What I've Learned About Myself Thanks to the Israeli Health System

As a resident of a country whose primary language isn't my own and where the health system is very different, I often have challenges when needing to get things done.

Seeing a doctor that speaks English is so amazing, you have no idea. We completely take it for granted in the US when our doctor speaks the same language as us. Not only that, but having to listen to phone systems in a different language and understanding what number to press can be very difficult. I love that I don't have to pay for things (taxes do) but it is so frustrating having to take one paper from the doctor to the central health insurance office and then getting another paper to bring to a lab to get a test. At all of these offices, you take a number and sit and wait for a while. Keep your patience but be assertive. It's ok to be pushy but not enough to frustrate the person who will serve you. Also, you have to be patient while the clerk chats with a coworker, looks at someone else's chart, makes a phone call, ANSWERS THEIR OWN PERSONAL CELL PHONE, or just is going pretty slowly. You, as a customer, are obviously second to their own priorities. Offices aren't open every day, all day, and it's your own fault if you don't know which days they are open. It's not the problem of the clerk if you can't come on the day that they are open.

It is nothing like that in the US. I will gladly wait a little longer or pay a little more to have GOOD customer service, to have to go to only ONE office to get something done, where things actually arrive in the post when they are supposed to, and you don't have to worry about figuring out which office you have to go to next, what words you need to know in order to get your point across, and if you will be helped.

Even so, I have learned to pay attention here. If you for just one minute walk away or get on the cell phone, you will lose your turn (or anger everyone else while you "cut" in line since you missed when your number was called). I have learned to be aggressive when I need to, even if I can't speak the language. I have learned to ask questions and explain things that you would be asked in the US, though it isn't always part of the standard things to discuss here - allergies for example when you are prescribed medication. I have also learned that doctors here openly acknowledge that they don't know everything and THAT'S A GOOD THING.

Kiddushin and the Queers

This week, a classmate of mine at Pardes wrote a blog post about Kiddushin, being a gay man, and how he might see this tradition actualized in his own future relationship.

I am a queer observant woman who is getting married to another queer observant woman, and my partner and I have discussed how to balance our queerness and halacha to some extent (there is a lot more to discuss) and in particular how we plan to bring Jewish tradition and halacha into our wedding.

Our beliefs and practices are informed by Orthodox Judaism, and it is important for Emet and I to have a traditional Jewish wedding as much as possible because we recognize the importance of tradition. That being said, we know that under Jewish law, our marriage will not be valid. So, we are having many discussions about which Jewish traditions we find appropriate and relevant to us and which ones we need to alter or eliminate all together.

Copyright White Rose Kallah

Traditions of a Jewish Wedding Ceremony:

• The couple does not see each other for a week prior to the wedding.
• The bride and groom go to the mikveh in order to enter into their marriage spiritually clean.
• Both the bride and the groom have separate rooms for guests to greet them prior to the wedding (kabbalat panim).
• The ketubah is signed by two Shabbat-observant men.
• After the kabbalat panim, the groom goes to the bride's room and places a veil on her, called the badeken, to symbolize that he is not solely interested in her physical beauty.
• Under the chuppah (the marriage canopy), there is the betrothal blessing (kiddushin) over wine, when the groom gives the bride a ring, and the nisu'in, when the husband unites with the wife under the chippah through the Sheva Brachot, or Seven Blessings.
• Following the ceremony, the couple goes to the yichud room, where they spend a few minutes together for the first time alone after the ceremony.

How we as a queer couple want to maintain tradition:

• We will not see each other for the week leading up to the wedding.
• We will go to a mikveh.
• While we plan to see each other prior to the Kabbalat Panim, in order to take pictures and to reduce the emotional impact of seeing each other for the first time after a week, we likely will have two separate rooms for the kabbalat panim.
• We are altering the kiddushin and the Sheva Brachot slightly to be more relevant and meaningful to us, though we are maintaining much of the wording.
• We will have the yichud, as well.
• We also have written our own ketubah text based upon traditional and modern texts to reflect our relationship.

What I've learned about Jewish tradition is that while we have customs that are passed down through history, each generation has changed them to be more relevant to their lives. You may not hear this from observant Jews, but even their practices have been informed by the commentators of a generation ago, and it is important for Emet and I, as a queer couple who wants to maintain tradition, to figure out a way to keep important aspects of it present in our wedding ceremony and our life.

There has been much discussion lately about religious GLBT people. Who we are, how we balance religious practice and being queer, and how we relate to each group (religious and GLBT people), as though they are separate identities. I'm very lucky that I can be an active member of both communities and that there are many, many queer Jews out there doing the exact same thing.

Cross-posted at Two Frum Queers, where we are writing about our experiences being Jewish, queer, and getting married.

Our NYE's Engagement Party

Our wonderful friends at Pardes threw us a New Year's Eve Engagement Party. We are so blessed to have friends and family who are supportive. I was telling our story to one of my classmates, and she explained how emotionally involved she is in our relationship. Many of our classmates feel very connected to us and our story, and more than one person has told me (and Emet) how they admire our relationship and want to establish a relationship as strong as ours. From the beginning, we have been very adamant about being ourselves and our happiness shows. People recognize it, for sure. We have explained our intentionality in our relationship to others, and it resonates with our friends and family.

Here are a few photos of our amazing NYE's engagement party:

Relating to Prayer

Prayer is a topic that I feel constantly comes up at school, and I'm amazed at how many people say they truly struggle with it. I never thought that prayer was something religious people struggled with. You either do it and love it or don't feel connected to it at all and not do it. Obviously, those perspectives are completely wrong. There are so many thoughts involved in prayer - what I believe in, "whom" I'm praying to, "whom" I'm praying for, what I'm hoping to get out of it, and how I relate to the prayer itself.

What I Believe In & "Whom" I'm Praying To
I think that prayer is very much associated with our beliefs in Gd, especially in Jewish theology. Some people think that we pray because of our belief in Gd. If Gd exists, then the prayer to petition things to happen here on earth makes sense -that is, if you believe in an interventionist Gd. But what if you don't believe Gd exists or you don't believe in an interventionist Gd? Does that lessen the prayer experience? The question is, why should I pray, if I don't believe in the One I'm supposed to be praying to?
That brings me to my next point. "Who" am I praying to? Does it matter if I don't know who I'm praying to? Should that lessen my prayer experience? What if I haven't "felt" Gd or been able to "understand" Gd? Does that matter? Who is it, really, that I'm praying to?
All the words on the paper in my prayer book make it seem that I am praying to a Being, one that intervenes in our lives. But if I don't believe that, then what does it matter?

"Whom" I'm Praying For
I think that the question of whom I'm praying for is the next logical question. Is it for Gd or is it for me? Does it bring Gd closer to me or does it bring me closer to Gd? Does it bring me closer to myself? Does it help me center myself and recognize how I can't control every single thing in my life? Or does it help me recognize, every day, how special and amazing life is and how thankful I am to be alive?
I think we all have different answers to these questions, and it doesn't matter if we are all saying the same words. We relate differently to prayer and we relate differently to Gd and to ourselves. 

What I'm Hoping to Get Out of Prayer
I seek to feel closer to Gd when I pray. I seek to feel more human when I pray. I seek to feel whole when I pray. I also seek to improve my ability to read and understand Hebrew, which is a part of my identity as a Jewish person. I hope to feel grounded. Earlier this year, when I listened to Rabbi Levi Lauer speak, I took on his idea that following halacha is about training ourselves not to exploit others. Through the repetition of prayer, I remind myself that I am human, that I have flaws, and that I need to work every day to be a better person. I may not be identifying every thing I need to work on every day, but I am recognizing that when I pray, I am striving to remember these things.

How I Relate to the Prayer Itself
Since I was young, I didn't want to say anything that I didn't agree with. I felt that prayers were written for a different people at a different time, and I didn't understand how they were relevant today. As I learn more and more about each prayer, I realize that there is so much more to them than just the words. Yes, the words are important, but the meaning behind the words is more important. I have been able to see prayers in a completely new way and discover that these prayers that are 1000 years old (give or take 1000 years) are relevant to my life. And yet, there are some that I don't connect to or don't like or I want to change. And I think that's okay, too. When I can feel like a prayer is truly mine, whether by thinking about a few words or a phrase or by rewriting it different language, I can feel connected to our shared history as Jews.
I also know that there are some prayers I completely don't relate to, and even those I will say because it is part of my heritage. I know lots of people who don't relate to prayer as a way to be Jewish, but I think it is the religious aspect of being Jewish that is one of the major factors of our survival. And it is in the religious aspect of being Jewish that I wholeheartedly believe will be the factor of our continuation now.

Hence, prayer to me is personal and political. It's a practice of my heritage and it's a way I can connect to myself and Gd. It's a way I can remember that I am human and also that I am not alone - either because Jews all over the world say the same words or because there might be a Gd out there. Or just simply because I feel like praying. I don't always have good prayer experiences, like I've written about before. I don't always feel connected or grounded or elevated by what I'm reading/saying. And I don't pray all the time. And it works for me.

I am not encouraging everyone to pray, because like I said, we all relate differently to prayer, but I am saying that prayer for me is meaningful, and that's why I do it.

December

Can't believe it, but December is almost over! We just survived a big snow storm here in Jerusalem last week. You might have heard about it - Jerusalem shut down for a week, and we were stuck inside for a while. It did give Emet and I lots of time to work on the wedding planning, but I have to admit that we got cabin fever.

View out my window during the snow storm!

Our power went out Friday morning which was very sad, but it was a blessing that it happened Friday morning because we were prepared for Shabbat by keeping a burner on the stove on and lit candles for the bathroom and the main room. Luckily, the power came back on around 5pm on Friday, and we had heat and light for the rest of Shabbat. On Shabbat, we attempted to walk to the Tayelet, but the streets were not in good condition and my socks got wet inside my shoes. It was not fun. So we came back and decided to stay indoors the rest of the time. Schools were canceled Sunday through Wednesday, and Pardes was on a weird schedule the whole week until Thursday, when the streets were finally clear.

Getting back into our regular schedule has been a blessing but also really difficult. I know that Emet and I are ready to come home to the US. We have three more weeks of classes until January vacation. Between now and March, when we will be flying to the US, we hope to take our engagement photos. We've decided to keep studying until the end of February, and we'll start to tie up some loose ends here.

Though it's December and Christmas is next week, the only indication of it here was when I went to the Tel Aviv bus station the other day and saw a Christmas market! It's so pleasant without all the Christmas songs that I don't enjoy, though I know Emet and I both miss being home for the holidays. Bezrat Hashem, next year, we will have a fabulous holiday season as a newly married couple with our families!

25th anniversary of WoW at the Kotel

This Monday, Rosh Chodesh Kislev, I went to the Kotel to pray with Women of the Wall (WoW). This is the second time I've gone to pray with the group but I wasn't successful in finding them last time. This time, I went with Andrea, who is a WoW veteran, and Emet. In addition, another group from Pardes met us there.

I was not sure what to expect this Rosh Chodesh. In May, it was crazy. People were shouting angrily, and the entire plaza was filled with seminary girls who had been bussed in. This Monday, we showed up and there was already a group of police surrounding members and allies of WoW. While there were many orthodox women and girls praying already, they didn't seem to be attempting to prevent us from praying. There were many photographers on the men's side looking over the mechitza, and there were even a good amount of men allies listening for the service to start. At the same time, the Rosh Chodesh service for the men's side was blasting through the loud speaker and as soon as we started, I felt it was difficult to hear what was going on. A few women on chairs would yell out the page numbers based upon what the leader was calling out on earpieces. A few orthodox girls were standing in front of us, seemingly mocking us as we began, and one tugged at the tallit Andrea wore. Soon, though, the loud speaker was quiet at the conclusion of the service for the men's side, and a modern orthodox woman began speaking to the girls near us in Hebrew to calm them.

I had come that morning not sure if I was going to be able to pray in a calm environment, but I ended up having a really nice experience. 

I think back to what it was like in May, both the situation in the plaza and what it was like for me personally to pray. Six months ago, I read a lot in the English and didn't understand much of what it was that I was reading in the siddur or why it was important to me. I also didn't understand the Halacha around prayer and how that affected how I prayed. This Rosh Chodesh, I realized how far I have come in 6 months. I am still very slow at reading in the Hebrew, but I have advanced so much. I wasn't able to pray in Hebrew before. I have so much more knowledge of what I'm praying, why I pray, and how I feel when I have a good prayer experience. In fact, it was interesting to me to notice the women who came to pray and were very excited about being a part of the service but had no idea where we were in the service or what was going on. They were very interested in being there but I realized they didn't have a relationship to the prayer service.

I'm glad I went this Rosh Chodesh and had a good prayer experience. I think it's really important for is as the Jewish community to continue to support alternative prayer services at the Kotel, which is a symbol of our community. I have written about my difficult relationship to the Kotel in recent months, but I felt for the first time in a while comfortable praying at the Kotel. I can only imagine where I will be in another 6 months in my prayer. Rosh Chodesh tov!

Sukkot 5774 Dvar Torah

You shall dwell in Sukkot seven days. All citizens of Israel will stay in Sukkot, so that your generations may know that I caused the children of Israel to dwell in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt. (Leviticus 23:42-43)

The Torah lets us know that Sukkot has great meaning. But it does not tell us exactly what meaning we are to glean from our ancestors’ experiences in the desert. We do not live in fragile booths today. We are lucky to have the stability of a land in which to live and permanent communities of which to be a part.

But I think that the idea of the Israelites together in the desert, living in sukkot that likely were whipped by the wind and rain, is important to us today. I can say that for the last few years, I have been seeking a community where I felt wholeheartedly comfortable in. From my theater and orchestra communities in high school, to my activist circles in college, to my community of social workers in grad school. In St. Louis, I was involved with the Jewish young adult community and felt at home for the first time in a long time. But of course, I left and came to Israel. Last year, while I lived in stable structure, my physical community in Gedera was not my own. I felt that it was temporary because it was, and while I tried to immerse myself in this new community, it didn't have everything I wanted, despite a host family and good friends. Again, I left Gedera and moved to Jerusalem. While I'm still trying to figure out what kind of community I want, and while in each community I live, I can find a support system and new friends, I know that they are all temporary until the time that I "settle" in a community for longer than a year.

In some way, I can completely understand how the Israelites in the desert felt - they just left a seemingly comfortable situation. Yes, they were slaves and had a difficult life, but how terrifying it must have been to be in the desert. Not knowing how to survive, except through the dependency on Moses and his connection to Gd! Don't you think some of the Israelites must have wanted to turn back around and say, I think I might prefer a permanent structure to the wind and rains and hunger in the desert?

Of course, the community moved together and they had each other. Many of us came to Israel with no support system in place. I knew absolutely no one before I decided to make a leap of faith and come to Israel last year. And I think it has been one of the best decisions I've ever made. While we dwell in this and every sukkah during this Sukkot, despite the rain or the wind, we should remember how difficult it was for the Israelites in the desert. Like the Israelites, we must recognize that we may be terrified, but it is up to us to make the best of our situations and constantly search for meaning. I think that the meaning we should glean from thinking about the Israelites in the desert is that we should constantly strive for the community we need, even if we have no idea how to find it. Only Gd knew the exact place that the Israelites should go, physically, spiritually, and ethically, but the Israelites followed Moses because of their faith. We have no idea where each of us will end up, but we must have faith in our own actions and in Gd to get to the physical and spiritual places we may not even know we need to go. Chag Sameach.