Dancing with the Enemy

On my second Encounter trip, as we listened to various Palestinian speakers share their personal stories in a conference room in a Bethlehem hotel, I decided to take a stretch in the back of the room. At that point in the day, we had already listened to a number of speakers and I remember thinking to myself how completely different Jewish and Palestinian narrative is. That we each can look at the same set of facts and yet see two completely different stories. It reminded me of the quote by Marcus Aurelius, “Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.”

As I stood in the back shaking my head after disagreeing with the speaker’s “perspective”, I joked to a staff member that there is only ONE THING that can EVER solve this conflict… Continue reading

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a Dvar for Hannah

Sheryl and Hannah before the Chuppah!

Sheryl and Hannah before the Chuppah!

Relative to life, Hannah and I are new friends. Even though we knew each other before, we really met at the beginning of this year. I was lucky enough to room with her at the first Shabbaton of the year where I finally got the inside scoop on the engagement. (Eitan really couldn’t provide enough details for my needs.) And then I was invited to the Landes’ for Sukkot and well, let’s just say, I have been a Landes’ family groupie ever since.

If you haven’t been to the Landes’ yet for a meal, you’re missing out, but if you have, you know that the best part is coming over the night before to help prepare for the meal! You get to hangout with their family, chit-chat, laugh and feel the love that naturally bursts from their home. So I happened to be in this situation in their kitchen cutting up vegetables talking with Hannah and her mom, Sheryl. And I suddenly found myself in a very safe place, so safe that Continue reading

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Bare

From my blog:

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This is the story of a girl. Many girls, actually. This story was born long ago, but a recent confluence of events has compelled me to record it today. The events are as follows (some are more like situations than events):

  • Event 1: I live with two boys. This is a situation.
  • Event 2: I learn with boys. This is also a situation, but significant event-like moments are reached during the sessions in which we sit across the table from each other and stare into each other’s – um, gemaras.
  • Event 3. Last week, I went to a Shabbat dinner with males and females.
  • Event 4: Last week, I went to a Shabbat lunch with only females.
  • Fact: The difference was astounding.
Arak: a Mediterranean  anise- flavored spirit

Arak: a Mediterranean
anise- flavored spirit

Friday night was fun. There was wine, Arak, deep-voiced singing, and heated debate about discovering the nature of God versus simply following His laws. There were, of course, the overt displays of “bro love,” and the subtle touching of men and women that revealed the underlying desire of every person in that room to get the hell married already.

Saturday lunch was fun. There was wine, a pearl necklace, musical chairs, and discussion about whether showing Continue reading

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Bound. because I Want to.

I’m leaving for Israel and my father hands me two bags. “Take these with you. The furrier, Shlomo, your great grandmother’s brother-in-law, left them to me. Find out if it’s meaningful for you.”

The first is black felt, light to the touch, with a golden Magen David embroidered in cord on its front. The Tallit inside is thin, composed of silky white fabric that is shifting towards an aged grey. Blue stripes run along its slender frame while an intricate latticework of linen falls away from the edges only to tangle up with the Tzitzit at the corners. It’s German Reform, classic and beautiful. So light I barely feel its weight when I try it on. So thin and delicate it barely covers my shoulders. It’s not my first Tallit.

The second bag is old and mustard yellow, fine prismatic threading has frayed across its front where it spells out the words “Tefillin” in Hebrew. The Tefillin inside are old with paper caps atop the Shel, each heavy with lacquer. The leather is cracked and aromatic, the black stain no longer present along the edges. The two bags go into my duffel, right next to my other Tallit, but as I put them down one Tefillin fall out of their yellow bag. The paper top tips off and the shin of the Rosh stares up at me like blurred eye still heavy with sleep. I stare back. What do I do with you?


Why does a Reform Jew wrap T’fillin? Continue reading

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Paying a price

From my blog:

This week, in Israel, has been particularly focused on the costs of establishing an idealist state in a previously inhabited plot of land. I’m not trying to dig too deep into the politics of it; rather I’m interested in the idea of the prices we pay to live where we do.

After all Carlos Arredondo, brought back into the public eye by the current tragedies in Boston, has paid high prices. It is not an infrequent thing, the terrible burdens families bear on their backs for their communities, for their countries.

This past Sunday, at my Yeshiva, we had a panel of faculty speaking about their personal Israel narratives. They spoke as individuals and then in a dialogue. In light of today’s theme, I’d like to highlight what Leah Rosenthal said.  Continue reading

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The Photograph

There is a little girl in a photograph
A fair-haired, sweet-faced thing
Her arms wrapped around the neck of a man
	with dark, calm eyes and the inquisitive sniffing nose of a true Jew
I know that this girl in her red shirt and black velvet dress,
	whose earliest memory is the sound of shouting,
Will pick up the phone and cry and cry and cry
Because she believes with a perfect faith
	that her father loves her
And fathers that love their daughters
Do not cancel a visit because it looks like rain
That one day soon this little girl will all but say to her mother
	“He doesn’t deserve me”
And I am angry, on behalf of this little girl
This trusting, loving child who
	even when she forgets what he looks like
Even when she meets the man with a soccer ball
	who laughs with her and loves her and tells her horrible jokes
	and thinks that she’s one-sixth of the entire world
Will carry with her the sure certainty
That one too many faults
One too many flaws
(And even one is too many)
And she will be left alone again
Crying, crying, crying into empty air
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Sarah the Mother

From my blog:

The following snippets were written as part of a Storahtelling exercise to help us get to know the characters/voices with which we are teaching Torah. We are working with some verses from Parshat Vayera, Genesis Chapter 21, verses 8-10.
In character, we were asked to answer the following questions: My biggest regret is, My happiest moment ever was, This morning I saw, and I cannot die before I tell you this. I share my favourite answers below.

My happiest moment ever was when I held Isaac for the first time. I looked into his blue, blue eyes and felt G!d’s blessing like a blanket, protecting us. When I looked up, the pride and pleasure in Abraham’s face was like the sun. We had done it at last. We made a family. That moment, it was just the three of us and we were everything. Everything I ever wanted. Everything I’d prayed for. Everything I could imagine.

If I were to keep going, the next thing that would happen in the story is that Continue reading

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December 14, 2008 (I think)–The Day that Accidentally Changed my Life Forever

Never underestimate the impact of one good deed, on the doer at least as much as on the recipient.

I went on Birthright through Hillel in late December 2008. During one of our pre-Israel orientation sessions, they told us we would have the opportunity to pack suitcases filled with clothes, shoes, toys, etc.at the JCC something like the Sunday before our trip, which, from looking at calendars, I guess was probably December 14, to bring to kids in the children’s village in Karmiel, Pittsburgh’s sister city, during our day of community service.

I turned to my friend and asked if he was going. He wasn’t sure.

“If you go, I’ll go,” I told him. He said he’d see.

That Shabbat, he told me he was going. So I decided I would go too.

When I arrived at the JCC, I didn’t see him and considered turning back (I get immensely shy in new places where I don’t know anyone, and this goes triple for those places where you need to explain yourself over an intercom to get in), but then I thought of the mitzvah, took a deep breath, waited to catch the door after someone coming or going, then went in. I soon recognized some people, including my friend, in a room just to the right of the entrance stuffing suitcases with colorful clothes, toys, and, since these were for Israeli children, Crocs. I went in, said hi to my friend, found some stuff to stuff, and began stuffing it for tzedaka.

Shortly after I arrived, a woman came up and introduced herself as Tsipy, the Director of the Agency for Jewish Learning. I told her I was a student at Pitt. She asked me what I study. “Writing,” I said.

“Do you want an internship?” Continue reading

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In Pain, but Numb.

From my blog:
Photo of Israeli traffic on a major road stopping for 2 minutes for Yom Hashoah

Photo of Israeli traffic on a major road stopping for 2 minutes for Yom Hashoah

Monday was my second Yom HaShoah in Israel. I was standing in the middle of the partition in the road on Rivkah and Pierre Koenig to get a good view of the people stopping their cars and getting out to pay their respects to the dead when the wail of the memorial siren sounded. Another woman stood with me, her phone out for video taping the streets during the two minutes that all of Israel stops on its tracks, and hopefully, takes the moment to remember what the world has lost. Last year, I was standing in a similar place, quietly battling an inner turmoil that comes with the day, and had been carrying around an ache that had settled from my throat to my chest, like I needed to let out a good cry, when I witnessed the unified mourning of a country at a standstill, even if only for a few moments. This year though, something happened that deeply disturbed me.

During the siren, a single car, a worker’s vehicle, came careening down the road, as if the driver not only refused to stop for those two minutes, but was driving in such a way that indicated that he wanted the rest of us who were standing and acknowledging the siren to know, that he was in no way with us on this. The woman with the camera on the partition stepped out into the road in front of the car to get him to stop, which he was forced to do, and at that point, he was caught at the red light. She shoved the camera close to his smug face through his open window, where he proceeded to Continue reading

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