Well, after a few weeks of let-down, I started getting emails, facebook invites, calls and text messages inviting me to join in projects and renew last year's connections. Wow. I did a lot (50 billion auditions, 5 projects, tons of choreography showings and rehearsals, classes, more classes, 10 jobs, 5 apartments, all my savings, gees...). And I see it's paid off!
Before I'm going anywhere (ie Israel), keep an eye on this blog. I'll start letting you in on the Secret Stories of the SSDP very shortly...
It's been an amazing summer. I've grown a lot. I've lost weight (no pun intended...but it's funny anyway). I've updated my weekend, my wardrobe and my lunchbox (haven't decided on the negia part). And I'm super stoked to be moving back to the island! (coming off a stint in Jersey this Sunday)
Let's see how crazy wonderful I can make this year!!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
National Jewish Retreat
Oh dear...
Another paradigm shift.
1) I'm not becoming "religious," "observant," or crazy(er). I'm simply accepting a gift. A metaphor, of which I am rather proud of being the progenitress, goes as follows:
If someone wants to give you a huge pile of gifts, they can do it one of two ways. They can give you all of them at once, resulting in the pile either crushing you into a pancake or collecting dust in a broom closet. They could also choose to give them to you one at a time, thereby letting you enjoy unwrapping them and take your time integrating them into your life. "Please, sir, can I have some more?"
2) Rabbi Manis Friedman
When orthodox women go to medical school, they touch men. It is a part of their job. The same goes for orthodox men, which is why everybody likes to use the example of the orthodox male gynecologist (seriously, there is one in New York City, or so they say). And the same goes for dancers. Touch between men and women is a part of the job.
Dance is not spiritual. It is just dance. A sculptor takes a block of marble and chips away at it until it becomes a statue. A singer uses her voice to produce a song. The sculptor is taking something mundane (a rock), and gives "life" to something hidden because he has talent. The singer puts breath into her body and her talent makes that music beautiful. Anyone can throw paint at a canvas, but a talented painter can make you think you're looking out of a window. These talented people may enjoy revealing beauty in the mudane (hopefully), but they are not praying.
Talent is just the bridge between ordinary and extraordinary. The dancer takes her body, gives it breath and because of her talent (and years of hard work and obsessive dedication), the result is extraordinary. I don't "have" to dance; I "want" to dance. That's why I keep saying "but I'm not confused when I enter the studio." That's because it is a job. I mean, I did say I wanted to dance professionally...
That being said, even at a wedding we're not elevating sparks. Hashem is not carrying us around the bride. We want to dance. We are not compelled to dance. Both Giselle and Victoria Paige were emotionally unstable.
While I don't have the capacity to become a tzadik (I can and have eaten unwashed and unelevated strawberries. gasp!), I do have the capacity to become a benoni, as do we all. So I have a talent. It's ok to use it as long as I do so in ways that are respectful toward my physical body and the world around it. I can dance in the secular world and still be a good person who is choosing not to transgress.
(*Warning* Rant on SYTYCD coming up...)
I may even have the opportunity to curb some of the vulgarity in the dance world. (I mean, "So You Think You Can Dance" was more like "So You Think You Can See My Crotch" this year. There were at least 10 slow motion side splits per episode. Those cameramen must have had a great time.) Intentional "vulgarity" used to make a statement (Michaelangelo is not considered a pornographer) is one thing, but "being sexy" is not the same as being objectified. One is a choice by the performer and the other is imposed by the viewer. The viewer can never know performer intent, but the choreographer can define the context in which the performance can be viewed. (Of course, in the case of SYTYCD, the choreographers are at the mercy of the producers, who are at the mercy of FOX television, who are is at the mercy of millions of viewers, who are at the mercy of the Hollywood aesthetic, etc... Would the guys have done better in the finale if they'd been wearing speedos? Boxers may have been a big deal for Tadd, but bras and bikinis were the standard uniform for the ladies. Wait a minute... didn't Nigel all but force Caitlyn to sexually mature in a matter of weeks on national television? yicko!) Sex sells, but I still find barely covered crotches in family television vulgar and something not to be desensitized about. Sadly, we get used to this in the dance world. Maybe I should go comment on a NYTimes article. Ok now I'm going to be held accountable... oy vey... tikkun or crazy?
***
Conclusion: I'm not being hypocritical by staying in the secular dance world and teaching dance to frum women. When you look at the programing at the venues I'm trying to teach at, there are no dance classes. So I'm still attending to a dearse even as I slowly accept gifts. And the beauty of it all comes from the fact that I am neither teaching men nor teaching someone else to teach them. (Well, not yet anyway...)
Another paradigm shift.
1) I'm not becoming "religious," "observant," or crazy(er). I'm simply accepting a gift. A metaphor, of which I am rather proud of being the progenitress, goes as follows:
If someone wants to give you a huge pile of gifts, they can do it one of two ways. They can give you all of them at once, resulting in the pile either crushing you into a pancake or collecting dust in a broom closet. They could also choose to give them to you one at a time, thereby letting you enjoy unwrapping them and take your time integrating them into your life. "Please, sir, can I have some more?"
2) Rabbi Manis Friedman
When orthodox women go to medical school, they touch men. It is a part of their job. The same goes for orthodox men, which is why everybody likes to use the example of the orthodox male gynecologist (seriously, there is one in New York City, or so they say). And the same goes for dancers. Touch between men and women is a part of the job.
Dance is not spiritual. It is just dance. A sculptor takes a block of marble and chips away at it until it becomes a statue. A singer uses her voice to produce a song. The sculptor is taking something mundane (a rock), and gives "life" to something hidden because he has talent. The singer puts breath into her body and her talent makes that music beautiful. Anyone can throw paint at a canvas, but a talented painter can make you think you're looking out of a window. These talented people may enjoy revealing beauty in the mudane (hopefully), but they are not praying.
Talent is just the bridge between ordinary and extraordinary. The dancer takes her body, gives it breath and because of her talent (and years of hard work and obsessive dedication), the result is extraordinary. I don't "have" to dance; I "want" to dance. That's why I keep saying "but I'm not confused when I enter the studio." That's because it is a job. I mean, I did say I wanted to dance professionally...
That being said, even at a wedding we're not elevating sparks. Hashem is not carrying us around the bride. We want to dance. We are not compelled to dance. Both Giselle and Victoria Paige were emotionally unstable.
While I don't have the capacity to become a tzadik (I can and have eaten unwashed and unelevated strawberries. gasp!), I do have the capacity to become a benoni, as do we all. So I have a talent. It's ok to use it as long as I do so in ways that are respectful toward my physical body and the world around it. I can dance in the secular world and still be a good person who is choosing not to transgress.
(*Warning* Rant on SYTYCD coming up...)
I may even have the opportunity to curb some of the vulgarity in the dance world. (I mean, "So You Think You Can Dance" was more like "So You Think You Can See My Crotch" this year. There were at least 10 slow motion side splits per episode. Those cameramen must have had a great time.) Intentional "vulgarity" used to make a statement (Michaelangelo is not considered a pornographer) is one thing, but "being sexy" is not the same as being objectified. One is a choice by the performer and the other is imposed by the viewer. The viewer can never know performer intent, but the choreographer can define the context in which the performance can be viewed. (Of course, in the case of SYTYCD, the choreographers are at the mercy of the producers, who are at the mercy of FOX television, who are is at the mercy of millions of viewers, who are at the mercy of the Hollywood aesthetic, etc... Would the guys have done better in the finale if they'd been wearing speedos? Boxers may have been a big deal for Tadd, but bras and bikinis were the standard uniform for the ladies. Wait a minute... didn't Nigel all but force Caitlyn to sexually mature in a matter of weeks on national television? yicko!) Sex sells, but I still find barely covered crotches in family television vulgar and something not to be desensitized about. Sadly, we get used to this in the dance world. Maybe I should go comment on a NYTimes article. Ok now I'm going to be held accountable... oy vey... tikkun or crazy?
***
Conclusion: I'm not being hypocritical by staying in the secular dance world and teaching dance to frum women. When you look at the programing at the venues I'm trying to teach at, there are no dance classes. So I'm still attending to a dearse even as I slowly accept gifts. And the beauty of it all comes from the fact that I am neither teaching men nor teaching someone else to teach them. (Well, not yet anyway...)
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Follow-up appointments
Hi folks!
First of all, I want to thank you for your beautiful messages and for inspiring me to share my stories.
Second, I know I left a bunch of cliff hangers in these posts. If you're dying to find out what happened, leave a comment below and I'll fill you in. So many stories, so few fingers...
Much love,
Syd
p.s. stay tuned. I have a feeling some amazing things are about to go down at the National Jewish Retreat :)
First of all, I want to thank you for your beautiful messages and for inspiring me to share my stories.
Second, I know I left a bunch of cliff hangers in these posts. If you're dying to find out what happened, leave a comment below and I'll fill you in. So many stories, so few fingers...
Much love,
Syd
p.s. stay tuned. I have a feeling some amazing things are about to go down at the National Jewish Retreat :)
Land a plane, strike a match
That was so cute. I was feeling sick as I left Israel, then as soon as I hit NYC turf, I started dancing, itching to move, to be greater than the limits of my skin. I'd been wondering where that had gone. Of course, I never sat still for that long in Israel... :)
Yep. I really do <3 ny.
But I also <3 Israel. They're both so different. They complement and complete each other. One is not better than the other (for me right now anyway). I mean, they took my people here too, and even in Eretz Yisroel we're still in exile.
__________________
A few thoughts upon returning:
I feel like my whole flight was sanctified. It rained on both ends. And the last holy city I was in was tiveria. Wow.
------
The retreat is like my Malava malca:) I get to ease my way back into NYC, cold turkey in or out is dangerous. (that's why Kabbalat shabbat is there:)
------
Hmm... Pop music is so much better here. Granted half of what was on the radio was American, but it was all techno. Sounds the same after a while, although you can say the same thing about hip hop... And not everybody likes the "uhyuhyui" sarit hadad (but I do, and so do the karmel falafel joint people, and the group camping on kof amnon).
----
My one regret (truly, I have no others, it's amazing:) is that I didn't film Ehad Ani Yodea for you. Granted, since I'm publicizing this I'd be more likely to get caught infringing on the copyright, but that was definitely one of the most powerful and exhilarating experiences of my trip. Oh well. I guess I'll just have to get into the ensemble, make Aliyah and make you pay to see me perform the piece;)
Yep. I really do <3 ny.
But I also <3 Israel. They're both so different. They complement and complete each other. One is not better than the other (for me right now anyway). I mean, they took my people here too, and even in Eretz Yisroel we're still in exile.
__________________
A few thoughts upon returning:
I feel like my whole flight was sanctified. It rained on both ends. And the last holy city I was in was tiveria. Wow.
------
The retreat is like my Malava malca:) I get to ease my way back into NYC, cold turkey in or out is dangerous. (that's why Kabbalat shabbat is there:)
------
Hmm... Pop music is so much better here. Granted half of what was on the radio was American, but it was all techno. Sounds the same after a while, although you can say the same thing about hip hop... And not everybody likes the "uhyuhyui" sarit hadad (but I do, and so do the karmel falafel joint people, and the group camping on kof amnon).
----
My one regret (truly, I have no others, it's amazing:) is that I didn't film Ehad Ani Yodea for you. Granted, since I'm publicizing this I'd be more likely to get caught infringing on the copyright, but that was definitely one of the most powerful and exhilarating experiences of my trip. Oh well. I guess I'll just have to get into the ensemble, make Aliyah and make you pay to see me perform the piece;)
Conduction aphasia
Apparently, Israel cries when I leave (happened on Birthright too). Although the tears might be tears of joy and not sadness. Maybe she knows I'll be back soon :) At any rate, she needs the water.
And apparently, I'm much more open now. Shani came back (right as I was leaving at 4am) and the first thing she said was how relaxed I looked, even when I felt stressed out about packing. A group of young Israeli boys at the train station also picked up on that. It's a shame they didn't ask which way the train was going. If I'd known, I might have had company during the ride. Oh well. C'est la vie.
And why didn't I ask if she spoke French? I bet she did. When looking for the tachana hamerkazit, the person I asked for directions asked me if I spoke English. I said yes. Then she asked me if I spoke Spanish. I said yes, poqito, mais je ne peut pas revenir l'espagnol. I tried and tried but all I could think of was french!! She asked me to say something to prove I spoke Spanish but I was a total blank. Eventually, she just walked me down the block until I saw the golden arches. I guess 6 years of suffering paid off. Madame's scare tactics obviously did something to my wernike's area. I see three semesters of Spanish at pton weren't so helpful after all, unless you count their reinforcement of French. Honestly. I'll never understand that one.
And apparently, I'm much more open now. Shani came back (right as I was leaving at 4am) and the first thing she said was how relaxed I looked, even when I felt stressed out about packing. A group of young Israeli boys at the train station also picked up on that. It's a shame they didn't ask which way the train was going. If I'd known, I might have had company during the ride. Oh well. C'est la vie.
And why didn't I ask if she spoke French? I bet she did. When looking for the tachana hamerkazit, the person I asked for directions asked me if I spoke English. I said yes. Then she asked me if I spoke Spanish. I said yes, poqito, mais je ne peut pas revenir l'espagnol. I tried and tried but all I could think of was french!! She asked me to say something to prove I spoke Spanish but I was a total blank. Eventually, she just walked me down the block until I saw the golden arches. I guess 6 years of suffering paid off. Madame's scare tactics obviously did something to my wernike's area. I see three semesters of Spanish at pton weren't so helpful after all, unless you count their reinforcement of French. Honestly. I'll never understand that one.
Don't let it get away!
As I was leaving the women's kollel in Chevron on Thursday, I did some math and realized that if I was going to make it to Kof Amnon (a beach on the Kineret) by sundown I was going to have to get on a bus to Yerushalayim asap, a bus which had just passed by the stop in Chevron. As it turned out, about 5 minutes out of Chevron in Kiryat Arba we saw the bus to Yerushalayim. We jumped out of the car and raced after the bus. I figured that if I was going to get anywhere up North I would have to start my journey now (3pm) and if all my plans fell apart I'd figure something out.
So I started making phone calls. I had called a friend I was supposed to go camping with while walking through the Arab quarter in Chevron (don't ask) who said the plans fell through but I could call these two people who might want to go camping. I called and both were going to weddings, but one offered to lend me a sleeping bag (logistics would have been impossible). So I called another friend with whom I had agreed to go camping with originally and said "do you want to go camping tonight?" She said she'd work it out and call me back later.
I get on a bus to Tiveria from the Jerusalem central bus station and call Big Mo about shabbos. Turns out the family I was going to stay with in the golan was in america, but that i could call this other person. I called and they said they didn't have room but that i could call this other person, who was a bit weird. I called Big Mo and he said these other "weird" people were actually very nice (inspiring artists = weird apparently ;) and I should call them. So I called them and they said they weren't planning to have anyone but I could call this other person to see if i could come for dinner. this other person was the first person I called and they said i could come for lunch on saturday.
As it turned out, the only reason I had a place to sleep with the not-lunch people is because the person I was going camping with had wanted to bring her five camping buddies with her (it was a two bedroom apartment, although this has been done before). When the not-lunch "weird" people said they weren't doing a big shabbos this week and that they could do shabbos camping on this nice beach nearby, they ended up with a place for me to sleep. And the dinner was lovely. But I'm getting ahead of myself...
Do not travel on Thursday afternoons or Sunday mornings in Israel. Well, duh. Shabbos. So this 4:20-7 bus didn't make it in to Tiveria until 8:30. The free bus around the kineret stops running at 8. The bus to Kiryat Shemona doesn't get there until 9:40 (and I only knew this because there were people at the bus stop who assured me it was going to come, despite the fact that it was not on the schedule). Of course, all of this could have been prevented if I'd gotten on the Kiryat Shemona bus in Jerusalem. Maybe.
Even though we missed the sunset, my friend, her friend and I camped out on the grass under the stars, talking nearly all through the night and catching the sunrise behind us (we were on the East side of the Kineret. View's better from Tiveria.) I actually have some photos and video from this adventure, which I'll post as soon as I can get my camera to work...
Long story short, I made my way to Tsfat in the morning, finally found a bookstore that had (a huge stack of) Jewish Meditation, picked up a small Tehilat Hashem siddur (so glad I have that), and made my way up the other hill to Juliet for shakra cleansing round two.
Shabbos in Tiveria (with, as it turned out, both of the two English speaking Chabad families in town) was calm and relaxing, the bus to Tel Aviv was chill, packed up and overlapped with Shani's arrival around 4am, then headed out to Ben Gurion for yet another uneventful travel excursion. Who knew transportation could be so un-dramatic? Un-wild...
So I started making phone calls. I had called a friend I was supposed to go camping with while walking through the Arab quarter in Chevron (don't ask) who said the plans fell through but I could call these two people who might want to go camping. I called and both were going to weddings, but one offered to lend me a sleeping bag (logistics would have been impossible). So I called another friend with whom I had agreed to go camping with originally and said "do you want to go camping tonight?" She said she'd work it out and call me back later.
I get on a bus to Tiveria from the Jerusalem central bus station and call Big Mo about shabbos. Turns out the family I was going to stay with in the golan was in america, but that i could call this other person. I called and they said they didn't have room but that i could call this other person, who was a bit weird. I called Big Mo and he said these other "weird" people were actually very nice (inspiring artists = weird apparently ;) and I should call them. So I called them and they said they weren't planning to have anyone but I could call this other person to see if i could come for dinner. this other person was the first person I called and they said i could come for lunch on saturday.
As it turned out, the only reason I had a place to sleep with the not-lunch people is because the person I was going camping with had wanted to bring her five camping buddies with her (it was a two bedroom apartment, although this has been done before). When the not-lunch "weird" people said they weren't doing a big shabbos this week and that they could do shabbos camping on this nice beach nearby, they ended up with a place for me to sleep. And the dinner was lovely. But I'm getting ahead of myself...
Do not travel on Thursday afternoons or Sunday mornings in Israel. Well, duh. Shabbos. So this 4:20-7 bus didn't make it in to Tiveria until 8:30. The free bus around the kineret stops running at 8. The bus to Kiryat Shemona doesn't get there until 9:40 (and I only knew this because there were people at the bus stop who assured me it was going to come, despite the fact that it was not on the schedule). Of course, all of this could have been prevented if I'd gotten on the Kiryat Shemona bus in Jerusalem. Maybe.
Even though we missed the sunset, my friend, her friend and I camped out on the grass under the stars, talking nearly all through the night and catching the sunrise behind us (we were on the East side of the Kineret. View's better from Tiveria.) I actually have some photos and video from this adventure, which I'll post as soon as I can get my camera to work...
Long story short, I made my way to Tsfat in the morning, finally found a bookstore that had (a huge stack of) Jewish Meditation, picked up a small Tehilat Hashem siddur (so glad I have that), and made my way up the other hill to Juliet for shakra cleansing round two.
Shabbos in Tiveria (with, as it turned out, both of the two English speaking Chabad families in town) was calm and relaxing, the bus to Tel Aviv was chill, packed up and overlapped with Shani's arrival around 4am, then headed out to Ben Gurion for yet another uneventful travel excursion. Who knew transportation could be so un-dramatic? Un-wild...
DON'T PANIC
I should meditate on that one.
----
Chassidus is psychology infused with spirituality. It's like someone has already put gaga into form. Time is precious. You can spend it reinventing the wheel but you don't have to. It's much more fun attaching the wheel to a car and driving somewhere. Although I suppose you might appreciate the car more if you have to buy it than if someone just gives it to you.
-------
I made a "mistake." Hashem said "ok, so you made a mistake. I'll give you a chance to do something good with it." I heard and then I chose not to listen. And then I chose to take something "bad" and make it worse. That's a lot of choices. Boy is free will a responsibility...
----------
2) sometimes I just have to trust Hashem and have patience through the "bad" stuff. With some hindsight, it's probably not so bad, so why waste the time feeling sorry for myself when I could be making good use of the wait?
1) "Sometimes you meet people because they have to give you a message." My roommate said I have to forgive myself (she also said the thing about messengers, a message she got the day before). Ok, so all this happened. It's not my fault, it's not a bad thing and it's not something to be "faulty" about (couldn't figure out a better way to say this). What is my "fault" is how I handled it.
Next time, I will try not to take myself (and this journey) so seriously. I need to learn to laugh at myself. Life really is funny, for the most part. And I will cleanse my shakras sooner after an event before I become a vessel for this energy and curdle. "Even if I'm sensitive, so what? I deeply and completely love myself and I accept myself without judgment." Now, is this really something that's supposed to hurt me?
In hindsight, my time in tel aviv wasn't such a waste. So I lost 143 shekels. I'll grade some extra essays when I get back. Maybe something good happened to the cab driver after I left. If not, maybe I avoided something bad. Maybe he was really there to help somebody else who needed him and by staying I would have prevented it. Maybe nothing happened. Who knows.
And does it really matter? If I tracked every flap of my wings I'd go crazy(er). I'd also be completely blind to what I was currently doing (wow. Talk about in-tense). "Even if I judge myself harshly, so what? I deeply and completely love myself an I accept myself without judgment." If you want, I'll teach you the shakra tapping pattern that goes with this when I get back to ny (note: I did not say "home";).
--------
And wednesday morning I got a call from Rachel inviting me to stay over in bat ayin with her and go to chevron with mirriam on Thursday. So, I could have left from tsfat Wednesday morning. I could have taken a bus straight from tel aviv-jafo hatackana hamerkazit. I could have done laundry in tafat. I could have learned a lesson from a messenger in tsfat. I could have this I could have that I could have ... "Even if I made a decision, so what? I deeply and completely love myself and I accept myself without judgment."
Getting on a bus is not inherently good or bad. It's just a choice. One of billions and billions that present themselves to me every moment of my life. It's all about what I make of it. I didn't necessarily run away from something. I wanted to run to something. When I got there, I discovered that what I was looking for wasn't there. "Even if I felt disappointed, so what? I deeply and completely love myself and I accept myself without judgment."
--------
And none of it matters anyway.
It's much more fun to bring the right cake to a good friend and to discover the best (aka cheapest) falafel in Jerusalem with an amazing rebbetzin who runs an amazing seminary to whom I was recommended by two new friends independently, one of which almost stayed with the family I stayed with this shabbat. Trippy...
--------
I'm growing into a very big niche in the frum world, but the only way I can fulfill my potential is my remaining in the secular world. I'll be able to travel, make a lucrative career out of dance and be able to create the work I want to create. And I have at least ten years to grow into this, or at least into the beginning of this. (I mean, can you really see a 23 year old teaching a seminar to hundreds of people? Go ahead, call me crazy, but I can...) Hmm, sounds like the original plan: dance and travel the world. Who knew this is what Hashem had in "mind?" (again with the anthropomorphisms, although I'm getting used to it again).
----
Chassidus is psychology infused with spirituality. It's like someone has already put gaga into form. Time is precious. You can spend it reinventing the wheel but you don't have to. It's much more fun attaching the wheel to a car and driving somewhere. Although I suppose you might appreciate the car more if you have to buy it than if someone just gives it to you.
-------
I made a "mistake." Hashem said "ok, so you made a mistake. I'll give you a chance to do something good with it." I heard and then I chose not to listen. And then I chose to take something "bad" and make it worse. That's a lot of choices. Boy is free will a responsibility...
----------
2) sometimes I just have to trust Hashem and have patience through the "bad" stuff. With some hindsight, it's probably not so bad, so why waste the time feeling sorry for myself when I could be making good use of the wait?
1) "Sometimes you meet people because they have to give you a message." My roommate said I have to forgive myself (she also said the thing about messengers, a message she got the day before). Ok, so all this happened. It's not my fault, it's not a bad thing and it's not something to be "faulty" about (couldn't figure out a better way to say this). What is my "fault" is how I handled it.
Next time, I will try not to take myself (and this journey) so seriously. I need to learn to laugh at myself. Life really is funny, for the most part. And I will cleanse my shakras sooner after an event before I become a vessel for this energy and curdle. "Even if I'm sensitive, so what? I deeply and completely love myself and I accept myself without judgment." Now, is this really something that's supposed to hurt me?
In hindsight, my time in tel aviv wasn't such a waste. So I lost 143 shekels. I'll grade some extra essays when I get back. Maybe something good happened to the cab driver after I left. If not, maybe I avoided something bad. Maybe he was really there to help somebody else who needed him and by staying I would have prevented it. Maybe nothing happened. Who knows.
And does it really matter? If I tracked every flap of my wings I'd go crazy(er). I'd also be completely blind to what I was currently doing (wow. Talk about in-tense). "Even if I judge myself harshly, so what? I deeply and completely love myself an I accept myself without judgment." If you want, I'll teach you the shakra tapping pattern that goes with this when I get back to ny (note: I did not say "home";).
--------
And wednesday morning I got a call from Rachel inviting me to stay over in bat ayin with her and go to chevron with mirriam on Thursday. So, I could have left from tsfat Wednesday morning. I could have taken a bus straight from tel aviv-jafo hatackana hamerkazit. I could have done laundry in tafat. I could have learned a lesson from a messenger in tsfat. I could have this I could have that I could have ... "Even if I made a decision, so what? I deeply and completely love myself and I accept myself without judgment."
Getting on a bus is not inherently good or bad. It's just a choice. One of billions and billions that present themselves to me every moment of my life. It's all about what I make of it. I didn't necessarily run away from something. I wanted to run to something. When I got there, I discovered that what I was looking for wasn't there. "Even if I felt disappointed, so what? I deeply and completely love myself and I accept myself without judgment."
--------
And none of it matters anyway.
It's much more fun to bring the right cake to a good friend and to discover the best (aka cheapest) falafel in Jerusalem with an amazing rebbetzin who runs an amazing seminary to whom I was recommended by two new friends independently, one of which almost stayed with the family I stayed with this shabbat. Trippy...
--------
I'm growing into a very big niche in the frum world, but the only way I can fulfill my potential is my remaining in the secular world. I'll be able to travel, make a lucrative career out of dance and be able to create the work I want to create. And I have at least ten years to grow into this, or at least into the beginning of this. (I mean, can you really see a 23 year old teaching a seminar to hundreds of people? Go ahead, call me crazy, but I can...) Hmm, sounds like the original plan: dance and travel the world. Who knew this is what Hashem had in "mind?" (again with the anthropomorphisms, although I'm getting used to it again).
Before these turn into cottage cheese...
A collection of thoughts from the past week. Imperfect but I owe you...
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
In retrospect, I should have ____
I spent the day of mourning for the Holy of Holies in transit, in sleep and in selfishness. I was mourning my own mistakes, thereby subjugating the collective woes of my people. We spend so much time praying for the coming of Moshiach and the rebuilding of the Temple and I have to choose the most cursed day to bolt. How ironic. Well, next year in Yerushalayim, G-d willing. Hopefully I won't have to wait that long (now who's G-d here? Tricky question)
I suppose it's fitting though. I ran out of steam erev tisha b'av. I also got a little ruffled last night when I visited a woman who lives in tsfat and teaches ballet to frum girls. I had no idea she was also a practitioner of a shakra energy-cleansing psychotherapy technique wrapped up in Torah and Tanya. I dont know how we went from talking about dance to 4 hours of that. An emotional mess, I fled from tsfat. Now I'm back in tel aviv. Not as thrilling as it used to be.
---------
On a happier note, I met "all the superstars of chabad in Israel" this past week. "2 second" hungry caterpillar recap:
On Tuesday I tried out jerusalem's emergency room (if you ever need one, go to the one behind the central bus station, even if you're not in Jerusalem)
On Wednesday, mayanot and kever Rachel with mirriam Rhodes, spent the night in bat ayin with musician Rachel ferency
On thursday sampled all the grapes in her husband's vineyard (kiddush will never be the same. Wow. So, kids, who wants to bomb the afternoon Sauvignon blancs?) and drove the scenic route to tsfat with mirriam and one of the schwartz's sons (chabad at UCLA), checked into ascent of Safed, visited the Arizal on his yartzeit (with thousands of hareidi jews) and stayed up until 5 am talking (surprised?)
On Friday I spent an amazing shabbos at ascent (where I already knew at least 5 people from chevron and mayanot), took classes, learned Tanya and read a lot
On Saturday I learned, I ate, I learned, I ate, I danced, I ate. Shabbat Shalom!
On Sunday I decided to stay in tsfat, tried out kabbalistic meditation on the letter aleph (gonna take a while to get to nun...), and went on a midnight walk with Olivia Schwartz
I spent monday morning at machon alte, and finally ended up at this woman's house, whose husband is a cousin of the rebbe and still talks to him.
I'm not surprised I'm tired, although I should have stayed in tsfat. Laundry is not a very good premise for travelling all night, particularly when you're not paying for housing (Shoshana and "Big Mo" are amazing).
And not only do I know at least seven people who are going to be back in ny soon, but I also have a place where I might be able to start teaching dance to women in crown heights. If one humbling day of destruction makes me want to go back so badly, it couldn't have been for naught, right?
I suppose it's fitting though. I ran out of steam erev tisha b'av. I also got a little ruffled last night when I visited a woman who lives in tsfat and teaches ballet to frum girls. I had no idea she was also a practitioner of a shakra energy-cleansing psychotherapy technique wrapped up in Torah and Tanya. I dont know how we went from talking about dance to 4 hours of that. An emotional mess, I fled from tsfat. Now I'm back in tel aviv. Not as thrilling as it used to be.
---------
On a happier note, I met "all the superstars of chabad in Israel" this past week. "2 second" hungry caterpillar recap:
On Tuesday I tried out jerusalem's emergency room (if you ever need one, go to the one behind the central bus station, even if you're not in Jerusalem)
On Wednesday, mayanot and kever Rachel with mirriam Rhodes, spent the night in bat ayin with musician Rachel ferency
On thursday sampled all the grapes in her husband's vineyard (kiddush will never be the same. Wow. So, kids, who wants to bomb the afternoon Sauvignon blancs?) and drove the scenic route to tsfat with mirriam and one of the schwartz's sons (chabad at UCLA), checked into ascent of Safed, visited the Arizal on his yartzeit (with thousands of hareidi jews) and stayed up until 5 am talking (surprised?)
On Friday I spent an amazing shabbos at ascent (where I already knew at least 5 people from chevron and mayanot), took classes, learned Tanya and read a lot
On Saturday I learned, I ate, I learned, I ate, I danced, I ate. Shabbat Shalom!
On Sunday I decided to stay in tsfat, tried out kabbalistic meditation on the letter aleph (gonna take a while to get to nun...), and went on a midnight walk with Olivia Schwartz
I spent monday morning at machon alte, and finally ended up at this woman's house, whose husband is a cousin of the rebbe and still talks to him.
I'm not surprised I'm tired, although I should have stayed in tsfat. Laundry is not a very good premise for travelling all night, particularly when you're not paying for housing (Shoshana and "Big Mo" are amazing).
And not only do I know at least seven people who are going to be back in ny soon, but I also have a place where I might be able to start teaching dance to women in crown heights. If one humbling day of destruction makes me want to go back so badly, it couldn't have been for naught, right?
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Tisha B'Av
I owe you a story so full of simcha it's going to be a party just to relive it with you. Unfortunately, I don't feel like celebrating today (or editing out failed humor). How ironic.
To be completely honest, I fizzled out yesterday (more like got really scared). I ran away from tsfat erev tisha b'av. I spent the whole night on busses, trains and in taxis, wasting money (I had free lodging at ascent) and completely ignoring Hashem (I had an amazing opportunity to give tzedakah and make a new friend and I ran away from it, turning tzedakah into dust and my ego into my enemy). I really hope hashkacha practis doesn't only happen in holy cities and San fransisco.
I'm in tel aviv again. Miserable, angry and alone. Apparently, I also failed miserably. I thought the only reason I was making friend after friend from chevron to tsfat was through my "pretending to be religious." I don't remember who put that idea in my head, but it's poisonous. I'm not sure it's true but I'm also not sure it's false. I do know that this morning was the first time in two weeks I haven't said modeh ani (I tried but couldn't remember the words) and the first time in a week I didn't wash (also something that is meaningful to me now).
Oy vey. Light bulb. It's tisha b'av and I'm running away from my people and my faith, looking for Hashem and finding He's hidden, and putting myself in exile because I have doubts. An incredible week started when I took a leap of faith and got off a bus. It all ended when I got on a bus. (I owe you that story. It's something I wish you could have without the vicarious part:)
People seem to like me. A lot. And I don't think it has that much to do with how religious I become. It's me who doesn't like me, or so I learned yesterday when I spent the evening with a woman who is married to a cousin of the Rebbe (who still talks to him, and hears him talk back).
What a bala gan. Can you imagine how hard it must have been for the Jews the last time they left Eretz Yisroel? They didn't have email.
To be completely honest, I fizzled out yesterday (more like got really scared). I ran away from tsfat erev tisha b'av. I spent the whole night on busses, trains and in taxis, wasting money (I had free lodging at ascent) and completely ignoring Hashem (I had an amazing opportunity to give tzedakah and make a new friend and I ran away from it, turning tzedakah into dust and my ego into my enemy). I really hope hashkacha practis doesn't only happen in holy cities and San fransisco.
I'm in tel aviv again. Miserable, angry and alone. Apparently, I also failed miserably. I thought the only reason I was making friend after friend from chevron to tsfat was through my "pretending to be religious." I don't remember who put that idea in my head, but it's poisonous. I'm not sure it's true but I'm also not sure it's false. I do know that this morning was the first time in two weeks I haven't said modeh ani (I tried but couldn't remember the words) and the first time in a week I didn't wash (also something that is meaningful to me now).
Oy vey. Light bulb. It's tisha b'av and I'm running away from my people and my faith, looking for Hashem and finding He's hidden, and putting myself in exile because I have doubts. An incredible week started when I took a leap of faith and got off a bus. It all ended when I got on a bus. (I owe you that story. It's something I wish you could have without the vicarious part:)
People seem to like me. A lot. And I don't think it has that much to do with how religious I become. It's me who doesn't like me, or so I learned yesterday when I spent the evening with a woman who is married to a cousin of the Rebbe (who still talks to him, and hears him talk back).
What a bala gan. Can you imagine how hard it must have been for the Jews the last time they left Eretz Yisroel? They didn't have email.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Ein lach yafeh min hatsnius
There is nothing more beautiful than tsnius.
And this is why you don't date somebody in the first year of Baal teshuvah: they're schizophrenic. Tsnius is not just about helping men keep a challenging commandment. It's really about you. It's about self respect and about taking control of the way you are perceived in society. If you want someone to look at your face, don't wear a plunging neckline. Visa versa, don't wear a skirt with a slit up the back. Ironically, these fashion techniques are subconscious ways to guide the eye downwards and upwards toward the most guarded part of the body, the part that even secular society generally agrees should be guarded. -- wait, really? OF COURSE I want to go ride in the tractor. Let me just grab my camera...
And yes, here is where you're going to see pictures. Once I can get home, I'll post all of the amazing photos I took of a small vineyard in the middle of the desert. You'll see Chardonnay, Sauvignon blanc, mary-lous, tractors, refractors, and acres of beautiful grape vines, each planted, nurtured, tea tree oil sprayed, and harvested by the two hands of one brave American who made Aliyah and a beautiful family in Eretz Yisrael. And someone wants to bomb this because? It's like kindergarten: One kid ignores a toy until another kid starts playing with it. It's all hell or bust.
This is Israel like you don't get to see in the pictures. Which is precisely why I took them for you :)
And this is why you don't date somebody in the first year of Baal teshuvah: they're schizophrenic. Tsnius is not just about helping men keep a challenging commandment. It's really about you. It's about self respect and about taking control of the way you are perceived in society. If you want someone to look at your face, don't wear a plunging neckline. Visa versa, don't wear a skirt with a slit up the back. Ironically, these fashion techniques are subconscious ways to guide the eye downwards and upwards toward the most guarded part of the body, the part that even secular society generally agrees should be guarded. -- wait, really? OF COURSE I want to go ride in the tractor. Let me just grab my camera...
And yes, here is where you're going to see pictures. Once I can get home, I'll post all of the amazing photos I took of a small vineyard in the middle of the desert. You'll see Chardonnay, Sauvignon blanc, mary-lous, tractors, refractors, and acres of beautiful grape vines, each planted, nurtured, tea tree oil sprayed, and harvested by the two hands of one brave American who made Aliyah and a beautiful family in Eretz Yisrael. And someone wants to bomb this because? It's like kindergarten: One kid ignores a toy until another kid starts playing with it. It's all hell or bust.
This is Israel like you don't get to see in the pictures. Which is precisely why I took them for you :)
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
If you need a doctor, go to Yerushalayim.
Jerusalem has the most amazing ER ever. I was out with a diagnosis and prescription in about 20 min. Seriously. Aparently, if I had asked anyone, they would have told me to go there. B"H accidents happen; I went on a whim when I saw it behind the central bus station.
A few hours earlier, valiantly attempting to fend for myself, I took a cab to one of the worst parts of tel aviv, was told that I would have to pay 1000 shekels ($300) upfront and probably wouldn't get treated, told to go across the street to the clinic, told at the clinic that I need to open a file at the ER and make an appointment, and was told that bus shmonim v'arba would take me to hatachana hamerkazit (I was so proud of myself for conducting that entire conversation b'ivrit :)
Oh, and I was looking to spend money at an ER because I had a mass behind my ear. Turns out I really do understand how to send waves through my body at the molecular level: I had an ingrown toenail that got infected during the intensive. Didn't think it was worth mentioning before, but yeah, it looked like a lollipop. Doc was amused when he came back with a prescription for a juicy lymph node and I excitedly took off a shoe.
The best was definitely the part where I ended up in a hareidi shopping mall. Every shop was tsnius, every restaurant was kosher, there was even a Beit Knesset across from the sushi joint (don't quote me on the sushi part. I don't really remember what it was but sushi sounds cool). Thank G-d I was dressed appropriately! I don't know whether the security guard at the hospital would have thought to warn me if I had been wearing pants (it was actually cold out so the cardigan might not have been an issue) but I'm glad I didn't have to find out.
Speaking of tsnius (oh right, I was picking up antibiotics at the nearest pharmacy, which is why I was in the hareidi mall), I felt very different about "playing dress up" today. Rather than thinking of "skirts and sleeves" as being something I wore out of respect, it became something I was doing to help someone else keep a challenging mitzvah. Vise versa, if someone chooses to go see a dance performance, the decision to take the risk is theirs, not mine.
Punchline: I would not go into a hareidi mall and put on a dance performance (but I would still go in if I needed a pharmacy, or a tsnius dress I couldn't find on Yaffa). Sounds obvious, nachon? If I keep my stumbling blocks far away from the blind, I expect that the blind won't stumble over them. On the other hand, do I have an obligation to help blind men who choose to see?
B'seder. I'm going to go sleep on that achshav, and pray for patience as I, my new friend and her rav forge ahead with the excavation.
A few hours earlier, valiantly attempting to fend for myself, I took a cab to one of the worst parts of tel aviv, was told that I would have to pay 1000 shekels ($300) upfront and probably wouldn't get treated, told to go across the street to the clinic, told at the clinic that I need to open a file at the ER and make an appointment, and was told that bus shmonim v'arba would take me to hatachana hamerkazit (I was so proud of myself for conducting that entire conversation b'ivrit :)
Oh, and I was looking to spend money at an ER because I had a mass behind my ear. Turns out I really do understand how to send waves through my body at the molecular level: I had an ingrown toenail that got infected during the intensive. Didn't think it was worth mentioning before, but yeah, it looked like a lollipop. Doc was amused when he came back with a prescription for a juicy lymph node and I excitedly took off a shoe.
The best was definitely the part where I ended up in a hareidi shopping mall. Every shop was tsnius, every restaurant was kosher, there was even a Beit Knesset across from the sushi joint (don't quote me on the sushi part. I don't really remember what it was but sushi sounds cool). Thank G-d I was dressed appropriately! I don't know whether the security guard at the hospital would have thought to warn me if I had been wearing pants (it was actually cold out so the cardigan might not have been an issue) but I'm glad I didn't have to find out.
Speaking of tsnius (oh right, I was picking up antibiotics at the nearest pharmacy, which is why I was in the hareidi mall), I felt very different about "playing dress up" today. Rather than thinking of "skirts and sleeves" as being something I wore out of respect, it became something I was doing to help someone else keep a challenging mitzvah. Vise versa, if someone chooses to go see a dance performance, the decision to take the risk is theirs, not mine.
Punchline: I would not go into a hareidi mall and put on a dance performance (but I would still go in if I needed a pharmacy, or a tsnius dress I couldn't find on Yaffa). Sounds obvious, nachon? If I keep my stumbling blocks far away from the blind, I expect that the blind won't stumble over them. On the other hand, do I have an obligation to help blind men who choose to see?
B'seder. I'm going to go sleep on that achshav, and pray for patience as I, my new friend and her rav forge ahead with the excavation.
There's an app for that. Seriously.
(Sunday)
Amazing. My journey to find Jewish meditation brought me to a bookstore where the owner decided to talk to me. Not just me taking advantage of an opportunity, but someone else too. Having added tanya to my search, I ended up at another bookshop and found a "fun" book I've only read in barnes&noble cafes. Then I came to the shop by the kotel and failed to find Jewish meditation (and I came all the way from tel aviv...) but finally opened a copy of Tanya. I read the intro ("warning"), read (skimmed, "read" just sounds better) chapter one, put it back on the shelf, and realized that I wanted to learn Torah and Tanya. You can't read Tanya without Torah (I have mad respect for zalman's parenthetical referencing), and I have a good feeling that after I finish vol one and two on rabbi z, I'll have a better sense of whether this feels like the right road for me, syd schiff, right now.
I know you're not supposed to need a "reason" to study Torah, but it cant hurt to have one, achshav, can it?
Moral of the story: I learned a lot about myself today, picked up some great used books (and a bootleg cd...), but have more ground to cover since I still haven't found Jewish meditation. Oy vey... At least I'm burning off this morning's rugulah. Marzipan is ridic. Ridic.
______________
Wow. What a ridiculously intense 48 hours. I found a pocket size book of tehillim and one of special prayers. The first was beautiful because after davening maariv, I said my kapitel for the first time, followed by a series of personal prayers that felt like something I could have written, had I just known what I wanted to say. And I made up for the missed opportunity to say the prayer at the Me'arat ha-Machpelah. I figure they're connected via the earth and they're not so far away, so it still counts. And the author was more right than he could have known (prob did know I'm just desirous of feeling special) about the long and arduous journey to get to chevron. Yep. Wow.
And I smell like a hippie. I smelled like a hippie 24 hrs ago. Eww.
I always knew it was the spirituality, warmth and beauty of chabad that attracted me. It's the aggressive baal teshuva stuff that scares me away. Chabad itself isn't bad. It's beautiful. It's become a business in recent years, which seems to be contributing to the occasional coldness and instant conclusion that I'm just like everybody else, which strikes me as antithetical. What a shame. Although it does explain why I'm attracted to specific people in this community. And why Ivy leaguers might be drawn toward chochma-bina-da'at.
Now I just need to find a copy of Jewish Meditation...
Amazing. My journey to find Jewish meditation brought me to a bookstore where the owner decided to talk to me. Not just me taking advantage of an opportunity, but someone else too. Having added tanya to my search, I ended up at another bookshop and found a "fun" book I've only read in barnes&noble cafes. Then I came to the shop by the kotel and failed to find Jewish meditation (and I came all the way from tel aviv...) but finally opened a copy of Tanya. I read the intro ("warning"), read (skimmed, "read" just sounds better) chapter one, put it back on the shelf, and realized that I wanted to learn Torah and Tanya. You can't read Tanya without Torah (I have mad respect for zalman's parenthetical referencing), and I have a good feeling that after I finish vol one and two on rabbi z, I'll have a better sense of whether this feels like the right road for me, syd schiff, right now.
I know you're not supposed to need a "reason" to study Torah, but it cant hurt to have one, achshav, can it?
Moral of the story: I learned a lot about myself today, picked up some great used books (and a bootleg cd...), but have more ground to cover since I still haven't found Jewish meditation. Oy vey... At least I'm burning off this morning's rugulah. Marzipan is ridic. Ridic.
______________
Wow. What a ridiculously intense 48 hours. I found a pocket size book of tehillim and one of special prayers. The first was beautiful because after davening maariv, I said my kapitel for the first time, followed by a series of personal prayers that felt like something I could have written, had I just known what I wanted to say. And I made up for the missed opportunity to say the prayer at the Me'arat ha-Machpelah. I figure they're connected via the earth and they're not so far away, so it still counts. And the author was more right than he could have known (prob did know I'm just desirous of feeling special) about the long and arduous journey to get to chevron. Yep. Wow.
And I smell like a hippie. I smelled like a hippie 24 hrs ago. Eww.
I always knew it was the spirituality, warmth and beauty of chabad that attracted me. It's the aggressive baal teshuva stuff that scares me away. Chabad itself isn't bad. It's beautiful. It's become a business in recent years, which seems to be contributing to the occasional coldness and instant conclusion that I'm just like everybody else, which strikes me as antithetical. What a shame. Although it does explain why I'm attracted to specific people in this community. And why Ivy leaguers might be drawn toward chochma-bina-da'at.
Now I just need to find a copy of Jewish Meditation...
Is this kosher?
If I think dancing is right, then it's right. If I think it's wrong, then I should do something about it. I don't think I'm doing anything wrong. I am working under the premise that there is just one halachah and that it is engraved on stone. Susan Foster may agree with this stony interpretation, but it doesn't mean her opinion proves there is in fact just one halachah. A religious and a secular source agree on one point. So what? It's like the rebbe's letter quoted in Mind Over Matter about not needing to learn science. It was something said by one person to another, not by one person to many people. You might find it useful, but it wasn't necessarily addressed to you.
Rabbis, ravs and rebbes are supposed to give halachahic rulings to individuals who find themselves in seemingly paradoxical situations. Based on their particular situation and the particulars of the oral and written Torah, this ruling is completely kosher, so to speak. For someone else, it may be completely treifa. Good advice is good advice, but that doesn't mean you should heed the words of every wise person you meet. They may all be correct but you will inevitably be left in paradoxical situations. Oy vey bala gan.
If someone wants to cover her hair when she leaves class, ok, that's how she wants to express herself as a complex and thoughtful Jewish woman. She understands that dance space is an intimate space, but when she walks outside she wants people to know she's off limits. Onstage, it's all about costumes. Wearing vulnerability like clothes. In a sense, she is as guarded onstage and in the studio as she is outside. Its all about context again. Perhaps.
I like to say that in general I'm not confused when I enter dance space. Even dressed tsniusly, it's still confusing out in supposedly controlled religious environments (I was attracted to someone for about an hour and while I think it was mutual, it ended as soon as we started talking about educational bureaucracies). It would be nice to be able to have intellectual conversations with people without getting asked out afterwards (the scholar from the bookshop really cracked the experience for me when he offered to take me out for a beer in Yerushalayim. Seriously? I'm impressionable but not blind). Dressing like a dump doesn't serve the idea of tsnius very well, and even when I do it doesn't seem to make much of a difference (I looked and smelled a bit funky by the time I got to the bookshop). What a fine line it is between beauty and mystery.
Rabbis, ravs and rebbes are supposed to give halachahic rulings to individuals who find themselves in seemingly paradoxical situations. Based on their particular situation and the particulars of the oral and written Torah, this ruling is completely kosher, so to speak. For someone else, it may be completely treifa. Good advice is good advice, but that doesn't mean you should heed the words of every wise person you meet. They may all be correct but you will inevitably be left in paradoxical situations. Oy vey bala gan.
If someone wants to cover her hair when she leaves class, ok, that's how she wants to express herself as a complex and thoughtful Jewish woman. She understands that dance space is an intimate space, but when she walks outside she wants people to know she's off limits. Onstage, it's all about costumes. Wearing vulnerability like clothes. In a sense, she is as guarded onstage and in the studio as she is outside. Its all about context again. Perhaps.
I like to say that in general I'm not confused when I enter dance space. Even dressed tsniusly, it's still confusing out in supposedly controlled religious environments (I was attracted to someone for about an hour and while I think it was mutual, it ended as soon as we started talking about educational bureaucracies). It would be nice to be able to have intellectual conversations with people without getting asked out afterwards (the scholar from the bookshop really cracked the experience for me when he offered to take me out for a beer in Yerushalayim. Seriously? I'm impressionable but not blind). Dressing like a dump doesn't serve the idea of tsnius very well, and even when I do it doesn't seem to make much of a difference (I looked and smelled a bit funky by the time I got to the bookshop). What a fine line it is between beauty and mystery.
Monday, August 1, 2011
A slideshow
However many days I may not be sleeping on the couch I've rented, I'm actually happy I've got a home base in Tel Aviv. This whole journey is really overwhelming and intense. Making the trek back here is like having sorbet between courses. The streets of Neve Tzedek may smell like a rancid litter box and garbage and while beaches may not really be my thing (yet, I aspire to relaxation), I nevertheless appreciate the ksat adventures I have here. I mean, if I do get into Batsheva, this will be my hometown and we all know I won't be wasting my salary on a grandiose apartment.
And if sorbet isn't quite your thing, I highly recommend banana date mango soymilk smoothies. Yeah.
I know you're probably wondering where all the pictures are. I hate to say it, folks, but I'm not the photojournalist this time (most of Israel is documented in my facebook albums and for anything else you can find lovely pictures online thank you google). I find it silly to have people take pictures of me standing where I am. I know I was there. Does a picture really say any words? Particularly if a funny looking gal is obscuring the mirage.
I'm also fighting this intense desire to be intense. I've been sitting watching the waves roll in from the Mediterranean sea for a while now. Maybe it's not so hard. I just have to think of myself as a little kid: if you run them around enough they may eventually actually want to be quiet. It's strange but very nice.
_____________________
It's not about making your own halackah. I need to find a rabbi who can give me all the information and let me make my own answers. Not tell me what to do. This can take years. Be patient.
Funny, I already learned this lesson. Funnier, I learned it four years ago in San Francisco. Yet another instance where I get it. (backstory: sophomore year I lost 15 pounds, got back on pointe and auditioned my way back to a summer intensive program I had previously adored. I got there and four days later I was on a plane to NYC. I learned that I wanted information, not to be the best. I decided this was the difference between being a student and a professional. You go around and get all the information you can from knowledgeable sources you trust and then come to your own often malleable conclusions. So I did that and look where it got me.)
____________
Interesting how the gaga class in Israel is taught like chabad: Hebrew first, then English. Those who get the English get more. The repetition is not only watered down, but something is lost in translation. Even the grammar makes you see that. Expressions are lost. It might be less important if it were about copying the teacher, but it's about self discovery with the teacher suggesting interpretations from their own personal discoveries for you to try out, if desired. That's why every teacher is different. That's why nobody looks like Ohad.
______________
Don't date anybody in the first year of baal teshuvah. They're unstable and change every week. They're growing up again. They're finding themselves. Bar, you're brilliant.
_______________
One rabbi (the rebbe?) said don't eat strawberries because it might have microscopic bugs. Torah says if you can't see them it doesn't count. Prohibiting strawberries is putting a fence around the law to help you to keep from breaking it. If you are careful about washing and checking them, you can say a bracha over the strawberry and eat it. Otherwise, you miss the opportunity to elevate something. Leia, you're also brilliant. :)
_____________
What's up with me and food here? You'd think I was starving or something (soooooooo not true). I hope it's like chabad where you slowly learn that you'll get to eat everything again next time. At any rate, beside the falafel, the ruguleh, the "Israeli dim sum" for lack of a better word, its the peanut butter that's eating at me (har har;). I was warned about this, but I chose not to heed the seemingly odd advice. Apparently, you can bring peanut butter into Israel but you can't bring it out because you might be hiding something in it (beats me why israeli customs doesn't mind). I don't know what they do in the US to make peanut butter thick, but I can only hope that the tasty slop I bought today will congeal in the fridge, like the trader joe's natural stuff does.
And if sorbet isn't quite your thing, I highly recommend banana date mango soymilk smoothies. Yeah.
I know you're probably wondering where all the pictures are. I hate to say it, folks, but I'm not the photojournalist this time (most of Israel is documented in my facebook albums and for anything else you can find lovely pictures online thank you google). I find it silly to have people take pictures of me standing where I am. I know I was there. Does a picture really say any words? Particularly if a funny looking gal is obscuring the mirage.
I'm also fighting this intense desire to be intense. I've been sitting watching the waves roll in from the Mediterranean sea for a while now. Maybe it's not so hard. I just have to think of myself as a little kid: if you run them around enough they may eventually actually want to be quiet. It's strange but very nice.
_____________________
It's not about making your own halackah. I need to find a rabbi who can give me all the information and let me make my own answers. Not tell me what to do. This can take years. Be patient.
Funny, I already learned this lesson. Funnier, I learned it four years ago in San Francisco. Yet another instance where I get it. (backstory: sophomore year I lost 15 pounds, got back on pointe and auditioned my way back to a summer intensive program I had previously adored. I got there and four days later I was on a plane to NYC. I learned that I wanted information, not to be the best. I decided this was the difference between being a student and a professional. You go around and get all the information you can from knowledgeable sources you trust and then come to your own often malleable conclusions. So I did that and look where it got me.)
____________
Interesting how the gaga class in Israel is taught like chabad: Hebrew first, then English. Those who get the English get more. The repetition is not only watered down, but something is lost in translation. Even the grammar makes you see that. Expressions are lost. It might be less important if it were about copying the teacher, but it's about self discovery with the teacher suggesting interpretations from their own personal discoveries for you to try out, if desired. That's why every teacher is different. That's why nobody looks like Ohad.
______________
Don't date anybody in the first year of baal teshuvah. They're unstable and change every week. They're growing up again. They're finding themselves. Bar, you're brilliant.
_______________
One rabbi (the rebbe?) said don't eat strawberries because it might have microscopic bugs. Torah says if you can't see them it doesn't count. Prohibiting strawberries is putting a fence around the law to help you to keep from breaking it. If you are careful about washing and checking them, you can say a bracha over the strawberry and eat it. Otherwise, you miss the opportunity to elevate something. Leia, you're also brilliant. :)
_____________
What's up with me and food here? You'd think I was starving or something (soooooooo not true). I hope it's like chabad where you slowly learn that you'll get to eat everything again next time. At any rate, beside the falafel, the ruguleh, the "Israeli dim sum" for lack of a better word, its the peanut butter that's eating at me (har har;). I was warned about this, but I chose not to heed the seemingly odd advice. Apparently, you can bring peanut butter into Israel but you can't bring it out because you might be hiding something in it (beats me why israeli customs doesn't mind). I don't know what they do in the US to make peanut butter thick, but I can only hope that the tasty slop I bought today will congeal in the fridge, like the trader joe's natural stuff does.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Shabbat in Chevron: riding the waves of the universe
(Friday night)
This is beyond wild. I am truly riding the waves of the universe. I usually avoid saying "coincidence" and instead say "being available to take advantage of opportunities." Here I'm not even choosing. Thank you, Ohad.
----------------
So I get off the bus in Hebron, the driver tells the last passenger to get off with me and help me figure out how to get to where I was going. Ok. So she doesn't know where she's going, let alone where I'm going, but that doesn't seem to be a problem for reasons incomprehensible.
Someone drives by and gives directions. Turns out he's the guy Natalie's eating shabbos dinner with in a few hours. We find Batsheva Cohen, the schluchos everybody everywhere knows, who has no accent and isn't expecting me. Batya Cohen, with the accent, isn't expecting me (she gave us a cup of water). We call the number I called a few days ago and got a well known artist in kiriat arba, who was neither a Cohen nor expecting me (the busses had stopped anyway).
So... I go to Natalie's shabbos dinner person's house (he also gave us a cup of water). And then we end up at natalie's sleep place, where we get a cup of water and a piece of carrot cake. Turns out, the girl who was supposed to come with Natalie bailed, so I actually did have a place to sleep. Turns out, Natalie works for Ascent of Tsfat and got me on the list for next weekend. Turns out, she knows the Brooklyn Heights schliach and was at the wedding of my soul sista (and has known her for a long time). And we can relate via our spiritual journeys. And she studied butoh. And she loves batsheva. And I'm going to light candles now...
-----------
(Sunday afternoon)
Wow. Just wow. I've said that so many times these past two days my mouth hurts just forming the words. A wise (also new, also obscenely connected to people I know) friend suggested "oh la la," but it's hard to break a habit. As I sit here on the floor of a used bookshop in Jerusalem's famous Ben Yehuda street shopping district reading about soviet Jewish identity (amazing choreographic inspiration in Wiesel's depiction, as well as a quieting conception of what it means to be a Jew), the vindictive sublimation of women along side that of an ancient affinity for goddess worship/feminine anthropomorphism, and chassidus -- oy vey cappuccino.
Rewind: I spent shabbat in Chevron. I was told it would be an experience, that it would be amazing, and it was.
I davened maariv at the Me'arat Hamachpelah, the burial place of the patriarchs and the matriarchs (minus Rachel). It was something else. To get there you have to walk down a narrow street lined with soldiers, bordered a stone's throw away on both sides by Arab occupied land (from which much more than stones has been thrown, horrifyingly many times), pass by the seventh step, the closest point to the actual burial site on the jewish side (the Arab side holds the keys to the actual caves, supposedly to protect anyone from going down there and never returning, as the legends go and there are many), and wind your way through the many partitioned-off minyanim all throughout the cramped stone courtyard of the citadel (built over the Me'arat Hamachpelah by king Herod).
The ruach of the Carlbach minyan sharply contrasted the solemn walk between this holy place and the homes of the 30 families who live there. It was bizarre to tiptoe down the street while on both sides the sounds of fireworks broke the sticky quiet.
I have nothing against Muslims celebrating the coming of Ramadan, just perhaps this isn't exactly the best place to start blowing stuff up in the night. Worse, this is the last shabbat for a month that the Jews will have access to the citadel at all: 10 days out of the year the Arabs control the entire building and four of them are on their way. I like to think the best of people, to think that the whole isn't always the sum of its parts, but this isn't the kind of situation that lends itself to saintly thoughts.
After shul, I had dinner with breslovs for the first time (they were the normal kind, not the nanachs). I have never heard kiddish sung like that in my life. Every word was precious and I really felt the blessings being brought down and given out to the family and friends at the shabbos table. It was so beautiful and so on my wavelength right now (thank you elusive Kaplan -- seriously, for a famous book that everybody has, why is it so hard to find?).
Of course, I was the only person who didn't speak Hebrew, and of course when the husband and wife took some time to get to know me the whole dance thing came up along with the usual exhausting circles that I had made peace with just seven days before. It takes time to change but recognizing the habit as it occurs is a prerequisite to prevention/cessation.
Speaking of listening to that which you already know (awkward segue, bear with me), I spent shabbos day with a group of young women from Machon Alte (thank you, Natalie!), one of the seminaries I wanted to check out while I was in Israel.
After lunch, I joined them in a teeny tiny reconstructed synagogue for a farbrengum (still not exactly sure what that is. This was a lecture, not table thumping group therapy, but I'm sure with a little patience...), where a rabbi talked about the importance of listening, particularly in situations where you've already heard what it is you're listening too, among other things.
As that resonated with me, I also enjoyed watching these young ladies ask challenging and thoughtful questions and shamelessly pointing out when the rabbi make a mistake. I also noted how very much I didn't know. These women were versed in Torah and Talmud. To say the least, I was shamefully impressed.
I finished off the day with a tour of Chevron with a spectacular tour guide. What a treat! That is, if you can call walking through the many spots of murder and massacre that riddle the Jewish quarter a treat.
After a strange havdalah expedition (it's really ok to leave it at that, really) and missing the only bus out of Hebron, I hitched a ride to Jerusalem and found my way to the loft of a friend of a girl I had met just as I was about to leave Suzanne Dellal on Friday afternoon (and with whom I'm having coffee in about 6 hours to discuss her reconciliation of orthodox Judaism with gaga), a religious guy who lives a block from mahane yehuda and doesn't have a problem with female guests.
9 hours later, I bid the ex-lawyer who started Jewlicious (check facebook) adieu and embarked on yet another chapter of this post gaga workshop expedition. Having failed once again to find Chani's chocolate chocolate cake in the fridge with the sprinkles on top, rediscovering the insanely ridiculously mindblowingly best ruguleh in the world (marzipan. 9th wonder of the world. I think they're trying to make something else in Israel the 8th. Good thing sufgnyiot's out of season or my attempt to avoid dance classes for two weeks might have to be reconsidered) and learning how to ask for a cappuccino without sugar, I set out to find a copy of Jewish Meditation (would you believe it if I told you none of the bookshops in Tel Aviv had it?).
And while I'm probably going to have to wait until next week to buy it in Tsfat, I ended up having another life-altering adventure that left me with a few other books (history and philosophy of the Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, a practical guide to halackah, the Wiesel, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Tehillim and Special Prayers for Special Occasions that further breached the gap between me and wii) that will welcome the Kaplan with open arms, so to anthropomorphize.
Surf's up.
_________________
Why does the Torah begin with the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet? To show you that you don't even know the first thing about it. -Baal Shem Tov
This is beyond wild. I am truly riding the waves of the universe. I usually avoid saying "coincidence" and instead say "being available to take advantage of opportunities." Here I'm not even choosing. Thank you, Ohad.
----------------
So I get off the bus in Hebron, the driver tells the last passenger to get off with me and help me figure out how to get to where I was going. Ok. So she doesn't know where she's going, let alone where I'm going, but that doesn't seem to be a problem for reasons incomprehensible.
Someone drives by and gives directions. Turns out he's the guy Natalie's eating shabbos dinner with in a few hours. We find Batsheva Cohen, the schluchos everybody everywhere knows, who has no accent and isn't expecting me. Batya Cohen, with the accent, isn't expecting me (she gave us a cup of water). We call the number I called a few days ago and got a well known artist in kiriat arba, who was neither a Cohen nor expecting me (the busses had stopped anyway).
So... I go to Natalie's shabbos dinner person's house (he also gave us a cup of water). And then we end up at natalie's sleep place, where we get a cup of water and a piece of carrot cake. Turns out, the girl who was supposed to come with Natalie bailed, so I actually did have a place to sleep. Turns out, Natalie works for Ascent of Tsfat and got me on the list for next weekend. Turns out, she knows the Brooklyn Heights schliach and was at the wedding of my soul sista (and has known her for a long time). And we can relate via our spiritual journeys. And she studied butoh. And she loves batsheva. And I'm going to light candles now...
-----------
(Sunday afternoon)
Wow. Just wow. I've said that so many times these past two days my mouth hurts just forming the words. A wise (also new, also obscenely connected to people I know) friend suggested "oh la la," but it's hard to break a habit. As I sit here on the floor of a used bookshop in Jerusalem's famous Ben Yehuda street shopping district reading about soviet Jewish identity (amazing choreographic inspiration in Wiesel's depiction, as well as a quieting conception of what it means to be a Jew), the vindictive sublimation of women along side that of an ancient affinity for goddess worship/feminine anthropomorphism, and chassidus -- oy vey cappuccino.
Rewind: I spent shabbat in Chevron. I was told it would be an experience, that it would be amazing, and it was.
I davened maariv at the Me'arat Hamachpelah, the burial place of the patriarchs and the matriarchs (minus Rachel). It was something else. To get there you have to walk down a narrow street lined with soldiers, bordered a stone's throw away on both sides by Arab occupied land (from which much more than stones has been thrown, horrifyingly many times), pass by the seventh step, the closest point to the actual burial site on the jewish side (the Arab side holds the keys to the actual caves, supposedly to protect anyone from going down there and never returning, as the legends go and there are many), and wind your way through the many partitioned-off minyanim all throughout the cramped stone courtyard of the citadel (built over the Me'arat Hamachpelah by king Herod).
The ruach of the Carlbach minyan sharply contrasted the solemn walk between this holy place and the homes of the 30 families who live there. It was bizarre to tiptoe down the street while on both sides the sounds of fireworks broke the sticky quiet.
I have nothing against Muslims celebrating the coming of Ramadan, just perhaps this isn't exactly the best place to start blowing stuff up in the night. Worse, this is the last shabbat for a month that the Jews will have access to the citadel at all: 10 days out of the year the Arabs control the entire building and four of them are on their way. I like to think the best of people, to think that the whole isn't always the sum of its parts, but this isn't the kind of situation that lends itself to saintly thoughts.
After shul, I had dinner with breslovs for the first time (they were the normal kind, not the nanachs). I have never heard kiddish sung like that in my life. Every word was precious and I really felt the blessings being brought down and given out to the family and friends at the shabbos table. It was so beautiful and so on my wavelength right now (thank you elusive Kaplan -- seriously, for a famous book that everybody has, why is it so hard to find?).
Of course, I was the only person who didn't speak Hebrew, and of course when the husband and wife took some time to get to know me the whole dance thing came up along with the usual exhausting circles that I had made peace with just seven days before. It takes time to change but recognizing the habit as it occurs is a prerequisite to prevention/cessation.
Speaking of listening to that which you already know (awkward segue, bear with me), I spent shabbos day with a group of young women from Machon Alte (thank you, Natalie!), one of the seminaries I wanted to check out while I was in Israel.
After lunch, I joined them in a teeny tiny reconstructed synagogue for a farbrengum (still not exactly sure what that is. This was a lecture, not table thumping group therapy, but I'm sure with a little patience...), where a rabbi talked about the importance of listening, particularly in situations where you've already heard what it is you're listening too, among other things.
As that resonated with me, I also enjoyed watching these young ladies ask challenging and thoughtful questions and shamelessly pointing out when the rabbi make a mistake. I also noted how very much I didn't know. These women were versed in Torah and Talmud. To say the least, I was shamefully impressed.
I finished off the day with a tour of Chevron with a spectacular tour guide. What a treat! That is, if you can call walking through the many spots of murder and massacre that riddle the Jewish quarter a treat.
After a strange havdalah expedition (it's really ok to leave it at that, really) and missing the only bus out of Hebron, I hitched a ride to Jerusalem and found my way to the loft of a friend of a girl I had met just as I was about to leave Suzanne Dellal on Friday afternoon (and with whom I'm having coffee in about 6 hours to discuss her reconciliation of orthodox Judaism with gaga), a religious guy who lives a block from mahane yehuda and doesn't have a problem with female guests.
9 hours later, I bid the ex-lawyer who started Jewlicious (check facebook) adieu and embarked on yet another chapter of this post gaga workshop expedition. Having failed once again to find Chani's chocolate chocolate cake in the fridge with the sprinkles on top, rediscovering the insanely ridiculously mindblowingly best ruguleh in the world (marzipan. 9th wonder of the world. I think they're trying to make something else in Israel the 8th. Good thing sufgnyiot's out of season or my attempt to avoid dance classes for two weeks might have to be reconsidered) and learning how to ask for a cappuccino without sugar, I set out to find a copy of Jewish Meditation (would you believe it if I told you none of the bookshops in Tel Aviv had it?).
And while I'm probably going to have to wait until next week to buy it in Tsfat, I ended up having another life-altering adventure that left me with a few other books (history and philosophy of the Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, a practical guide to halackah, the Wiesel, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Tehillim and Special Prayers for Special Occasions that further breached the gap between me and wii) that will welcome the Kaplan with open arms, so to anthropomorphize.
Surf's up.
_________________
Why does the Torah begin with the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet? To show you that you don't even know the first thing about it. -Baal Shem Tov
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Obscenely quick update.
Final day of gaga intensive tomorrow. Busses to chevron for shabbat. Learning, dancing and davening with someone amazing by association wedsensday. Ascent of tsfat next shabbos. Trying to squeeze a day or so of mayanot in there. Netanya and Tiberius/galilee/a little more tel aviv could take me to next week. That's a mystery now. And that's chaval achshav! (weird Israeli obsession with "now" is something else... :)
I wish I could extend my trip. I feel I don't have enough time to dig into something and not just be a tourist, but Sinai Scholars has already in paid for my retreat (I mentioned that already, right?) and I have too much unfinished business to run away. It's tempting, though. But inside I know Israel is not the place to run away to but the place I should run to when I'm ready (unexpected luxury of exile, no?)
Ps whoever wants a live performance of the most amazing dance a Passover song has ever been in dialogue with, invite me to your Seder.
Pss. Please ignore the prepositions. You know what I mean if they bother you too.
Psss. Tel aviv movie theaters run on chabad time
I wish I could extend my trip. I feel I don't have enough time to dig into something and not just be a tourist, but Sinai Scholars has already in paid for my retreat (I mentioned that already, right?) and I have too much unfinished business to run away. It's tempting, though. But inside I know Israel is not the place to run away to but the place I should run to when I'm ready (unexpected luxury of exile, no?)
Ps whoever wants a live performance of the most amazing dance a Passover song has ever been in dialogue with, invite me to your Seder.
Pss. Please ignore the prepositions. You know what I mean if they bother you too.
Psss. Tel aviv movie theaters run on chabad time
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Oh, that's what I meant to tell you...
I have the memory of a goldfish... I almost forgot who I was talking to!!!
This all happened shabbos morning. Someone said to me we pray toward yerushalayim in the US and the kotel in yerushalayim because it's a holy place and we're drawing energy from this place into us. Between realizing that this has been an "energy bank" for my people for thousands of years (I felt that at the kotel too, like something was flowing into my head and being pulled out of my hands), crying as I connected to prayer as I davened as I had never felt before, and then opening kaplan's book to a section that started to answer all my questions as no one (book or person) had before, the floodgates just opened (along with the waterworks) and I got it.
:)
This all happened shabbos morning. Someone said to me we pray toward yerushalayim in the US and the kotel in yerushalayim because it's a holy place and we're drawing energy from this place into us. Between realizing that this has been an "energy bank" for my people for thousands of years (I felt that at the kotel too, like something was flowing into my head and being pulled out of my hands), crying as I connected to prayer as I davened as I had never felt before, and then opening kaplan's book to a section that started to answer all my questions as no one (book or person) had before, the floodgates just opened (along with the waterworks) and I got it.
:)
I got it!
Dear A,
I got it.
You were absolutely right. I know Hashem [lit. the name]. We've been friends for a while :) It's that inexplicable force that comes from an inexplicable place inside me that makes me dance, that makes me have to dance, that makes me get up in the morning and move through the world. Judaism is a way of connecting to this whatever-it-is abstract non-thing. I and everybody else will never really know whether Hashem spoke through Moshe or a group of unfathomably genius individuals. On the other hand, it doesn't really matter so much to me anymore. Whatever it was that compelled them to write such a book is no doubt the same "whatever" (I'm working hard to avoid anthropomorphising. That's been part of the problem for me) that I know.
It's easy to know and be close to that someth-- when I'm dancing. A studio, a grassy field, a theater; these are all places where I know Hashem. It's like walking into a shul to pray when, as a woman, this road map for a particular life (looks like a pretty good one too) let's us pray from anywhere [feminists, hold your horses. I'm one of you too]
On Shabbat, we go out of our way to not create. All week, we create, we work hard to make money, to buy food and cook it (microwaves so count), to use whatever means necessary/desirable to transport us from one place to another (on time). If we fall down we put neosporin on our knees and return to what we were doing. When people tell us the produce of our hands is good, we can become egoistical and feel like gods. On Shabbat, we go out of our way to not feel like gods. We don't go into our place (physically or mentally) of work. We don't make fire. We don't tear toilet paper (still sounds a little weird but it keeps the bathroom holy in a tangible way, holy meaning different). We walk up fourteen flights of stairs (gotta burn those shabbos calories anyway). And so on and so on...
All of these things are ways of reminding us of this w-I-I (not quite ready to use colloquial terms yet). I can know I have this ____ that drives me to dance but it's way to easy to forget about it, to take it for granted. So going out of my way to eat differently, dress differently, stop what I'm doing to pray three times a day (not quite there yet. Starting with modeh ani, shema and mezzuzot), and so on are ways for me to remember I'm not really alone, that I always have support, that I'm so lucky to know this beautiful wonderful wii (oy vey... ;)
I know this because no computer could ever be able to create this awareness of wii. We may one day be able to build robots with free will, but can we really program this wii into a machine? This wii that we cannot build or name with our fathomable toolbox? If that permeates our universe as much as it permeates you or me, then heaven may be an anthropomorphism and that wii that makes me walk, breathe, employ helper T-cells is my soul. Can there really be anything more beautiful and awesome as this? A soul needs a body in order to feel, to sense the world, to interpret external stimuli and create a multidimensional experience. What a gift! And how easy it is to forget about it as I drag my heavy feet and struggle through the mundane.
So... This whole journey is really very simple: find the things, the rituals, the places, the people that remind me this wii is here. It's not about extremes nor is it about sacrifice. It can be about adapting to the framework of a community should that become what I feel I need in order to connect but that's no more right or wrong than choosing my last and first words of every day.
It's also about adventuring. Habits are what make me forget. I've learned how to make every tendu different from the thousands I've done before. Taking that lesson and applying it to everything I do sounds like a pretty good life journey. One with no end. Which is good because it's usually a let down to see what's on the other side of the mountain.
So shavuah tov. And "Jewish meditation" by aryeh Kaplan. Pages 105-116 ish
I got it.
You were absolutely right. I know Hashem [lit. the name]. We've been friends for a while :) It's that inexplicable force that comes from an inexplicable place inside me that makes me dance, that makes me have to dance, that makes me get up in the morning and move through the world. Judaism is a way of connecting to this whatever-it-is abstract non-thing. I and everybody else will never really know whether Hashem spoke through Moshe or a group of unfathomably genius individuals. On the other hand, it doesn't really matter so much to me anymore. Whatever it was that compelled them to write such a book is no doubt the same "whatever" (I'm working hard to avoid anthropomorphising. That's been part of the problem for me) that I know.
It's easy to know and be close to that someth-- when I'm dancing. A studio, a grassy field, a theater; these are all places where I know Hashem. It's like walking into a shul to pray when, as a woman, this road map for a particular life (looks like a pretty good one too) let's us pray from anywhere [feminists, hold your horses. I'm one of you too]
On Shabbat, we go out of our way to not create. All week, we create, we work hard to make money, to buy food and cook it (microwaves so count), to use whatever means necessary/desirable to transport us from one place to another (on time). If we fall down we put neosporin on our knees and return to what we were doing. When people tell us the produce of our hands is good, we can become egoistical and feel like gods. On Shabbat, we go out of our way to not feel like gods. We don't go into our place (physically or mentally) of work. We don't make fire. We don't tear toilet paper (still sounds a little weird but it keeps the bathroom holy in a tangible way, holy meaning different). We walk up fourteen flights of stairs (gotta burn those shabbos calories anyway). And so on and so on...
All of these things are ways of reminding us of this w-I-I (not quite ready to use colloquial terms yet). I can know I have this ____ that drives me to dance but it's way to easy to forget about it, to take it for granted. So going out of my way to eat differently, dress differently, stop what I'm doing to pray three times a day (not quite there yet. Starting with modeh ani, shema and mezzuzot), and so on are ways for me to remember I'm not really alone, that I always have support, that I'm so lucky to know this beautiful wonderful wii (oy vey... ;)
I know this because no computer could ever be able to create this awareness of wii. We may one day be able to build robots with free will, but can we really program this wii into a machine? This wii that we cannot build or name with our fathomable toolbox? If that permeates our universe as much as it permeates you or me, then heaven may be an anthropomorphism and that wii that makes me walk, breathe, employ helper T-cells is my soul. Can there really be anything more beautiful and awesome as this? A soul needs a body in order to feel, to sense the world, to interpret external stimuli and create a multidimensional experience. What a gift! And how easy it is to forget about it as I drag my heavy feet and struggle through the mundane.
So... This whole journey is really very simple: find the things, the rituals, the places, the people that remind me this wii is here. It's not about extremes nor is it about sacrifice. It can be about adapting to the framework of a community should that become what I feel I need in order to connect but that's no more right or wrong than choosing my last and first words of every day.
It's also about adventuring. Habits are what make me forget. I've learned how to make every tendu different from the thousands I've done before. Taking that lesson and applying it to everything I do sounds like a pretty good life journey. One with no end. Which is good because it's usually a let down to see what's on the other side of the mountain.
So shavuah tov. And "Jewish meditation" by aryeh Kaplan. Pages 105-116 ish
(Between you and me. And you.)
Some of my most passionate and honest words have been written to individuals. Conversations with many individuals have inspired this (rather long) collection.
I'll keep on keeping you posted as I connect my spiritual journey to my professional one. In the meantime, thank you and enjoy!
I'll keep on keeping you posted as I connect my spiritual journey to my professional one. In the meantime, thank you and enjoy!
Sunday, July 24, 2011
So here's what you missed on SSDP...
1) I got invited to a private Chabad event at haknesset [Israeli parliament] (where I was not only one of 4 guests without a Y-chromosome but also the only guest who spoke neither Hebrew nor Russian. Lesson: make friends wherever you go.)
2) had a rabbi tell me I was insecure and needed to take a leap of faith in order to be happy (hold that thought).
3) awkwardly introduced myself to Ohad (at least he remembered me :) then showed off my awesome improv skills at the jam.
4) spent another amazing Shabbat in Jerusalem.
4.5) see next post ...
5) watched the sunset over the Mediterranean while eating cucumbers and tomatoes. And ruguleh.
2) had a rabbi tell me I was insecure and needed to take a leap of faith in order to be happy (hold that thought).
3) awkwardly introduced myself to Ohad (at least he remembered me :) then showed off my awesome improv skills at the jam.
4) spent another amazing Shabbat in Jerusalem.
4.5) see next post ...
5) watched the sunset over the Mediterranean while eating cucumbers and tomatoes. And ruguleh.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Show me, don't tell me
I've been feeling particularly uninspired since my last post. I think this will help:
http://www.youtube.com/user/SydDanceThesis2010
Later, I'll tell you about the guy at the beach who said a brucha (blessing) over his vodka and had a beautiful understanding of his relationship with G-d. Maybe.
http://www.youtube.com/user/SydDanceThesis2010
Later, I'll tell you about the guy at the beach who said a brucha (blessing) over his vodka and had a beautiful understanding of his relationship with G-d. Maybe.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Ow
Just ow. I think reality just caught up with me. Too much sleep isn't enough;, too much lactic acid is too much.
In the Middle...
Dear reader,
So much has happened since I left New York last Thursday I hardly know where to begin. As the title intends to imply, I intend to skip the play-by-play and start the news coverage in the present. If I may, a recap:
-transportation drama
-Arrived in Tel Aviv bright and early on July 15th. Moved into my apartment and caught a bus to Jerusalem.
-enjoyed a magical shabbat and a magical birthday with wonderful people
-reveled in transportation drama (a motif)
-Sunday, day one of the gaga intensive: had classes with Ohad Naharin, the director of the company I'm all but dying to join, all day, and walked home not too much worse for wear.
-Monday I woke up bright and early to hop a bus back to Jerusalem to play hooky and attend a private event at the Knesset (Israeli parlament) as a vip. After exploring the Israel Museum's gorgeous gardens, all the famous souks, and savoring one overpriced shawarma all day, I spent a few hours talking to a rabbi who lives in the Old City just feet from the Kotel (Western Wall), discovered the central bus station closes by midnight (we're not in NYC anymore...) and had more transportation drama.
-today (finally!) I had an intense gaga day. I can hardly keep my eyes open even as I'm typing this out with my head an inch from my pillow. I've been sleeping really well here. Here's to another restorative and rejuvinating night.
Good. I'll flesh that out a bit more over the next few days, but for now we're all on page 19. 20 once I've finished reading it.
Xoxo,
Sydney
So much has happened since I left New York last Thursday I hardly know where to begin. As the title intends to imply, I intend to skip the play-by-play and start the news coverage in the present. If I may, a recap:
-transportation drama
-Arrived in Tel Aviv bright and early on July 15th. Moved into my apartment and caught a bus to Jerusalem.
-enjoyed a magical shabbat and a magical birthday with wonderful people
-reveled in transportation drama (a motif)
-Sunday, day one of the gaga intensive: had classes with Ohad Naharin, the director of the company I'm all but dying to join, all day, and walked home not too much worse for wear.
-Monday I woke up bright and early to hop a bus back to Jerusalem to play hooky and attend a private event at the Knesset (Israeli parlament) as a vip. After exploring the Israel Museum's gorgeous gardens, all the famous souks, and savoring one overpriced shawarma all day, I spent a few hours talking to a rabbi who lives in the Old City just feet from the Kotel (Western Wall), discovered the central bus station closes by midnight (we're not in NYC anymore...) and had more transportation drama.
-today (finally!) I had an intense gaga day. I can hardly keep my eyes open even as I'm typing this out with my head an inch from my pillow. I've been sleeping really well here. Here's to another restorative and rejuvinating night.
Good. I'll flesh that out a bit more over the next few days, but for now we're all on page 19. 20 once I've finished reading it.
Xoxo,
Sydney
Monday, July 18, 2011
Ready set go
Alright folks, I give in.
I've never kept a blog before. The idea of sharing the untempered particulars of my journey with everyone is a bit uncomfortable. At the same time, I believe this is going to be a lot more fun than running out of time to respond to everyone's individual inquiries and well-wishes.
Thank you for your love and support. Stay tuned for the first update...
Xoxo,
Sydney
p.s please pardon the typos. This blog is brought to you by itouch.
I've never kept a blog before. The idea of sharing the untempered particulars of my journey with everyone is a bit uncomfortable. At the same time, I believe this is going to be a lot more fun than running out of time to respond to everyone's individual inquiries and well-wishes.
Thank you for your love and support. Stay tuned for the first update...
Xoxo,
Sydney
p.s please pardon the typos. This blog is brought to you by itouch.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
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