stop now. (btw, don’t misinterpret what I’m saying here, obviously it’s not so bad to lose a computer, I’m just using the feeling as a starting point for these other thoughts.)

See, anything can be turned into a philosophical treatise!

Anyway that’s me these days. Sitting around, writing in journals (my hand hurts SO much,) wishing I had my laptop back and healthy again, and finding meaning in even the most mundane experiences. It’s a good life.

Love, shira

PS just got back from the computer place. They said HP just sent out a thing about how certain models have internal hardware issues that may need to be sent in to be fixed. Mine was on the list. Argh. Looks like I might not have a laptop for quite some time.