As I go through my year in Yahel, one thing constantly on my mind is community. In the US, I felt connected to a number of communities at different times since leaving high school - the queer community, the feminist community, and the "young Jews" community. There were times when I didn't feel part of a community, when I couldn't find the community, or when the community wasn't giving me what I needed, and there were other times when there was no real community for me to tap into. Then there were times when I found a great community, and it was just a matter of me showing up to find people to connect with.
This year, I have recognized the real importance of community, especially when I'm 6000 miles away from my own families/communities. Passover is the time when you join with family and tell the story of our community, the Jewish people. However you define the Jewish community, I truly feel as part of a community at Passover. I was graciously invited to spend the חג (holiday) with my program director's family in Zichron Yaakov in the north. We attended the Seder at the house of their friends, and we used the ArtScroll Haggadah. I don't recall ever doing the Seder with the ArtScroll Haggadah, although I once did a Seder in Baltimore with my uncle's family and we did all the parts of the Seder.
At first, I was a little intimidated by the Haggadah, but it actually turned out to be a great Seder. I realized I don't know (almost) any of traditional Seder songs and I learned about halakhic portions of matzah that we are supposed to eat. Who knew that the rabbis discussed the exact amount of matzah you are supposed to eat at the Seder? It's great to think that Jews all over the world, from Los Angeles to NYC to Berlin to Jerusalem to Moscow to Shanghai all spend the evening doing the same thing - telling the story of our shared memory (and also the modern day struggles Jews and non-Jews alike have gone through). I feel part of the Jewish community, even when I feel I don't know much.
I feel like it's easy to feel a part of the Jewish community here in Israel, though I know it was not as easy in the States. Even so, I feel like there is a lot of knowledge that I don't have. I'm looking forward to learning at Pardes, the co-ed yeshiva in Jerusalem I will be studying at in the fall!
At the same time, I feel like I've lost the knowledge I had when I was deeply involved in the queer and feminist communities, communities I still feel a part of because of my identities, but which I don't have much connection to at the moment. Is it possible to feel connected to a community in isolation? Is that what the Jewish narrative is all about?
While I don't necessarily feel as part of the Gedera community, I do feel very close with people in the community, and I'm looking forward to moving to Jerusalem and finding a new community that I can immerse myself in. I'm hoping that there will be more communities in Jerusalem that I can tap into and that I will feel a part of.
I think being part of a community is more than just your identity and knowledge. It's also about shared memory, real connections, and a feeling of belonging. I may not always have all of those at every time, but I know I will still feel my identities and know that there will always be a community for me to find. I just need to know where to look.
חג פסח כשר ושמח!
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Monday, March 18, 2013
MASA Leadership Summit
I had the amazing opportunity to attend the MASA Leadership
Summit a few weeks ago. This 5 day conference was open to all MASA participants
interested in strengthening their leadership skills for use in the Jewish
community. Nearly 400 participants currently on a MASA program came together in
Jerusalem to learn about leadership and discuss opportunities and challenges in
the Jewish community today. While we were able to mingle with participants from
other places throguhout the world, we primarily learned with a regional group.
My group of 25 came from the Southeast and Mid-Atlantic regions in the US. This
gave us an opportunity to network with people in our region, as the assumption
is that we are all going to return to work in our Jewish communities where we
grew up. While I don't know if I'm returning to Atlanta when I settle back in
the States, it was helpful to hear about the DC area, as well.
One of the first things we did was talk about our own experiences and
relationship to Judaism and Israel. Some people mentioned free food or camel
rides on college campuses as a way to get them involved in Jewish life on
campus. Most of us said that Birthright had a big effect. While I was not
involved in Jewish life on my college campus, it was studying abroad in New
Zealand, where there were no Jews that really made a difference in me. It was
the first time that I didn't take my Jewish identity for granted. Returning to
campus in the fall of 2008, I took a Jewish studies course and then went on
Birthright in January of 2009. While going on Birthright made me want to get
more involved Jewishly and religiously, I actually thought I was finished with
Israel and didn't plan on returning. It wasn't until I had finished graduate
school and spent a year in St. Louis immersed in the Jewish world, both
professionally and religiously, that I became interested in working in the
Jewish nonprofit world. I am passionate about social justice, and it was
because of that passion (and a MASA scholarship) that helped me return to Israel
as a Yahel Social Change Participant. My story is obviously different from many
others on this program and others who are on a MASA program. However, because
this program blended my interests of Judaism and social change, I knew that I
was going to get a lot out of it. My engagement with Judaism and Israel has
only grown as an effect of participating in this program.
Some of the main themes we discussed during the week were
the opportunities and challenges in American Jewry today, specifically in terms
of engagement and change. We focused on engagement of young Jews and their
connection to Judaism and Israel. These are things I have talked about with my
peers over the last two years, as I was involved with Next Dor STL and here in
Israel. Why is it important to encourage young Jews to affiliate with Judaism?
How can we change the current state of Jewish funding models in the US to be
more innovative and more centered around the goals of the next generation? How
do we see the Jewish community in the United States in 20 years? How do we see
ourselves as a part of that change/process? I don’t think any of these have
specific answers, or if they do, the answers will vary by person, but I don’t
think that means that we should sky away from the issues. This is exactly the
reason why there are so many Jewish start-ups founded by young Jews, and I
think it’s great. We have plenty of people who care and have great ideas for
the future. Social entrepreneurship was definitely highlighted and encouraged
throughout the seminar. While I don't think I have any great ideas, it was nice
to see that others did, and we all have our parts to play. I am skilled at
planning and organizing, implementation and follow through. If someone else has
an idea, I know how to make it work. AND THAT IS OKAY. It's important to me to
figure out how my skills will work for me when I do eventually continue my
career back in the States.
This week I was also reminded of what the American Jewish
community is like and "the feel" of it. I think it was good to remind
me of who I am, where I'm coming from, where I'm going, and how I relate to
American Jewish life. I loved meeting new people from all over, and it was
great to see a little diversity in Jewish practice and affiliation with
Judaism among American Jews and among Jews from all over the world.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
The Negev
Thursday morning, we woke up early to drive to our first stop, Beer Sheva. We toured the Kalisher Absorption Center and the adjacent neighborhood garden run by Earth's Promise. The director of the absorption center explained the process of absorption for the current wave of Ethiopian Jews to us, and I was conflicted by her account. The most recent wave of Ethiopian Jews are Falash Mura, the term given to Jews whose families had converted to Christianity and are now returning to Judaism. This group falls under the law of return only if they agree to a process of conversion to Orthodox Judaism. They do this by living in the absorption center for 2 years, learning Hebrew and Judaism (and also how to live in a modernized society). At the end of the two years, they are given a test to determine if they are following kashrut, family purity laws, and Shabbat. Most of the immigrants are happy to do all of this, knowing that at the end, they have the privilege of living in Israel and raising their children here. At the same time, one might ask why they are given only one option of Judaism when if 50% of Israelis were given a similar test, they would not pass. Also, we wondered about Ethiopian and Ethiopian Jewish culture being preserved. How much of the process is to promote Judaism for a population not familiar with it versus understanding the diversity of Judaism among Israelis? I wondered about a disconnect between the absorption process and the post-absorption time, when people will live in Israeli society. There is still an assumption that everyone will "become Israeli" and that there is something specific that determines Israeli-ness. I think this is an idea that permeated throughout the entire seminar and that I often think about when we discuss Israeli society.
After the tour of the absorption center and the community garden, we ate lunch at a restaurant owned by a garin in Beer Sheva to provide job opportunities for young adults in the neighborhood. We heard a bit from a woman who started the garin and saw their community garden, second hand shop, and outdoor movie theater. Then we drove to meet a guy who works at NISPED, the Negev Institute for Strategies of Peace and Development. Our discussion about the Bedouin community in Israel began here. We hadn't discussed the Bedouins in depth yet, but we did watch two films prior to our seminar that talked about the Negev from different viewpoints. The first was about the Zionist settling of the Negev (a fabulous short from the 1950s) and the second dealt with the marginalization and destruction of the Bedouin community and towns. There are quite a few Bedouin villages in the Negev, of which only 7 are recognized (for more info, check out the Wikipedia page on the Negev Bedouins. The unrecognized Bedouin villages are subject to house demolitions, no running water, no sewage, no medical services, and no power. The few recognized villages still have many problems, and we were fortunate to stay at one on our final night. I will explain more about this at the end. After this, we went to Midreshet Ben-Gurion, where we spent the next few nights. We had a great checkin, where we each spoke about one thing we have been working on personally. I spoke about my relationship to Judaism which has grown stronger during the last few years. It is challenging and rewarding, and though I have an idea of how I want to express my relationship to Judaism, it is much easier said than done.
On Friday, we woke up to hike Nahal Havarim and Ein Ovdat. Here are a few pictures from that gorgeous hike!
Shabbat started and we had a great meditation session with David and Benson leading. That night, we stargazed. The desert is so beautiful and even more so on Shabbat when it is so quiet and calm. In the morning, a few of us woke up to watch the sunrise and see ibex roaming. The sunrise was just so amazing. I really have no words to explain it. Since it was Shabbat, I did not take any pictures. Instead, I just experienced the it. Later that day, we went for a short walk in the neighboring nature reserve. I kept thinking I was seeing a UFO, but we determined (later on the seminar) that I was actually seeing a blimp related to a nuclear research center in Dimona. What a way to remind us about reality in Israel. I forgot to mention that there was a siren test while we were in Beer Sheva. Every time I hear the siren, I get a little nervous, even though I know it was just a test. Before dinner that night, we had a lively discussion based upon Ishmael, a book that deals with "takers" and "leavers," the juxtaposition of modern capitalist society and indigenous cultures. It was a pretty difficult discussion, and I struggled through it. I felt that maybe I need to read the book to really grasp the concepts, but I also felt that the argument was highly simplified, which made it hard for me to understand completely. After dinner, we had a great time playing a game to get to know each other more. It is similar to the "Things" Game, where everyone writes something on a piece of paper in certain categories and others guess who wrote what, except that all the questions were personal - about our greatest fear or favorite ice cream flavor or movie quotes. We also made a typical Israeli dessert, Chocolate Truffles. We had a great time!
Sunday morning, we started our day early with a tour of Ben Gurion's home in Sde Boker. We learned a bit about his ideology of settling the Negev. We also had the chance to discuss certain issues - living in an area under constant threat of rockets, the relationship of Jews living in the Diaspora and Israelis, and some of Ben Gurion's decisions in terms of immigration and setting up a Jewish state. After lunch, we visited a lone farm, one in which a family is given a certain number of acres in the desert to settle on. The one we visited was adjacent to a family of Bedouins who were living there without a permit. Those that live on lone farms usually have a strong belief in settling the Negev, and we discussed briefly how politicized it is. We then drove to Dimona, where the nuclear research center is, and walked by a neighborhood where the Black Hebrews live. This is a group of African-Americans who believe they are descendants of lost Jewish tribes and have become Jewish. This group differs from Ethiopian Jews since they are from the US and have converted in a sense to Judaism. It took a long time for them to be recognized as Jews (and to have Israeli citizenship), since they tend to follow different laws and customs compared to other Jews. The group has received a bit of publicity lately because of the Israeli The Voice, where one of the contestants is a member of the Black Hebrews. I was really interested in the group. Many of the younger population have started to serve in the army, and they speak Hebrew rather than an English dialect.
Next, we visited Ayalim, a group of students who create an intentional community on the periphery, either in the north or in the Negev. While they have a certain number of hours they must volunteer in the community in which they are living, the focus is not on social justice but rather bringing together people who will settle in the periphery. It was a very Zionist idea.
At the end of the day, we settled into the recognized Bedouin village Qasr a-Sir and met with Raed, who works with Bustan, an amazing organization that supports Bedouin communities in the Negev. It was interesting to hear his story, especially when his family transitioned to living in a house as compared to his youth in a tent. He took some time to describe his experience in Alaska in the fall, working with an indigenous group on sexual assault issues, and how he came to work with his organization.
On Monday, we toured an unrecognized Bedouin village and spoke to a man who told his story about living in the village, especially concerning demolitions and the Israeli government's stance toward the Bedouins. The conversation, and actually much of the discussion around the Bedouin community, has been very difficult for me. How can a state so cognizant of social justice issues completely ignore and in fact find ways to marginalize the Bedouin community? While Bedouins have citizenship and pay taxes, their land is not recognized by the state. I understand the conundrum, though. If the Bedouins are deemed an indigenous group, then there would be real implications in the Israeli-Palestinian issue. At the same time, when the state is forcibly destroying homes to promote Jewish settlement in the Negev, I have hard time comprehending their actions. When we left the unrecognized village, we briefly visited a Bedouin women's weaving cooperative. It was a small cooperative that allowed women to work in their homes and receive some income. I supported them by buying a scarf, and then we headed back to Gedera.
Overall, it was an amazing seminar. I didn't know how amazing the desert could be, yet I struggled with the situation in which the Bedouins live. This year has been great in illustrating the complexity of Israeli society, and I anticipate hearing much, much more about all the different issues facing Israeli society today (like for example, did you know that Israel doesn't have a Constitution though their declaration of independence says there should be one?).
I have been thinking about my time left in Israel - that I am more than half-way through here, and how much I will miss and what I'm looking forward to in going back to the US. More to come on that! Have a good week everyone!
After the tour of the absorption center and the community garden, we ate lunch at a restaurant owned by a garin in Beer Sheva to provide job opportunities for young adults in the neighborhood. We heard a bit from a woman who started the garin and saw their community garden, second hand shop, and outdoor movie theater. Then we drove to meet a guy who works at NISPED, the Negev Institute for Strategies of Peace and Development. Our discussion about the Bedouin community in Israel began here. We hadn't discussed the Bedouins in depth yet, but we did watch two films prior to our seminar that talked about the Negev from different viewpoints. The first was about the Zionist settling of the Negev (a fabulous short from the 1950s) and the second dealt with the marginalization and destruction of the Bedouin community and towns. There are quite a few Bedouin villages in the Negev, of which only 7 are recognized (for more info, check out the Wikipedia page on the Negev Bedouins. The unrecognized Bedouin villages are subject to house demolitions, no running water, no sewage, no medical services, and no power. The few recognized villages still have many problems, and we were fortunate to stay at one on our final night. I will explain more about this at the end. After this, we went to Midreshet Ben-Gurion, where we spent the next few nights. We had a great checkin, where we each spoke about one thing we have been working on personally. I spoke about my relationship to Judaism which has grown stronger during the last few years. It is challenging and rewarding, and though I have an idea of how I want to express my relationship to Judaism, it is much easier said than done.
On Friday, we woke up to hike Nahal Havarim and Ein Ovdat. Here are a few pictures from that gorgeous hike!
Sunday morning, we started our day early with a tour of Ben Gurion's home in Sde Boker. We learned a bit about his ideology of settling the Negev. We also had the chance to discuss certain issues - living in an area under constant threat of rockets, the relationship of Jews living in the Diaspora and Israelis, and some of Ben Gurion's decisions in terms of immigration and setting up a Jewish state. After lunch, we visited a lone farm, one in which a family is given a certain number of acres in the desert to settle on. The one we visited was adjacent to a family of Bedouins who were living there without a permit. Those that live on lone farms usually have a strong belief in settling the Negev, and we discussed briefly how politicized it is. We then drove to Dimona, where the nuclear research center is, and walked by a neighborhood where the Black Hebrews live. This is a group of African-Americans who believe they are descendants of lost Jewish tribes and have become Jewish. This group differs from Ethiopian Jews since they are from the US and have converted in a sense to Judaism. It took a long time for them to be recognized as Jews (and to have Israeli citizenship), since they tend to follow different laws and customs compared to other Jews. The group has received a bit of publicity lately because of the Israeli The Voice, where one of the contestants is a member of the Black Hebrews. I was really interested in the group. Many of the younger population have started to serve in the army, and they speak Hebrew rather than an English dialect.
Next, we visited Ayalim, a group of students who create an intentional community on the periphery, either in the north or in the Negev. While they have a certain number of hours they must volunteer in the community in which they are living, the focus is not on social justice but rather bringing together people who will settle in the periphery. It was a very Zionist idea.
At the end of the day, we settled into the recognized Bedouin village Qasr a-Sir and met with Raed, who works with Bustan, an amazing organization that supports Bedouin communities in the Negev. It was interesting to hear his story, especially when his family transitioned to living in a house as compared to his youth in a tent. He took some time to describe his experience in Alaska in the fall, working with an indigenous group on sexual assault issues, and how he came to work with his organization.
On Monday, we toured an unrecognized Bedouin village and spoke to a man who told his story about living in the village, especially concerning demolitions and the Israeli government's stance toward the Bedouins. The conversation, and actually much of the discussion around the Bedouin community, has been very difficult for me. How can a state so cognizant of social justice issues completely ignore and in fact find ways to marginalize the Bedouin community? While Bedouins have citizenship and pay taxes, their land is not recognized by the state. I understand the conundrum, though. If the Bedouins are deemed an indigenous group, then there would be real implications in the Israeli-Palestinian issue. At the same time, when the state is forcibly destroying homes to promote Jewish settlement in the Negev, I have hard time comprehending their actions. When we left the unrecognized village, we briefly visited a Bedouin women's weaving cooperative. It was a small cooperative that allowed women to work in their homes and receive some income. I supported them by buying a scarf, and then we headed back to Gedera.
Overall, it was an amazing seminar. I didn't know how amazing the desert could be, yet I struggled with the situation in which the Bedouins live. This year has been great in illustrating the complexity of Israeli society, and I anticipate hearing much, much more about all the different issues facing Israeli society today (like for example, did you know that Israel doesn't have a Constitution though their declaration of independence says there should be one?).
I have been thinking about my time left in Israel - that I am more than half-way through here, and how much I will miss and what I'm looking forward to in going back to the US. More to come on that! Have a good week everyone!
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Privilege and Oppression
This morning, our learning session discussed privilege and oppression. We began by reading Peggy McIntosh's "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack." I read this article first in college in my Women's Studies classes. The premise of the article is that just as we talk about the oppressed as lacking access to resources that allow you to pursue certain goals, we must acknowledge our own privilege, which is having access to those same resources. When I first read it in college, I was blown away. Back then, I was learning about my identity and understanding the ways in which I had or didn't have agency in society. Today, understanding the premise of privilege and having acknowledged my own privilege in the US, I saw privilege somewhat differently here in Israel.
We created the Circle of Oppression, which looks similar to the picture below.
We drew one first for North America and then one for Israel. The normative individual in the US is a white, Protestant, upper-middle class, able-bodied, heterosexual man (we didn't include Language or Appearance in our circle). The normative individual in Israel by comparison is an Ashkenazi/white, Jewish, middle/upper-middle class, able-bodied, 100% heterosexual, alpha male. We each have our own identities that give us advantages and disadvantages. Let's take Mitt Romney for example. Even though he has many of those characteristics, because he is Mormon, he lacks as much agency as someone else. At the same time, Anderson Cooper also has many of those characteristics, but because of his sexuality, he also lacks some agency. People may say, well we have a black President, so your description is wrong, or that we have more women in the world than men, so that is where the power lies. Despite those facts, the idea of the normative individual is stronger. There may be more women in the world, but power is not based upon the majority. It is based upon who can wield the power. How many women are in leadership positions in the US compared to men? How many African-Americans are in Congress compared to whites?
We looked at how the US differed from Israel, and there differences were mainly in religion and race/ethnicity. We debated about whether it is skin color or ethnicity/point of origin that really determines privilege. For example, though Russians are considered Ashkenazim, they are considered in a different position perhaps because of when they arrived in Israel. Ethiopians for sure are far from the normative individual (there are differences within groups, as well, between men and women for example who are Ethiopian), they are in a better position than Arab Israelis/Israeli Arabs.
We concluded that while we can talk all we want about our own privilege or oppression, it is even more important to recognize what we can do about our privilege or oppression. White guilt isn't useful, if we feel that. Instead, we must acknowledge our privileges and also learn how to use that knowledge for social change.
We drew one first for North America and then one for Israel. The normative individual in the US is a white, Protestant, upper-middle class, able-bodied, heterosexual man (we didn't include Language or Appearance in our circle). The normative individual in Israel by comparison is an Ashkenazi/white, Jewish, middle/upper-middle class, able-bodied, 100% heterosexual, alpha male. We each have our own identities that give us advantages and disadvantages. Let's take Mitt Romney for example. Even though he has many of those characteristics, because he is Mormon, he lacks as much agency as someone else. At the same time, Anderson Cooper also has many of those characteristics, but because of his sexuality, he also lacks some agency. People may say, well we have a black President, so your description is wrong, or that we have more women in the world than men, so that is where the power lies. Despite those facts, the idea of the normative individual is stronger. There may be more women in the world, but power is not based upon the majority. It is based upon who can wield the power. How many women are in leadership positions in the US compared to men? How many African-Americans are in Congress compared to whites?
We looked at how the US differed from Israel, and there differences were mainly in religion and race/ethnicity. We debated about whether it is skin color or ethnicity/point of origin that really determines privilege. For example, though Russians are considered Ashkenazim, they are considered in a different position perhaps because of when they arrived in Israel. Ethiopians for sure are far from the normative individual (there are differences within groups, as well, between men and women for example who are Ethiopian), they are in a better position than Arab Israelis/Israeli Arabs.
We concluded that while we can talk all we want about our own privilege or oppression, it is even more important to recognize what we can do about our privilege or oppression. White guilt isn't useful, if we feel that. Instead, we must acknowledge our privileges and also learn how to use that knowledge for social change.
Friday, January 11, 2013
On Our Adventure to Tel Aviv in the Biggest Storm Ever
Savyonne and I signed up to attend a conference on Migration Studies at Tel Aviv University this week. One of my interests is migration and I thought that this conference would be a great opportunity to hear new perspectives on the topic.
Tuesday morning, we woke up at 6:15am to catch the sherut to the train station and we were on time, even in the rain. If you didn't know, Israel has been experiencing a huge storm since the weekend. Torrential downpours, flooding, snow in Jerusalem, highway and road closures, buses not running. Well Tuesday turned out the be the worst day. We were lucky that we left so early because the train service was disrupted sometime while we were en route, but it didn't affect us. The streets were flooded, traffic was awful, and there seemed to be a river in the causeway built to direct the flow of water. There was so much that we saw the water almost spilling over those.
Despite the fact that we made it to the Tel Aviv University stop, we then had to navigate to the building for the conference in pouring rain. Our shoes soaked through while we had to dip under a fence to make it to the building we needed to. Finally, we arrived, but apparently lots of other people hadn't due to the weather, and we had tea and rugalach until they started nearly 1.5 hours late.
The conference itself was hit or miss. There were a few sessions we thought were interesting, but the conclusions weren't anything groundbreaking. Working on the ground in communities, these are things you would know without needing to do peer-reviewed studies. Savyonne and I agreed that there was a disconnect between the academic world and what was actually happening. And it seemed to me that the policy implications of the research was an after thought. My question kept being, who cares and why is this relevant at all? There were a few topics that were unique, but overall, we both had a hard time feeling engaged. The conference definitely made me realize I don't want to be a sociologist (don't worry, Mom and Dad, that was never an actual goal of mine).
I think the biggest influence the conference had on me was the realization that being present and working on the ground is much more impactful and satisfying, and that the work we do as part of the Yahel program or in my future as a nonprofit professional must center around the people and the reality of how life works. Knowledge is great, but you have to know how and where to use it effectively.
We eventually made it back to Gedera, after spending the night with a previous Yahel participant (and hearing about her experience). The great thing about this storm has been the rainbows. I saw one last weekend and another again yesterday and they are absolutely gorgeous. Below is one from behind our apartment yesterday.
שבת שלום
Tuesday morning, we woke up at 6:15am to catch the sherut to the train station and we were on time, even in the rain. If you didn't know, Israel has been experiencing a huge storm since the weekend. Torrential downpours, flooding, snow in Jerusalem, highway and road closures, buses not running. Well Tuesday turned out the be the worst day. We were lucky that we left so early because the train service was disrupted sometime while we were en route, but it didn't affect us. The streets were flooded, traffic was awful, and there seemed to be a river in the causeway built to direct the flow of water. There was so much that we saw the water almost spilling over those.
Despite the fact that we made it to the Tel Aviv University stop, we then had to navigate to the building for the conference in pouring rain. Our shoes soaked through while we had to dip under a fence to make it to the building we needed to. Finally, we arrived, but apparently lots of other people hadn't due to the weather, and we had tea and rugalach until they started nearly 1.5 hours late.
The conference itself was hit or miss. There were a few sessions we thought were interesting, but the conclusions weren't anything groundbreaking. Working on the ground in communities, these are things you would know without needing to do peer-reviewed studies. Savyonne and I agreed that there was a disconnect between the academic world and what was actually happening. And it seemed to me that the policy implications of the research was an after thought. My question kept being, who cares and why is this relevant at all? There were a few topics that were unique, but overall, we both had a hard time feeling engaged. The conference definitely made me realize I don't want to be a sociologist (don't worry, Mom and Dad, that was never an actual goal of mine).
I think the biggest influence the conference had on me was the realization that being present and working on the ground is much more impactful and satisfying, and that the work we do as part of the Yahel program or in my future as a nonprofit professional must center around the people and the reality of how life works. Knowledge is great, but you have to know how and where to use it effectively.
We eventually made it back to Gedera, after spending the night with a previous Yahel participant (and hearing about her experience). The great thing about this storm has been the rainbows. I saw one last weekend and another again yesterday and they are absolutely gorgeous. Below is one from behind our apartment yesterday.
שבת שלום
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Five Month Mark in Israel/Three Month Mark in Yahel
I have officially been in Israel for 5 months and doing the Yahel program for 3 months. A lot has happened in these last 5 months. During our most recent check-in, we talked about narratives of our time here. I had some trouble writing my narrative at the moment, but after reflecting on it, I've been able to identify different parts of my story here.
Part I. Jewel
My first month in Israel, taking part in a Jewish studies program for women, I learned so much about Judaism that I didn't know before. I started learning about Jewish theology and connecting to Judaism in a different way. I simultaneously feel so close to and so far from Judaism, and I have realized that I want to continue learning and growing.
Part II. Travel
I had the opportunity to travel around Israel and see a lot of the Christian sites with a friend of mine. Then, we traveled to Greece, took a cruise around the Greek isles, and flew to Budapest. Getting back to Israel, I spent nearly a week in Eilat with a trip to Petra before spending Rosh Hashanah with a family near Tel Aviv. I took a lot of time to reflect on being away from the US and in a new country that I barely know.
Part III. Beginnings of Yahel
I was excited about the beginning of the program and getting to the know the community, but felt insecure about being able to connect with people along with a frustration with getting acclimated to living with 7 other people.
Part IV. The War
Experiencing what I had only previously heard about on the news, I gained a new perspective on the conflict here in the Middle East. To stay clear of the rockets, we fled to the north, which was so peaceful and beautiful and completely different from the south. After news of the bus bombing (on the day I turned 26), I had again a new perspective on what it is like to live in Israel.
Part V. Making Progress
After getting back from Chanukah Break in Germany, I have finally started to feel like my relationships here are strengthening, especially with my host family and my shabab (the girl I tutor one night a week), along with a few others I've met. I've also begun to feel at home in Israel. While my Hebrew is still incredibly limited, I feel like I know my way around and not frustrated as much as when things are slow or inconvenient, don't work the same as in the States, or are not what I prefer.
Though there are still lots of frustrations, I'm looking forward to the next six months of the program, where I feel like I will continue to learn, continue to strengthen relationships, and continue to make an impact. Cheers to the new year!
Part I. Jewel
My first month in Israel, taking part in a Jewish studies program for women, I learned so much about Judaism that I didn't know before. I started learning about Jewish theology and connecting to Judaism in a different way. I simultaneously feel so close to and so far from Judaism, and I have realized that I want to continue learning and growing.
Part II. Travel
I had the opportunity to travel around Israel and see a lot of the Christian sites with a friend of mine. Then, we traveled to Greece, took a cruise around the Greek isles, and flew to Budapest. Getting back to Israel, I spent nearly a week in Eilat with a trip to Petra before spending Rosh Hashanah with a family near Tel Aviv. I took a lot of time to reflect on being away from the US and in a new country that I barely know.
Part III. Beginnings of Yahel
I was excited about the beginning of the program and getting to the know the community, but felt insecure about being able to connect with people along with a frustration with getting acclimated to living with 7 other people.
Part IV. The War
Experiencing what I had only previously heard about on the news, I gained a new perspective on the conflict here in the Middle East. To stay clear of the rockets, we fled to the north, which was so peaceful and beautiful and completely different from the south. After news of the bus bombing (on the day I turned 26), I had again a new perspective on what it is like to live in Israel.
Part V. Making Progress
After getting back from Chanukah Break in Germany, I have finally started to feel like my relationships here are strengthening, especially with my host family and my shabab (the girl I tutor one night a week), along with a few others I've met. I've also begun to feel at home in Israel. While my Hebrew is still incredibly limited, I feel like I know my way around and not frustrated as much as when things are slow or inconvenient, don't work the same as in the States, or are not what I prefer.
Though there are still lots of frustrations, I'm looking forward to the next six months of the program, where I feel like I will continue to learn, continue to strengthen relationships, and continue to make an impact. Cheers to the new year!
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Complexity. Hineini.
One of my favorite quotes is the following:
Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief.
Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now.
You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.
-Unknown (attributed to the Talmud)
Another translation I found for the last line that comes from the Talmud is, "It is not for thee to complete the work, but neither art thou free to abandon it." (Fathers of the Mishna - Tractate Aboth, II).
The quote in Hebrew for those who want it:
I think we are all thinking about the enormity of the world's grief right now, whether it is politics, gun laws, mental health, civil struggles, refugee crises, natural disasters, or accidents. Many people ask why. Why do these things happen? Why is there poverty and sadness? Why do bad things happen to good people? If you believe in G-d, you may ask why wasn't there an intervention? If you don't believe in G-d, you may ask what is the role of society and the individual to change things? Why haven't we done enough?
I really don't think it matters why things happen. It may help you feel more comforted in some way and that's great, but I think the more important thing to consider is that quote at the beginning of the post. While I love the version I stumbled upon, I think there is something to be said about the other translation.
We will never complete our work, according to the second translation. And it's really important that we acknowledge that. We will never complete our work. But neither are we free to abandon it. Even when we feel completely overwhelmed because there are too many problems. Even when we feel there is no possible way to change the world because problems are just too complex. Even when we feel absolutely depressed because we are burned out and frustrated. We still need to remember to keep going. Even the smallest, seemingly insignificant act of kindness does make a difference. Giving your time to a cause you believe in, saying thank you to someone who helps you, and being involved in your community all make a difference.
There will be events that we can't stop, can't predict, can't change. Showing compassion, supporting each other, and continuing to recognize the good in life and in people can help keep you going.
This morning, my cohort and I discussed different interpretations of Chanukah. One interpretation is that for Hasidic Jews, Chanukah is "about seeking one's inner life and rededicating oneself to that small burning candle" (Rabbi Steve Greenberg), or to remember your goal and the path you are taking to get there. I'm here in Israel this year to see social change playing out in front of me and being involved in it as much as I can. I am recognizing that my actions are minute on the scale of social change, but they count.
Happy Chanukah.
The quotes below are taken from: http://www.shma.com/2011/09/here-i-am-hineini/
Here I am, Hineini
ARYEH COHEN
Hineini is the moment of crossing the line, of making the decision, of claiming the path. Hineini is that moment of response to a situation in the world, to the cry of another person. There are many reasons to ignore the cry. There is only one reason not to: the clear knowledge that it is for this reason that you are here, that responding to that cry is part of what it means to be a person created in the image of God.
I recognize this moment in a black-and-white photograph of Diane Nash from 1961. The snapshot shows Nash as a young, courageous civil rights organizer in Nashville; she is looking straight ahead and her face is projecting both an understanding of what is ahead and an indomitable determination.
Diane Nash organized the second wave of Freedom Riders after the first wave was stopped by violence in Anniston and Birmingham, Alabama. Even though most of the first group ended up in the hospital as a result of racist violence abetted by the police, Nash defiantly organized the second ride to prove that massive violence was not going to stop the nonviolent campaign.
That black-and-white photograph of the beautiful 20-something organizer, looking determinedly into the coming maelstrom, screams in its silent dignity “hineini.”
Rabbi Aryeh Cohen, a Sh’ma Advisory Committee member, is a professor of Talmud at the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies at the American Jewish University in Los Angeles. He is author of the forthcoming book, Justice in the City: Toward a Community of Obligation. In July 2010, he was arrested for civil disobedience while demonstrating in support of Unite Here, the workers union fighting the Chicago-based Hyatt Hotels Corp.
Here I am, Hineini
Hadar Susskind
"Hineini” means “here I am” but the power of the phrase is far greater. It is the acceptance of a charge; taking on a task or responsibility. Hinieni. I was enveloped by it as I stood guard in Beaufort in Lebanon, buttressed by it as I rose to speak as a delegate at the World Zionist Congress, inspired by its ancient call as I walk the halls of Congress. Like my ancestors before me, I am here. Hinieni.
Hadar Susskind is vice president of policy and strategy at J Street.
Here I am, Hineini
Erica Brown
In a world full of distractions, the proper way to translate “Hineni” today is “I am fully present.” I am fully present in my life. I am fully present with my children. I am fully present in my job. I am fully present when I am in conversation with you. I am fully present as a servant of God. This means paying closer attention to the sacred duties I assume and trying to live on higher ground. I am fully present as a Jew. I am fully present as a citizen of the world, partnering in its perfection. Being fully present today — with the challenges of technology — cannot be assumed. It is hard work; an aspiration.
Erica Brown, scholar-in-residence at the Jewish Federation of Greater Washington, is the author, most recently, of In the Narrow Places: Daily Inspiration for the Three Weeks (OU/Koren).
Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief.
Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now.
You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.
-Unknown (attributed to the Talmud)
Another translation I found for the last line that comes from the Talmud is, "It is not for thee to complete the work, but neither art thou free to abandon it." (Fathers of the Mishna - Tractate Aboth, II).
The quote in Hebrew for those who want it:
ב,יט [טז] הוא היה אומר, לא עליך כל המלאכה לגמור, ולא אתה בן חורין ליבטל
I think we are all thinking about the enormity of the world's grief right now, whether it is politics, gun laws, mental health, civil struggles, refugee crises, natural disasters, or accidents. Many people ask why. Why do these things happen? Why is there poverty and sadness? Why do bad things happen to good people? If you believe in G-d, you may ask why wasn't there an intervention? If you don't believe in G-d, you may ask what is the role of society and the individual to change things? Why haven't we done enough?
I really don't think it matters why things happen. It may help you feel more comforted in some way and that's great, but I think the more important thing to consider is that quote at the beginning of the post. While I love the version I stumbled upon, I think there is something to be said about the other translation.
We will never complete our work, according to the second translation. And it's really important that we acknowledge that. We will never complete our work. But neither are we free to abandon it. Even when we feel completely overwhelmed because there are too many problems. Even when we feel there is no possible way to change the world because problems are just too complex. Even when we feel absolutely depressed because we are burned out and frustrated. We still need to remember to keep going. Even the smallest, seemingly insignificant act of kindness does make a difference. Giving your time to a cause you believe in, saying thank you to someone who helps you, and being involved in your community all make a difference.
There will be events that we can't stop, can't predict, can't change. Showing compassion, supporting each other, and continuing to recognize the good in life and in people can help keep you going.
This morning, my cohort and I discussed different interpretations of Chanukah. One interpretation is that for Hasidic Jews, Chanukah is "about seeking one's inner life and rededicating oneself to that small burning candle" (Rabbi Steve Greenberg), or to remember your goal and the path you are taking to get there. I'm here in Israel this year to see social change playing out in front of me and being involved in it as much as I can. I am recognizing that my actions are minute on the scale of social change, but they count.
Here I am, Hineini
I am present in this world. I am trying my best. I am putting forth the effort I can to do tikkun olam, to repair the world, in a way that I can, with the ability that I have. And that's all I can do. I'm going to end this post with some thoughts on Hineini, which translates to Here I am. I hope that you, too, will be present and remember that there is good in the world. All over the world. But it is much easier to focus on the bad. Focus on the good, aspire for and seek the good, and remember to be here.Happy Chanukah.
The quotes below are taken from: http://www.shma.com/2011/09/here-i-am-hineini/
Here I am, Hineini
ARYEH COHEN
Hineini is the moment of crossing the line, of making the decision, of claiming the path. Hineini is that moment of response to a situation in the world, to the cry of another person. There are many reasons to ignore the cry. There is only one reason not to: the clear knowledge that it is for this reason that you are here, that responding to that cry is part of what it means to be a person created in the image of God.
I recognize this moment in a black-and-white photograph of Diane Nash from 1961. The snapshot shows Nash as a young, courageous civil rights organizer in Nashville; she is looking straight ahead and her face is projecting both an understanding of what is ahead and an indomitable determination.
Diane Nash organized the second wave of Freedom Riders after the first wave was stopped by violence in Anniston and Birmingham, Alabama. Even though most of the first group ended up in the hospital as a result of racist violence abetted by the police, Nash defiantly organized the second ride to prove that massive violence was not going to stop the nonviolent campaign.
That black-and-white photograph of the beautiful 20-something organizer, looking determinedly into the coming maelstrom, screams in its silent dignity “hineini.”
Rabbi Aryeh Cohen, a Sh’ma Advisory Committee member, is a professor of Talmud at the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies at the American Jewish University in Los Angeles. He is author of the forthcoming book, Justice in the City: Toward a Community of Obligation. In July 2010, he was arrested for civil disobedience while demonstrating in support of Unite Here, the workers union fighting the Chicago-based Hyatt Hotels Corp.
Here I am, Hineini
Hadar Susskind
"Hineini” means “here I am” but the power of the phrase is far greater. It is the acceptance of a charge; taking on a task or responsibility. Hinieni. I was enveloped by it as I stood guard in Beaufort in Lebanon, buttressed by it as I rose to speak as a delegate at the World Zionist Congress, inspired by its ancient call as I walk the halls of Congress. Like my ancestors before me, I am here. Hinieni.
Hadar Susskind is vice president of policy and strategy at J Street.
Here I am, Hineini
Erica Brown
In a world full of distractions, the proper way to translate “Hineni” today is “I am fully present.” I am fully present in my life. I am fully present with my children. I am fully present in my job. I am fully present when I am in conversation with you. I am fully present as a servant of God. This means paying closer attention to the sacred duties I assume and trying to live on higher ground. I am fully present as a Jew. I am fully present as a citizen of the world, partnering in its perfection. Being fully present today — with the challenges of technology — cannot be assumed. It is hard work; an aspiration.
Erica Brown, scholar-in-residence at the Jewish Federation of Greater Washington, is the author, most recently, of In the Narrow Places: Daily Inspiration for the Three Weeks (OU/Koren).
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