So for those who haven't heard from Facebook or through various other channels, I got into Rabbinical School. I'm going to JTS.

But that's not what I want to talk about.

I just attended a wedding. It was the third wedding I'd attended in Israel. This one was held in the Wohl Lecture Hall/ Wohl Auditorium/ Wohl Sports Arena/ Wohluseum/ Oded Room of the Fuchsberg Center for Conservative Judaism. This morning during Talmud Chevruta time, Rabbi Barry Schlesinger of Kehilat Moreshet Avraham came into our Beit Midrash and offered us the opportunity to do a big mitzvah. "There is a couple in their eighties" he said "and they are going to be married here at 12:40 pm and we need a minyan. If you can make it, please raise your hand."

There was no way I was going to miss that.

After shiur, I scarfed down some lunch and drank some tea. My friend Jason (new to the Yeshiva, studied for 2 months in Monsey NY, then came to his senses and joined us at The Conservative Yeshiva... he has great stories) came by and I asked him if he wanted to come to a wedding. We came into the Oded room and my friends Rami, Ilana, Lauren and... one other... I'll edit it to include the 4th later... were holding the chuppa, and under the chuppa were the Kallah and Chatan... they were just glowing, they were so happy. Rabbi Schlesinger asked for us Yeshiva students, as members of the Chatan and Kallah's extended family in Israel to step forward and recite the sheva brachot one by one. Afterwards Jason ran out and got some bread and honey. "We're not going to let these people leave without a wedding zimun." We sat around the table with the Chatan and Kallah and ate bread and honey, and then I was asked to lead bentching. Having never lead a wedding zimun, it was slow and a little awkward, but the joyfulness made up for it.

I have decided that I love Jewish weddings. After Melissa and Yoram's wedding, and now this... it's hard to explain, but my learning has strongly influenced the way I relate to Jewish ritual, Jewish lifecycle events holidays... it all fits into a bigger picture in a way it didn't before.

Jewish life requires community. Family. That is what a minyan is. When I get a chance to participate, to make a minyan for people who need to create a community to mark an event in their lives as Jews... the sense of connection is... Oh, it's practically intoxicating!

Have I mentioned lately that I love being Jewish?

...

Oh My God.


I get to do this for a living.

:D

cynara_linnaea to Alkalai Hebrew-English dictionary: Ahhhhhhgh! You are being the joy of cooking!

So a siren just went off in Jerusalem. Yes, that kind of siren. It stopped quickly and we were told it was human error. I was asleep in the upstairs beit midrash when I heard it. I came downstairs and saw one of the rabbis heading for the bomb shelter so I followed him.

So... I got to see the Yeshiva's bomb shelter for the first time. It's... kinda small.

When the few of us who made it down there were told we could leave after a few seconds (we didn't even close the door) I came back to the downstairs beit midrash. Everyone was standing around and rabbis Diamond and Goldfarb were listening to wireless radios. People were joking and laughing nervously. I was surprised at how calm I was.

It is very unlikely that Jerusalem would be targeted for any sort of strike because of the holy sites and the large Arab and Muslim population, but... well, damn. This is the kind of excitement I think I could do without.

Except now we know that I am the only Yeshiva student who calmly heads straight for the bomb shelter. That is good to know.

My choir was supposed to have a concert in 2 weeks. It has been canceled. All of our tenors have been called to the army.

1) Read each question carefully.
2) No, really... read the question CAREFULLY
3) Look, if it doesn't make sense, you missed something. Read it again, CAREFULLY!!
4) Breathe. Don't freak out. You know how to do this stuff.
5) No, that's because you DIDN'T READ THE QUESTION CAREFULLY! READ IT AGAIN!
6) Remember etymology class from CTY. If you don't know a word, you probably know its root, prefix or suffix.
7) I said BREATHE dammit!

Ok, so I guess I have to say something about this, as much as I hate to.

I'm in Israel.

We're in a war.

I'm in Jerusalem, I am safe. Jerusalem is WELL out of rocket range so the stuff happening in the south does not affect me directly.

Except insofar as I have friends who are soldiers.

Also... well, Jerusalem is a big crowded city. There are places we are advised not to go. When I say we are safe here, that is true. But if tensions are going to create a situation where people feel the need to attack Israel/Israelis in a more general way than firing rockets at us, chances are those attacks will happen somewhere near me. We get frequent SMS (that's mobile texting) security updates from the Yeshiva, which they get directly from the Jewish Agency, telling us when there are threats of violence in the city and where we should avoid, and if we should not take buses any particular day, etc. Nothing has happened, we haven't had any attacks in Jerusalem since the two random tractor incidents this summer.

I am telling you this because I want to try to neither overstate nor understate the extent to which the war is impacting my life, my daily motion, etc. For the most part, I'm just going about living my life. The tourist population has sunk dramatically... Ben Yehuda has been rather empty the past week, as has the Old City. I've been hanging out at a local comedy club a lot this week, and they've had acts cancel on them either because they don't want to come to a densely populated area, or because they don't feel like being funny at a time like this.

More than any real danger, it's the low morale that is affecting us here.

Every Israeli knows people in danger, either soldiers or residents of the towns being hit. People are just constantly listening to the news. Bus drivers play radio here, and when the music breaks for the news they turn the volume up. People are riled up and angry on both sides of the political/ideological spectrum. I don't get the sense that people really have much hope for anything that's happening here. Everyone seems to hold their positions out of a sense of necessity. No one seems to believe anything.

There was a ceasefire.

Hamas ended that ceasefire, early, by firing rockets into a town. A civilian town. Intentionally targeting civilians-- residents of a town in undisputed Israeli territory-- not at all targeting military targets, rather, targeting children and their parents.

Israel responded. A lot of people died. Most of them were military and police. Police in Gaza means military... don't think of your local precinct; That's just not analogous here. There was and is and will be a lot of destruction. Civilians have died and are dying. Including children.

It is not irrelevant that they started it, and that they intentionally target civilians. It is not irrelevant that civilians are dying in Gaza, and that Israel's firepower and military power is vastly greater than that of Hamas. There are any number of other factors in this situation that are not irrelevant, and if I start listing, I will leave out, potentially, an infinite number of factors that should be listed. It will be unbalanced.

I have a bias. I have an opinion. It is not simple. It is not black and white. It is not purely right and purely wrong with no mitigating factors on either side. My opinion is formed with an understanding both of the complexity of what is happening and what has happened, and with an understanding of how little I understand. My opinion is held alongside the knowledge of unsavory and inexcusable actions on the part of the side towards which I lean. My opinion is held with the understanding that I am not an impartial party. I have an emotional investment which renders my position... well, I guess... unscientific.

Is this supposed to be science?

I also know what is happening to world opinion vis-a-vis the actions of the military and government of this (my current home) country. I know that Israel is exacerbating the negative opinion in the rest of the world with how the response is being carried out. I don't think that Israel's actions, therefore, are making me any safer. They are making me less safe. Because we are losing support.

Is this going to work? Is it going to accomplish anything? I don't know. I just don't. The pragmatism and the principle are both so messy and complex, the questions of "what's the right thing" and "what's the alternative" and "what's necessary"... don't you dare pretend that you know those answers. Whether you're here or not, and ESPECIALLY if you're not. Not being involved is just as blinding as being involved. Being out of danger is just as blinding as being in danger. I'm including myself partially in both categories: I'm in Jerusalem, but I'm in Israel. I'm American, but I'm Jewish and I'm here. Does that make my opinion more valid or balanced or clearly seen than anyone else's? I don't know... probably not. But I see the fuzziness. I see why I have to be agnostic, why I have to present myself with disclaimers, why I have to acknowledge what is problematic about my position, about my having a position or an opinion.

I know also that the conglomeration of information and impressions that enter my consciousness come together to create a picture, and it would be dishonest of me to say that I held no opinion about that picture.

I'm a hawk. But that doesn't mean I like war. I'm a Zionist. But that doesn't mean I want Palestinians to die.

Every day I pray for the IDF. Every day I pray for peace. I pray for the nation if Israel to be saved from its enemies. I pray for the nation of Israel to be saved from itself.

Don't pigeonhole me. Or do. It doesn't matter. I'll be over here praying and living my life.

That's it. It's out of my hands. It is in the hands of God and my sister (and eventually JTS).

Except for the GRE part. That gets done (God willing) on Jan 12.

For those who are lost, I'm talking about my JTS rabbinical school application. It's finished. Just under the wire. I emailed and/or faxed all of the components to my sister in NY to print and mail. The worst part was cutting down my essays. I managed to get them down to 22 pages from 27. Really they're not supposed to be more than 20 pages. Really they're supposed to be 750-1000 words each. 5 essays. Hopefully they won't crucify me for going over... it's not really presented as a maximum limit anyway...

Oh God oh God oh God... what do I do now?

Me: Is that shalshelet a Luke scream or an Anakin scream?

cynara_linnaea: Yoseph's not emo enough to be Anakin... but he is arrogant enough to be Anakin.

Me: But he's whiny enough to be Luke!

cynara_linnaea: Are we really having this conversation?

Me: No, we absolutely are not!

I am susceptible to falling into abusive patterns with males with whom I am intimate, even in friendship. I will need to be very careful and very aware of relationship dynamics between myself and the men in my life, possibly for a long time, possibly forever.

That blows, but that's reality. Meanwhile, I'm auditioning new best friends.

Thanks, Dad.

Shabbat is a wonderful wonderful thing.

Yesterday afternoon my friend Paul (Yankele) and I kept saying to each other how much we like shabbat.

Here's the thing about Shabbat... it comes. And you have to let go of everything. You have to. It's required. You put down your phone, you put away your money, you put on nice clothes, light candles, and walk to shul... and you can't worry. Because there's nothing you can do about it for the next 25 hours. All you can do is look around you, breathe in and breathe out, praise God, eat, rest, laugh, hug, talk, study... it forces you to take a break. It gives you an excuse to be with people. To not stray too far. You have to be where you are and it forces you to appreciate the world as it is at this moment.

Because on Shabbat, we don't change things. It is not our place. This is the day we let go and leave everything up to Not Us.

There are a lot of laws of shabbat observance, mostly about what you are not allowed to do. There is a set of laws called muktze that deals with the category of things that one is not allowed to touch or handle on shabbat. You are not supposed to handle anything on shabbat that doesn't have a legitimate shabbat use. You are also not supposed to pick any plants, anything attached to the ground. You are not supposed to write. You are not supposed to engage in commerce or even touch money... or even talk about commerce. Though there is some debate about this, most accept that you are not supposed to use electricity on shabbat. You are not supposed to make fire or cook. A lot of people have a problem with these laws. They see them, they see the whole thing, as unnecessarily restrictive. I didn't get it either until about the middle of last year. I was walking to shul Friday evening. It was not yet shabbat but I had davened Mincha already and lit my candles and consciously accepted shabbat early. I was walking down Derech Beit Lechem and all of Jerusalem smelled like honeysuckle. I love honeysuckle. I love the smell, and the flowers are beautiful, and they remind me of the happy parts of my childhood. As I passed a honeysuckle bush, I had an urge to pick one. But I couldn't. Because it was shabbat (for me) already and you don't pick things on shabbat. And so I stepped back, and I looked. And it was so beautiful.

And suddenly everything was so beautiful. I stepped back and I saw a vision of the world on shabbat... a world where you don't touch the pictures. You don't mess with it, you just live in it. That is what shabbat is. It's the day when you Just Live. And you don't touch the things that you don't need to just live. Because why touch them if they are just going to take you out of the space? Why carry your phone if it will just tempt you to try to control things? Why carry money if it will lead you to do business, or to even think about business, and worry about how much you can or cannot acquire? It is healthy, I would say even necessary, to have a day where you let go of the desire to control the world, to make marks and changes, to have an impact. Six days out of the week you have for that. One day, you can just let it go. One day you can reassess your place in the grand scheme and realize that the world won't end if you don't have your cellphone.

Sorry.

Udi Goldwasser and Eldad Regev are dead. We knew this already. Not really, not officially, but it was understood based on a few things that they were both most likely killed when they were taken. We knew when we came to school yesterday that the exchange was happening. We talked about the matzav in Ulpan. I had my usual panic about talking politics and when our teacher turned to me to express an opinion I said in Hebrew that I didn't feel that I could. Rabbi Goldfarb stuck his head into our classroom and said "Yesh shtei aronot. Udi v'Eldad." The class was silent. Some of us started crying. We took a five minute break to collect ourselves.

I sang a concert last night with my choir. 7 of my new friends from the Yeshiva summer program came to hear me sing. They gave me a standing ovation and shouted my name so that all of my Israeli choir friends would know that I brought 7 loud Americans to see us. They (my Americans) took me out for ice cream after and we sat in a park drinking beer and telling dirty jokes that can't be translated into Hebrew.

My friend Rachel from choir just called me to tell me that her boyfriend last night told her that I had amazing posture and an amazing presence on stage last night... me in particular, and having not recognized me (we met twice). She and I and two guys did a special quartet of Puttin' On The Ritz. Everyone went crazy for it, and I had trouble getting out of the sanctuary (we performed at the Scottish Church) to change clothes because I kept getting stopped by people who wanted to compliment me.

About two hours ago I had a "preliminary conversation" on the phone with the new dean of admissions for JTS. I am apparently "a perfect candidate."

Today was the last day of classes of the summer program. Some amazing people are leaving. I've made ridiculously wonderful friends over the past 3 weeks. I'm realizing that I'm good at that. People really like me. I'm not sure I'll ever really get over the amazement of that realization.

My Hebrew has improved vastly since I came back from New York. My friend Gilad from choir commented on it right away when he saw me after I arrived back in J'lem. I'm not sure but I can think of 2 potential reasons... 1) that somehow being out of the Hebrew speaking world for a couple of weeks somehow settled the language that I've acquired in my mind, 2) I realize that for right now I really don't have a place in the US. My place is here in Israel. And so my commitment to the language is redoubled.

I'm still happy to be back. I feel alarmingly at home here.

Ok, I think I've got everything packed now.

Ugh, mom's sending me back with twice as much stuff as I came with. How does that happen? How am I going to get it all home next summer??

I'm really sorry to everyone I didn't get a chance to hang out with while I was here ('specially Vita) and everyone I didn't get to hang out MORE with (AhemSeth) but, you know, it was kind of a whirlwind couple of weeks.

I didn't get to do the three things I really wanted to do while I was here... walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, see a Cyclones game, or see Sunday in the Park with George. Really pissed about that last one, cause I was PROMISED I would get to see it.

Suckage.

But anyway, I'm glad to be going back home to Jerusalem, and when I get there I'll write about all the cool stuff I DID get to do while I was here and the awesome people I saw etc.

I started packing up today. That is making me feel a little better. I think that for now it's a good thing that I'm not particularly happy here... I anticipate less homesickness in the coming year. The only thing that I'm really sad about leaving behind is Jason.

Not that I don't love my friends... I do. But I'm very much not in the same place I was this time last year and I'm not ready to face all of the adjustment and all of the questions yet. And I think that's ok for now. It's ok because I'm going back. I don't know what I'd do if I weren't.

Well, yeah I do... I'd be on the upper west side. And things would be different.

This time has given me some perspective on a lot of things... I have learned a lot about the things and people that I'd gotten used to over the course of my life, and myself in relation to them. Learning who I am versus what the world I grew up in has taught me to think I am, learning to be happy with myself as MYSELF and not what others expect of me. About nine months ago, I blurted out to Charlie Savenor the question "Rabbi Savenor, do you like me?" And he asked me "Gella, do you like yourself?" And I said "I never really have. That's a big part of what I'm working on this year." And being here I've realized something incredible. I do like myself.

My frustration right now is largely a manifestation of that. And I think that's actually a good thing. I like myself too much to let things lie as they are, to let people get away with the old shit, to be satisfied with any unsatisfactory situation. I like myself too much to allow myself to feel isolated and without community without fighting back. I like myself too much to say yes when I want to say no, or to say no when I want to say yes.

I like myself too much to be satisfied with falling into old patterns.

I love her, but I will try not to stay with my mother again if I can help it.

Today I went to the most amazing wedding ever. My dear friend Melissa whom I know from following the band (that's what I tell people when they ask... those who don't know from Fruvous or Fruheads or Frutripping) married a nice young Jewish doctor named Yoram. They had a real classy, real Jewish wedding, old-school in the good way. We danced and danced... the best hora I've ever been a part of. I closed my eyes and sang of Jerusalem. I clapped my hands and sang of the good sign and good fortune for us and for all of Israel that was this simcha. I sang of the living and established kingship of David in Israel. I sang for the day that will hear in the mountains of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem the voices of rejoicing and happiness, the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride. I danced with women I never met the old dances that my mother and the women I grew up with at my synagogue taught me as a little girl. I rejoiced with my friends Melissa and Yoram, not just in their marriage to one another, but in the establishment of a new home among the people Israel, and I felt all of Israel rejoicing with us.

I. Love. Being. Jewish.

I have always loved being Jewish. There have always been struggles... this is part of what being Jewish is about. But I have always loved knowing that I am Jewish, knowing what strength and connection there is under me, behind me, all around me in my Judaism, feeling and knowing that we Jews are a family, and that our line and our story goes back to the most ancient times, and most importantly that we HAVE that story... that we are a people of memory and in our memory is our strength.

I have found, I have made for myself a new Jewish life. One that incorporates all of what I grew up with, but takes it further... takes it to a place where it is more firmly implanted, more firmly grounded, where it means more and makes more sense. Where Shabbat really is a holy day of rest and praise and rejoicing, not something we merely pay lip service to. Where every action of every moment of every day is cause for reflection, acknowledgment of God, and a blessing, where time is measured by storytelling, where every morsel of food is sacred, a gift from our Creator, where opening my eyes in the morning I don't say "Oh God, not again" but rather "Oh God, thank you for opening my eyes." The only thing missing from this life is someone to share it with.

I can't be here in New York right now. Maybe in another year (God willing, because I'll have little choice at that point) but right now I have to be back in Jerusalem. Because I am terrified, and with good reason, of losing what I have built.

I have no shabbat community here. I have no fully kosher home. I have no chevruta. Next year I will have the tools I need to find and make these things. Right now, I'm hanging by a thread. Thank God and the USCJ that I have the opportunity to return to Jerusalem for another year because I am not in a place yet where I can hold this by myself.

I love my shul and I love the people at my shul, but conversation about alternative programs on shabbat make my brain explode about American Jewry and about being outside of Israel and about being outside of the Yeshiva. Nothing has changed except me. Not that I really expected it too... but I've changed a lot. Not everyone can see it. But I have. And I feel out of place. I've always said "No, no I can't make Aliyah. Not yet anyway, Brooklyn is home. Brooklyn will always be home."

Right now I'm feeling less sure.

But neither is Jerusalem really home.

I need a beit midrash. I need an Alex and an Adam and a Harris. And a Sam to keep things interesting and spiritual.

That last bit was just to make myself laugh.

I went to my doctor in Israel the day I flew out (yesterday? The plane was chasing the sun so I had a 31 hour day... I think... math?) and he asked me "So where are you going, anyway?" "To Brooklyn." He made a face (he's from Boston and a Red Socks fan). "Why would you want to go there?"

"It's home."

"Okay, it's not home. You're home here."

...

I'm still trying to make up my mind about that. I think it's half and half.

But in anycase, I'm in my stomping grounds. It's interesting. The holiness of the land is different. I can feel it through the floor.

I hate not having anyone to talk about God with.

I'm going to New York on June 11th. I'll be returning to Jerusalem June 30th for another year of study.

The closer the trip home comes, the more nervous I am about it. Some conversations are going to have to happen that I am not looking forward to.

So, raise your pinky if you know what hagbah is.

For the rest of you:

Hagbah is when, after reading the Torah, the open scroll is lifted and turned so that the congregation can see the writing in the scroll.


This is hagbah.

When I was a kid, my dad would comment on the hagbah. He would say what the magbiah did right or wrong, what a good hagbah is supposed to look like, how many columns of text it is proper to show, etc. My father put into my mind that there was such a thing as a good hagbah, a well-done hagbah. He taught me to appreciate a good hagbah.

There's a fellow here this year, a wonderful person named Alex who has become a very good friend of mine... he does a positively beautiful hagbah. He has impeccable form, graceful, unwavering, the words that come to mind when I see Alex do hagbah are "good lines!" Everyone sees it, even people who don't know so much about what is a really well and properly done hagbah can appreciate that Alex's hagbah is just beautiful.

Hagbah is traditionally a male honor. Well, traditionally all Torah-related honors are male honors. Hagbah remains overwhelmingly in the male sphere even in egalitarian communities.

Why? Because a Torah scroll is heavy.

On Rosh Hashannah of this year, I did hagbah for the first time.

It was something I'd long wanted to do but had no confidence that I could. I mean, I don't think I'd ever seen a woman do it, generally I'd only seen strong men doing it, and heard many untried men express apprehension at the prospect of lifting that heavy book from far below its center of gravity, spread out with the threat of a 40-day fast hanging over the heads of the congregation should he falter.

Oh yeah... if you drop a Torah, everyone who witnesses the drop has to fast for 40 days. There are ways to be lenient about it, but it's still a damn scary thought for the one doing the lifting.

But anyway, at the service that a group of us from the Yeshiva were leading at a chiloni (secular) Brazilian kibbutz, reb_hillel beckoned that I should come forward for hagbah. Startled, I hesitated. He reassured me that I could do it, and briefly instructed me in the proper technique. I grasped the handles. I took a deep breath, bent my knees, and stood up.

Since then I do hagbah not infrequently at the Yeshiva. I am the only woman who does so. Alex does it more often than anyone. In egalitarian circles generally by default hagbah goes to a man and galilah (the rolling, tying and dressing of the scroll after hagbah) goes to a woman. I am one of the gabbaim at the Yeshiva, so I would like to be able to reverse that model when I can but it isn't easy. I managed to convince one of the cantorial students (a class of 6 women this year) that she could do it, and I gave galilah to Alex. I like to give galilah to Alex when someone uncertain or doing it for the first time has hagbah, so that he's on-hand for support in various ways. It felt so good to see Annelise lift that Torah.

It took some doing to convince them (and it is difficult to do so gracefully since honors like aliyot, hagbah and galilah are not something you ask for but which are given by the gabbai or rabbi [when the rabbi is also the gabbai]) but I recently became a regular magbihah at the synagogue next door where I daven when Yeshiva is not in session. The first time I did hagbah there was the first time many of those folks had ever seen a woman do the lift. Yesterday, we read from two scrolls. I had the first hagbah and Alex had the second. After services Alex and I hugged (as we always do when parting company) and one of the congregants asked, laughing, if there was a post-hagbah hug tradition.

My friend Nadav, an older (older = early 50s) Sabra (Sabra = native Israeli) who was so very pleased the first time he saw me do hagbah, pulled me aside and told me that I'd made him very happy. Why? Because I did the lift so gracefully, with no shaking or shuddering or wavering or dramatics, so smoothly and gracefully... and that I'd done it with the second heaviest Torah scroll in the shul... and with most of the wight on the left side, no less!

The heaviest was the one that Alex lifted.

It's hard to describe what its like to do hagbah as a woman, or to see a woman doing hagbah. The word that comes immediately to mind is "empowering" but I tend to dislike those sorts of cliche feminist words. I'm not sure that Jewish practice should be used as a tool for empowerment in that way... it's not supposed to be about you but about the community. But I guess that is what it is... getting up there and hearing murmurs of astonishment that *gasp* a woman is lifting the Torah(!) is not about people being impressed with me. If it were then I would have no interest in getting Annelise or any other woman to take hagbah... rather it is about broadening the community's perspective, challenging assumptions which, in the egalitarian model anyway, need to be challenged. For those of us who feel themselves obligated in time-bound mitzvot and participate fully in public Jewish life, no area of that system of practice should be assumed by default to be out of bounds. Women can be physically strong too. And hagbah really has more to do with physics than with strength. Women can be rabbis, sure. That one seems so obvious to so many people. Women can and (in some circumstances, some women) should put on tefillin. That one seems so much less obvious to folks. That women can/should do hagbah... well, that's just right out for so many people, when there is no reason that it should be...

I am a woman. I hagbah. And you* can too.

*assuming a Jewish audience for this particular statement

You can't explain Judaism to post-modernists.

*grumble*