Peoplehood, Ethnicty, and Religion

    When I got out of the mikveh, following my conversion ceremony, my rabbi said, "Welcome to the Jewish people." Those words guided me and welcomed me into a new identity; one that was simultaneously religious and ethnic. I was now part of the "people of Israel," "Am Yisrael." In the days and years that have followed, I've turned these words and the concept of peoplehood over and over in my head. What does it mean for me, a Jew by Choice, to be part of an ethnic group that my genes deny (or at least most of them)? What does it mean for me to say that I am part of this people especially when all Jews outside of progressive Jewish circles would not consider me as such (because of my Reform conversion)?
   As always, I am filled with a myriad of questions and few answers. Over the last few years, especially during my time at HUC-JIR in Cincinnati (during my first MA from HUC), I read quite a bit on early Reform concepts of peoplehood. In many ways, peoplehood for these rabbis took a backseat to religion. As American Reform Judaism emerged, the concept of peoplehood and ethnicity fell away; or at least was relegated to the periphery of the conversation. For instance, in the Pittsburgh Platform, the first statement of the principles of the Reform movement written in 1885, the phrase "the Jewish people" is only mentioned twice. The statements then focus primarily on negating past practices and emphasizing "progressive religion." By the 1930s, however, with the "Columbus Platform" written in 1937, there is a distinct uptick in the use of the word "people." It is clear that with the first sentence of the platform that peoplehood will be a focal point for Reform Judaism. Judaism is then defined as "the historical religious experience of the Jewish people." In large part, this sudden emphasis on peoplehood, moving from the universality of the first platform to the specific nature of the second can be attributed to an increase in antisemitism both in the United States and in Europe and the need unite in the face of rising external pressures. 
(http://ccarnet.org/rabbis-speak/platforms/guiding-principles-reform-judaism/)
    The third platform was not developed or published until the 1970s. The San Francisco Platform is written in the shadow of the Shoah (The Holocaust) and in the light of the miracle of the establishment of the State of Israel. Peoplehood, for the first time, is completely inescapable. In this case, not only is peoplehood mentioned, but it becomes a headline within the greater scope of the text. There is an entire section devoted to "The People Israel" which reads:

The Jewish people and Judaism defy precise definition because both are in the process of becoming. Jews, by birth or conversion, constitute an uncommon union of faith and peoplehood. Born as Hebrews in the ancient Near East, we are bound together like all ethnic groups by language, land, history, culture, and institutions. But the people of Israel is unique because of its involvement with God and its resulting perception of the human condition. Throughout our long history our people has been inseparable from its religion with its messianic hope that humanity will be redeemed.

Here, the authors of the platform acknowledge the difficulties associated with defining Jewish peoplehood. However, despite the fact that it is not easily defined, the authors use it pervasively throughout the text. In large part, this is due to the need to grapple with the near extinction of the people of Israel, and the existence of a Jewish state-whose existence was and is dependent on the concept of Jewish peoplehood. No longer could Jewish peoplehood be related explicitly to religion, but had to in some part be connected with ethnicity. If nothing else, the "Law of Return" allowing aliyah (immigration to Israel for Jews), was and continues to be a signifier of ethnicity and peoplehood. At the same time, the platform seeks to be as inclusive as possible.

The most recent platform, published in 1999, in Pittsburgh, expands the definition of peoplehood a bit more than its predecessor by associating it with the title "Israel." However, Israel in this sense is "Am Yisrael."

We are Israel, a people aspiring to holiness, singled out through our ancient covenant and our unique history among the nations to be witnesses to God's presence. We are linked by that covenant and that history to all Jews in every age and place.
(http://ccarnet.org/rabbis-speak/platforms/statement-principles-reform-judaism)

Such a definition of peoplehood is far less explicit, in so far that it does not provide a direct definition of Jews as a people more cultural in nature as the line "We are Hebrews..." indicates in the platform from the 1970s.

The next paragraph in the text also deals with peoplehood:

We are committed to the (mitzvah) of (ahavat Yisrael), love for the Jewish people, and to (k'lal Yisrael), the entirety of the community of Israel. Recognizing that (kol Yisrael arevim zeh ba-zeh), all Jews are responsible for one another, we reach out to all Jews across ideological and geographical boundaries.
 (http://ccarnet.org/rabbis-speak/platforms/reform-judaism-centenary-perspective).

Who is part of the Jewish people? What does it mean to feel a part of the Jewish people? What is the difference between ethnicity and peoplehood? Does peoplehood or religion take precedence? As always, what is the balance between the universal and particular? 

As the Reform movement has developed over time, so has its relationship to the concept of peoplehood. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, it was possible for Reform Judaism to be almost entirely universal and to put off defining Jewish peoplehood. With antisemitism on the rise, there was finally a need to return to the idea of Jewish peoplehood, and in response to the Shoah and to the establishment of the State of Israel, an even more particularlistic stance was needed. Although I do not disagree with these responses, I do believe that more conversations need to be had in terms of the way Reform Jews feel about the term "peoplehood" today.

The line in the 1976 platform that accepts the varieties of Jewish peoplehood is helpful, however, it still does not quite provide a means by which Jews by choice, Jews of different races or for that matter, even non-Ashkenazi Jews, define themselves within the contexts of Jewish peoplehood. Especially in the United States where the synagogue is the center of religious life rather than necessarily the center of cultural life, how do we return to a discussion of Jewish peoplehood? How does peoplehood interact with our views of Israel both when they are positive, disconnected, or when they are sometimes at odds, especially for those who may be excluded from the Law of Return? Although this has not been part of my personal experience, we must become of the idea that many of us juggle multiple identities that are not only dually hyphenated "American-Jews," but maybe triply hypenated; "Black-American-Jewish" or "Asian-American-Jewish," "Jew by Choice-American-Jewish," not to even mention sexual orientation.

      The Torah can be used in some ways as a means to an end in terms of answering some of these questions. If we look at the Torah as a living and breathing document with various types of peoples being adopted or lost over time, we can then, therefore accept that "Jewish peoplehood" has been a constantly changing term. "Jewish peoplehood" does not mean one thing, as the writers of the 1976 platform acknowledge. Although we often accept that Ruth was the first Jew by choice in the Torah, we fail to acknowledge that she also held a hyphenated identity. She was a "Moabite-Jewess." While the text never gives us a glimpse into her actual struggle with these two identities, I and many others cannot escape the intricacies of balancing multiple identities.

Most days, it is very easy for me to be incognito, and to fall into line as just a run of the  mill Jew. However some days, when we discuss Jewish geography, parent's Hebrew names, or family origins, I struggle because my experience is very different. At the same time, I can blend in. For my friends and colleagues who balance identities that can be viewed with the naked eye, life can be a daily struggle, especially in Israel where Ethiopian Jews are still viewed with skepticism and even racism. Not only that, but with large numbers of Asian workers and Sudanese asylum seekers, those Jews whether born Jewish or Jews by choice (Mizrachi or Ethiopian) become targets of hatred. For instance, a classmate of mine was once pulled off of a bus because an individual thought she was an illegal immigrant. She was just visiting Israel for the first time.

What does it mean to be a people? What does it mean for Jews to be an ethnic group and also a religion? How do we come to terms with all of our hyphenations and identities which we carry around with us everyday? How can we be both a separate people and yet a universal people? These are questions with which I am still struggling, with which rabbis before and after me have been and will continue to struggle. Although we will continue to struggle,  I hope we will find better ways to be kind and accepting of one anothers' identities and struggles with this trifecta of peoplehood, ethnicity, and religion, in whatever form that takes in our lives. In conclusion, may we come to love our hyphenations through deep questioning and struggle, and find peace and comfort in loving all aspects of ourselves without judgement, and without hesitation, both as a people and as individuals.

After the Chaggim: Post Prague, Mid Term Crunch, and Halloween?

Life in Israel follows the highs and lows of the Jewish calendar; the lows of Tisha B'av and Yom Kippur and the highs of Simchat Torah and Purim and everything in between. A commonly used phrase in Israel, that even my classmates and I began to adopt, is "After the Chaggim"-meaning after Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and Simchat Torah. As my aunt and uncle pointed out, with all of these holidays it really is hard to get anything done during the months of September/October, or in the Jewish calendar, the month of Tishri. Somehow, this year, this Tishri, with all of its holidays both celebratory and reflective, really brought me into a new space. Maybe this was caused by the physical change in scenery. After all, I am living in Eretz Israel. Yom Kippur, a normal day in the states, is observed even by secular Jews in Israel (in their own way). The Jewish holidays take on a totally different shape in Israel.  On Yom Kippur all traffic stops. No one drives, and you can sit in the middle of the street. Although most secular Jews in Israel don't attend synagogue on Yom Kippur, it is often called by secular Jews, the Holiday of Bikes because instead of driving everyone takes their children outside to ride bikes. Sukkot is perhaps even more of an experience as sukkot (small hut like structures) can be spotted on just about every mirpeset (balcony) in Jerusalem, and when during Simchat Torah people take to dancing in the streets. What an odd and yet beautiful experience the HHDs (High Holy Days) are in Israel. There sure is nothing else like it.

In contrast to the high holidays in Israel, my trip with my aunt and uncle to Prague was more or less secular in contrast to the very Jewish space of Israel. There were no obvious signs of Jewish life--no sukkot, no giant Hebrew signs. It was odd to see signs not in Hebrew, most things were in English and Czech. In some ways it was refreshing to get away from school and to do be out of Israel. My trip gave me the first hint of fall! The leaves had begun to change in Prague. The air was cool, and it rained! Boy, did it rain. We had sprinkles during Sukkot in Israel (which is not the best of omens, but still beautiful for a rain lover like myself), but we had real rain in Prague. Prague sure knows its rain!  Prague, in addition to the simple existence of Fall, is by far the most beautiful city I have ever traveled to. I couldn't believe my eyes. The scenery was picturesque and the people were so kind, and oh the Jazz, and the meat and potatoes!

All of this relaxing, and eating, including a lovely reclusive shabbat following my travels, didn't quite prepare me for the onslaught of mid-terms. I am back to the grind of school, but I can't help but admit that I'm really looking forward to writing some of my first papers in months and to really dig deeper into my thoughts on prayer and God through our Mabat groups and Tefilah (Prayer) Journals.

Now, in contrast to midterms and the to-do lists that are piling up on my desk, we have this funny little thing that us silly Americans will be celebrating in Israel called Halloween-- filled with costumes (maybe even during our field trip to Qumran! Yes, we're going to where the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered!), pumpkin flavored treats, and maybe even some candy corn. You can take the Americans out of the States, but Halloween stays. I think we're all looking forward to some time to let off a bit of steam in the wake of exams, and Halloween candy or whatever we can get our hands on in terms of candy will surely do the trick (pun intended). 

Here I am finally "After the Chaggim," and besides mid terms and looking forward to Halloween, I still really haven't figured out what this "After the Chaggim" means. What will my life look like in a few weeks when the year really gets into full swing? What more does this year have in store for me? All I know is I can't wait to find out.


Pictures of Prague coming soon!

Jew by Choice and Future Rabbi or Potential Threat?

I knew based on my aunt's experience after her conversion that my acceptance in some Jewish communities might be a slow process. I expected and accepted that orthodox and conservative Jews probably would not recognize me as Jewish because of my Reform conversion (even though I met with a beit din and immersed in a mikvah). I also came to terms with the fact that if I ever wanted to make aliyah it would be a daunting process to have my conversion recognized as legitimate. However, something I never expected was to go to Israel and then to be interrogated about the legitimacy of my Judaism, my conversion, and then to be searched in a special separate line, being singled out exclusively by my conversion. After attending a Jewish seminary, teaching Religious and Hebrew school, working at a JCC camp, getting into rabbinical school, getting a student visa for Israel, then moving to live in Israel for a year, I couldn't have imagined that I would be singled out for my conversion.

The first time I came to Israel there was a decent hullabaloo about my conversion process. I was traveling to  Israel for the first time on Birthright. I didn't know anyone on my trip, but boy was I excited. I'd been warned about the intimidating yet often gorgeous Israeli women who ask you questions before you get on an Israeli flight. I expected the intensity, and after that discussion my conversion and my Judaism were left alone. I was just another, albeit highly Jewishly educated, Jewish young person on a Birthright trip.

The way back to the US was another story. My trip went swimmingly, but my experience during the security process for my return to the states was something entirely new to me. I had been randomly selected once in the US for additional screening, but it wasn't a big deal. Now by additional I mean they put me in the "sniffer" (the drug sniffing machine) and then used the wand to detect any metal objects. Nothing out of the ordinary. In this case, on my way home from Israel, as soon as I told the mildly terrifying Israeli woman about my Jewish experience, she moved me to another line where they opened and explored my checked luggage, carry on, and purse. Because by this time an hour has passed, they zoomed me through to yet another security line where I was siphoned off yet again after dropping off my checked luggage. We did the whole process again with my purse and carry on. To be honest, that day, I was just ready to get home, and besides El Al's stupid rule about bringing water bottles on their planes (don't get my started), I didn't think anymore of the additional security I had to go through.

My experience with security at Ben Gurion before my flight to Prague was a very different day. When I told the woman who had begun my questioning that I had converted she asked more and more questions even going so far to ask for my conversion paperwork, which why on earth would I need to bring that with me to get to Prague? After calling a supervisor, she finally gave the three of us our passport stickers and we passed into the actual security line. Once at security, my aunt and uncle went ahead of me. I was told I needed to be in a different line and was escorted to a place where all of my bags were searched and wiped. I was humiliated. There was no doubt in my mind that all of this was caused by my admission that I was a Jew by Choice. After a while, I was told I could leave. My aunt and uncle asked where I'd gone. They hadn't even seen me leave. I was flustered and upset as I recounted what had happened. It wasn't a random search. It was absolutely intentional. After a cappuccino and a pastry, I felt a bit better, but still furious and confounded by the treatment I had received from the State of Israel, a place I love and hold close to my heart. When we got to our gate, I was  surprised again to be stopped, to be asked how long I would be in Prague and if I was returning to the U.S. They seemed okay with my responses but then took my ticket and only gave it back after a few minutes of explaining that I wouldn't know where my seat was. Before I got my ticket back, the woman with my ticket called someone.

   There is a definite and almost visceral sense of Jewish ethnocentricity in Israel, however, I never felt wholly outside of the Jewish people until now. I wasn't viewed as an American, as a student, or as a Jew, I was only seen as a convert, as somehow suspect of impersonating a Jew, and potential threat.

There have been some truly trying moments for my relationship with Israel this year. I've struggled, like so many others, to understand and to combat Israeli racism, intolerance and violence. I've struggled to see myself as Jewish enough for Israel, and as a proud progressive Jew. However, never for one minute was my conversion or my decision to become a rabbi questioned by my school or by my friends and colleagues.

What can I do about El Al's their terrible handling of this situation? I can complain. I can say how terrible it is that converts are treated this way. I can give them halakhic and social and religious reason why this is unjust, but what can I do about how disillusioned I am with Israel now? If all Jews are welcomed, where does that leave me? Guilty until proven innocent of really being Jewish? My new Jewish self, unlike the New Jew of the 20s and 30s isn't wanted. Where does all of this leave me?

First off, it leaves me (somehow) still with an interest in traveling despite how difficult it will likely continue to be to get out of and to re-enter Israel. Secondly, it leaves me in a complicated space where my relationship with Israel is on the rocks. What do I do about my future flights to Europe this year or to Israel in the future? I can't lie, and I don't want to. I'm proud to be a Jew by Choice, but it might just come down to that. Finally, it leaves me with a sense of loss, a loss of trust, of faith, but it also gives me a deeper commitment to breaking down racial and religious stereotypes that leave me and people like me open to scrutiny and judgement.

Tastes Like Home: Remembering Katrina

   For weeks now I have been craving fried chicken. I just wanted some good Southern cooking. What can I say, you can take the girl out of the South and put her in Israel, but you can't take the South out of the girl. In lieu of this, a few friends and I, who were also craving fried chicken, decided to have a fried chicken cook out. What an adventure it was. Joey and I did the frying, and Rob did the grilling. It was a sight to behold and so tasty. I'd never had whiskey battered fried chicken. Yum!
  Our cookout just so happened to coincide with the anniversary of the landfall of Hurricane Katrina, which 9 years ago deeply impacted my life and the lives of everyone in New Orleans and the surrounding areas. It's funny to look back on Katrina while living in Israel. My life has changed so much in nine years. What I remember most about Katrina was not the experience of the hurricane itself, but rather our drive to Las Vegas, my experience at school there, and then my final return to Slidell where so much of my day to day life had changed.
  In the end, I was extremely blessed. Although we could not get a FEMA trailer, we were able to get our home redone in just a few months, where for others it took almost a full year or longer. I was blessed because I was able to go back to school soon after my return. While the hours of the school day were a bit odd, I was still in the company of many of my friends and that part of my life slowly returned to normal.
  The most difficult moment for me was processing that the elementary school I had attended for 10 years had been damaged severely and its original buildings would most likely be torn down. A place I had called home was gone. I still remember the fried chicken we would eat in the cafeteria at OLL, the gumbo, biscuits, and powdered double chocolate cookies.
    Home for me was one thing pre-Katrina, and a very different thing afterwards.  Home was something I could no longer take for granted, especially while I was stuck far away from home in Las Vegas. Katrina was a turning point in my life, as I believe it was for many of my peers, and for so many people affected by the storm. The tastes and smells of home became more distinct, and my longing for them became stronger. My attachment to the place of my birth, New Orleans, and the South, became stronger. For all I know, that's probably the reason I research Southern Jewry and more specifically natural disasters and epidemics.  It was also a turning point in my spiritual development.
     It took a long time to deal with the emotional fall out from an event such as this. However, 9 years later, these wounds have healed and only vague scars remain. As a 15 year old, I had to figure out why God did this to me and my family. It took a long time for me to come to a theological understanding of my experiences and to come to terms with the aftermath of the storm. The memory of the events of Katrina and the days and years of rebuilding that followed are a very present part of who I am. They are seared into my memory. Although a lot of my memories are negative in relation to Katrina, I also think about the beautiful ways in which my family and community came together to rebuild. We returned to the tastes, smells, and sights of home and tried to rebuild a better city, a better home together. As a sit in my apartment in Jerusalem, remembering Katrina, I long for home.  For me, our fried chicken cook out was just a little taste of home. Gumbo, red beans and rice, and cornbread are next!

Struggling with Sfat

A few weeks ago, a few of my classmates and I decided to take a road trip to the city of Sfat. We rented a car from Hertz and piled into the car; five girls gabbing and jamming the whole way there. I was excited. It was such a great chance to escape the big city, the sometimes oppressive nature of Jerusalem, and to explore such a spiritual city like Sfat. A bit of background information might be helpful. So, Sfat is a northern city that is often associated with Kabbalah, or mystical Judaism. It's a very spiritual and peaceful place. During the matzav, it was a great place to go to escape the sirens and the terrors of the world.

After a three hour drive, we found a parking spot and decided to explore the city. What better way to explore the city than to go shopping? After a few purchases and a wonderful vegetarian meal, we made our way to our home stay, where we met the lovely couple we were to be staying with, Gila and Dan. It was to be a glorified shabbat slumber party; there were matresses on the floor. We hung around the house for a while before getting ready and heading to House of Love and Prayer (a synagogue associated with Carlebach). There we had a lovely experience doing Kabbalat shabbat, singing Carlebach tunes, and dancing under the stars (For more information on Carlebach see here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shlomo_Carlebach_%28musician%29).

From there our group split up. Sasha and I went to one dinner, and Jen, Shira, and Rae went to another. First of all, I must begin this part of my post by saying our meals during this trip were by far the most thought provoking and challenging dinners I have ever attended, however I am sure they will not be my last. At this dinner in particular, Sasha and I met a lovely couple and their children. The family was Lubuvitch-warm, kind, and very focused on the coming of the messiah. We were greeted by the wife first and immediately asked about our Hebrew names. For the rest of the dinner we were to go by our Hebrew names. Also, as per usual, my name (Bailey Romano) became a major point of dinner conversation. "Is your family Sephardic? Why "Bailey"?" I just nodded my head, and tried to avoid mentioning that I was a convert or a future female rabbi in the reform movement. I think under different circumstances I would have been more than forthcoming, but this just wasn’t the place. Sometimes you just pick your battles.

Because of the matzav, there was a lot of discussion of politics at the table, but it was a very different kind of discussion filled with inferences to miracles and the coming of the messiah. I wasn't sure where I fit into this discussion. Surely my perspective on a messianic age in a reform context would not be welcomed or at least would be dismissed. In all honesty, I wasn't even sure if in that moment that I could coherently express my views on the messiah in Reform Judaism or even my own  take on it for that matter. Despite my interactions with Modern Orthodox and Orthodox families, I didn't know where to position myself in these conversations. I left the meal with a head filled with overwhelming questions about Judaism and my own spirituality. The five of us met up at our home stay and did a bit of a debrief before passing out,  exhausted from a day of traveling and big meals.

For Shabbat lunch we had plans to attend a meal with a large family who were followers of the Breslov rebbe. The husband grew up as a Reform Jew in Philadelphia, but the couple had become Baal Teshuvah (became more religious) before they married and made aliyah three years before. They had five children who were very entertaining and who we really enjoyed getting to know and playing with, but the general lunch discussion was again a big challenge. The wife kept using Muslims (extremist) and Arabs interchangeably, and telling us not to trust “them.” Furthermore, if we become friends with “them"  we would intermarry. Much more startling to me and my friends was her view that if we met a Muslim they would more than likely kidnap or blow us up. Racism was an ever present aspect of the conversation, one of which my friends and I tried desperately to counter. At the same time, we could not get over how this couple had made just a drastic transition from progressive to ultra orthodox Judaism. As much as we tried to understand them, we just couldn’t grasp their world, as I’m sure they couldn’t entirely understand ours.

During the afternoon, we returned home for naps. I was woken up from my nap by loud voices in the kitchen, and went to discover what was the matter. As it turned out, Shira and Dan (the man whose house we were staying at) were having a fiery debate about women's place on the bimah, egalitarianism and how and when a woman's voice should be heard. In the end the conversation turned to the possibility that a woman could be just as enamored with a man's voice as a man could be with a woman's. Although the conversation was tense and really challenged each of us to defend our decisions to become rabbis and Jewish educators, it was also very productive and resulted in the promise of future dialogues on this subject and more. Hopefully, Dan and Gila will come for a visit to Jerusalem and we can continue our discussions. We truly loved staying with them and the deep and thought provoking conversations we had with them. They are truly generous, kind, and loving people, and I really hope we see them again during our year here. 

Our very last event of the weekend was our final meal with a friend of Jen's. The dinner was lovely. I couldn't get over the contrast between this dinner and our previous two meals. The couple’s whose home we ate at was modern orthodox and followed a specific rabbi, but they were very open to understanding our context and getting to know us. Even though the wife was Baal Teshuva, and had grown up Reform, she was overwhelmingly accepting of us and our future vocations as female rabbis and educators. Not only that, but their children were a blast. Jen's friend from college and his wife were great conversationalists, and we felt truly welcome and a part of a greater productive conversation of living as Jews in a broader context. All of this is to say that conversations about the messiah and muslims were kept to a minimum.

On our drive back, we all struggled to make sense of our collective and individual experiences from the weekend. I wondered how could I take what I had experienced and bring it back to Jerusalem and well as into future dialogues I will have in my rabbinate. I also couldn’t escape how these events had challenged and strengthened my identity as a Reform Jew. As difficult as that weekend was, it provided me with a new voice with which to discuss my decision to be a rabbi in the Reform movement today, and why it is important to have female rabbis and leaders in Jewish communities of all types. I also could not have chosen a better group of women with whom to have such deep discussions and to accompany me on this journey; a journey to Sfat and our respective journeys as future rabbis.

In the Wake

On the surface, life in Jerusalem seems as normal as it was a year ago. People go to work, the cars honk, the buses run, and I continue to explore new shuls (synagogues) and new foods around the city. We haven't had a siren in over a week. Things are quiet; almost as if all is well. Beneath the surface, in the murky waters of our thoughts and prayers, are the tensions we struggle to conceal and to process; the anxiety over the situation, and sadness over the loss of soldiers and innocent bystanders and citizens. Under the surface, parents and family members struggle to understand the lot they have been dealt and to understand the immediate and long term implications for their families, for their lives, for their nations, and for the world.

While sitting doing homework before going to the gym, a friend of mine told me about her experience registering for the US Consulate's Travel Tracker. When she finished the process of notifying them of her travel plans, one travel advisory for Israel popped up. It said all non-essential travel to Israel should be put off until future notice. In light of this situation, she found herself asking herself, "Is it essential that I be here?" It's essential to our education according to HUC, but is being in Israel right now truly essential? She couldn't answer the question. I mulled it over in my head. I came up with a handful of potential answers, none of which were particularly satisfactory.

What I couldn't get out of my head was not a question of whether or not I should be in Israel, but rather how should I express and explain my views on the situation to my American friends and peers of all religions? How should I address the issues over the portrayal of Israel in the media, especially by CNN? How should I explain the polemics being used by Hamas to garner sympathy not necessarily for its cause but for the innocent people of Gaza, who the IDF is trying dilligently to protect and warn as often and as quickly as possible?


Once I've processed and begun to answer the questions that persist about Israel in the media and my general processing of life in Israel right now, how do I address the current backlash against Israel and the continued failed attempts at cease fires and peace treaties proctored by Egypt, Qatar, or America? How do I deal with the cancellations of flights from the US and Europe to Israel (which are thankfully back up and running)? Perhaps even more importantly, what do I say about the extreme rise in antisemitism around the world where groups say "Death to the Jews" "Death to Israel"?

I think this is the first time on a large scale that our generation is seeing mass riots being enacted in the name of antisemitism and anti-Israel sentiment. This is somehow scarier to me than the threat of bombs. At least bombs can be blown up by the Iron Dome. How can we stop what seems to be an increasing level of antisemitism world wide and prevent a return to the rhetoric and actions that led to pogroms and later the Shoah (the Holocaust)?

Last week and since the start of the situation there have been violent riots and protests in Paris, Germany, and Canada. In Canada, people were shouting "Death to the Jews!" In Germany, they shouted "Gas the Jews!" And in Belgium there was a sign that said "No Jews Allowed." What do I do with these things when a student of mine asks me about this this week or in the future? What am I supposed to say? How do I quell my fears along with the fears of those I lead and support in this time of crisis? What is the Jewish people to do? What am I to do? As many Jews choose to abandon Europe for Israel or the United States amidst statements pertaining to a "Second Holocaust," I find myself digging deeper into what it means to be Jewish in a modern world where we regularly say "Never Again." Although I have faith in the UN and other governments which are trying to limit and deter incidents of antisemitism, my fears remain. What we cannot do is stand idly by and wait for these words and actions to disappear. We must speak up against hatred and bigotry and remind the world of those two words, "Never Again." 

I'll leave this post on a high note. As I was scrolling through my Facebook feed last week, I came across an inspiring article/video. The title of the article was "Jews and Arabs Refuse to be Enemies." The picture below the title was of a woman and a man kissing with a piece of paper below them saying that Jews and Arabs can love one another. The video on the website and the message being spread through the internet via the hashtag #JewsandArabsRefusetobeEnemies was inspiring and provided a little light in a dark day of hate. Let this post provide some perspective during these tumultuous times, but more importantly let it be a catalyst for positivity and engaging dialogue about religion and geo-politics, and more importantly about how we are better together.

In the wake of this month, may Israel and Gaza, Jews and Muslims, and peoples of all religions and nations find ways to come together to better the world, to strive for the elimination of hatred and for the love of all mankind.

"And they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore." (Isaiah 2:4)


Shalom.






(For more reading on the topics discussed in this post see the following articles)

http://freebeacon.com/national-security/israel-supporters-attacked-by-crowd-shouting-kill-jews-in-canada/

http://pamelageller.com/2014/07/german-leftist-muslim-protesters-chant-gas-jews-anti-israel-jew-hatred-rallies.html/

http://www.vox.com/2014/7/21/5923145/gaza-anti-semitism-europe

http://forward.com/articles/202647/belgian-cafe-posts-no-jews-allowed-sign/#.U8_r6scnYrM.facebook

http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2014/07/22/france-jewish-shops-riot_n_5608612.html
http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/politics/2014/07/max_steinberg_death_how_birthright_convinces_american_jews_to_embrace_israel.html

http://www.timesofisrael.com/the-terrible-cost-of-thwarting-hamas/

http://mashable.com/2014/07/23/jews-and-arabs-refuse-to-be-enemies/?utm_campaign=Feed%3A+Mashable+%28Mashable%29&utm_cid=Mash-Prod-RSS-Feedburner-All-Partial&utm_medium=feed&utm_source=feedburner&utm_source=taboola&utm_medium=referral

"Israelis Don't Run Away"

A woman recently told me something that I have not been able to get out of my head. “Israelis don't run away.” As a long term resident of Israel, as someone who had raised a family in Israel, and who  married and Israeli man, she said that until the Gulf War, she had not felt Israeli. During the Gulf War, one day she told her husband that she would be taking their kids and returning to her home country where they would be safe.  His response, "Israelis don't run away." She could run, but her children were Israeli. As Israelis, they could not run away. She could go, but they would stay. In that moment, she chose to stay. She chose not to run away. She chose to be Israeli.
 
What does it mean that "Israeli's don't run away"? For this woman's husband, this phrase meant being brave and remaining in Israel all the while knowing the risks. His concern: if they didn't stay who would? If they ran and other Israelis ran, then where would the State of Israel be? As American Jews or Jews in the Diaspora, what does it mean to choose not to run away from Israel? For me, to run away from Israel means to relinquish support for Israel. Not running away from Israel today means that I will not run away from the reality in which I live, and I will not literally run away from Israel.   

While I propose that Diaspora Jews not run away from the reality of Israel, I do not, by any means, suggest that we dispense with critical thinking.  How can we as American and Diaspora Jews express our love and support for Israel while remaining critical of human and civil rights issues? How do we reconcile the need of Israel to protect it's people from harm and the potential and real impact of military actions on civilian lives both in the State of Israel and in Gaza?

As I try to position myself as a human being, a Jew, and as an American amidst the cacophony of voices speaking to the times at hand, I cannot help but be critical of my home country, more so than Israel. I am not one to agree with every policy of a country, that of my own or others, however, I cannot sit quietly as some Americans say that Israel is in the wrong for defending itself as siren after siren and bomb after bomb are sent from Gaza to cities all over Israel, including the one in which I live. This situation is not as simple as a peace treaty. This situation does not require a bandaid or an easy fix. It is complicated and intricately woven into history, politics, religion, and culture.

At a recent talk, Yossi Klein Halevi stated two things that I found to be profoundly true: 1) we often fail as Diasporic Jews and especially as American Jews to see that peace is far more difficult to attain post 2000 in light of the Second Intifada, 2) there is a tendency to oversimplify Israel as one thing or another, either as entirely perfect or corrupt. In a world and in societies that too often emphasize and accept political and social polarization, how can we uncover the dynamic and complicated nature of our relationship to Israel? How can we teach our children about the complicated situation in Israel while acknowledging our own struggle with the state and with the land?

I recognize that here I ask more questions than I provide answers. I do not have any real answers. I only have words, ideas, love and support. As rockets fly overhead, and as, God willing, the Iron Dome protects me, I pretend these projectiles are tornadoes so that they match their sirens of a similar pitch. I compartmentalize just as the small children in Sederot sing their "Siren Songs" and prepare themselves to take shelter.

This blog has merely been a sounding board for my thoughts and reflections on the past two weeks. It only reflects the last two weeks and leaves out a good deal of the sadness left in the wake of the deaths of the four boys; three Jewish, and one Muslim. Life in Israel has dramatically changed over the last few weeks, yet by the looks of it, in Jerusalem, life goes on as normal as ever. Jewish time keeps rolling as Tisha B'Av and Rosh Chodesh approach, as my first week of rabbinical school begins, and as I look forward to another Shabbat in Jerusalem.

Shalom and Salaam

Wholeness

At a loss
A loss for words
The syllables stick to the lining of my throat
The jagged edges of the words cannot escape my lips

A depth in me
A depth in me long forgotten
The memory only a whisper at best
The forgotten loss of someone long ago--life lost to the wind

I am no stranger
Stranger to the words grasped tightly on the breeze
I am no stranger
Alien to the pain and suffering of those who have lost a child, a brother, a sister, a friend

Aren’t we all all for one and one for all?
Perhaps we yet are not--
Never will be
Never may
Yet I still hope
Hatikvah
Hope remains
I hope.


I do not cease and desist
One day
One day
Love will reign
One day peace
One day
Just wind,
Just breath.
All whole.

May Their Memories be for a Blessing, for Peace, and for Healing

  Baruch dayan emet.

May their memories be for a blessing. 

May their parents find peace and comfort.

And may all who mourn on this day find healing and peace.

Amen.

   A few minutes after I finally began to cook my dinner, Sasha walked into the kitchen and told me the news. According to the New York Times, CNN, Jerusalem Post, and Haaretz, the bodies of the three kidnapped boys, Naphtali, Gilad, and Eyal, had been found. I was shocked. My heart sank, and my thoughts immediately turned to the mothers and families of these young men, and to the greater implications for Israel and the greater world. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought about the extreme loss that only a parent can feel with the passing of a child. At the same time, I could not help but also reflect on possibility of violence and retribution for such a heinous act. 

  There are people who believe in revenge. I am not one of them. As I scrolled through the comments on the JPost article on Facebook earlier I counted far more statements related to violence and revenge rather than those sending prayers and condolences to the bereaved families of the boys. Unlike in the United States, where many kidnappings occur, rarely if ever are they interwoven with international politics. Not only that, but rarely are they if ever associated with and become representative of a major religion. 

   Among the comments of those who have expressed their sadness and anger about the deaths of these boys, I have found far too many statements which contain "revenge against Muslims" rhetoric in association with the deaths of these boys. These statements in particular were disturbing on a number of levels 1) because they generalize Muslims and Arabs 2) they assume that all Muslims are militant 3) the use of Muslims in such generalized statements then becomes synonymous with Hamas and other terrorist groups 4) Such statements remove focus from the small group of individuals or even the possible greater group of people who likely had a hand in the deaths of these boys and again generalize and associate these horrific events with an entire religion. I am angered and deeply saddened by the deaths of these boys, however I refuse to be caught up in revenge rhetoric especially rhetoric that chooses not only violence but complete generalizations of an entire religion and group of people. Simultaneously, I am fearful for the outcome of such events. As tensions rise on the West Bank and in Gaza, what will the future hold? How will Israel retaliate and what will the greater implications be for the Middle East and life in Israel? In terms of my own life specifically, what does this all mean for my life in Israel? Honestly, I do not know. All I can do is pray for the bereaved families of these boys, for the State of Israel, and for peace. 

A PRAYER FOR PEACE AND STRENGTH

By Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar

Holy One of blessing,

we pray for the soldiers

who are called to defend the people of Israel.

Keep them safe. When they are weary

give them strength.

When they are scared give them courage.

May they find strength and faith in the days ahead.

Holy One of blessing,

we pray for the people of Israel

who long to live under your canopy of peace.

Keep them safe. When they are threatened

protect them from harm.

When they are wounded and bereaved

grant them healing and comfort.

May they find strength and courage in the days ahead.

May our voices carry prayers of hope

that the people of Israel know that they are not alone.

Dear God,

give us strength

and know that there is nothing more sacred than peace.

Grant us dear God,

Faith. Courage. Wisdom.

(Israel Resources from the CCAR-http://ccarnet.org/ccar-press/israel-resources/).

Prayer for the Children of Abraham/Ibrahim

      Rabbi Rachel Barenblat

For every aspiring ballerina huddled
scared in a basement bomb shelter
For every toddler in his mother’s arms
    behind rubble of concrete and rebar
For every child who’s learned to distinguish
“our” bombs from “their” bombs by sound
For everyone wounded, cowering, frightened
    and everyone furious, planning for vengeance
For the ones who are tasked with firing shells
where there are grandmothers and infants
For the ones who fix a rocket’s parabola
    toward children on school playgrounds
For every official who sees shelling Gaza
as a matter of “cutting the grass”
And every official who approves launching projectiles
    from behind preschools or prayer places
For every kid taught to lob a bomb with pride
And every kid sickened by explosions
  For every teenager who considers
    “martyrdom” his best hope for a future:
May the God of compassion and the God of mercy
God of justice and God of forgiveness
God Who shaped creation in Her tender womb
    and nurses us each day with blessing
God Who suffers the anxiety and pain
of each of His unique children
God Who yearns for us to take up
    the work of perfecting creation
God Who is reflected in those who fight
and in those who bandage the bleeding –
May our Father, Mother, Beloved, Creator
    cradle every hurting heart in caring hands.
Soon may we hear in the hills of Judah
and the streets of Jerusalem
in the olive groves of the West Bank
    and the apartment blocks of Gaza City
in the kibbutz fields of the Negev
and the neighborhoods of Nablus
the voice of fighters who have traded weapons
    for books and ploughs and bread ovens
the voice of children on swings and on slides
singing nonsense songs, unafraid
the voice of reconciliation and new beginnings
    in our day, speedily and soon.
And let us say:
amen.

(http://blogs.rj.org/blog/2012/11/20/prayer-for-the-children-of-abraham-ibrahim/?utm_source=Share&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=Barenblat&utm_campaign=Israel).

This Week In Pictures

 This week has been a busy one as usual, but also such a very lovely one. See the pictures below for a "this week in pictures" overview. 

We completed our second to last week of pre-ulpan, and this weekend we're going to Tel Aviv for the day and then attending a Kabbalat Shabbat service on the beach! Look out for more updates soon! 

Cute picture as I walked down the greenline towards Tachane Rishona (the first train station). 

Welcome to ulpan! Thursday was game day in Tali's class. Zach has a funny hat on his head with a Hebrew word on it. We gave him hints, and he had to guess the word. 

"Inconsiderate Joe" aka Joey in Ilana's sunglasses and Zach's hat. Such a great moment 

This week I went with Jen to try out the YMCA because we get a free one day trial as HUC students. It was a lot of fun, but I'm really excited for the event I found out about above. 

As I was exploring Mahane Yehudah with a friend, he pointed out this mural. Really neat, huh? 

On Sunday night I went to an amazing concert of the Yale Whiffenpoofs and the YMCA Youth Chorus. Both groups were fantastic and inspiring. The young students in the chorus come from both Palestinian and Israeli Jewish households. The group is a combination of choir and a space for interfaith dialogue and dialogue about their respective views about living in Israel and in conflict. 

Sasha on the swings near one of our favorite bars/restaurants in Rehavia! 

I decided to go for a walk through one of the parks near my house to sing. Here's the view from where I was sitting. 

Here the fountain at the intersection of Ramban, Rambam, and Karen HaYesod. I love passing it each day! I feel like I should magically turn into Belle every time.

Best falafel I've had since I've been here was from shalom falafel which has been in business since 1947. 

Jen and I went shopping on Sunday, and I just had to get a picture of her in this hat. It was just such a Southern lady hat!

Street fair in Tel Aviv! 

Ira's new found talent for balancing and juggling at the street fair. 

Building near the HaCarmel Market in Tel Aviv which reminded me of the French Quarter. 

Cool carousel at the Tel Aviv port near where we attended services with albeit Tefilah. 

Picture from Beit Tefilah where I ran into Rabbi Kamrass, Rabbi Adam Grossman, one of my students from Wise Temple, and Elise Suna from Rhodes. What a small small Jewish world. 

Inexplicable Times

  As I near the one month anniversary of my arrival in Israel and the arrival of Rosh Chodesh (the new Jewish month), I reflect on what has transpired in that time; not only in my life but also in the day to day life of Israel. One month ago, I had no conception of what my life would like in Israel.  Here I am a month later settled in and in fact quite content with my life. I have been so lucky to have met a truly inspiring group of Jewish leaders like myself, who like me, find a balance between exploring Israel while having fun and deep and meaningful dialogue about American and Israeli Jewry. My cohort constantly amazes me and brings a great deal of joy into my life, and I look forward to many more months of learning and growing with them in Israel and for our future as colleagues and friends.

  At the same time, as I transition into my new life in Israel, and as I become more and more comfortable with my new life,  I cannot ignore the reality of living in Israel. As the director of our Year in Israel put it, living in Israel means being simultaneously uncomfortable and comfortable with the reality of conflict and the tensions that are ever present in Israel. I cannot ignore the fact that three young men were kidnapped. I cannot ignore how this incident has deeply impacted these boys' families as well as Israelis on the whole. At each Shabbat service I have attended since their kidnapping I have witnessed signs of solidarity on a number of levels. Rabbis mention the boys' names in their sermons and say prayers for the state of Israel and for these boys' safe return. Many Israeli and American Jews have posted and re-posted images of the boys on Facebook or Twitter with the tagline #BringBackOurBoys. As I contemplate these actions on the part of many a clergy member who I will be learning from this year, I wonder what I as a future American Rabbi can take from such a situation? How does this incident impact American and Israeli Jewry in the long term? What does such a galvanizing response in Israel mean for American Jewry in terms of our views on Israeli politics as well as our own perspectives on violence and terrorism in our own country?

    I cannot help but think of this week's parashah. One of the common themes in the parshah is the inability for us to understand why things are the way they are. For instance, within the first few paragraphs of the parashah, God instructs Moses and Aaron on how to purify someone who has come in contact with a dead body. The sacrifice associated with this purification process makes very little sense in the modern world. God tells Moses and Aaron to find a red heifer without blemish that has never been yoked (used for agricultural labor or moving objects). Of all things, why a red heifer? Why not just a typical brown, black or white heifer. We don't know. The rabbis struggled with this law and others like it that seemed to make very little logical sense. The other major three include Levirate marriage (when a man is required to marry his brother's wife if he dies and they have no children), the prohibition against mixing linen and wool in clothing, and the use of the scapegoat during the the Yom Kippur ritual. The agreement by the rabbis was that such obligations were required to demonstrate obedience to God. As modern day Jews, how do we understand these commandments? Why would God provide the Jewish people with such seemingly odd commandments? They are unlike the ten commandments which are universally accepted, nor are they like many of the other 613 commandments which on most occasions fit the time, place, and society for whom they were composed. These commandments like the one referring to the red heifer, or Parah, are seemingly inexplicable.

Let us return for a moment to the kidnapping of these three young boys. Is such an act easily explainable on any level? No. It is, in fact, something that prompts often asked questions such as "Why do bad things happen to good people?" or in general "Why me?" "Why us?" or perhaps more profoundly "Why, God?" According to Harold Kushner, the author of "When Bad Things Happen to Good People," only making sense of experiences helps us to make them bearable. I'm not sure any of us can say how this situation could be made bearable for these boys' parents, or for that matter any parent who loses a child or a loved one. But, perhaps there is something to be said for the inexplicable nature of the laws from this week's Torah portion and for the inexplicable nature of life. We never truly know where we are going, what will happen to us, and where we will end up in the end. We are not in control, even though we so often would like to be. Instead of asking why me or why bad things happen to good people, as Kushner suggests, we should be able to say to ourselves "This has happened, now how do I deal with it?" Truly, it is not about accepting inexplicable events in our lives, but rather how we react to such events, how we give them meaning, and what we might give back into the world through our actions.

    Currently, it is hard to live in Israel without seeing the ways in which the kidnapping of these boys has galvanized the country. Israelis and Diasporic Jews alike have rallied around the cause of bringing these boys home. At the same time, it is impossible to ignore the connection of such events to Hamas and to the current steps taken towards peace talks between Israel and Palestine. In the United States rarely if ever is a kidnapping on US soil a matter which deeply impacts global or even regional politics. Our experiences of these kinds of events differ greatly, yet American Jews stand right alongside Israelis hoping and praying for the return of these young people. It is possible that when all is said and done that something positive will develop out of such terrible events. For instance, President Abbas stated unequivocally that he rejects the actions of terrorists like Hamas and the kidnappings of these young boys. This move by Hamas has in all likelihood damaged the relationship between Hamas and the elected leaders of the Palestinians. While I pray daily for the safe return of these boys, I recognize the potential for growth out of total and utter inexplicable circumstances. Like the commandments for Moses and Aaron to sacrifice a red heifer and to use it to cleanse those who have come in contact with death, perhaps this is a moment to acknowledge the unknown, and to find meaning in the events that follow. Moreover, it remains to be seen what our reaction as both American and Israeli Jews will be to the events of the past two weeks. At the same time, while we will never control the events that surround us, we can always control our reactions. May our reactions to these terrible events produce positive rather than negative results. May we find peace, unity, and love in the face of trying and inexplicable times.

Nomad

I am a nomad in the Promised Land
The land of milk and honey
I am near and I am far
To the East and from the West
But my Jewish map differs from yours.
I am uncertain of my way
Yet I am strengthened by the brightness of the stars.

We are one. We are holy. We are a covenantal people.
Yet where am I? Am I East Am I west?
Am I the child of my parents or of my chosen people?
The people I chose? Not those chosen for me?
Am I the ger? The stranger?
 Or am I just as familiar as Abraham or Moses, Sarah or Miriam?

As I wander through the desert I am wholly myself.
The words of Hashem whistle in the wind.
Here, in this space there is none else.
I am ger.
I am Jew.
I am welcomed.
I am loved.
I am East and West made one.

IKEA Purchases Revealed

Resting, Lighting, and Nesting

I've been a busy bee as usual this week. Go figure! So many things have been going on. I'm not even sure I can list them all here, but I'll try!

On Erev Shabbat I went with a group of pre-ulpaners to Tachane Rishona (The First Train Station), a really hip place to get food, drinks, go to a man made beach minus the water, and to listen to live Jazz (because Israeli's love Jazz and New Orleans). While we were there we saw Nava Tehilah, a really interesting group of Jewish musicians associated with the Renewal movement in Judaism. Towards the end of the concert Sasha and I joined a group Israeli dance. It was so much fun! At the very end, we even managed to get Ira to dance! What a wonderful way to spend Kabbalat Shabbat! Shabbat dinner last week was hosted by Joey, one of our fellow pre-ulpaners. We had an absolute blast!

 Shabbos morning I slept in until 10am!!! (This is such an accomplishment in my world in general but also following five days of waking up at 7:30.) Later Ira finally convinced Sasha and I that we should probably leave the apartment at some point during the day (like we don't get enough sun during the week or something?). It was quite a lot of fun, actually. I took some time to draw the trees in the park while the boys played frisbee, and while Sasha went off and made new friends with some American and Canadian ex-pats. After a while, Sasha and I went to explore the Tachane Rishona where we discovered the really cool man made beach and cabanas with refreshing smoothies. When we got back to the park, we saw that there was an Ethiopian Jewish wedding taking place. The music was fantastic and was really quite something to see.

After the park, we went to a restaurant called the Paradiso. There we had one of the most entertaining and awkward interactions with a waiter I've ever had, who so happened to be from Berkeley, CA. In spite of the interesting service, the food was fabulous! Unfortunately, it will be closing in a few weeks. Oh well! A pizzeria is opening up next door to it!

For Havdallah were led by our YII intern, Amanda G. (there are two Amandas=Amandot, so initials are necessary), to an absolutely breathtaking view of the Old City. There we did havdallah and had a lovely song session led by Zach and Ira. Afterwards, we went to Ben Yehuda St to get Gelato. Let's just say Snickers gelato wins all the points!

Sunday began my second week of ulpan! It's crazy how fast these weeks have been passing. I've been in Israel for 18 days! I still cannot believe it. In pure Bailey fashion, I was overjoyed to hear, after I expressed complete boredom in class, to receive EXTRA WORK! I know who else would be excited about this? In any case, my boredom level has greatly decreased even if I am just doing busy work.

On another note, I learned a plethora of things from living with Danielle, Pratima and Sarah my first year of graduate school, but two things from Danielle have really stuck out to me in the last two weeks 1) the need for proper lighting that reflects the way our bodies naturally respond to light--in this case--eliminating overhead lighting during the evening and using small lamps instead 2) cooking and experimenting with food.

 I don't recall ever not having some kind of alternate lighting in my room, especially reading lamps. When I arrived in my new apartment, there wasn't a reading lamp in my room. I figured one couldn't be too hard to find. It's just a lamp after all. Boy was I wrong. I can't even tell you how many stores I  explored and only two of which, outside of IKEA, had lamps. I'm not sure why Israeli stores don't sell lamps, but it's definitely a real question I have.

 On Monday we went to the mall to search for a lamp for me and some tupperware and a scale for Sasha. We went to the HOME GOODS section of the mall and there was not a single lamp to be found. No lamps. Leah said she had been to one store near her that had lamps, so off on a second adventure we went post ulpan. Magically, and for what reason I do not know, the store which was akin to Ace Hardware, had three kinds of lamps-Black-Red-Silver. I took the silver. The man put it together and got it all settled for me. I was elated. Never have I been so excited to have a lamp in my life. I can truly say, "I love lamp."

On Monday night we had a really fantastic outing. We went to a lovely hotel, the name of which escapes me, where we had yet another phenomenal view of the Old City at sunset. We had wine and cheese and gabbed with two new members of our cohort, Jordie and Alicia, who arrived that evening. While I was there, I also had a chance to speak to the new Amanda, which was lovely.

Afterwards, we headed to the Old City for the Jerusalem Lights Show. Throughout the Old City there are different tracks you can take which show off different kinds of lights paired with music. It was a cross between Celebration in the Oaks (NOLA minus the Holiday themes) and the lights show at Washington Square Park (Cincinnati). I think my favorite had to be the elephants (see below!).

Now, if you recall, I had been having a completely and utterly ridiculous time trying to get internet in my apartment. On Tuesday, drum roll please, I finally succeeded! On Monday, I got a hold of a human and scheduled an appointment for a technician from Bezeq, not HOT, to come install the service. I ended up with a technician from Netvizion (our ISP provider) on the phone while the Bezeq technician got everything together and walked me through the log in process. The two of them were the best. I was so immensely thankful for their assistance. Interestingly enough, the Bezeq technician told Ira and I about his grandfather who was apparently a Rosh Yeshiva and Talmud Hacham (head of a yeshiva and talmud scholar). He was so proud of his heritage and of his grandfather even though he himself, the technician, was religious but mostly secular. When we told him we were Reform/Progressive Jews, he was quite happy about this fact. What lovely interactions one can have with a perfect stranger!

After installing the internet, you can only imagine my joy. Now I can iMessage on my phone and more importantly, I can watch Netflix. My current list is The West Wing, 24, and seeing the recent season of Orange is the New Black in addition to my long list of shows I'm uber behind on. I can't wait!

Wednesday, today, was really exciting! Today I had a fantastic adventure with five of my classmates, including Sasha. Today we rented two cars and drove to IKEA, which is an hour away. I still cannot believe 1) I rented a car in another country 2) I drove in Israel 3) I, my passengers, and the car remain totally undamaged 3) I went to IKEA in Israel 4) I managed to get back to Jerusalem and to navigate around Jerusalem without a map and to eventually find a parking space in the HUC parking lot. It's been a crazy crazy day. All in all, however, I am so grateful to have had such an adventure with Sasha, Jen, Leah, Jordie, and Alicia. Also, IKEA in Israel gets all the points for their pareve chocolate mousse. It's so good! This week, all the brownie points go to the Ace Hardware Like Store/Guy, Bezeq and Netvizion for taking my money and being kind and amazing and giving us internet, and IKEA for being IKEA even when in Israel. Because I just set up my room tonight, I will post more pictures of my newly nested space later this week!

Look forward to adventures in the shuk and my shabbat post last this week!

 

Havdallah spot. 

 Song Session overlooking the Old City.

Each path follows a specific color at the Light Show.

 We took the white/blue route. The string lights denote the color of the path.

 Deck of cards

 Deck of Cards

 Elephants!

 Sasha and the elephants!

 Daniel and the elephants!

 More cool lights

 One of the first things to see as you enter the Damascus Gate is this interesting light show. It looked like a coo-coo clock!

 Inside of Damascus Gate

 Roommate selfie.

 Sasha, Ilana and I doing a selfie!

 Daniel, Sasha, and I at the Lights Show.

 Beginning of Light show!

 View from the hotel.

 Hotel

 Night view from hotel.

 Really neat glass overhang over a cabana like bar in Rehavia where 

Sasha and I stopped for OJ after our home goods excursion.

 The Fiat 500 I drove to IKEA!!!

 The Fiat 500 Sasha drove to IKEA. Yes, we were matching. 

The IKEA parking lot guy got a kick out of this. He asked where our third car was haha.

IKEA in Israel!