A Shabbas Miracle

I don't really know if I believe in miracles or not -- probably depends on the day and situation. But I can't think of any other way to describe the luck I had Thursday evening. Rachel has been in Vermont for a conference, and she was supposed to be back early evening today. Unfortunately, she has been in traveling hell and did not make her flight last night from Newark and will get out today on the 4pm or 10pm. My plan has been -- and I will still be able to tomorrow -- surprise her with a great homecoming (can't give details in case she reads this from the airport). Part of it involves food, which she knows about, so I had made a very detailed and elaborate shipping list which also had a to-do list on it. I set out late afternoon Thursday for the first of two visits to the shuk that I had planned. I left the apartment with the list in my pocket, but once I got to the shuk it was nowhere to be found. I went through my pockets and bag several times, started to retrace my steps before realizing how pointless that was and was ready to have a breakdown when Rachel called on my cell phone. I collected myself, felt confident that I would remember things from the list if I just walked around and I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to go home and recreate the list so I could continue with my shopping. I did my round 1 of shopping and then headed home with my bags full of produce. It's a good 20 minute walk one way, and I was strolling down King George, listening to my iPod, when I suddenly remembered that I had lost the list and should be paying attention and looking for it. Literally 3 seconds later I looked down on the ground to my left and there that list was, laying exactly where it must have fallen when I took a bandanna out of my pocket to wipe sweat from my face. It was right in front of the Great Synagogue which really cracked me up. I was beyond excited and didn't try to hide it at all, much to the amusement of passersby. I went home and unloaded, marked things off the list and went back out to go to a regular market, gloating each time I was able to mark something off. I talked to my folks that evening and Dad said I have to write about it in my blog. So here it is, my Shabbas Miracle.

Rubberbands

Our cats, particularly Sadie, are quite fond of eating most anything off the floor, regardless of the size. Sadie has been known, a few too many times, to eat rubber bands that have fallen on the floor before we find them. We inevitably and thankfully find the regurgitated rubber band, usually on a light colored rug of course, and always have a healthy Sadie in the end. The previous tenants of our apartment here in Jerusalem left a lot of school supplies, including a big box of rubber bands. There have been countless times when I will see a rubber band on the floor and feel a slight panic inside as I worry if Sadie has eaten one on the floor in the other room, and I immediately go to pick it up. Then I remember that she is not here, and I could sprinkle rubber bands all over the floor if I wanted to. I tend to leave the rubber band lying there for a day or two, it being a good reminder of our furry children back in the states. I mentioned this to Rachel and she said she reacts the exact same way. So I guess we are both really tuned in to the welfare of something else, something that really relies on us. I like to think that little things like rubber bands and cats and our similar responses is a good sign that Rachel and I do indeed compliment one another well and will be a good team when we finally are blessed with non-furry but equally adorable human children. Who knew a rubber band could make me think so much. Yup, we sure do miss 'em.

Our First Tiyul to Tel Aviv

It was actually about 2 weeks ago, but I never had a chance to write about it because I was sick. There are a few things about the day that I found interesting. First, it really is a European city -- it has very little in common with Jerusalem except for the fact that it is in Israel and that Jews are the predominant inhabitants of both cities. However, Jerusalem is a very religious city and Tel Aviv is very secular, and the folks who live in each city reflect that difference. There are tons of restaurants, bars, clubs, cafes, etc. all over the place, many open late or all night. On Fridays there is an amazing artist market where we know we can go for unique gifts in the future. We ate dinner at a Thai restaurant, and pork and shellfish were on the menu! The owner was recommending dishes to me and I kept telling him I have to have pork! Transportation runs 24/7 between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv and within Tel Aviv. We did a round trip, including a sherut to Tel Aviv, a sherut to the beach and reverse for 2 people for 150 shekel total. This makes it possible for us to go to Tel Aviv every 4-6 weeks which we think we need to do so as not to suffocate in Jerusalem. Since we arrived in Jerusalem, I have been looking for all of the Ethiopian Jewish immigrants that you hear and read about, but I felt like I wasn't seeing the whole picture. Well, they are all in Tel Aviv, or at least it seems that way. It was SO nice to see people of color. Jerusalem is very white. Coming from Washington, DC, where I worked in a predominantly black neighborhood and lived in what was quickly becoming a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood, it was very refreshing to see diversity. And pretty much everyone was very Eurochic/metrosexual, again a refreshing change from the frum folks in Jerusalem. We went to the beach for a few hours. It was packed and was really quite nice. Lots of paddleball and volleyball and babies running around naked. I didn't get in the ocean, although Rachel did, but I did get my feet wet and collect some shells for old times sake. We laid around and read and hung out to see the sunset over the ocean. A little French-Jewish dog, who I named Louche, befriended us -- she made herself at home on our blanket and explored my backpack and of course agreed to the petting and scratching (check out pics on DropShot). It was a nice, although short, day. I started getting sick the night before this day trip and in hindsight probably shouldn't have gone, but I had no idea how sick I really was. So we left a lot later than we had planned and came back earlier, but we got a sense of Tel Aviv and know that we want to spend more time there. You can look forward to future posts about our adventures in Tel Aviv.

Smoking, Tattoos and Hypocrisy

Okay, a lot of things have been bugging me, and that's not exactly abnormal for my mind set. I struggle with the religious community in Jerusalem, in many different ways. Probably the biggest and most vague thing of annoyance is how they preach the 613 commandments, how they expect everyone else to cater to them around that, yet they don't always live them, they are sometimes hypocrites. Yes, I know we all are at times. But there is one particular thing that has been catching my attention since arriving in Israel: I see men, and sometimes women, with their whole black hat, peyes, tzit tzit, etc. getup on, smoking a damn cigarette. I have received disapproving looks from the religious because of my rather large foot and ankle tattoo. They believe I have defiled my body. Maybe that's true, but I love my tattoo and apologize to no one for having it. "You know you won't be able to be buried in a Jewish cemetery don't you?" Well, actually, I'm interested in eco-burial where I will be thrown in a hole out in the woods and covered with dirt, and it seems fitting that I would do so with body decoration. Or, well, I happen to think it is so sad that throughout time all over the world there have been people too poor, or people who have been abandoned because of disability or physical and mental illness who get thrown in large mass graves -- no one deserves that, not even people with tattoos; everyone deserves burial with dignity. So back to defilement. I don't see how inhaling tar and carcinogens, and oh, I don't know, the other 597 additives in a single cigarette, is not defiling the body. I have a beautiful, and yes permanent, piece of art work on my body. I really feel like I am honoring G-d's gift to me, my body, by decorating it in such a way where I feel more beautiful and where I feel I have enhanced something natural. But this tattoo will not kill me. This tattoo does not harm my family with second hand illnesses. It does not poison my body and induce cancer. While it did necessitate a one time expense, it does not cut into my family's budget every week or month. I did not act out of selfishness when I got this tattoo, but the religious man who smokes is thinking of himself, his needs, his cravings and addictions, before his children who are at risk of losing a parent prematurely. I know, I know, this all sounds extreme. I'm just trying to make a point. I feel like people have what is worthy of judgment and what is not a little mixed up. You bug me because your smoking habit affects countless people -- my tattoo does nothing to them. And neither does my kippah. Phooey on you.

Our Love For Cats

So as I wrote many weeks ago, most cats in Israel, and there are a lot of them, are feral. This has annoyed me as I'm very used to American cats who for the most part are affectionate and would prefer we humans live outside in packs rather than in our cats' homes. But I have gotten used to them for the most part. I avoid walking by dumpsters or garbage bins after dusk to avoid a cat launching itself at my face because it is scared. I've stopped thinking of them as rats and instead have been trying to appreciate that they live in packs and are afraid of humans for a reason, that they didn't ask the Brits to bring them on a boat and deposit them in a foreign country. I've started seeing them as cute and am focusing less on how skinny and skittish they are. But what brings it all back home for me is when they are hungry. There is a small pack of feral cats who live in the courtyard of the apartment complex we live in, and there are residents of the complex who feed them. It seems like lately they aren't being fed as regularly, and they have been quite hungry. Two days ago I was leaving to go run some errands. The path I take to get from my entrance to the courtyard happens to be where they are fed. As I walked down the stairs I heard cats crying, and when I actually got to the bottom and to the door 3 of the cats were inside the entrance by the mailboxes, crying at me very loudly. I was surprised that they had ventured inside and took it as a clue that they must be particularly hungry and unhappy. I felt helpless but went ahead and left, deciding that I would buy some cat food at the store. When I returned someone had given them some cooked rice, and I poured some dry cat food on top of it. I felt better about the whole situation. Today when I was leaving, the same thing happened. The cats were prowling around their food bowl crying loudly. I just have a soft spot -- for cats and most other animals who are suffering in some way -- and don't apologize for it. When I saw their empty bowl I immediately turned around to go back up to our apartment to get more food, totally not thinking about the 5 flights of stairs before me. I gave them the food and they dove right in, and the cat who appears to be the leader of the pack kind of came towards me with a softer, nicer meow (I swear the cat was thanking me :) I was out for several hours, and as I walked home I was thinking about the cats and how a self-centered person might expect the cats to recognize him or her upon arriving home and lavish that person with nuzzles and kneads. When I walked through the courtyard and saw a very empty food bowl and no sign of the cats, I couldn't help but smile. I figure they were nestled under some bushes on a soft bed of leaves, sleeping and dreaming with fat and full tummies. And that's the best cats like these can do, so that's all we can ask of them. A good lesson to be learned for us humans who often expect far too much from others and from ourselves, based on what we want and not what the other person is actually capable of. Our cats are living a sweet life in Cincinnati this year, and to do right by them I must look out for others like them who are less fortunate, and maybe we will appreciate what we have when we return to the States a little bit more. I sure do miss them....

Why I Wear a Kippah?

I decided that I should put the answer to this question in writing to mark where I have been these last few months, assuming that my reasons and thoughts behind it will evolve and change over the coming months. First, though, I want to point out that the kippot I wear have all been handmade by family members or bought from a non-profit whose purpose I support. I wear a kippah because it helps me stay humble and grounded. I always have something on the top of my head, both pushing me down towards humility and grounding but also to protect me from all that is out there around me. I do not wear it 24/7. I don't sleep in it or feel like I have to have it on while I'm home or even when I'm out and about. That's not what it's about. I wore my kippah today on my way to my haircut, and while waiting was asked by someone why I wear it? I have different answers to that question depending on a lot of factors, and today chose to say that I'm a Reform Jew and that within that movement a woman can wear a kippah the same as a man, either wearing it or not wearing it or doing something in between. And because I am a Reform Jew, I am not bound by commandments that have no meaning or bearing on my modern life, so I chose to leave the salon and walk home without wearing my kippah. I just got a great haircut! I've been really sick and this haircut made me feel better! I feel light and happy with my haircut, and dammit, I don't want to feel humble or grounded as I walk home. That's where I'm at today, and I fully anticipate that my reasons will probably be renegotiated this next year. May I always be flexible in deciding what I do or don't want to do. Stay tuned.

My First Israeli Haircut

So my hair has been bugging me for a while now. I've been regretting not getting it cut shorter before I left the States, and it has grown so much since I've been here (apparently your hair grows a lot faster when it is sunny and hot). The problem has been where can I go where someone speaks good English and also charges reasonable fees. The only recommendations I've received have come from men who go to barbers, and pretty much all the men have gotten their hair cut by Yacov and, well, they all kind of look alike now. So a few of the New Yorkers among us sent me to a small shop down Azza. An HUC student was there waiting to get a cut with the man who speaks good English, and although the prices weren't really what I was looking for, I decided to go for the English speaker over somewhat trivial costs, knowing that I was only going to get the barbershop cut for the barbershop price. I love the men who are students at HUC, but I'll pass on looking like them. So I got to watch the student/friend get her haircut and felt very confident that I would receive the same care and attention. It felt very Eurochic, with metrosexual men and everything. It was Jerusalem trying hard to be Tel Aviv but not quite making the cut. I got what I wanted, plus some I think -- the right length and the right layers, although he made these weird random long pieces -- too Eurochic for me -- and so he cut them off at the end and I was on my way. The experience was very big city American as I lost count of how many times I turned down money making offers from the metrosexuals. Yes, my hair has become more brittle since being here (apparently sandstone is in the water which causes damage), but I will continue using my Pantene 2 in 1 and some spray on conditioner until I get back Stateside and get fed some more of the same bullshit by the stylists in Los Angeles. Some things never change and truly are universal.