Cantor Alicia

June 7th, Olympia Airlines

2009-06-07T17:18:00.000-07:00

Sunday, June 7, 2009

This last week, so many 'lasts'. There are no more holidays for us this year, we've completed the entire Jewish calendar year, starting last August with Tisha B'Av, sitting on the grass overlooking the old city in August, singing from the book of Eicha, and now we've passed Shavuot, eating Palmellos and oranges. I acknowledge that my taste buds have been raised to another level, cucumbers sold at $.33/each will never have any taste for me, and I can't wait for the Pomegranates to come to New York in the fall.

Only Shabbat remains.

This week was a final faux-hike on the treacherous Dargot and a float in the Yam haMelach. As dry as this winter was, still the water level is higher, and the pointed rocks that cut into our feet earlier in the fall, are softened by the sand. We have a great lunch and coffee at Biankini beach, and I fight with the waitress in hebrew about why after paying for lunch we should have to pay extra for 20 minutes of salty water.

Ben has told his teacher that his last day of school is going to be Wednesday and not Friday, to our surprise--ahhhh, it's fine. So his 'misiba pareda' (goodbye party) is on Tuesday and we bring chocolately melting ruggelach from Martzipan for the class, I take pictures and cry as I say goodbye to Hadas, who looks like she could have built the country herself--her dark eyes, long black braid and sprinkling of freckles, standing in front of a classroom of 33 children, so crowded there is hardly enough room for me to stand there and get them excited about the ruggelach, and embarrass Ben by blowing him a huge kiss in front of everyone, then zipping out again so they could continue their day.

Lunch at the shuk, trips to HaSofer in Mea Sharim, baking a huge buttery, sugary cake for Ben's 9th Birthday party with 6 pals he has shared his year with here. Every one of them is so sweet, their moms carefully buying gifts for Ben that will be small enough to put in a suitcase. There is one boy here this year that he has become close to, Natan, and I think he and Natan have become better friends this year than some of his other friends back at home. His father told us that Natan had a lot of trouble sleeping the night after the party, he was up thinking how his good friend was going away for a long time, so sweet!

Then sof sof, my last week I finally met with Ana Elia, my beautiful French Ola who sings and plays the tof--just like Miriam. Finally we sang together and got to talk with no one around disturbing and pulling on us. One of the soulmates here that I hadn't yet had time to uncover, as we talked I realized our circles came so close to colliding so many times. She studies guitar and records separately with the musicians from Nava Tehila, she knows the women kabbalastic drummers from Tzfat that we brought in for a Shalom Baby event last year. Worlds coming so close. We taught each other a niggun and are having lunch together on Shabbat.

Friday, Coby's last day of school, and his 'misiba pareda'.

Last Shabbat, Kol Haneshama. Hard to believe, almost smack in the middle of Lecha Dodi Coby fell asleep on my lap. Isn't this how it all started? Erev Yom Kippur, 2007, I sat down after Kol Nidre and Coby laid himself across me for the entire evening. It felt so prayerful and sweet. Something about a sleeping child so close to your body, it calms everything down. It was a really nice service, tender, relaxed, Josh said goodbye in the middle of it to catch his shirut to Ben Gurion. There were old HUC students visiting, and new ones arriving, several HUC staff members praying there themselves, it felt like home. But needless to say, I couldn't even choke out the last Kol Haneshama prayer that Levi does in a round, from Psalm 150. The last Hallelujah I had no sound, no words, this was it, the end.

***************

Ben Gurion Airport: Now we've got 11 checked suitcases. The carry-on with my High Holiday and Shabbat music in it weighed 22 Kilos and the stewardess said no way, that is no carry-on. It's still before dawn and Ben and Coby are remarkably energetic. I am sleepwalking. We do all our security checks, our baggage checks, and we approach the final station with our passports and boarding passes, the security girl speaks to me in hebrew and english. Then she asks where do we live in America. We stared at her without answering, mouths open, and we looked at each other and laughed. Um, ugh, well, where do we live? One of us finally stammered that we live in Florida.

I think airports are designed to remove you from time and space. You are no longer in the country that you started, and they try to convince you that the time is now the time of your destination. It's totally disorienting. And that's how we leave Israel. We won't be going home tonight to push the branches away from the door at 37 Rehov Charlap, or shush Coby as he yells up and down the echoey stairwell, and he and Ben play games by throwing toys out the window to see if the branches can suspend them above the pathway. The 3pm breeze blowing through the apartment. My heart hurts, already I am not hearing Hebrew as much as Greek at the airport. Every Israeli we do meet here makes it their personal mission to impart to us that we need to keep up the kids' hebrew...so Israeli.

On Thursday morning Alyne asked me what gifts I will bring back to America, we both welled up with tears as I recapped the warmth of the people I've met, and Ben and Coby's experiences at school, hiking around the country, fumbling in hebrew with Phillip, all the music from Nachlaot, the beautiful Shabbatot, Yom Kippur all in white, the hebrew that has unlocked the liturgy for me.

Before I came I said I wanted this year to open me up, shake me around, challenge me and make me see and hear things differently, I didn't want to come here and affirm everything I already knew. I think that is what happened. And it hurt alot. Alot of struggling, learning, new things, uncomfortable things, confrontations with philosophy, with learning styles, with people who don't know from marriage and children sick in the middle of the night, people who do. I suppose I got what I wanted. I am upside down and shaken up, in the most beautiful and terrifying way.

Soon I will be singing at Temple Judea, and I have already been assigned the date of my first practicum this fall.

The year is over.

The North

2009-06-01T00:50:00.000-07:00

Monday, June 1, 2009

We went up to Kibbutz Yagur for Shavuot, where Gadi, one of the Israeli Rabbinic students lives. It was so fantastic, this is one of the oldest, and yet one of the few remaining traditionally run Kibbutzim in israel. But the people feel the change coming, that it is inevitable, and know that eventually it will privatize like the rest, so some are already seeking jobs outside of their kibbutz responsibilities. For many of the members, it is sad, but the whole mission of the country has changed, and they also know that. So Shavuot is the ultimate kibbutz holiday, besides the giving of the torah at Sinai--which is what the rest of the Jewish world is celebrating, on kibbutzim around Israel, they are celebrating the Bikurim--the first fruits (which is what would have been brought to the Temple as a sacrifice), in a big festival on the grounds, there was singing, dancing, and presentations of the first fruits....vegetables, goats, chicks, babies, plants, tractors, go-carts. It was so much fun for the kids, who were truly in their element here, climbing trees, riding bikes with kids they didn't know, everyone wearing white. It was sweet, then we went back to Gadi's house where we ate Humus brought back from Akko's famous Humus Sa-ed, and ate cheesecake. (Akko was fun, old, beautiful, and HOT!)

Gadi has an interesting story, his mother Shula, an amazing spunky woman was born on this kibbutz, as well as he himself, and his children. Gadi, when single went on Shlichoot to the UK, then two stints in the US. He fell in love--with American Jewry, it's warmth, enthusiasm, openness; came back to the kibbutz where he later married and began a family. Like many returning shlichim, he was so changed by his experience that he enrolled in HUC's Israeli Rabbinic Program. Where have we heard this story before? And there's actually quite a few who travel to change a community, then come back quite changed themselves.

Shabbat in Haifa at Gabi's synagogue, gentle and lovely 2nd to last Shabbat overlooking that gorgeous Mediterranean sunset. I told Phillip last weekend that I just wanted to see one more sunset over the Mediterranean, and here was my second. Lucky Lucky Lucky. We sang this amazing new women's arrangement of Eretz Zavat Chalav, and the original composer is a member of this congregation and was there on Friday. We sang this piece right after candle lighting, then reprised it again at the end, when Eliyahu came up again with his drum. He was so ecstatic and joyful. He is one of these participants, in one of these kinds of congregations where people will bring a recorder or a tof, and play along when the spirit moves them. Andrea was Gabi's Shlicha Tziboor--this was a really wonderful community to be praying with on 'almost' the last Shabbat. It reminded me of Beit Chaverim, a real Kahal.

Then back to the kibbutz with sleeping children, yet now it is 3:15am and Phillip and I are both awake because there is a huge party just outside the Kibbutz gates. Crazy, the people are celebrating from 11:30pm to the wee small hours. It's so funny, funny enough that it makes me forget to scratch my new mosquito bites; well, not completely.

The next morning we walked through the grounds of the Kibbutz, just above us was Muchracha--where Elijah the Prophet slew the 450 false prophets and convinced the people that his God was the one true God. Yagoor in hebrew is the future tense of 'to reside', so I got very excited when I realized that the kibbutz was named for its eternal presence here--until Gadi corrected me and said it was actually based on the name of the neighboring Arab village: Yajoor. So much for linguistics.

We returned home by way of winding roads through the Haifa mountains through Druze villages, stopping with the binoculars and letting the kids snack on roadside stands of home made pitas with olive oil and zatar (YUM!). We spent a few hours on the Hof HaBonim-a beach which is just beach--no restaurants or stores. It's a national park, so people can hike around there and even go camping with tents right on the beach, which was amazing to see what they brought with them as they took apart the tents: mattresses, pots, pans, coolers, barbecues...I think we can go camp on the beach at Peanut Island, anyone want to join?

Then typical traffic at the end of a holiday weekend, but when everyone was hungry, we turned to each other and said let's get off at Cesaria and watch the sunset! A third sunset! Ahhhh! And how fantastic that we can decide in a pinch to jump over to Cesaria or the Salty Sea for an hour or two. When others are deciding which restaurant in Jerusalem to go to, we are here, out on the highway in Israel, changing yet another flat tire on the rental car. Really you haven't lived until you've seen Phillip wear one of the little flourescent vests as he crouches at the tire with the jack. (I know what I'm getting him for father's day).

I just finished my last voice lesson with Judi here in Jerusalem. Both of us finished in tears, it's hard to say good-bye, to her especially.

Women of the Wall

2009-05-31T10:33:00.000-07:00

Sunday, May 31, 2009

These last Shabbatot are proving to be more and more special, if you can consider the amount that I cry and how easily I well up with emotion to be a barometer for that. I sang with Nava Tehila for the last time last Friday. We were working with the Song of Songs and unity, and Rabbi Ruth was talking about meaning and union (I think--it was in Hebrew), and our always striving to connect and interconnect with love. It was so nice to be able to sit next to a violinist and hear our parts weave in and out of each other. We had dinner with one of Ben's friend's family later that evening, a real family Kiddush. I really missed it, we've been hosting so often, and it was so nice to relax at someone's house with children playing. We laughed and told stories as they grappled with the fact that their 14 year old daughter was going to a late night party for the first time. I told her I was going to change my name to Aliza--all the Israelis ask me if this is how I pronounce my name (it means happy in Hebrew), but Nomi said definitely not to change it--it's an OLD name--like Martha in the US. Well that settled that, a 14 year old's pop-culture stance on things out-weighs my own.

The next morning we went to HUC for a final Shabbat morning service, Eli was leading and Nancy and Sara were singing too. I heard pieces that day that I had heard for the first time here at HUC and reminisced at how quickly this year went and how much I've learned. Gingy asked me to read the prayer for the IDF, which almost was the end of me. At least I was able to read this in English, but I was so overcome with where we were and what we were talking about. There were visitors there who I am sure thought that I had some relationship with someone in the IDF. What can I say, it's been a great year.

Sunday was Rosh Chodesh Sivan, I had been putting off joining the Women of the Wall, and here it is my last chance to join this renegade band of women--just some women who feel it is important to pray together as women at the holy site of the Kotel, sing Hallel with each other, and read the Rosh Chodesh parsha. Life should only be so simple. After 11 months, this was the first experience I've had where I have been involved in being criticized for religious observance, or told to stop doing something. Just 10 of us--a minyan--gathered near each other at the back of the women's section at the Kotel, quietly doing morning prayers at 7am. Some women wore tallitot, which made the one of the women who guard the modesty at the Kotel really very upset. So she was very confrontational, shouting at us, disturbing the other worshippers around us. I had packed up my siddur that I always carry last week, so picked up a strange one on the bookshelf at the wall, it was strange to me and I was lost in it... I couldn't find Birkat HaShachar, and the woman was shouting so loudly, all I could do was close my eyes and listen to the leader chant in her soft beautiful voice. The sun shone over the top of the wall and I knew this kind of thing was not the way it was intended. On the men's side I hear the dancing, whooping, and singing of Rosh Chodesh, and here on this side the women crouch and bend, all wrapped within themselves, alone. I see this in the very Orthodox shuls here as well, the men are a community, and the women are isolated from each other. This is not as it should be.

So, we quietly continued. The leader was brave, it was very threatening. And I wonder if all the indignancy of some of the students at HUC was from real anti-Reform experiences against them, or just anger and outrage at the concept of it in a religious country. We didn't say Kaddish. When we got to Hallel it got interesting all over again. Some women came by us and called "Kol HaKavod", and some of the religious girls exited the plaza leaning in to hear us quietly singing, they were curious, not horified, and you realize that they had never heard this before either and maybe were really very drawn to it. Needless to say the woman in charge of modesty, after screaming for the Israeli soldiers to come and 'supervise', finally got rid of us, and we hiked around through the Davidson Center to the side of the Western Wall that is under excavation and not considered holy. Though there are thousands of notes tucked in the cracks of the walls between the stones. There Dina, a JTS 3rd year Rabbinic student read the Torah Portion, and I had an aliyah-the fourth one. A woman was called for an aliyah that had never had one before, and yes she was crying and had no idea what to do. It was special, like a small sisterhood. It was a difficult year, and an amazing one; I wish I had joined the women of the wall earlier in the year, but am so glad I could be a part of this now.

One by one all the students are leaving. We're shipping boxes to our future campuses. I had an appointment with an eye doctor, my first doctor appointment in Israel, just to check that the scratched cornea healed properly--which is where I discovered that I have some allergy and he prescribed some eye drops.

I allowed myself a day to get lost in the old city. And I really did get lost, as I searched out the Via Delorosa and the Stations of the Cross--Jesus' walk to his crucifixion, I myself stumbled on interesting new areas: the birthplace of the Virgin Mary, several Christian sites that USY Pilgrimage to Israel doesn't take it's high-schoolers, and got mocked by 4 Arab teenage girls. Ahhh, it's good to feel like an idiot. I saw trees, tall trees, and couldn't image what it was, so I made a right turn down a long dark corrider, and at the checkpoint with an Arab guard and Israeli soldier, realized I was on the Temple Mount, and there just 100 meters away was the Dome of the Rock. At that very moment Phillip was going up to it on the Kotel side, where non-Moslems were permitted. I was stopped, of course, but there I was standing, right at the Temple Mount, thinking how incredibly on top of each other all these religions are. It really started my imagination cooking on where exactly the Mount stops and the rest of the temple began, and if one area is completely holy with the divine presence of God, if there is no wall of the Holy of Holies remaining, maybe I was standing on it.

I was surprised at what I could see, peering through the giant doorway, trees, children running, mothers walking with bags. It wasn't solemn, it was relaxed and vibrant and peaceful. But then again, I was watching in secret. Phillip on the other hand, was forced to buy a scarf to cover his legs when he entered with the rest of the non-Moslems. I was in a skirt, and alone, and was able to drift freely around the eastern side of the city walls.

Doorways

2009-05-17T01:18:00.000-07:00

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Either you will

go through this door

or you will not go through.

If you go through

there is always the risk

of remembering your name.

Things look at you doubly

and you must look back

and let them happen.

If you do not go through

it is possible

to live worthily

to maintain your attitudes

to hold your position

to die bravely.

but much will blind you,

much will evade you,

at what cost who knows?

The door itself

makes no promises.

It is only a door.

Beautiful poem, right? It's at the very beginning of the Mishkan Tefillah--the new prayerbook put out by the URJ. In my 4 month angst last spring that brought me here, I used to think alot about doors and hallways, and where would this lead. It is so ironic to see this poem here, at the first tefillah. And now someone read it aloud, at the very last student-lead tefillah last week. Somehow with teary and emotional goodbyes we got through the processing of the last week of school, finals week, turning in final projects, concerts, and also knowing that some of these hugs goodbye may be for a very long time, as we are dispersing to 3 different campuses.

My feelings about leaving Israel are so complicated. On the one hand, ready to move to the next step, as is Ben and Phillip; yet on the other, we are now really part of society here--mainly because of our having kids in the school system. Every time I go to Coby's gan, I leave crying because the teachers are so fantastic. Now Mayan, the head teacher is pregnant, and I watch her baby grow every day and wish I could be here to help her. And when I arrange a final day with Hadas, Ben's teacher, I leave with the same lump in my throat. Now Ben can't spell in Hebrew or English, but he can speak in both, and I really hope some of the family friends we've made at his school continue.

These next 2 weeks will fly by. We're making more and more arrangements for our return, Phillip is scheduling interviews, people are starting to make concrete plans with us. It's all very strange. I wonder how many more times I'll look out the living room window here at dusk and see the blue and white lights of the knesset glowing.

Around in circles to the right

2009-05-08T11:26:00.000-07:00

Saturday, May 9, 2009

I guess even cats deserve a shabbos meal. All year long we've been seeing Jerusalem's cats skulking, jumping, creeping under cars, climbing up and falling out of--trees, even hearing them go at it during mating season...but now I've seen everything. Someone put a big plate of cholent out on the sidewalk near the garbage dumpster on our street for them. It went ignored all day until I was walking home from the Great Synagogue, and saw a cat making kiddush and indulging. It was hysterical, and a little gross looking. But I suppose that even cats deserve to eat something special.

I have heard that there is a group that meets before Shabbat on Friday afternoons at Liberty Bell Park to do Israeli dancing. On Tuesday evening, as we were leaving the school after our conference call with the New York campus and spent an hour finding out all about our curriculum and schedule for next year, I thought about how little time there is left, and what are the things that I had intended to do but didn't. Ah, I can't believe we haven't been dancing! So there is this group that meets every Friday when it's summertime...so once again, I dragged Phillip and the kids, and figured that if they didn't want to dance, we were still at the park that they love and there was plenty to play on and room to scooter and run around.

I jumped in, choosing my favorite 'regulars' to follow and try to read their body language and anticipate which steps were coming next. For a folk dance with a small vocabulary of steps, it is fairly tricky. Every song seems to have a different choreography, to the right, sometimes you skip a beat, double a step, skip, reverse direction, turn, or not turn, but just go backwards. Congratulations to me for not stepping on anyone's toes, and to the women who wear those crazy plaid and checkered tights and make it so easy to watch their legs and follow along. Clearly they've been doing this for years. It was so much fun, and when I ran back on the grass to get Phillip I pointed back to the hundreds of people dancing, thinking it's funny because it doesn't really look that much fun, but it IS!

Constantly moving, but simple steps, not very high off the ground, old people, young people, everyone can do it. By the time we left I felt like I had spent time on a kibbutz, oh so very communal in nature. But my right thigh was tired, and realized these crazy people don't ever reverse the general direction of the circle. It goes around in circles to the right. Only the right. So I'm a bit uneven right now, but it was so much fun. And it was so relaxed that Ben and Coby could just weave in and out of the circle to find me and jump on me while I skipped along.

I finally made Mayan happy by doing Kabbalat Shabbat with Coby's class at the Gan. After I dropped off Coby I skipped across the street to Yemim Moshe, a beautiful artsy community built on the hill opposite the old city--underneath the King David Hotel, before Sultan's Pool. I had my guitar with me, but it was too early to get into the library to prepare for our Practicum on Sunday. I brought my creaky old bones to a spot at the top of Yemim Moshe and stretched out doing some yoga facing the view of the Old City Walls, and practiced guitar for an hour. (Lag B'Omer celebrations for the schools are on Sunday evening, and I have to be ready to sing songs that I have never heard of and will not know in time) So sprawled out near a gazebo, thinking how original I am...I was not so original, and was the side show for 2 tourist groups that came nearby. Noone spoke to me, but I think I was in a few pictures of "wow, look at that girl playing guitar in Jerusalem!"

I went by myself to the Kabbalat Shabbat at the Great Synagogue. I was surprised to learn that it is a new synagogue, built in 1982, and when you look at the entrance, you see how it was modeled after THE temple--as in the holy of holies. The guard calls me out right away as an American and asks me to turn my cell phone off, and I explained to her I have children at home who may need me, but it is on silent. She didn't care about my reasons... I sat up in the women's gallery and listened to the new cantor that they are trying out, Naphtali Hershik has just retired, he had been there since the beginning, and their choir who is there every Shabbat and Chag. I mean it was beautiful, he had a gorgeous, trained, tenor voice. I loved watching the conductor bring the choir back together when their 'ooohhs' were going awray. I don't know, I left around 8pm, when they began Maariv, feeling a little sad. That was a quickie Kabbalat Shabbat, but it left me sort of empty. The choir was nice, but I don't really feel there is a place for the congregation in there. I think to pray there, you already need to have it all together and know what you are doing, because they don't wait for you to 'pray', they keep going. It made me really think about what the kahal thinks when a choir is singing their special pieces, and what is the balance between congregational music and special music for the choir or cantor. So tonight, where was there room for us? But if it is all us, then where is the opportunity for stretching us and challenging us with a more intricate piece?

I have to finish working through this one before I tackle interfaith marriages. Phillip felt that watching the Israeli dancing was kabbalat shabbat-like for him, much more so than something so formal as the Great Synagogue. I told him he was a kibbutz-nik, since during all the waves of Aliyot, that was their religion, and was what united them. But that actually was what satisfied them in a spiritual way as well, so perhaps my husband, the Israeli communist has a bit of the kibbutznik in him after all.

Memorials

2009-04-26T20:27:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

I remember where I was 1 year ago today. Israel turned 60, and we were sweating and walking with 1000 members of the community from CityPlace to the Meyer Amphitheater. There were Israeli dancers, food, and vendors; and I wasn't sure yet if we were actually going to come to Israel or not. I think it was May 8. I didn't know if I passed my hebrew exam, or if we could manage to rent our house, or pack up our life and say goodbye.

But we did. And now I sit at Har Hertzel with 1000 Israelis, soldiers, families and watch the rehearsal for the Yom Hazikaron ceremony commemorating the IDF, the 61st anniversary of the State of Israel, and also the 100th anniversary of the country's oldest city, Tel Aviv. There were soldiers marching, holding flags and twirling into formations representing the different branches of the military. Hundreds of kids dancing and singing, people singing, speaking, torches; it was so formal. We were impressed at the formality and the precision--for all the casual, untucked image of daily soldier sightings on the street--which is all the time, these were so beautiful and proud. It was very moving. We always joke about how disorganized the country is, or seems on the outside. Their precision was beautiful, and in huge contrast with the rumpled kids we see on the streets wearing their uniforms wrinkled, hanging, backpacks, jumping on and off buses, loud, smoking, laughing, one hand always touching their rifles hanging over one shoulder.

It was freezing as it got later, like every other cemetery in the world, the sun was setting across from us, and a tiny eyelash of the moon was emerging, and I think about the unlikely chance that this little country actually reinvented itself within my parents' lifetime. With the Torah behind them, they have a much deeper sense of history than what just 61 years provides.

So Coby insisted that we bake a cake for his class for Israel's birthday. They've been practicing all week for their Yorm Haatzmaut ceremony--all the ganim are doing something special. And all the older kids' schools are focusing first on Yom Hazikaron-Memorial Day.

Nancy and I welled up, it really was beautiful. Everyone important was present, singers, kids, politicians. They were also celebrating Tel Aviv's 100th, so were telling the story of different people who were during the founding of the state. They lit 12 torches--for the tribes. I wonder if they celebrate with such seriousness because it such a young country, and so many people remember a time when it wasn't here, or because the military is in everyone's life. We sat and watched, Coby and Ben begging to see the horses that I promised them. I thought again, like at the beginning of last summer, the fact that this country is here is a miracle. No horses, loud fireworks, we had to take the rugrats home.

Tuesday morning I co-led a tefillah with Nancy and Jaclyn for Yom hazikaron, over and over again we felt the power of the day. When we were shaping the service, we decided to connect it to home by talking about Michael Levin, the American-born soldier who emigrated, fought in the second Lebanon war, and was killed in the summer of 2006. A friend of Michael's said that many of them (Americans), joined the Israeli military because they felt Israel was a tiny country, disliked by many sides, and they wanted to help. And then I think about them, in all this grandeur, marching with their flags and torches, and choreography, and amazing music, and it really is amazing, in spite of being disliked on many sides--just look at them. Proud and strong.

Israel has sirens.

They have sirens that blow to signal that Shabbat is here, but also Monday evening, 8pm exactly, the siren blew. And also at 11am on Yom Hazikaron. Just like everyone says, cars stopped, lights on, and everyone got out of the car, just standing, looking to others, to meet their eyes and share something. When people used to describe this to me, I thought they stopped their cars to see what the siren was, but it's out of solidarity and respect. Such a stillness, for 2 minutes. Haunting. I cried, the first of several times over those 24 hours.

When the siren stops, it seems to spin and cycle like a drill, the pitch sounds like its falling, but it doesn't, it keeps drilling and droning into your core. Its scary and haunting.

After our service on Tuesday morning we went to the Gimnasia High School, which honors its 138 alum who have been lost over the last 100 years in wars and terrorist acts. High School seniors lead this, which is insane, because they are 17 and 18, and they know where they are going next year. Its an awful way to live. yet it is really amazing how they all give themselves permission to cry and be sad with each other, around others; everyone understands and is OK. Everyone is emotional and crying. Its this public display of privacy. And at the end, singing Hatikvah, I've never heard anything like it. It wasn't loud and proud and high; it was intimate and whispered, you couldn't hear any one person's individual voice, we all sang so so quietly. It was painful and very emotional. I spoke to some teachers that came with us afterward. 10 months ago, the 10 days of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur also stopped traffic, we had just arrived, still getting used to the country and the culture, and now look at us, feeling so much a part of culture that we finally have permission to dislike it, be disgusted by parts of it, and say so. Yet still, who am I to be so emotional next to these people here. These people, including my teachers, have children who fought, who are going to fight; how can I align myself with them and share concern and tears. Who am I, who in 6 weeks, will be going to New York and flit around the east coast, visiting the beach, being oh so busy; but nothing like this.

I felt like I had been beaten up. I had been singing, talking, tearing up for hours, I was exhausted. I went home, we took the kids for ice cream, mellowed out, all the regular TV stations were off until the following day--except for stories of fallen soldiers.

But in the evening, the country turns over, everyone who had been wearing pure white, were now draping themselves in Israeli flags, glow in the dark things, drinking, singing, dancing. We walked through the center of town, listening to music, more ice cream for the kids, then went to Kikar Safron, the municipal square where we registered the kids for school during the summer. It was a huge square with a stage, and they had their famous Shira B'Tziboor--'public singing'. I loved it! This time, I knew so many of the songs and their histories from class, it was so happy. People broke out into spontaneous dancing. Veterans from the Lahakat HaYam--the Navy entertainment troupe were there singing along. Songs from the 'war' movie: HaLahakat. And again, fireworks, which got a bit dangerous when the sparks started to fall around us...as we walked home through Independence Park, the fireworks must have been shot off from the top of the Sheraton Hotel, the sparks were falling literally on the ground around us. We--and everyone around us--ran and hid under trees. Crazy. And beautiful.

Yom Haatzmaut, Israel Independence Day, was one giant BBQ. Everyone cooked meat, you could smell fire everywhere. Music, children, meat. Every 10 feet was a new group of people clumped together for a little party, it was happy, celebration. This is one group of holidays that I am really glad I was here for.The turning from the depths of sadness to heights of happiness in an afternoon is incredible.

Yom Hazikaron

2009-04-20T20:23:00.000-07:00

Saturday, April 25, 2009

We have very few weeks left in Israel. We're counting our weekends carefully, to make sure we get to the places we wanted to see, the people we wanted to spend time with. When I think about it, I'm still surprised that we are here.

Tonight we're having some friends over, Friday night Shabbat get togethers have been a highlight of the year.

We spent our vacation hiking in Ein Gedi, which is even more beautiful after the winter rains; the trees are full and green, bamboo trees are scattered throughout running streams, and there are so many waterfalls dropping into pools where everyone tosses their shoes to the side and jumps in for a swim.

Jerusalem during Pesach is a bit like New York in the summer, it clears out. Everyone is travelling--except for people visiting from other countries for seder. We spent days on the beach in Eilat, the kids miss playing in the sand. It's so funny how Israeli families pretty much camp out on the beach for the day. They not only bring coolers, blankets and towels, but gas stoves, meat, coffee--they are serious about their day at the beach. They inspired us to buy one of these fantastic plastic straw mats for the beach or park, 2x3 meters, it's huge! 75 Shekels (about $18).

I finally got my passport stamped, the first time I'm leaving the country since July, Petra, Jordan. Amazing place, amazing sculptures right into the sides of the mountains. It is believed the Nabateans 'carved' out this culture here as they were travelling salesman, so to speak, but I've also read some theories that Petra may have been the place where the Israelites lived for 38 years in the desert. This would have been before the Nabateans, of course this can not be proven one way or the other, but its an interesting thought. Even without the burial caves that the Nabateans formed, there are shady alleys and places to stay, water to drink, and surrounded by amazing mountains. We could have spent days hiking around here, but instead Ben and Coby rode donkeys. They thought that was the best thing in the world--look at them with their Indiana Jones hats! (Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade filmed a scene here in Petra, so the local salesmen try to capitalize on that)

So now we're back at school. And we all look exhausted. Everyone rested and travelled and did wonderful things, and here we are trying to negotiate our time remaining. It's not merely a semester at school, it's another country, which we are still in the process of 'processing', and how we feel about that. I was hiking in Ein Kerem last week thinking sometimes I feel our times in Israel are to connect us more deeply to Judaism. But sometimes I feel that all my Judaic connections and practice is all pointing to a relationship with Israel. We fight it constantly, but this place has a soul, I think the earth speaks and it challenges you. It fluctuates.

I'm dying to go to the Sinai, not to Taba, where the resorts are, but to really penetrate the desert, with a good guide, with the Tanach in our packs. But now; this was not the time to go, there was an alert put out by the consolate, even the Israelis are warning us that it's not a good time to go, and we've heard several stories that it's not such a safe time to travel there. Next time--and there will be a next time.

So there is the issue of HUC's future, all the students are worried about where they are going next year. The school is wisely trimming expenses where they can, and the College's President sends us letters keeping us informed of their processes and what they are hoping to do. Right now there is a lot of speculation, nervous students, people who don't know what to do with their energy and their nervousness. Yet in spite of this, and this is to be expected, enrollment for next year is up. I think in times of financial and economic stress, people are turning towards social services and away from finance and economics.

But, in spite of my saturated brain, I would still say I'm happy here. Sunday I will miss part of my biblical grammar (hard to image) class to be mom, and go to the gan's ceremony for Rosh Chodesh Iyyar. This is a very serious and intense week coming up, we are between Yom Hashoah--Holocaust Rememberance Day, and Yom Hazikaron--Memorial Day. An intense and deeply meaningful period of time for Israelis. This country wears its history on its face like jewelry, its everywhere. Israel is turning just 61. I was telling Coby today, who wants to bake a birthday cake for Israel, that all his Grandparents are older than Israel. What a concept.

Ein Kerem, Ein Gedi, Eilat, Petra

2009-04-18T11:08:00.000-07:00

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Tonight we're having some friends over, Friday night Shabbat get togethers have been a highlight of the year.

Passover--a confession

2009-04-11T13:59:00.000-07:00

Sunday, April 12, 2009

If Passover is the holiday of deflation--wheat, food, money, ego, etc. It's working.

This day started before dawn. Once every 28 years is the Blessing of the Sun, we raced around our neighborhood with 2 sleepy children on our backs looking for a taxi. As was every other person in the 'hood. Hopeless, I stalked the roof of a nearby building, thinking I'd just watch the sunrise from there, but at the last moment, we caught a cab and found our Renewal Congregation: Nava Tehila, on the Tayelet. This view is unforgettable, it overlooks the Jordanian Mountains to the East, and the Kidron Valley, Old City, and Temple Mount in front and to the West. We made it just as the sun was reaching up above the horizon. Wow. They say that the sun was in this exact position, on the Tuesday of the week that the world was created. Look at that sunrise.

By mid-afternoon we all smelled like smoke. This was the day of the seder--when people were burning all their hametz over make-shift campfires in parks, backyards, garbage cans...probably not so safe, but the kids were mesmerized. All kids are pyromaniacs, right? When I was little we just had that candle, a feather, and a spoon; but here people were burning pizza, pasta, pretzels, pitas, all the wrappers, quiches, (yes, there was a quiche) and the piles just smoldered. I hear Lag B'Omer is just like this, fires everywhere. We gleaned off someone else's fire, tossing in our 1/2 loaf of bread, we're not so strict, everything else we have was stored on top of the microwave.

I really liked doing a seder in Israel. Ein Karem is so beautiful, it feels like Italy--granted I've never been to Italy. But the Israeli family we were joining was so warm and into having our kids there. There were more kids than adults, which is the way I remember seders growing up. With the two 5-yr olds crawling under the table, just like I remember doing. We all used a different Hagadah, which was a bit of an eye-opener for me, that the text is all the same, from Hagadah to Hagadah, the blessings, the order (of course), and all the rabbinic dialogue in the middle. It was actually really cool to all have different Hagadot, it somehow connected us even more. The words are the same everywhere in the world--it's just the colors and pictures that change.

As the 5 year olds crawled around under the 25 foot long table, and the 8-15 year olds read, the patriarch led, and the mothers sang, I realized who the seder is really for. We tend to tailor it to the preschool aged kids--the ma-nishtana crowd. But I am thinking it's for the 8-15 year olds, who are old enough to sit, read, nibble, participate, and be embarrassed by their parents; while the kiddies come and go, and just absorb good family vibes. Then, it's the mothers singing and squeezing in all the words to the verses of 'dayenu' and 'adir hu' (finally heard the whole thing sung in person) that infuses the atmosphere with the feeling of togetherness and the sense that everyone has been doing this for years. These were not people who would consider themselves religious, yet culturally, these are the traditions that they grew up with. Not one eye rolled that night. The moms hugged and swayed with their daughters toward the refrain of 'ki laolam chasdo'. I learned more when I had my head out of the Hagadah. And remember that Ron Wolfson was right last May when he said at Club Med that you have to do these holidays and traditions for yourself--not only for your children. They join in when they see it resonate for you, otherwise they won't buy it. I think he's right.

Meanwhile, we went around the room reading...in Hebrew of course. Ofer, my friend's husband, who teaches voice at the Jerusalem music academy read so fast I started to flush. I figured I had about 20 minutes until they came around to me. I felt my ears get hot, but I read my little paragraph in Hebrew. Phillip boldly followed with several paragraphs in loud English. Why so nervous? They were so positive towards us, and happy for us trying. I read fine, and yet still so so nervous. What was I thinking, that their image of me would be shattered? What image--they hardly knew me. So silly. It was a beautiful night.

Amazing, delicious food.

You could buy kosher for passover cookies everywhere!

The next morning we went to Har-El because Andrea was doing the Blessing of the Dew with the cantor there. This is the day when the added phrase in the Amidah changes from praying for more rain in the winter, to dew throughout the summer. Well if I thought I was going to have a relaxing prayer experience...ma nishtana? The 'greeter' asked me to read the Mi Shabeirach paragraph for IDF soldiers--in Hebrew. Oh my god, I'm sitting on the side feeling confident, doing lamaze breathing...then I go up without a tallis, and I think my eyesight is getting worse from all the reading in class, suddenly I can't see any vowels. I wouldn't say I butchered the prayer. I would say, however, it was not my finest Hebraic moment. But when it's important to you and you really want to get it right; you know, you really want it to be right. So, I guess it was fine. But I didn't feel so fine.....really...I suppose a bit of self-inflicted humiliation is good. A la pesach I suppose.

So if you thought every day here was filled with amazing Israel experiences...it's only because I only write and show pictures of the amazing things that happen. There are many days that I don't elaborate how behind my smile, I do inwardly mope around. So many times I catch myself--in my fatigue-- feeling sorry for myself that my hebrew isn't where I want it to be. I made a choice that since I have such limited time to do homework and study after hours, that at least I will make sure I go to class--that there must be some inherent value in absorbing it in person... Then why can I only understand my teacher, and not the guy from the taxi company who hung up on me. Or the impatient clerk at the drug store who snaps at me to "just speak in english" when I needed to buy lice shampoo for Coby. As soon as I get home I put all my work away until after Ben and Coby go to bed, but is that enough for them? That I have the best voice teacher in the world but no time to practice. Theoretically I think its great and beneficial to have 50% of my classes in Hebrew, but sometimes feel like a child in a foreign country because though I understand most of what's going on, I always suspect that there are deeper concepts being explored that I didn't catch. My language is not nuanced yet, and sometimes I feel like an idiot.

So, no its not all amazing all the time. I do always step back though, breathe in the desert wind, and look at myself, and recognize this is part of a process here, and remind myself how much I have learned, how far I have come, how much deeper my relationship with Judaism and Israel is, how much I love it here. But if I'm really desperate, I tell myself how brave I am to try to pull this off at 40 years old. And that some of my best hebrew comes out when I'm yelling back at someone--like an Israeli. Sometimes when I am walking home from class and it's already dark, and I know Ben and Coby are already eating their pizza, and Phillip is waiting for me, and I'm another day closer to this very special year ending, I just breathe and listen to my ipod, just breathe.

חתונה או לא חתונה

2009-04-01T21:47:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

We were invited to our first wedding in Israel, which Phillip went to because suddenly Coby was sick. Ahhhhh? How could this happen? We're not one of 'those' families who are constantly missing events because the kids keep coming down with mysterious illnesses. But how could I leave with a child who looked green? From the pictures and eyewitness, Brian and Yamit's wedding was beautiful. I have to share an Israeli joke which encapsulates the cultural difference between Americans and Israelis and the 'formality' that they bring to weddings, bar-mitzvahs, etc... "How can you tell an Israeli groom on his wedding day?...New sneakers!"

Are you laughing?

I think it's funny.

Oh well.

I had been working all week on my first paper ALL in hebrew for my Bible class. I've written small assignments for my hebrew class, but this was 2 pages, TYPED, in hebrew, about a verse in Exodus. I had to research what modern and middle-age commentators said about this particular verse, and do it in Hebrew. So though the paper was simple, the hebrew was not. Whew! I think I broke a sweat doing my first draft. The verse I chose was Exodus 2:6, where Pharoah's daughter finds Moses in the basket on the Nile. She opens the basket, looks at the baby and has pity on him. The detail I was analyzing was why the text repeats that she saw a boy, a lad, when she opened the basket. Some of the answers were that she looked, and seeing that it was a baby boy, a jewish boy, she knew he was sent down the river to avoid the fate of all other jewish baby boys--to be killed by her dad's decree. Interesting, no?

Well, we'll see if the teacher thinks so.

On Thursday, April 2nd, we skipped school and took a bus up to Afula, then to Tivon to meet our HUC bicycle riders who participated in the Israeli Reform Movements' fundraiser: Ride for Reform. Cute town, they did an amazing job of riding about 300 km in 5 days all the way from Har Hermon around the southern tip of the Kinneret, up through Tsfat and out westward towards Haifa to Tivon. Fun, pretty town, maybe next year I can participate. After 5 days, don't they look great?

2009 celebrates Tel Aviv's 100th birthday, and we were stupid enough to pretend there wouldn't be an overwhelming crowd in Rabin Square in Tel Aviv, and went to join the festivities. It was shabbat, so we took a Shiroot with some friends, took the phone number of the driver, who promised to pick us up IN Rabin Square after the party, and had excellent hamburgers on Rothschild Blvd.

It was a very cool event, there must have been thousands of people, so packed, the kids were on our shoulders. The Israeli Pharmonic was playing song by famous Israeli composers, there were people suspended from huge canvases painting, a la blue man group style, people dancing on the stage with flags, roller blades, so many things. We couldn't see, so we snuck up onto the roof of a nearby apartment building--where the fireworks were shooting from. So we managed not to go deaf, and not to get pushed off the roof; which was good, because the real challenge was connecting with Asher the shiroot driver after the event. Wow, what a crazy night.

This morning we woke the kids up before dawn and desperately tried to flag down a cab at 5:30am. Today is The Blessing of the Sun, which only comes once every 28 years, and here we are in Jerusalem, how could we miss this? So, after failing to find a cab--and no, we were not the only ones out on Palmach looking for taxis, we skulked into Yakar Synagogue in our own neighborhood; where we were reassured to see some people we knew. But as I sat in the corner of the women's section, sitting low in my seat, without a prayerbook, holding Coby on my lap, still in his pajamas, I waved to Phillip, this just didn't feel right. I think we should give it another try--to meet up with Nava Tahila, the Renewal Congregation on the Tayelet and greet the sun in person. Success!

We ran under the Pavillion at the Tayelet just as the sun was reaching up out of the horizon. It was spectacular. We arrived in the midst of their service, but I was so glad we came. We gave the kids chocolate bars for breakfast to bribe them to be happy, and wrapped ourselves around them to keep them warm in the pajamas. The roosters actually started to crow, and down below in the Kidron Valley, in the desert, overlooking the old city and the Mount Olives, the Jordanian Mountains, the villages started to wake up and go about their day. Mostly preparing for Pesach. Such a great mix of all different kind of worshippers, and as we walked back on the Tayelet, there were so many groups of people from different synagogues there, having learning sessions, or burning their chametz.

Tonight is THE seder, remember, here it is only one. Then tomorrow is the holiday, when the whole country will digest matza, and make their way to the Kotel to hear the Birkat HaCohanim. Lynda and Lee--this is you, this would be your job on the Temple Mount. Of course only if this were 2000 years ago, and you lived here, and you weren't a woman...picky picky.

The Negev

2009-03-31T07:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-22T21:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-21T11:48:00.000-07:00

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!