Tag Archives: Take 5

[Take 5] My Poland Trip in Perspective

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This past Sunday night was Simchat Torah. I spent the evening in the Pardes beit midrash, dancing and singing, along with many of you. The energy in the room was palpable, and filled me up with a feeling of pure joy. I experienced a particularly moving moment when the singing shifted to “Am Yisrael Chai: The People of Israel Live.” I stood there, and I watched people jumping up and down, dancing faster and faster in circles, shouting “Am Yisrael Chai” with all of the energy they could muster.

At first, I couldn’t dance. I couldn’t move. I was instantly reminded of the last time that I heard this song. I was standing with my peers in the Auschwitz concentration camp on the Pardes heritage trip to Poland.

When I was asked to give a “take 5” on the Poland trip, I felt both honored and nervous. I am not sure that my words can do adequate justice as to how this trip has affected me, my Jewish identity, and the way that I walk through the world. But I’ll try.

After some hesitation, I decided to sign up for the Poland trip because I saw it as an opportunity to bear witness to the events of the Shoah, connect to my heritage, and simply because I felt in my gut that this was something I needed to do.

The whole trip, from beginning to end, was a powerful educational experience. Even before the trip, the group was committed to creating an atmosphere where each of us had a role in educating one other. One of my highlights of the trip was learning about all the different Poland personalities that my peers had researched, whether they were Torah giants, contributors to Yiddish culture, or righteous gentiles who risked their lives during the war.

Also, I was appreciative of the balance of the trip. While a significant amount of time was spent visiting concentration camps and holocaust sites, we also spent a significant amount of time learning about the vibrancy of pre-War Poland, Hassidut, and visiting important sites of Torah learning. Another highlight of mine was having an evening to study Torah in a yeshiva in Lublin, one that only a few decades ago had all of their books burned on the front lawn.

While I had many impactful moments on the trip, the greatest, and most unexpected, takeaway from the trip was what happened when I returned to Pardes. On the trip, we had the privilege of seeing many graves and important sites of Torah learning, which laid foundations for Torah study as we know it today. Because of this my learning was infused with new depth, and may separate aspects of my studies were weaved together. My eyes were open in a new way, and I was reading texts differently, and with more enthusiasm than before.

More importantly than this, I now, more than ever, see my learning in the beit midrash as an incredible privilege. And perhaps, going one step further, I see my Jewish identity as a gift, one that I am so incredibly grateful for.

In hindsight, choosing to go on the Poland trip was probably THE most important decision that I made last year. If you have any inkling of interest, I encourage you to go to the meeting on Monday, or talk to students who went on the trip last year. While we all experience things differently, I think that this trip can be an important and transformative trip for anyone.

So, as I stood in the beit midrash on Simchat Torah, I was at first frozen, flashing back to Poland, Auschwitz, the Holocaust, disaster, despair. But as I watched everyone singing and dancing around me, I felt the experience with such depth and emotion that I began dancing, too, and was reminded what it truly means to sing “Am Yisrael Chai,” on Simchat Torah, in Jerusalem.

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Week 19: Tastes of Home

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(X-posted from my home blog, Yinzer in Yerushalayim)

As I end my first semester in Israel, I am surrounded by reminders of where I come from and how I got here. It started last Thursday night, when I made halushki, a Central/Eastern European dish popular in Western Pennsylvania, at my friend מיכאל’s (pronounced “Mee-kha-el”) apartment to prepare for co-hosting Shabbat lunch with him. For me, this was to be a historic halushki, the first dish I have ever made completely on my own to feed other people. I chose to make my culinary debut halushki for four reasons: 1. It’s easy 2. It’s cheap 3. It’s different—as far as I know, I am the only one here who had even heard of halushki before last Shabbat, let alone eaten it, and 4. I thought making halushki in Jerusalem could produce some good juju for the Steelers the following Sunday (perhaps it would have gone better had I done teshuva instead).

But that Thursday night, everything exceeded expectations: I bought the ingredients, shredded and boiled the cabbage, boiled the noodles, sauteed the onions, mixed it all together, and spiced it up all by myself. Even the one piece of advise I received I rejected—when I told מיכאל the recipe called for sautéing one onion in 4 tablespoons of butter, he was horrified (he’s also from Portland, OR, which explains a lot) but, Yinzer that I am, I drowned it in butter anyway, and once he tasted the final result, he had to admit I was right. It turned out beautifully and, as confirmed by not only מיכאל but his roommate, his friend, and me, tasted delicious. I was so proud of myself.

It wasn’t as good as my Uncle Mark’s, but his is the best in the world, so that’s an unfair standard; it was my best and that’s all that mattered. I couldn’t wait to share it with our 15 or so expected guests Saturday afternoon.

It turns out, halushki tastes best when fresh. We put it on the platta Saturday morning and it looked really good, but once mealtime came, my simple Polish dish was completely overshadowed by admittedly superior gnocchis with cheese and nut curry. My dish was bland in comparison and I ended up with a ton of leftovers. I’m still proud of myself though, and eager for another chance to try cooking a dish that will win over my guests’ hearts and stomachs. Next time, I’m making kielbasa (correctly pronounced “kill-bossy”).

My next reminder of home, came one week later, the last day of the semester. Every week at Pardes, we have a big, delicious community lunch. It is traditional during these lunches that a student give a “Take 5” about that term’s theme. The theme for this term is Jewish heroism, and I gave this Take 5, where I told the story I’ve been wanting everyone at Pardes to know since before I got there.

I am not exaggerating when I say giving this speech was one of the greatest moments of my life. Not only did I make everyone see just how special YPS is and how much I love it there—which would have been gratifying enough—but it was a personal victory for me for another reason: it was the first time I’ve ever spoken in public the way I write. If you’ve never met me, I talk really, really fast. This in conjunction with my natural shyness and stage fright has made me a terrible public speaker. But Thursday that all changed. I felt a synergistic connection between myself and my audience while speaking that I never experienced before. My friend Carolina, a Columbia-trained social-worker thought this happened because I so badly wanted everyone to know about this. I think that must be it since, while I personally have no idea why it happened, that’s the explanation I like best. My only caveat with the speech is that I didn’t have the time to mention how the scholarship led to this article in The Jewish Chronicle, which led to this blog. The life-changing rewards of my time at YPS and of the David Fax Memorial Scholarship just keep coming. It was the perfect ending to an amazing semester and hopefully a good sign for things to come—now that I know I have this in me, who knows what I can achieve next?

After the speech, that was it. Four life-altering months in Israel had past and my first semester was over. I’ve come a long way from being the lost scared American kid hauling his baggage through the Muslim Quarter. Since that time, seemingly a lifetime ago, I’ve made over 80 new friends, met and learned from some of the most amazing individuals I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing, learned so much more Hebrew and Torah, explored and gotten to better know my country, my people, my heritage, and myself—good, bad, and ugly.

While it still doesn’t feel like home—falafel still feels like a foreign food the way halushki never will—I nonetheless now feel somewhat “used” to Israel. The world outside Pardes no longer feels like a raging ocean I must struggle to stay afloat in lest I drown as much as it feels like any other major transition in life, like wearing braces or getting older— now my teeth hurt when I eat an apple, now I have more hair and my voice is deeper, now I’m away from my loved ones and don’t understand the common language or the social protocol in new situations, but that’s just the way life is, all a part of growing up. In short, while Israel is still different, it’s no longer foreign. It’s become a part of me, or maybe I’ve become a part of it.

But the most significant noticeable effects on me have come from inside Pardes, as well they should since that is where I happily spend the overwhelming majority of my waking (and nearly-waking) hours. Perhaps the most important discovery I’ve made in my first semester is that everything I thought I knew about the depth and beauty of Jewish texts before I came here was based solely on hearsay. Even the texts I thought I had read, everything I knew about them came from someone else telling me about them, through either translation or some other form of drash. But now, reading them in Hebrew with my chevrutas and my teachers, experiencing for myself the depth, beauty, wisdom, and Divinity that has kept them holy and relevant for 4,000 years shining through them like the sun, makes me realize I knew next to nothing about them before. They shine through every facet: Through Rav Meir’s expounding on the seemingly limitless depth of meaning of every letter of the Torah and the true significance of what the classic commentators are saying, what in the text makes them say it, and the way different their different personalities and approaches effect the way they read the Torah. Through Rahel Berkowitz making obscure references in the Mishna clear, vague passages profound, obvious statements not so obvious, and backwards parts beautiful artifacts. Through R. Dr. Levi Cooper teaching the Mishna Torah, the Rambam, and the Rambam in the Mishna Torah. Through Dr. Meesh Hammer-Kossoy’s burning passion for Torah, social justice, and giving me great blogging material. Through Dr. David Bernstein taking us along with the Jewish people on the bumpy ride from the French Revolution to the founding of the State in 1948 by allowing all the major personalities and movements along the way speak for themselves through primary sources in Turning Points in Modern Jewish History. Through getting inside some of the greatest Jewish minds of the 20 th century in Modern Jewish Thought with R. David Levin-Kruss. Through Learning and singing Torah trope with Elisa Pearlman.

Yet even with this embarrassment of riches, I feel I’ve learned the most from my chevrutas. Learning a text with another person keeps you honest. A good chevruta tells you when s/he thinks you are wrong and won’t let it go until you understand why. My chevrutas have taught me how to be better at giving and receiving criticism and how to be more open and accepting of different ideas, even when they are better than my own. My Chumash and Mishna chevruta Anne is a woman my Mom’s age and the best study partner I could have asked for because she is so different for me: When I read texts, I look for the bigger picture, I try to see where the story is going and the bigger point it’s trying to make. Anne is more what we in yeshiva call dikduk, concerned with every fine point of grammar that I am usually content to fudge over in order to see the bigger picture. I see the forest, she sees the trees. At first this drove me crazy, but now I love her for it. Besides having some great conversations and growing some great mustaches together, my Rambam chevruta Evan has helped me so much to become a better translator. This guy was my Social Justice chevruta, ’nuff said.

All this, and I’m still just getting started.

Quote of the Week: “I’m Jewish. What am I doing about it?” – Shaul

Made-Up Hebrew Word of the Week: טיבוד (“Tebowed”) – Tebowed

(On the bright/disgustingly selfish side, at least I no longer have to worry about missing being in Pittsburgh during a Super Bowl run. On second thought, no. It’s not worth it at all.)

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[Take 5] Kalie Kelman on Poland Trip

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For most of college, I yearned for a strong cultural connection. My freshman year, I went to Cost Rica, and so I became fascinated with Central America. I started learning Spanish, and it was all very interesting but it wasn’t something to which I could personally connect. Then sophomore year, I took a class in West Indian literature, and so I became obsessed with the Caribbean and wanted to spend my summer volunteering in Haiti. My parents said absolutely not, and my fling with the West Indies ended. Neither infatuation was sustainable because, again, I didn’t have any personal connection. I think for a long time leading up to my Pardes experience I was searching for something more personal than 4th of July and apple pie, because that never felt like my inheritance. I couldn’t relate to it.

On the first day of Pardes last August, I was thumbing through the packet of course descriptions and I saw underneath the paragraph describing David Bernstein’s Modern Jewish History class a little additional line that read, “Highly recommended for those joining the Pardes trip to Poland in January.”

That was first I had heard of the Pardes trip to Poland, but I knew that moment that I was going to participate.

My grandpa, along with his mother and father’s entire families, were born and lived in shtetlach about 60km outside of Warsaw. I knew that going on this trip would allow me to delve deeper into my own family’s history, and for the first time I was going to explore my own family’s cultural heritage. I started preparing for the trip and digging up details of my family history. Rabbi Levi Cooper, our guide and leader, emphasizes taking ownership of the experience – personalizing it, preparing for it, and, if the logistics work in our favor, actually going to places that have significance to trip participants, and thus began my research. I came across a black and white photograph of my great grandfather, Joseph Sztyforman (later shortened to Stein), and in this picture was a man with my grandpa’s eyes and a thick black beard that was very well kempt, and the only way I can really describe his garb was Hasidic chic. He was in a black suit, but it was fashionable, and he had on a black hat but it also was a little bit stylish. Up until this point, I had only ever heard one story about this man whom I never met, Joseph Stein: When my uncle Bart was becoming bar mitzvah at the conservative shul my mother’s family attended in Cleveland, my great grandpa Stein wouldn’t attend because the shul didn’t have a mechitza. So, armed with that one story, which still stings my uncle, I started doing more and more research about my great grandfather and his wife, and their lives in a tiny village outside of Warsaw called Belndow. I discovered that Joseph Stein was the shochet, a kosher butcher, in his shtetl. He was an extremely religious man, but wasn’t extreme, and he was a talmid chacham who studied Talmud and halacha. It was deeply painful for him to leave behind a life that was so rich in meaning and purpose when he immigrated to the United States with his wife and my grandfather in 1926.

I saw the Poland trip as an opportunity to investigate the life of my great grandparents, discover the richness they left behind, and reclaim it for myself. Something else that makes this trip unique is that it is not simply a five-day discussion of the Holocaust. We do certainly examine the destruction, but we also study Jewish life in pre-war Poland, because before you can appreciate what was lost, you really have to realize the richness of what existed before – the experience that was Jewish life in Poland.

This trip was my opportunity to connect to hundreds of years of Jewish history and collective memory that cannot be forgotten, in addition to rediscovering my family’s history. I was blessed to be able to share the experience with my parents, who also came on the trip. Even more powerful was the reality that I had this experience in the midst of spending a year learning Torah, learning the same texts that my great grandfather learned. I think about him every time I enter the beit midrash. I bring my Poland experience with me every day I come to Pardes, and on days when I am really having a hard time, I think about my great grandfather and so many others like him who sat in their shtetl and learned from the same books. I wonder what he thought about the mishnah I just finished. I wonder what our discussion about it would be like. More than anything, I hope he would be proud of me.

 

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