The Negev

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Firstly, before the Negev, I finally doula-ed in Israel.  I helped my friend have her baby, and to put a crazy parenthesis on the evening's birth, the taxi driver who took me to the hospital says he works as a driver for 3 or 4 midwives in the area.  He is the one who told me that I am a תומחת, which means support(er). The driver who took me back home had driven 3 other women hazaneet that very day--something not normal for Israel or Jerusalem. So the birth was fantastic, like so many other women she was so strong and amazing. And maternity care is so much less aggressive and invasive. The midwife didn't jam a syringe into the baby's nose and mouth, he practically delivered himself.  It was such a great way to begin the weekend.

So we trucked down to the Negev for the final 'programmed' tiyul of the school year. The rest of the class went down hiking near Sde Boker and Ayn Evdel and Wadi Shlomo, we warned that it might not be so great for the kids, so we took a bus down to Kibbutz Yahel the following day with a few other students. So relaxing, so fantastic, so beautiful, those distant Moabite Mountains in Jordan--the Red Mountains, הרי אדום, and finally being warm! Ben and Coby are true kibbutzniks, and I think I could convince Phillip to move to one as well. The gates at these places close electrically, so the entire property is secure--which tends to give the kids a feeling of justification in being unsupervised and able to wander everywhere. Which they did. We did yoga on the lawn, they swung on hammocks. It was so sparkly and sweet.

We drove across the road to pick Palmellos and climb the trees in the orchard. This fruit is like a giant oversized grapefruit without the tartness. It is popular in other places in the world, but never caught on in the states, maybe because of all the skin, but if you run across one in a farmers market somewhere, try one! They're delicious. We swung around the orchard that was just meters from the Jordanian border--once again Coby tempts international borders. The evening followed with singing, more relaxing, nibbling palmello and drinking wine outside our room, listening to other people giggle and gossip.

Friday was my birthday! We explored Kibbutz Lotan, with its 'eco-park', they are great, a small kibbutz with a spa, and real dedication to environmental and jewish living. The kids of course went crazy in their Captain Compost park. Don't worry, not real compost, but organic veggies and herbs growing, as well as a playground for kids built by recycling bottles and old tires. We lunched, napped, and wound up in Eilat, snorkeling. The water was FREEZING! And clear and lovely. Carole and Guy Rosebruch came down and hung with us, as always, it is so great to have them here, it adds to the feeling of being home here in Israel. 

Kabbalat Shabbat, zimrot, 61 birthday messages, thank you everyone, it was a very happy birthday and it was so good to hear from you...and yes, Yaron! You were the first to wish me the big Happy BD! But it was such a beautiful day, with nothing special; except for warm sunny desert views and peaceful feelings and laughs. It was a great day. Following that up with a shabbat hike into the wadi with a desert shacharit, alot of us climbing around the mountains intermittently as services went on.  Some of the most special moments were leaving the group as they prayed, and from atop a rock somewhere, hearing the group singing. It's funny, you would think that coming into the middle of a desert, 30 people sitting under a tree praying together would be so void of distraction--but just the opposite. As much as I tried to focus inward to the circle, the vast space surrounding us pulled my eyes and my attention. And all I wanted to do was be part of the space. So I did. We climbed around together, sang from on top of the rocks, and felt the dirt. Which meant it was time to return and relax some more.

We played and read, Phillip and Ben went to pet the cows in the dairy, I got busy reading and swinging on the hammock with Coby. And that's how we spent the day. It was fantastic...and one of the most special pieces was coming home and hearing officially from HUC's office that all worked out as planned for next year's student pulpit.  I'll be coming down to Florida twice a month next year, for the High Holidays and throughout the school year to do services at Temple Judea. Hello music! Goodbye cold! 

Birth and Death

Monday, March 23, 2009

There is a moment immediately after a baby comes from its mother's body. The entire universe hangs in this moment; where the baby has spirit but is not yet spirited, where it has breath, but hasn't yet breathed, it is born, but not yet born.

And then suddenly it fills with life, with the most magestic and extraordinary power and determination. Noisy and chaotic, balletic, sophisticated and beautiful.

Its soul has found itself.

Praying is like breathing.

It is ordinary, regular, unextraordinary, everyone can do it.

But that is what is most miraculous, really, because then, we are always in a state of availability to God, any one of us, at any moment, many moments, can meet God.

All at once it is life and death, before and after, always and never.

And it continues, in its ordinariness and extra-ordinariness--waiting for us while we decide what to do with it. Patient and forgiving.

Like a baby being born.

I wrote this piece for a service we led during parsha Mishpatim. and now, 5 weeks later Tamar had her baby. It was good to be back in the birthroom, with an intense mother, midwife, and father relationship. Intense, quiet, intense. I always cry after. I held Coby in my arms, bathed, pajama-ed, earlier in the evening, and said "tonight I will hold a brand new baby", and when I held the new baby, like all mothers, the feeling of their own newborns flood back to them. He turned his head toward me, rooting. What a peaceful birth, so quiet and pure. And strong and slippery. I cried.

He doesn't have a name yet. His personality is formulating what it wants to call itself. I think the brit-milah will be on my birthday.

Today...36 hours later, a beloved rabbi in the Moreshet Synagogue community gave a sermon. He is 86 years old, and stumbled as he was speaking, touching his chest, gripping the podium. His pacemaker jolted and gave him a shock. He said he was fine, he would just speak slower.

He was connecting the joy of purim with the ceremony of Pesach. Why is Purim only celebrated for 2 days, when it was a seminal moment in the Jewish people's being saved from annihilation-and Pesach is celebrated for 8 days, it only celebrates freedom from slavery.

He stumbled back again, grasping at his chest. His pacemaker was jolting him. He was scared, everyone was scared. He slumped down. People went to call an ambulence, Phillip went to get water and call for someone.

I went up and knelt next to him, I took his hand and he looked in my eyes. Phillip later asked me what I said to him, that I was smiling and talking to him the whole time. I told him I was here to be with him, and to keep looking at me, we were here together and we would just breathe until an ambulence came. He would feel better soon.

This was surreal, I breathed slowly and loudly so he would breathe with me; at the same time I was reviewing all my CPR--try to slow his pulse--is there a difibrulator--do I remember when to use it--where is his left arm, what is it doing--I don't know anything about pacemakers--will I be able to lay him down if I have to, he's so much bigger than me--his color is good, he's not sweating. Someone asked us to make room, we were taking all his air, but 2 of us stayed, an older woman came and sat by us, she was a doctor and talked to him so simply: are you in pain? Would you like some water? He held a bottle of water and the shock came again, for a second, he dropped the water on himself. We picked it up.

The paramedics came and we helped him take off his talit, jacket, vest. He offered to walk, they felt his chest, his pulse; and they helped him into a wheelchair and brought him out to the hospital.

He's OK, I checked the synagogue yesterday. I don't know how close he was. I went back to my seat, he gave someone his sermon to read for him, as we were siting waiting for the ambulence, grunting every time he would feel the zap, the shock. 10 in all. No one heard it--the sermon. After he left, his wife with him, carrying his talit, jacket, vest, I went back to our seat in the back row and I cried. I couldn't stop the tears. The beautiful throaty cantor smiled and emotionally sang a soulful mi shebeirach, I cried.

I should have told him my name. I hope he's OK. Life and death are so close together.

Next year I will be doing some pastoral care work--in hospital. I see now how I can help. We say these healing prayers in the synagogue for people outside of the synagogue--I see how they need to hear it too.

Life and death are so close together.

When Adar comes, Joy is increased

Saturday, March 20, 2009

Our friend, Dara, is leaving soon. For her last Shabbat in Jerusalem, as usually happens, we all fan out to our various synagogues for Kabbalat Shabbat, then reconvene at our house for Kiddush and dinner. This was a special evening; some of us had family in town, some of us went to Nava Tehila, the Renewal Congregation, some more traditional congregations, some simply called home to connect with family stateside. We went to Renewal, where I sit between two amazing guitarists dueling in rhythms and eastern riffs. This kehilla is very intense, the rabbi leads the service in Hebrew with a bit of English sprinkled in, none of the anglo people seem to care. And a lot of music we use is created over the course of the current month. There are drums, french horn, guitars, and voices, its very beautiful. One of the things I love most about working with Nava Tehila is the rehearsal process, and how its based in text, but fed by improvisation. The rehearsals are quite powerful, and for me very emotional.

So of course we only sat down to eat at 8pm. Singing, making Kiddush, exchanging recipes. One of the nicest things about the shabbatot here this year, is how many people gather as regulars at our home. And I think they feel it too, because they bring food, they jump up to serve, help clean, do dishes; Leslie says we're running a hostel. I like that.

Ben and Coby, as usual, were so tired, they were already crashing on the couches, but we made kiddush, and Dara said Hamotzi over the two sweetest challot from נאמנ you've ever tasted--like jelly doughnuts. So sweet your fingers are sticky afterwards. All year long we've been trying to sing, and have always gotten sidetracked between Phillip's vodka infusions with crazy exotic Israeli fruit, the wine, and all the side conversations. But tonight we sang. Niggunim, kiddush, psalms, chicken, banging on tables-lightly, wine. We were cantor heavy so we sang and sang. 14 of us. Dara, consistent with her cheery and generous demeanor made a toast, deflecting attention away from herself onto us, being her home away from home. She is bringing home $851 worth of books from Pomerantz Bookstore and will continue her studies in Canada, bringing something special to 4 feet of snow. We make many many promises to hike in Sedona with Adam and Josh, ski in the Laurentians with Marci, and deliver her baby--when she's pregnant. And sing some more.

Andrea took her parents home, Adam and Leslie ducked out, eventually Coby finally went to sleep, Ben passed out behind the couch, and Shmuel took out his prayer cards. We sang Birkat Hamazon -- Josh took a nap on the big couch and I, as I usually do, fell asleep on the little couch. Phillip picked me up and brought me to bed and they continued to solve the problems of the universe for a few more hours. As I write this there are people asleep in various places in the house, but it feels so warm and terrific. And is such a great balance to the crazy brain saturation from earlier this week.

Purim here is like nowhere else in the world.

I know, I say that about alot of things, but it is true. It's the culture that is so different.
People walk around the streets so openly preparing for Purim, just like all the other holidays, that are celebrated nationally. EVERYONE dresses up here, even the adults. People were stopping by the apartment all day dropping off bags of Mishloach Manot: candy, tzedakah, it was great.

Fantastically, after 2 weeks of preparation, we piled into the Beit Knesset on campus, dressed as everything from Madonna, to Hulk Hogan, to an Egged Bus, pirates, angels, devils, princesses, daati women, bikers, cowboys, etc...I was a just fantasy mom with a crazy wig, boa, and sunglasses. Silly, crazy and very clever Maariv service with the Megilla reading in the middle. Tamar is 9 months pregnant, I 'gabay-ed' for her for the first time, and read from a real Megilla using a magic wand as a 'yad', first time ever. Fun Fun Fun. Truly. The melodies are dramatic and very expressive, and since it is a kookie holiday, we are encouraged to use the wild trope to tell the story in as fantastical a manner as possible. It was so much fun, and from studying this so intensely, realize what a truly terrible story it is. So many of the characters have such awful flaws. But it was so much fun! During the reading the only sounds you could hear were the hysteria of the groggers and the sound of bottles falling over. What an evening. The Beit Knesset was left wrecked, sticky floor, boa feathers everywhere (I wasn't the only one), candy wrappers under chairs. Wow.

On Purim Day, as we walked down Ussishkin to Nachlaot, we passed carloads of people dressed as ducks, clowns, fairies...and then on the street would pass people who would give Ben and Coby Mishloach Manot, they ate an unbelievable amount of candy last week. But it was spectacular, of course they were costumed-out, but Phillip and I and Dara and Shmuel managed to don a new set of costumes for day #2. I was a ladybug. And on the way home in a taxi, they pulled my antenae out of my pig tails and had a duel with them. The cab driver, whose wife was pregnant, actually thought it was cute.

So just when we thought the fun would continue forever...it finally occurred to me to look at Coby's head close up--he was scratching and scratching. Yes. The plague of all preschools. Lice.
In 40 years, never ever, during years of camp, camping, wearing and sharing hats, with my long curly hair had never seen lice.
Until now.
Let's just say it resulted in 2 different bottles of Lice solution, everyone's head being treated, my hands in the bathtub for 3 days, and Ben, Coby, and Phillip getting short hair cuts.
Oy v' Voy.
But it did give me alot to talk about in my hebrew presentation, when I realized that over the last 3 months we had experienced our own version of the 10 plagues...but now we're FREE!