Reform Judaism FTW

Here I am, sitting in the offices that serve as a headquarters for the worldwide movement of Reform Judaism.  On a bean bag chair, drinking coffee, eating cookies.
And the Miri Gold case just won in Supreme Court.
What does this mean?
From what I've come to understand through various articles and information from other people, Miri Gold is a Reform rabbi, a woman.  She petitioned the Supreme Court of Israel to become the official spiritual leader of a congregation on Kibbutz Gezer, and won.
In my eyes, this is a huge step for Reform legitimization in Israel.  The Orthodox monopoly is no longer valid, if it ever was, and this provides a state-supported way for Jews to practice outside of Orthodoxy.  The way I see it, this is paving the way to equal rights within Judaism.
In my over-blown dramatic mind, I see this being in the hypothetical Reform textbooks of milestones in Reform Judaism.
But as I sit here, in the center of the Reform Judaism movement worldwide, no one else is as excited as me.  I'm not sure why, so maybe it's not as important as I think I is, but I guess we'll see.
So maybe in the future (a very long time in the future, mom and dad, don't worry), I'll have a state-recognized Reform wedding, kids who grow up with equal rights as Reform Jews, and the same benefits and support as any Orthodox Jew.
But in the meantime, I'll enjoy my bean bag, coffee, and cookies, and continue to be a Reform Jew in Jerusalem.

Lag B'Omer

Walking through the streets of Jerusalem, fingers blackened from handling the charred coals of the bonfire we just extinguished.  Dressed in our shnattiest sweats, we convince ourselves to leave the flat and head to Gan HaAtzmaut, with one small detour.  A cold night, but we are armed with blankets and goodies.  Girl talk ensues, and we regale each other with stories of our past and present lives.  When more people arrive, the talks turn more trivial and fun.  A game here, a song there.  Fireworks, chocolate, spills, giggles, promises, leggings, and secrets.  An emotional walk home, hindered by the amount of smoke in the air covering all of Jerusalem.  And now for bed time.

Expectations vs. Reality

Some questions to ponder:
When is it okay to expect something?
When is it better to enter a situation with a completely open mind?
Why do people have expectations?
Do expectations always have to come from an outside source?
If not, where do they come from?
Whose responsibility are expectations?
Should we curb our own expectations?
If our expectations came to us from a reliable source and we are disappointed, whose fault is it?
Is it better to be let down and be forced into an open yet critical mind?

All these situations keep occurring or not occurring, and I've been wondering how my expectations of how they would happen have affected my perspective of them.

If I know how something will turn out, will it be better?
If I'm let down, then is being critical better?
If I go in with an open mind and not expect anything, will I achieve anything?

The balance between expecting the right things, expecting the wrong things, and not expecting anything is a very delicate triangle.  I think that for every situation or person, the right answer lies on a different point in that plane, but that it's impossible to know exactly where it lies until after the situation occurs.

Did you begin to read this expecting a boring account of the goings-on of the flat?  Did you expect a barely comprehendible philosophical pondering?  How has that affected the way you read this?
If you're disappointed, then has that given you a more negative view of this than you would have had without that expectation?  If you're pleasantly surprised, then is it better?

Practically, how can we prepare ourselves for these situations?
We can't, really.
Logically, we have to look at every situation and try to find the right balance, and then hope we're right (or wrong, depending on where you placed it on that scale).

There's expectations and there's life.  And to be perfectly honest, neither of them are that reliable anyway.

Reform Zionist Community?

Basically, we live in a co-ed frat.

- We never attend Shabbat services.  Only twice in 4 months have we taken the effort to do something as a group.

- We very blatantly do not keep Kosher, going so far as to put ham and cheese together in the meat fridge

- We only say a blessing over meals every once in a while, and even then we almost always say the wrong one

- Only a very small minority of us actually consider ourselves Reform Jews

- We refuse to agree, or even discuss, Zionism, on the basis that everyone is allowed to have their own definition

- Netzer has a definition that excludes over half of the Shnatties on the basis that not every single one of us will make Aliyah

- We defend the fact that we waste paper in extreme excess by saying that we'll recycle it, which defeats the purpose of 'reduce, reuse, recycle' 

- We waste food every single day

- We blatantly ignore the rules of the place we live, coming up with clever ways to get around certain rules and sneak people and things in

- As 'inclusive' as we say we are, all beliefs end up excluding someone of the group

- There was just a suggestion to buy and bring in a forbidden item to the flat with the communal budget.  A few people aren't going to participate, so the decision to buy with the communal budget was shot down, but it's still being brought in

We take classes on the history of Judaism and Reform Judaism and Hebrew and one small aspect of Hadracha.  And I'm thankful for those opportunities.

But when it comes to a 'Reform Zionist community,' we're more of a co-ed frat.

DISCLAIMER: Not every single person takes part in every single act.  Not everybody can be blamed for everything, and maybe there are people who abstain from everything.  But this is what the community allows as a whole.

Countdown

I had a countdown before Shnat,
Countless countdowns during Shnat,
And now I'm starting my countdown until the end of Shnat.
A bittersweet event.

As of right now, there are
46
days left on Shnat.

(Depending on the time of day, I'll add or subtract a day.  It's early right now, so I included today)

I don't know how I feel about this.
On one hand, I am really going to miss everybody.  Waking up in the morning and falling down the ladder, tripping on something on our floor.  Stumbling half blind through the hallway, passing Dan A working something out on the guitar.  Transforming myself from the messy-haired, eyeliner smeared balagon that I was when I woke up to something presentable to the world in the bathroom.  Feet getting dirtier and even more gross from stepping in the muddy puddles left from last night's showers.  Cold air from the broken window blowing in on my face and shoulders.  The house is still quiet when I move into the kitchen and get upset at the lack of mugs.  I go find myself one somewhere in the house and wash it.  I flick the switch that starts the water boiling.  A spoonful of coffee, a spoon or two or three of sugar.  By now my contacts have settled, but my mind is still a little groggy, so I make my way back to my room, slipping on something or bumping into a wall.  In my room, I put on outfit after outfit.  To my roommates disgust, I usually go through four or five shirts before deciding.  On my way back to the kitchen where the water should be done boiling, I can detect more stirrings of people.  Jake on his laptop, searching for a shirt.  Josh looking confused and headachey.  Dan Aron has traded in the guitar for a bowl of cereal.  I retrieve my coffee, and by the time I've gotten make to my room, the roommates are up.  Crabby and loud, they are either raving about clothes or angrily persuading each other to get out of bed.  I grab the things I'll need for the day, maybe change my shirt again, and head out into the living room.  By now I usually have enough time to check facebook, e-mail, and the like.  After celebrating the Giants' recent win or, very rarely, lamenting their loss, it's usually time for class.
The part of the day when I get to class on time and awkwardly sit there alone with the teacher for a half an hour before anyone else actually arrives to class is something I won't miss.

It will be things like not seeing Emily and the hallway and giving her a big kiss on the cheek. Not tapping Jake's glasses or playing the 'made you look game' with him.  When I want a cup of tea, I won't get to ask Kitty to make me some in Afrikaans.  Dan Aron won't fight me to see who's stronger (I usually win) and I won't hear a constant tapping noise followed by someone yelling 'Daniel Aron!'

When I wake up here, I know I am in a place of extreme significance.  I know that I will sit in a class and be able to see the walls of the Old City through the window.  I know I'll learn something that will challenge or change the way I think.  I'll make memories in a place I'll never forget with people I'll never forget.

One the other hand, I think I might be looking forward to going home.  There are people I miss and things I want to do.   Foods I want to eat and several good night's of sleep to be had.  As much as I want to be here, taking advantage of opportunities and adventures here, there is a few years of experiences at home that I am about to embark on.  My own bed, my big closet, all the clothes I left behind, my sister's sleep talking, my mom's cooking, some Bones episodes.  Not having to live out of a suitcase or turn down my music because of a fragile relationship with the place I live in.  Being able to clean my feet.  An actual day off with things to do.  My cat, and yes, even that dog.  My car, my own car that I can drive anywhere I want to go and bring things along without having to stuff them into someone else's bag.  Being able to make reliable plans with reliable people.

I'll get to see New York and a Giants' game.  I'll start college and take classes and meet new people and be exposed to more than the same twenty personalities.  I'll learn things from a wider perspective with people who show up to class on time.  I'll live in a different setting and learn in different types of classes.  I'll buy different snack food and takes buses from a different company.


I don't know how I feel about leaving.  I want to go home and see everything and have those experiences for a while.  But I want to stay here.  I want Shnat to come to graceful end and although I know I'll miss the program, I know it's coming to a close.  But I don't want to get on that plane.  I don't want to leave.  I want to stay.  I don't want to see English everywhere.  I want to order a falafel in Hebrew.  Instead of teenagers in high heels and bleached blonde hair, I'd rather see teenagers in IDF uniforms and sixty year old women in high heels and bleached blonde hair.  'Am Yisrael Chai' spray painted on every other wall and the Nachman chant on every wall twice.  Taglit and movement chultzot around every corner, giving those of us with American accents better discounts.  Taxi drivers who overcharge for American accents.  The Shabbat siren, after which cars start to drive a bit faster in their race to arrive at their destination before Shabbat does.  The bagel men, who never fail to give compliments.  The Old City, with all her secrets and wonders.

Forty-six more days.  Twenty-four days of classes.  Seven days of tiyul.  Ten days of weekends.  Five days of Sikkum Seminar.
And that's it.
A few plane rides home, and then I'm gone.

We went to the beach yesterday.  We went to this museum and learned about the Palmach; it was amazing.  But after, we went to the beach in Tel Aviv.  I stood in the waves, the water level at my waist.  The tide was coming in, but we didn't notice it.  We swam and joked and laughed at played without realizing.  Whether or not we knew wouldn't have made such a difference, but we were completely oblivious.  At one point, I turned around and there was a monster wave coming.  Larger than all others that had proceeded it, it grew and grew as it crept up towards us.  I had time to panic but not enough to try to reach shallower ground.  A feeling of dread increased until the wave was looming over my head.  I watched as it crashed down on me, helpless to do anything.  Cold enveloped me, and I was paralyzed for a moment.  And as the wave moved on, I was left standing there, wet and shivering from the wave's lasting effects.

When I started thinking about Shnat ending, I thought it was a lot like that wave.  We have fun playing and laughing, and then suddenly the end comes, and we're left there wondering what to do with the after effects.  But maybe the wave is Shnat in it's entirety.  There we are, living our lives, and then suddenly we pack up and have this great adventure, and then it's over.  And we go home wondering what to do with it.

What to do with life.  What to do with school.  With our communities.  With Israel.  With Judaism.

And maybe we're the wave, encountering obstacles but growing with each moment, building and building, reaching the peak of ourselves and our lives, and then we break.  And we fade out and are lost to the mass.

So how do we leave that lasting affect?  What can we do to make sure someone, something remembers us?  The obstacles, how far we reach on the shore, the things we move and take with us can all tell the story, but who's to say any of us are more than a passing wave, significant enough to move the sand under your feet but subtle enough to blend in with the breeze?  Subject to the forces of time, gravity, physics, and the relations of every other wave, we are only what we can change.  The sand, rocks, the mood of a person we encounter, the beach.  And it's all just a countdown until we crash and fade into the sea.



See?  This is what happens when I have to get up early for no reason.
On that depressing note, I am off to have my own lonely Shabbat adventure.

The Senses of Etgar

Smell

• Feet
• Sweat
• The boys' shisha
• Faint odor of Alyson's perfume wafting from our room

Taste

• Cookie dough, our guilty pleasure
• The good tea we bought
• Salt of garinim

Sounds

• Emily never being angrier
• Kitty reading to Jake
• Jake talking to Kitty, ignoring her reading
• Tara playing a video
• Alyson yelling at us to be quieter
• Dan R quietly laughing at us all
• Dan Aron and Liz snoring, we can hear them all the way from their bedrooms
• Jeff saying things
• Josh laughing at the pictures Emily is uploading
• Naomi humming beautifully
• Me typing

Feelings

• The stickiness of the pleather sticking to my back
• The griminess of everything disgusting to ever exist on my feet
• Wet hair cooling my shoulders and back
• Eyelids drooping, but mind racing
• Dry hands, I wash too many dishes
• A breeze from the window to the balcony the boys left open

Sights

• Kitty and Jake sitting on the couch opposite me, but she's getting up to go to bed now, Jake is looking around wondering what to do next
• Dan R walks in, silently signaling the boys to get up
• The boys mass parade out to the balcony
• In the reflection of the window, I can see Tara watching her video

Memories

Becca, Lily, Kitty, and I on the social gaps tour in TA 

Zorba fun with Naomi

My bed on a normal day

Hi Machon.  We know you want to clean right now, but we'd rather just hang out.

Emily and I are in love

Oh Emily

Michael and I

'Swagg' - Jake

2am Snack

Commanders K and R

Boys will be... boys

Jake photo-bombed

Josh couldn't handle the flash

Ariel and I

Emily photo-bombing

A picture of just myself turned into a group shot

The good ol' Etgar group

Emily, Josh, and I

As hard as it is to live here, deal with the stressors, organize my life, watch my temper, and try to chill myself out,

I wouldn't give up one second of it.

The hard times,

The times that make me cry or scream or want to go home,

There are plenty of those.

But there are also the good times,

Smiling and laughing,

Or simply just being

And knowing that I'm loved and accepted

Being me

Here.

Please disregard all cheesiness,

It's just been a really really good day.

The Highest of Highs and the Lowest of Lows

They told us we'd experience a range of emotions comparable to having bi-polar disorder.

They couldn't have been more right.

From tearing up during the Yom HaShoah siren,

To becoming angry at the world when talking about the Holocaust,

To having the time of my life planning activities,

To crying on the roof when they fail,

To comforting a crying friend,

To laughing for hours,

To getting hysterically lost all day,

To being so exhausted I don't know if I'm awake or asleep,

To crying during the Yom HaZikaron Tekkes,

To being frustrated with a lack of basic human respect,

To feeling so interconnected,

To feeling so intrusive,

To feeling interconnected again,

To being angry with everyone,

To being a family with everyone,

To crying at Har Hertzl during Yom HaZikaron,

To rethinking everything I thought at the discussion afterwards,

To crying some more,

To feeling lonely,

To feeling loved,

To feeling cold,

To walk for hours,

To seeing Israel celebrate as one,

To dancing,

To understanding 'tirkidi iti?'

To dancing with Israelis,

To talking with Israelis,

To dancing with the Nachman guys,

To dancing so much our bodies are screaming in pain,

To smiling so much my face will be sore for days,

To walking around Jerusalem,

To seeing people: Israelis, friends, strangers, family,

To scoping out every single convenience store in search of Blu,

To having a lengthy, complex conversation in only Hebrew,

To seeing old friends,

To meeting new ones,

To taking advantage of everything I can.

My hair has fake snow in it.  My eyes are red because I've been awake for too long.  My face is in pain from smiling.  My arms are tired from waving and clapping.  My core can't decide whether it's full due to the intense amount of food I ate today or if it's hungry due to the intense amount of walking I did today.  My legs are shaky and have held me up for so long now.  My feet scream in pain, every step is a punishment for the torture I've put them through.

I leave Israel in less than two months.  But I don't want to.

There's a communal feeling here.  Community, brotherhood, mutual responsibility, mutual celebration, chevruta, peoplehood, family.  At Har Hertzl, every person understood and felt for everyone else.  It was so crowded as to be claustrophobic, but the feeling was one of brotherhood.

The siren started, and everyone stopped what they were doing and stood in silent respect and memory of the fallen soldiers and victims of terrorist attacks.  We stood at the Navy Memorial.

Later, during the tekkes, I noticed these three older men.  They weren't too old, just a bit older than my dad.  They were standing there, sad and lonely, by a grave.  Their sons, their brothers, their friends, I don't know.

And I thought: What if I do this to my dad?

And I could see my dad flying to Israel to bury me, and to visit my grave on Yom HaZikaron.  He might not understand the Hebrew or follow the tekkes or read the signs to find my grave, but his pain would be the same pain that is in everyone.

When I thought of my dad having to go through something like that for me, and I pictured him among those men, I couldn't hold back the tears.

Luckily, I have emotional friends who carry around tissues.

To be honest, I still tear up when I think about something like that happening.

There's a poem; we read it today.  And now I have a new favorite poem.  I could talk for houts about why, or how it makes me feel, or how I connect, etc, but I think it speaks for itself:

The Gathering of the Fallen by Haim Heffer

They come from the mountains, from the valley, from the desert

They come - names, faces, eyes - and join the gathering

They come with a manly step, strong and tanned

They come out of the crushed airplanes and from burnt tanks

They rise up from behind boulders, over dunes and from trenches

Brave as lions, strong as leopards and swift as eagles

And they pass one by one between two rows of angels

Who feed them sweet candies and place flowers around their necks

And I look at them and they are all happy

These are my brothers, these are the brothers.

And they meet each other, black, blue and brown eyed

And they remind each other the names of weapons and places

And they pour each other cups of coffee and tea

And suddenly break out in a shout of comrades

And they meet in this vast crowd friends and companions

And the officers pat the backs of the privates and the privates shake hands with the officers

And they break out in song and clap hands

And all the inhabitants of heaven listen to them in amazement

And the gathering lasts day and night, day and night

Because never before has there been a group like this in heaven

And then suddenly they hear familiar voices crying

And they look home to father and mother, to the women and the children and the brothers and the sisters

And their faces are still and they stand embarrassed

And then one of them whispers: Forgive us, but we had to

We won in the battles and now we are resting

These are my brothers, these are the brothers.

And thus they stand and the light in on their faces

And only G-d himself passes among them

And with tears in His eyes, He kisses their wounds

And He says with a trembling voice to his white clad angels:

These are my sons, these are the sons.

It is now Yom HaAtzmaut.  We met the Aussies in the park and had a picnic.  We heard fireworks, so we went home to see them.  We continued our picnic overlooking Jerusalem.  We went out.

A question we get a lot is 'what has been your favorite day/night on Shnat so far?'

I have lots of answers.

The first day in complete awe, meeting the Shnatties, the geodesic dome in the desert, my MDA course, my first CPR, the massive car crash, nights in Karmiel, Lailah shift at the station, yaldasefot, dojo nights, etc.

This night just made (maybe even topped) the list.

What I want out of life, the kind of feeling and attitude towards humanity and towards family, this is it.

It's here, in Israel.

This is it.