Minna the instructor

I really like this shot I took of Minna, today. She looks like she's deep into her instructor mode!

Keep on teachin', Minna!

Dust storm update

The folks at Hazon found this cool aerial photo of the dust storm that temporarily suspended the Hazon-Arava Israel ride on its last day.

The photos are taken from an airplane at 8000 feet, around Beer Sheva, about 90 miles north of where we were riding.

The storm itself came from Sinai and covered the entire Negev. The height of the sand-wall was about 4000 feet, and moved at 38 miles-per-hour.

I can't testify that the winds where we were reached that speed, but I can say it was the toughest headwind I ever tried to ride into!

The night of the fires

It may get scary as the night goes on, but when Minna and I went walking through this Jerusalem park at around 9:30pm tonight, the bonfires of the Lag B'Omer celebrations around us had more of a family feel than the wild "Lord of the Flies" atmoshphere one of our friends had predicted -- there were quite a few parents and young children around, having bbq's amid the bonfires.

I really enjoyed walking around the park. It was a reminder -- as our days here in Israel come towards an end -- of the specialness and uniqueness of living in a Jewish country. I am so glad to have had the chance to be here so much this year.

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Here are a few more photos of the fires at the park near the Hartman Institute (as well as some from the smaller San Simeon park).

From Lag B'Omer and last days in israel

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And here (admittedly, completely unrelated) are some Orthodox men touring Gan Sacher (a park) the day before on Segeways.

From Lag B'Omer and last days in israel

Standing at the mountaintop

One of the exciting parts of the Hazon-Arava Israel ride for me was that the riding days of our journey from the Mediterranean to Red seas were separated by one of my very favorite Torah portions: קדושים/kedoshim, or Holy ("you will be; for Holy am I, HaShem Your God").

I love this Torah portion, or parsha, because it stands at the very center of the Torah. Not only is it in the very middle of the middle of the Torah's five books, but it is at the center of the Torah's central narrative: the narrative of a people coming out of slavery to the wondrous -- but also terrifying -- task of trying to be all of everything that God expected them to be. And God surely expected a lot of a people who, as slaves, had never even before been expected to make decisions for themselves. God expected them now to have so much wisdom as to be able to even figure out how to be קדוש/kadosh, to be Holy.

The Torah tells of the many stumbles of the people Israel in their efforts to find their way to becoming what God expected of them as they wandered through the desert. They sometimes complain and wish for the simpler times that were the predictability of the simple life of a slave. But the biggest stumble came just before back in chapter 10 when Aaron's two sons, in their excitement, brought "strange fire" before God, and were destroyed for this mistaken attempt to take part in holiness.

The whole rest of the Torah, beginning here with this parsha, is about the acts of repairing from this mistake -- about the acts of learning how to be Holy. The parsha gives a grand list of requirements for being Holy that is a kind of updating of the Ten Commandments. This list is almost the same as the Ten Commandments, but it has one important addition -- it commands us to take care of the poor and make sure they have enough to eat from the produce of the Land. And this book of the Torah comes towards its conclusion with this specific focus on the land and who may eat of it. It declares that you cannot treat this land as a resource that can just be used constantly with no regard for its limit. In the seventh year, the land must -- as God did on the seventh day of creation -- rest. It must have a Shabbat:

וְהָיְתָה שַׁבַּת הָאָרֶץ לָכֶם לְאָכְלָה, לְךָ וּלְעַבְדְּךָ וְלַאֲמָתֶךָ וְלִשְׂכִירְךָ וּלְתוֹשָׁבְךָ הַגָּרִים עִמָּךְ.
And the Shabbat produce of the Land will be food for you -- for you, and for your servant, and your maid, and your hired hand and for the stranger who dwells among you. (YaYikrah 25:5 )

Rashi, the great Medieval bible commentator, says that the reason the Torah lists all these people who may eat from the food of the Land is to emphasize that in that year -- that special Shabbat year of the Land -- you cannot act like you are a בעל/baal -- a master -- over the Land and the people who work and live on it. You are equals, and you must share in the food of the Land equally.

This, the Torah tells us at the central place that is this great parsha, is part of what it means to be a Holy people -- to be willing to rest the Land when it is the time for it to be rested, and also to be willing to make sure all are fed, and all know what it is like to be treated equally as a human being.

Riding through the desert at the beginning of this week, I thought often about what it means to be Holy. I thought of how precious water is. I thought of the great gift that God has given us in these modern times to be so free of the terrible diseases that for most of human history killed most people in the earliest years of childhood -- to have so much abundance of food that literally billions can be fed every day even with so much food just being thrown out before being eaten. These are the gifts that have come with our mastery of the tools of science, gifts that would not be possible without the intelligence that God has given us.

Yet with such great gifts comes so much responsibility. Being a Holy people in our time means limiting our overuse of the tools of science. It means not squeezing every drop out of what lies in the ground below us. It means giving the Land its Shabbat in its time. And it means that all among us are able to live full lives and enjoy the benefits of this Land.

We spoke of water so often during the bike ride. How precious it is, and how much we squander it. The experts who spoke to us sought to raise our awareness that the water that we use is not just in the obvious uses that happen when we open a faucet and take out water for things like our showers and our cooking. Every product we use -- the very clothes on our backs -- took water to produce. If we're really going to preserve this precious resource, we need to raise our awareness of all the inefficient ways it is used in the manufacturing and food production that supports us.

This is nowhere more true than here in the Middle East. The shortage of water regionwide is not what caused the conflicts that plague us, but it stands in the way of finding solutions. If there ever is to be peace, a way must be found for everyone to drink, for everyone to have the opportunity to live a full life.

Our speakers told us of some of the amazing things that are happening in Israel to solve the water crisis, things like the desalination plant in Ashkelon, and the widespread use of recycled sewage water for the irrigation of crops. Israel is one of the world leaders in these kinds of technologies. They are not cure-alls -- it takes a great deal of energy, for example, to make desalination work -- but they are wonderful examples of the determination of people here to find solutions.

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As I let go of the brake levers on my bike to start that final descent from our position near the mountaintop of הר יואש/har yoash -- some 2,300 feet above Eilat and sea level only about six miles away -- I thought of how precious life is. I cried with joy inside as I felt the wind whipping by my ears and witnessed the glory of the mountain and hillsides I was screaming by. God was out there somewhere and I was standing -- even as I was rolling rapidly on my two wheels -- before that Lord of my life. I was grateful for what I had been given. And, I promised to do my best to take care of it and thus make it a place where God's infinite and wondrous Holiness would be welcome among us humans here on earth.

Shabbat Shalom!

[X-posted to abayye]

Saving the world with two wheels

Jerusalem is a tremendously hilly city, yet, as our bus plodded its way through some of the city's most crowded neighborhoods on its way to the central bus station last night, I was cheered to see people on bikes -- some of them wearing the kippah that marks the religious, male Jew -- winding their way through the dense traffic on narrow streets.

One thing that makes Jerusalem doable by bike (despite the challenges of the hills, etc.) is it's actually amazingly compact compared to America's sprawling cities. Even Jerusalem's most far-flung neighborhoods are only about six miles from the city center, and most people's commutes are much shorter. Many Americans, on the other hand, find themselves commuting dozens of miles in each direction every day.

This more-compact nature of Israeli cities is just one of the many ways Israel has set itself up in a way that makes a more sustainable, and environmentally friendly, lifestyle possible, and is a reminder that there is much we can learn from the way Israelis approach life.

That is not to say that Israelis are more environmentally conscious than we are. I was reminded of this last Shabbat when we were in Mitzpeh Ramon as part of the Hazon-Arava environmental bike ride trip. I stepped outside the prayer service for a moment to get some air and think alone. It was so beautiful to look out towards the huge desert crater -- an inspiring example of God's works. But below my feet were the cigarette butts and other garbage that Israelis seem to feel free to dump anywhere. As one of the speakers on the trip told us, environmental consciousness is only beginning among the general population in a country where security concerns have long been paramount. He held out hope to us that things are changing, however -- as evidenced by the recent election in Tel Aviv of some environmentalists to city government -- and Israel is growing to be more consciously concerned about preserving some elements of the quality of life, and not just the preserving of life.

I was so glad to have a chance to contribute something back to Israel with two wheels (by participating in -- and raising money for -- an environmental bike ride). The bicycle has never been just a means of recreation for me. When I was a kid, I had a paper route, and I hauled my papers with a bicycle that had baskets on its sides and to which my Dad (of blessed memory) had jury-rigged a folding shopping cart as a trailer. I rediscovered the bike as a means of carrying cargo (groceries and such) while an adult in Los Angeles, and have continued that practice even amid the hills and winter winds of Reading, PA. I try to cast for myself in Reading a life more like the one I am able to have here in Jerusalem, a life where things are only a few steps -- or a few pedals -- away, and I do not have to get into some gasoline-burning and carbon-fume-expelling device every day.

Heschel talked about the glory of Shabbat as Judaism's great solution to the dangers of technological civilization. Shabbat does not ask us to abandon the benefits of technology -- we get to work for six days -- only not to be dominated by it, to be able to live free amid it. Those five riding days from sea to sea and inside the great emptiness of the Negev desert were a reminder that there is another way than living dominated by technology, and of how two wheels can help free us to be able to live free. I was so grateful to be a part of it, and hope to keep learning from it.

[X-posted to abayye]

Snorkeling and theology

Though back in Jerusalem now, I am still thinking about this morning's short but sweet snorkeling outing. The water was a bit cold for extended exploration -- not surprising considering that Eilat claims to have the northernmost coral reefs in the world (never mind that Wikipedia thinks the winner is Norway) -- and it was choppy as well. But it was still wondrous for me. Seeing the fishes in the Oceanarium yesterday (see Alan's pics and post) and then again this morning, filled me with a sense of awe and joy at the diversity of Creation. The line from liturgy that echoes in my head is: מה רבו מעשך ה' כולם בחכמה עשית/"How manifold are your works, God, in wisdom you have made them all."

These words from the morning prayers remind me of how Unity unfolds in our earthly experience into endless disctinct possibilities. I take joy in remembering the importance of diversity and in having these living, swimming, fishy reminders of its importance.

Here's on of my favorites of the dozens of different fishes I saw this morning. It's a Purple Tang:

The fires -- soon!

When we arrived home, today (see here), we found this pile of wood and cardboard in the entrance of the building. Now, just having come back from an environmental bike ride, I am somewhat hopeful it is piled here for recycling purposes. But I know it is much more likely that it is preparation for next week's Lag B'Omer, a holiday that the religious and the secular alike celebrate here by setting bonfires all over the city . . . . . I just hope they move it out from underneath the buidling before they torch it up! :)

[X-posted to abayye]

3 Mivtza Kadesh

We raised a glass high when we arrived back at the apartment in Jerusalem after the bus ride home from Eilat and the end of our bike ride from Tel-Aviv to Eilat. Minna and I both offered our hopes as we drank together -- asking for, among other things, many other experiences that will help bring the two of us closer together and also that will bind us more strongly to the Jewish people and the land and people of Israel. I wished also that it would be the Holy Blessed One's will that we would continue to find ways to have fun together that will involve some exercise to renew our bodies and our souls, and will take us out into the great outdoors that is the infinitely wonderous creation that God has given us. I felt thanks and gratitude, especially, to the Israeli crew who spent so much time with Minna and I when we were often the last riders of the group, and encouraged us and offered us their friendship. Most of them were alumni of the Arava institute who were volunteering their time for the ride this year. תודה רבה!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Todah Rabba)

Fishes!

Before we leave Eilat, today, to return to Jerusalem (for our last two weeks or so in Israel), we're going to try and go snorkeling.

Maybe we will see some fishes like these (that we saw at the local aquarium, yesterday)!

Made it!

Rolled into Eilat safely yesterday afternoon though the last day's journey was not without incident. Alan got caught in a sand/dust storm! Intense head wind and unbreathable air made the ride unworkable and all the riders pulled off the road and waited for the bus to scoop them up. The bus, meanwhile, was taking me and my smaller group on a tour of Timna (where the dust storm had not yet reached). We got to see some amazing sandstone "sculptures" as well as copper mines from the Calcolithic period and Midianite rock carvings before we cut our tour short to ride to the rescue of the cyclists stuck up on the plateau.

As a full busload, we rode to the top of the final descent into Eilat where the wind had finally died down enough to ride safely. They let Alan go down the steep descent first (out of the whole group!) because he likes fast descents. He rode down with Kfir, our professional lead rider, and they arrives together at the bottom of the hill. Then we all rode in formation to our hotel and I had a quick dip in the Red Sea before checking into our room.

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Here, by the way, is the map of the whole ride:


View Larger Map

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Now folks are heading their separate ways. Alan and I will stay here today and head back to Jerusalem tomorrow. And now, off to the Oceanarium!

On to Eilat

Alan has ridden away and I'm getting ready to head out as well. He'll ride from a nearby junction (doing a bit of back tracking) all the way down to Eilat. My group will be bused to Timna -the site of some ancient copper mines-- to do some touring on mountain bikes. Then we'll meet up with the rest of the riders for lunch and all head down into Eilat together.

One blessing of this trip has been the daily davening/praying. An irony of living in Jerusalem this year has been the marked absence of a daily prayer community for me. But both Alan and I have made it to morning prayers every day of the ride and it's been nice to have our little traveling group praying together. This morning, looking at the mountains over in Jordan, coming to the prayer that
focuses on gratitude, I felt particularly grateful for all the people who have supported us on this ride --the staff here, but also all the friends and family members and colleagues who gave the donations that made this journey possible.

Here at Ketura, we've gotten to meet students of the Arava Institute and hear about the work they are doing. One theme that many students expressed --Israeli, American, Palestinian and Jordanian-- was that they came primarily for the environmental studies, but have been most transformed by the social aspect: building a learning community based on co-existence. Being able to meet the people who benefit from the funds we raised makes a big difference!

I've also very much enjoyed the touring I've been able to do by only riding half-days. On Thursday (which seems like a year ago), we met a man named Haji Ibrahim. He is a communal leader in an unrecognized Bedouin village. The village doesn't receive any support from the government and is placed dangerously close to a number of toxic sites. He is very concerned aboout the health impacts on his community and had a number of very sad stories to share. He welcomed us warmly to the village and shared coffee he had ground himself and tea whose every herb he picked and described in detail.

Yesterday, I visited Kibbutz Lotan, a community associated with the Reform movement. This trip has definitely re-ignited long-dormant fantasies of kibbutz life. Much more to tell, but the bus is leaving soon.

God willing, this afternoon, we'll be swimming in the Red Sea!

Kibbutz Ketura!

Minna snapped this shot of me on the road bike I've been riding (lent to me after I broke a spoke on the mountain bike I'd been riding) outside the guest house at Kibbutz Ketura, where we arrived today after a 60-mile bike ride from the lip of Israel's great crater (which is not _really_ a crater), Makhtesh Ramon, where we had spent Shabbat. Kibbutz Ketura is the home of the Arava Institute, an environmental organization dedicated to trying to find sustainable living situations for all the Middle East -- something that, hopefully, will one day bring us closer to peace!

It was a great -- but challenging -- ride, today, with some spectacular descents, through some truly amazing desert scenery. We started the day with morning prayer on the lip of the Makhtesh before descending into it at high speed. It was such a great way to start the day -- praying in God's great glory... in the Holy Land!

Here's Minna at the Kibbutz with the desert mountains in the background.




And here she is in the Kibbutz pool talking with Gonen, one of the Israeli members of the crew who we've made friends with and who is working on a doctorate in environmental education.



And here are just some of the other riders _chillin'_ at the pool after a day of riding.

In addition to the spectacular riding, this has really been just a great Jewish community building experience -- just such a wonderful opportunity for folks to deepen their connection to Israel, environmental causes and Jewish fundraising efforts, amid other people doing the same thing!

Mizpe Ramon!

After 35 miles of riding --mostly uphill-- through beautiful desert, we have arrived at Mizpe Ramon. I haven't looked at the view yet, but the hotel sits on the rim of Machtesh Ramon a huge geological formation that many people erroneously call a "crater"...too tired to explain; Google it if you're interested.

Too exhausted for anything right now, actually, so I'll just say: Saw a fox, lots of ibex, some flowers, lots of desert; feeling proud of both of us and impressed with the Hazon/Arava crew; looking forward to a restful shabbat with Alan and (mostly new) friends.

Greetings from Ashkelon on Yom HaAtzma'ut

As Alan's post below tells in greater detail, we have arrived at the beautiful Ashkelon seashore on the first full day of our Hazon Israel Ride. Today I took the option of riding half the day and touring half the day. We visited a kibbutz that from 1945-1948 had a secret underground bullet factory. Workers entered through the laundry and the ventilation system used the chimneys on the laundry and the bakery nearby. Our tour guide, Yuval, was fantastic, combining a tour of the site with thought-provoking questions and his own reflections on what it meant for him --as an educator and a soldier-- that Yom HaZikaron/Memorial Day and Yom HaAtzma'ut/Independence Day were right next to each other. I'm proud of Alan for taking on the challenge of longer riding days, but I'm also very excited for the touring my shorter days leave room for.

Back in Boston, my rabbinical school community was also celebrating Yom HaAtzma'ut. Daniel (my study partner here in Israel) and I were asked to write reflections to be read at the morning prayer service in Boston. My words are included below. Tomorrow we head into the desert! It will be a very long day of riding for Alan and another half day for me plus a tour of a Bedouin village. We're also closing in on our fund-raising goal, but still need a final push. If you've got what to give, please visit our donation site by clicking here. AND, I got a write-up in the local Sag Harbor paper a couple of weeks ago; click here for the interview.

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Reflection for יום העצמאות/Yom HaAtzma'ut 2009

I am a warmly welcomed guest in the home of an eccentric and beloved relative. She offers her riches openly, a well of generosity. Swaths of desert and seashore and forested hills, I gulp down landscapes of such variety and beauty that I want more and more. Cappuccino and burekas for breakfast, their tastes and smells layering and mixing like the many languages I hear in the streets.

She promises protection and safety, a place to call home. This home: musty, windswept, full of old secrets, constantly under renovation, full of ghosts and and booby traps and pregnant women and young men pushing baby strollers. She is the strongest person you have ever met and she weeps constantly, not only for the death of her children but with the overwhelming longing brought on by the smell of sun-heated pines.

And I am both enchanted and terrified. I walk on tiptoes but with deep curiosity. There is always a lump in my throat when I speak to her, and I do not know whether it's from the miracle of Hebrew coming out of my mouth or from pure and inescapable anxiety.

We are, to each other, both deeply family and deeply foreign. She is a well of generosity and just as generous with scrutiny and criticism. She shows me myself in her mirror; it is one-way glass.

I open myself to listen, her songs and poems and speeches and jokes come flooding in. My own voice is washed away. I know she wants me here, but then she doesn't really know me or see me as I am; she doesn't really need me and she has me doubting that God really needs me. I know she wants me, but I have to leave a lot of myself behind.

Yet I am no more fair to her: I need her to love me; I wish she would leave me alone. I am by turns proud of her and embarrassed to be seen together in public. I cannot wait to get away and I cannot wait to come back.

When I am not here, and when I speak of her, I want to remember her in the fullness in her nuances, with all of her tensions intact.It is the sharpness of these tensions that makes her unforgettable.

The more I know her, the more I want to know her. I want to know her all the way down to a depth where disillusionment is no impediment to loyalty, disappointment no obstacle to love.

Milk and honey
Well and good
But what sets me celebrating you
is this more specific mix:
זבל/zevel* and jasmine flowers

(*Zevel means "crap," literally poop/manure but also in a somewhat similar sense of the English slang. As I wrote about early in my year here, the combination of dog poop and flowers in Jerusalem sums up something important about my experience here.)

A day of independence

Life just seems so much more intense -- so much more real -- to me here in Israel. In some ways, the Independence Day beachside bbq's that we witnessed when we arrived in Ashkelon, today (after pedaling 50 miles from Tel Aviv) were not much different from the ones you find in the States on July 4. But there was some incredible energy to it here. Minna told me a female cab driver here told her that if they were to pull over the car right there, the bbq-ers would run over to share their food with them -- עם ישראל פתוח/am yisrael patuah, the nation of Israel is open, the cab driver told her.

And, of course, the Independence of this holiday is so much more recent than the US of A's independence -- it only happened in 1948. And, even more importantly I think, the price of this independence is so much more current and intense, with all the wars and such that have touched this land and this people. Independence Day here is immediately preceded by Yom HaZikaron, Israel's memorial day for fallen soldiers and victims of terrorism. That holiday began on Monday night with a one-minute siren. All the shops were closed in Tel Aviv where we were staying. We turned on the television to a children's channel and watched a show where the host interviewed a small group of young children in depth about what it was like to have lost a parent to war. I just could not imagine something so intense being on a major network in the States as part of a national holiday.

The ride, today, was the first part of our trip from Tel-Aviv to Eilat. Here's a shot of Minna near an amusement park we took a break at just south of Tel Aviv:

And here are some of the other riders outside the amusement park:

And here we are by the beach when we finally got to Ashkelon:

It was a great day! .. . And it was so great to be in Israel for Yom HaAtzmaut (Independence Day). I almost didn't mind when the disco music of nearby celebrations kept us up way past our bedtimes last night, or even having to dodge the debris left over from the street celebrations on the narrow streets of Tel Aviv's Neve Tzedek neighborhood as we rode through it this morning. . . . I really felt free -- independent -- riding today!

[X-posted to abayye ]

Trained!

Well, ready or not, next week Minna and I will be going on the Hazon-Arava bicycle ride -- all the way from Tel-Aviv to Eilat! Today, I went on my last training ride, my fourth ride of the week. On Sunday and today, I took challenging rides through the Aminadav National forest, which includes the mountaintop Yad Kennedy monument to JFK (see pic on the right). Twice this week, once with Minna and once with our friend Amy (who will also be on the Hazon ride) I went to Yad Kennedy itself.

I really enjoyed my ride, today. I went past Har Herzel on my way to Ein Kerem and then down past Sataf to the Nahal Refaim entrance to the national forest. For a number of kilometers from there, I followed the Nahal (a Hebrew word for a stream) on a dirt road. It was so beautiful to be in the Nahal's valley and looking up at the hills around. From there, I climbed up almost to the Yad, and then down to get towards home. I was out for six hours all told. Oh, how I will miss riding in these hills!

The approximate route I took today (up until a spot below Yad Kennedy where Minna and Amy like to rest) is below in the red [part of today's route was on the path of a trail from Tel-Aviv to Jerusalem that's called מים אל י-ם in Hebrew and "From Coast to Capital" in English]:


View Spring 09 Jerusalem/Israel Rides in a larger map

Shabbat Shalom!

[X-posted to abayye ]

Bye, bye, baby

"Ugly Baby" -- as Minna named the baby dove who was born in our window nest -- has, we presume, flown away to start his new life as an adult dove bird of Jerusalem.

We would have loved to witness the lift-off, but Ugly Baby was here this morning when we left to get some breakfast at a local cafe, and when we got back this afternoon the nest was empty.

Fly safe, Ugly Baby, fly high!

Stopping everything

"It's a memorial for the Holocaust. It's Yom HaShoah ."

That's what I said to the young (British-sounding) tourist who turned to me after the ceasing was over and the people got back in their cars at one of Jerusalem's busiest intersections. She asked, "what was this? What were people doing?"

By the ceasing, I mean one of the most short -- but powerful -- ceremonies in all of Israel, the way Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) is marked. At 10 am, a siren goes off everywhere in the country and everything comes to a stop for two minutes. At the busy intersection Minna and I were at, there was horn honking right up to the moment the siren went off. But then it all stopped and the honking drivers all got out of their cars to stand at attention for the silent observance. A similar observance will be held next week for Yom HaZikaron, which honors the dead from war and terrorism.

Last night, Minna and one of her classmates had the honor of being at the official national ceremony for Yom HaShoah, which was held at Israel's main Holocuast Museum, Yad VaShem.The Prime Minister and many other dignitaries were there.

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It was kind of an important step for me to be so intentional about engaging such an important part of Israeli life as Yom HaShoah -- on this visit I have been so consumed by the work and such I brought with me that I've been more "just living" here as opposed to "visiting" here. On one hand, that's great -- it's an expression of how much I feel at home here in Jerusalem. On the other hand, this is such a special opportunity to be here, and who knows when I will ever be able to be here, again. I have about four weeks left -- I'm going to try and enjoy them! :) . . . . . I have _definitely_ enjoyed the bicycle riding that I finally managed to get to this week. I posted here about one great ride I took Sunday. Yesterday, I took a shorter, but still challenging ride up to Yad Kennedy. . . . . The beauty of the hills on that ride -- and in all the hills in and around Jerusalem -- is something that speaks to me in a way I just cannot describe. As I write this I am sitting in a park overlooking one such beautiful hillside not far from where Minna is at class now at Machon Schechter. . . . . It really is these things -- the hills and the people of the city -- that speak to me so much here, and not necessarily so much the famous holy sites like the Western Wall. . . . I've been reading Karen Armstrong's book on Jerusalem. In the opening pages she talks about what it is that makes a place holy to people. She says it has something to do with an association a place gets with the _experience_ of the holy. . . . Somehow, for me, God is closer here. Here, in the people. And in the hills.

[X-posted to abayye]

Back on the bike

I got out today on a 30-mile ride through the beautiful mountains, full of spring wildflowers, to the west of Jerusalem. It was great!


View Spring 09 Jerusalem/Israel Rides in a larger map

The Hazon (Tel-Aviv to Eilat) ride is only a little more than a week away now, so I wanted to work on getting my "sea legs" before we go, and I brought so much work with me from the States that before today I was only able to get out once before.

The ride, today, was extremely challenging and involved a lot of climbing, but I really enjoyed it. The Judean hills are so beautiful.

[X-posted to abayye]

Counting up and counting down

Counting up
Passover is over; today I ate my first pasta and bread. It was yummy. There's actually a new bread store in my neighborhood that had its grand opening last night when the holiday ended here. Very smart marketing and a move that only makes sense in a neighborhood like mine where most of the folks living here haven't been eating bread for a week. I went in today and picked out a loaf by passing my hand over the bags of bread until I found the shelf where the loaves were still warm!

With the second night of Passover, we start counting the Omer --the period between Passover and Shavuot, the next festival in the year cycle. The counting itself is commanded in Leviticus and marks the time between the offering of the first fruits of the new harvest (in this case represented by barley) until the offering of the first wheat of the new season. It's 50 days which is a week of weeks plus one. Counting the Omer literally means that when night falls (and the new day begins in the Jewish calendar) we say the blessing that accompanies commanded actions and then state, "Today is the X day of the Omer."

Not surprisingly, people have wanted to bring/find other meanings in this ritual. One common way of finding our way through this time is to use the 7 x7 format (seven weeks of seven days) as a way of contemplating in turn each combination of the seven lower sefirot. (Sefirot are Divine aspects or symbol clusters as my teacher Art Green prefers and explains very clearly in his Introduction to the Zohar.) In more recent understandings (e.g., in the shift from Lurianic Kabbalah to Hassidism), these sefirot can be understood psychologically, as different aspects of our own selves. In this way of seeing them, חסד/hesed/lovingkindness, unbounded love is about my own capacity for lovingkindness rather than a focus solely on Divine love. The seven lower sefirot move from חסד/hesed/lovingkindness through גבורה/g'vurah/strength, judgment, boundedness all the way down to מלכות/malkhut/immanence, gateway to reality (literally "kingdom").

By focusing on these sefirot in counting the Omer, we have the opportunity to use this practice to examine our own attributes. For example, the first week we would focus on חסד/hesed/love, lovingkindness. The first day we would focus on the חסד שבחסד/hesed she'b'hesed/the lovingkindness of lovingkindness. We might ask a question like, "Who am I when I am truly in this place of the very heart of love? Are there ways in which I have forgotten or wounded this aspect of myself?" The second day would be גבורה שבחסד/g'vurah she'b'hesed/the boundedness of love. We might focus on our own boundaries around love, "Is the gate through which my love flows too open or too closed?" Because the sefirot are symbol clusters, each one has many different associations and shades of meaning. Rather than fixating on a set meaning for each word, counting the Omer this way is meant to give us a chance to think about all of our attributes and all of the combinations of these attributes with one another and to check in on how our inner workings are working, for ourselves, for our loved ones, for our work in the world.

Some years I have spent more time with this practice than others (sometimes keeping a journal or taking some time to reflect each day). This year, I am enjoying counting the Omer each night with Alan (last year we made it all the way to 50 without missing a day!) and letting the practice mostly just be itself. I do hope I'll remember to look for an "Omer counter" while I'm here in Israel --it's a ritual object of various shapes, sizes, and constructions that's meant to help keep you on track in your counting. The one pictured above was designed by Amy Gilron. One of the few Christian ritual objects I was jealous of as a child was an Advent Calendar. An Omer counter with little windows and chocolate...sounds good to me. Click here for an online version that is always amusing.

Counting down
This also marks a time when I am starting to count down to my return to the U.S. Now that both Alan and springtime have arrived, I am less eager to get out of here than I have been at other times this year. But I am still pretty eager to be back on more familiar shores and most especially to be back working, to be back in settings in which I feel more consistently competent, valued, and put to good use!

At the same time, this counting down (I'll be home before the end of the Omer, God willing) allows me to focus on those aspects of being here which I truly savor. As I count the days of the new harvest as my ancestors did, I hope to be able to use this space to celebrate the harvest that this year has brought me --sweet, tart, and otherwise.

Ugly appears!

I think I scared this little guy by getting up close with the camera, so his beak cannot be seen. But this is him (her?) -- supended high above the street in the little nest in the vines outside the window.

Ugly baby growing up

The doves in the window nest hatched one little baby. I first caught a glimpse of it ten days ago. I intervened in the course of nature and chased away a crow that had scared off the parent bird and was about to make the chick into lunch. I then used the opportunity of the briefly abandoned nest to take a peek inside. It was one UGLY baby: little stubbly wet-looking not-yet-feathers failing to truly cover its little lumps of fowl-y flesh, eyes that bulged out of any discernible sockets and looked like they were about to fall right off its head, and a beak that looked like a large, badly pasted-on piece of plastic.

I am happy to report that the ugly baby is indeed growing up!!! It changes every day and is now starting to look very much like a dove. Though completely predictable, I still find the transformation miraculous. Its parents leave it alone most of the day, seemingly returning only for feedings. Consequently, I get to watch it a lot (and try to show it off to visitors with mixed success). Once an inert lump, it now frequently stands up to stretch its legs, flap its tiny wings, and preen. It eyes are now solidly IN its head and it has even started to grow into its beak.

I would love to show you a picture, but this only child gets camera shy.

Squeezed between two Jerusalems

People often talk about the ירושלים של מטה/Yerushalayim shel mata/"Earthly Jerusalem" and the ירושלים של מעלה/Yerushalayim shel ma'ala/"Heavenly Jerusalem." Not infrequently during my year here, I have felt that it is actually easier for me to connect with the latter when I am not plopped down right here in the former. This vision of a city of regal peace is easier for me to picture from the safer distance of several thousand miles. While many people feel closer to God, to a sense of peoplehood, to a sense of belonging and wonder here in this earthly city, I have more often found the contradictions between the city itself and what it stands for to be an unbearable strain.

But this tension felt right and even sweet to me at the end of our Passover seder. Gathered around the bed we had turned into a table (we seated ten folks rather comfortably), we sang "Next year in Jerusalem!' I have sung these words at every seder I have ever been to and was curious beforehand to see how they would ring when I was really here.

Pema Chodron in Start Where You Are writes of "the big squeeze" as "a discrepancy between your inspiration and the situation as it presents itself, the immediacy of the situation." For me, this big squeeze is מצרים/The Narrow Places. One reason we reenact our collective mythical emergence from these narrows, from slavery, is that in order to keep moving out of these narrow places, we first need to be willing to feel them, to be able to be fully present to them in ourselves, in those we care for, and in the world. As Pema writes: "It's the rub between those two things — the squeeze between reality and vision — that causes you to grow up, to wake up to be 100 percent decent, alive, and compassionate."

It is said that Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche came to teach in the West because he realized that there was something powerful in working with students who already had two cars in their driveways and still weren't happy. Being physically in Jerusalem creates a similar effect for me: Here I am at the center of the world, longing for a more centered world, in the City of Peace, longing for a world of peace. While many poems have been written about the two Jerusalems, the verse that feels most resonant for me right now is actually from the 17th century Japanese poet, Basho. He wrote: "Even in Kyoto, hearing the cuckoo cry, I long for Kyoto."

The story of the Exodus is just that, it is a story about leaving, not a story about arrival. From a distance, we might imagine that this earthly Jerusalem (or another car in our driveway, or any number of other acquisitions) might really be the answer to all that ails us. But right up close I can most clearly discern that the longing itself, and our willingness to be with it, is what matters more.

Being here allows me to feel the distance between what we have and what we want most acutely. While for much of my time here that distance has been merely painful and unpleasant, at our seder it felt infused with meaning. It felt like an experience that will ultimately help me in my work in the world. I want to carry with me this knowing: Even in Jerusalem, telling my freedom tale, I long for Jerusalem.

This feast feeds freedom

A touch of jet lag and a sore shoulder had me up in the very early morning hours, today, laying down aluminum foil on every exposed surface of the kitchen here in Jerusalem in preparation for חג המצות/hag hamatzot -- the Festival of Matzah (otherwise known as Passover). Suddenly I found tears in my eyes.

The tears were related to the music in my ears. I was listening to Billy Bragg's version of Woody Guthrie 's "All you fascists are bound to lose. " I heard such courage in Guthrie's words. It sounded to me like a prayer. A prayer for a day where hate and violence would come to an end, a prayer, in Guthrie's words for a time when there would be "people of every color marching side by side." A prayer in line with what was in my heart as I was "making a spaceship" of this kitchen to follow in the thousand's years old tradition of my people to clear their houses of all leavened products for the week-long holiday. . . . Guthrie made me think of my rabbinical school colleague, Rabbi Scott Slarskey, whose teffilin bag while we were in school had on it the words Guthrie had on his guitar -- "this machine kills fascists."

I never asked Scott what those words meant to him, but I know how powerfully it spoke to me to see it associated with a part of the Jewish religious tradition. . . . Because I really believe that it's not enough to just want a world free of the hate (of fascists and others) -- a world of peace and love and freedom. In the last 100 years, too many dreams for that have ended up leading to all sorts of unintended and tragic consequences. To stay on course for our goal, we need God. We need our devotion to God. We need a way to express it. A way that's rooted. That's ancient. That keeps us hand-in-hand with the generations that passed before.

I was trying to keep faith with those generations and their own hopes for a world of peace as I was laying my foil. I was asking God for peace. . . And for freedom.

Have a great Peasach!

[X-posted to smamitayim ]

This year in Jerusalem

For countless generations Jews around the world have ended their Passover Seders with the words, "next year in Jerusalem!" This year I will, God willing, be spending my Seder -- for the second time in my life -- there. As I write this, I am still amidst last-minute packing and wrapping up things here in the States, but at 6pm or so tomorrow I should be above the Atlantic on my way towards Israel. I can't wait to see Minna!

May this year's Seders and Passover be Kasher -- and joyful! -- for everyone.

_________________

At the Seder, our tradition asks us to see ourselves as if we ourselves -- and not just our ancestors -- have been brought out of the bondage of Egypt into freedom. The last year has been a time when I have started to see great hope that many new freedoms and many new paths are being opened up before me.

First among these have to do with Minna. Long have I dreamed of being able to have a partner on so many levels. Our shared commitment to a Jewish life -- and our respective deep commitment to finding paths to Jewish leadership -- has deepened my own Jewish life in ways that I am deeply grateful for and in ways that make me hopeful for a continued blossoming in that part of my life in the future . . . A year ago this time, Minna and I were really just at the very beginning of getting to know each other, and were struggling to find ways to spend time together amid the challenges of a long-distance relationship. But, over the last 12 months, we were able to find a way toward having over two months together in Israel (and are planning on having more time together now).

New paths to freedom have also appeared in my professional life. Most importantly, it was just about a year ago that I passed a big hurdle in my chaplaincy educator/supervisor training process and was officially certified as a supervisor candidate. This put me on the path to writing a series of papers about my approach to chaplaincy education (getting those papers passed is the next big hurdle towards certification).

I got so excited about what I was writing (especially ideas like evaluation as blessing) that I decided I wanted to extend my research and knowledge about how people learn -- especially about understanding how the Jewish tradition has shaped its unique way of forming leaders (rabbis and not rabbis) and how empathy -- caring -- can be taught (here's a recent New York Times article on empathy training in a public school that is interesting, but I think misses the point a bit by confusing being "nice" with being empathetic). . . And that led me to applying to a great doctoral program in Jewish Studies and Education at NYU. I'll be starting there in the fall (don't worry -- I'm not giving up chaplaincy and will continue to be a part of the hospital here)! . . . . . It will be important for me in the coming year, however, to remember how easy it can be to confuse freedom with bondage. . . . The people Israel, after their liberation at God's hand, got pretty confused about this during their long wandering in the wilderness and even made a Golden Calf for themselves in the "freedom" they had when Moses left them alone to go up on the mountain for the tablets. I have taken on quite a heavy task for myself to be starting a doctoral program while still working towards my certification and while still being a contributor to the chaplaincy services at my hospital.

I believe, especially with having Minna's support, that this is the right path for me. But I also know that, for all its benefits and joys, that it may test me severely at times. I pray for God's help and support amid that -- to help me make all my life, and not just Passover, a Feast of Freedom!

__________________________________

I can't resist including this. . . Have a great Passover!



[X-posted to abayye]

Wildlife window update

I think the doves are nesting in the wildlife window's nesting space. My key pieces of evidence: 1. Yesterday I saw a "changing of the guard" where one arrived and took the other one's place 2. We've been having (at last) some truly torrential rains here and it seems that at least one of the doves stayed with the nest all through the stormy night. This morning it was clearly occupied by one very very wet bird.

I am sorely tempted to open the window and peek, but I don't want to disturb them. It's a little odd to watch them getting soaked when five inches away, on this side of the glass, everything is (relatively) dry. But, while I might in fact peek in once there are baby birds, I hereby publicly state my commitment to resist the temptation to invite any of them inside.

This is a picture of mama or papa bird's tail with a reflection of my hand in the window glass...not my finest photographic moment.

Oh! And the bulbuls are still here too, but they have never seemed interested in that nesting spot. The two species actually just seem to ignore one another (typical urbanites).

Lost cat

What's the difference between a street cat and a pet cat?

People definitely think of street cats as a mass, a horde. They lump them all together, can't tell them apart, see them as pests. I think the ways we view street animals are windows into the way we view anything and anyone whom we have dismissed as "other." They are also windows into what we fear or despise about ourselves. I am especially intrigued by the sense of street cats as indistinguishable from one another. What makes distinguishing possible? What sets one creature apart from any other?

The fact that people have pet cats here in Jerusalem is for me a fine lesson in the constructedness of social reality. It's the same species, but somehow I designate this one (or ones) "mine"and those others as "nothing." And let me be clear that reality's constructedness doesn't necessarily make it any less real. I certainly feel differently about my own kitties, safe at home in Sag Harbor, than I do about the dozens and dozens of cats I see here everyday.

Which brings me to the sign I saw on a parking meter for a lost cat. When you make a "LOST" sign, it's always good to include the creature's distinguishing characteristics. Let's look at these features one at a time:

"Grey with white paws." Again, while many people tend to claim they can't tell street cats apart, this marker is relatively obvious. None of the five or six cats I saw in the alley where the sign was fit the description.

"Fat." It's not surprising that a pet cat would be fatter than a street cat, though I have to say the cats here cover a pretty normal range of cat size and very few look like they are actually starving.

"Skittish." The Hebrew word here פחדן/pachdan/"fearful one" is actually probably best translated colloquially as "scaredy cat." And really, who wouldn't be?

And then came the most striking descriptor: Clearly the cat's most distinguishing feature as far as the people missing it were concerned and yet an attribute that would be hard to see just by looking. Here in a city (and a world for that matter) teaming with the abandoned, the ignored, the uncared-for, a posted adjective to remind me of what really makes the difference, an attribute that I think we ought to try applying to more and more of those we encounter. This gray and white, fat, scaredy cat was also described as "Loved."

An added note: It sounds like it is mating season for the street cats of Jerusalem. I find myself actually looking forward to seeing lots of kittens. Whether feral, wild or somewhere in between --pigeons, for example...are they the descendants of domesticated birds used in the Temple service?-- the animal life of the city helps me connect with innocence in a place where purity seems in short supply. So even though I know that the streets are full of cats (some people would say "overrun" or "overpopulated" but I would not be those people) and those cats are often in rough shape and seem as if they are not well taken care of, even so I look forward to seeing fresh kittens.

Best part of Purim

As Alan's last post indicated there really has been a lot going on! My family's visit (minus some much-missed key players!) was wonderful. In all of my mixed feelings about being here and its joys and challenges, having family here --with me as the main tour guide-- afforded a wonderful opportunity to figure out what I really wanted to share with them of this strange and beautiful country. One real highlight was visiting Kfar Blum, the kibbutz where my brothers and I each spent our tenth-grade year. Our consensus: everything looked smaller except the cows which somehow looked bigger.

Both there and throughout our trip it was amazing to hear Isaac speaking Hebrew!!! That he is as comfortable as he is with the language after relatively little contact with it for over 15 years drove home to me the idea that the true key to speaking a second language is not the size of your vocabulary or the precision of your grammar, but your willingness to engage in the act of opening up your mouth and trying to communicate. And hearing their papa speaking Hebrew definitely sparked Daia and Sadie's interest, at one point leading them to ask, "Papa, how old were you when you started to learn Hebrew?"

So very much more to tell about their visit (and kudus to each one of them for making the journey!) but no sooner had they left than I got on a plane for a quick trip to visit Alan! If a major theme of this year is retracing my steps from 10th grade and healing/fixing various things along the way then indulging in a quick trip back to the States was a big big healing. Left over from that year was the sense that I was somehow "trapped" here and just had to "stick it out." No, the adult me happily remembered, I can come and go as I please (credit card in hand). This has the added benefit of getting a sense of Israel as more accessible: It's not some far off alien territory; it's really just a plane ride away.

I flew back to Israel late Sunday night and would have forgotten that Monday was Ta'anit Esther/the Fast of Esther had I not been reminded of it by a snippet of liturgy that I heard as the Orthodox men began praying all around me on the plane. It's a dawn to dusk fast and, because of the hours lost in flying was a very short "day" indeed. By the time I got home from the airport it was already dark.

Purim was starting to be in evidence on the ride home: here and there a pedestrian in a tiara or a crazy clown wig. But Purim in Jerusalem started a day later (walled city, long story) so I've been in a sort of jet-lag and Purim fog for the last 48 hours or so.

Hands down best part of Purim this year: The משלוח מנות/mishloach manot (customary gifts sent to friends and neighbors on Purim) from Jacob and Tamar. When I finally left the apartment today I found on my doorstep a Roll-Your-Own sushi gift basket complete with bamboo sushi roller, prepared rice, nori, veggies, and --most important of all-- instructions! As you can see from the pictures, my technique will take a lot of work but it was delicious! Definitely the most creative משלוח מנות I've ever heard of. Ingenious! Thoughtful! Yummy!

What's going on

Well, you might think from seeing the lack of posts on this blog that not much has been going on, lately. Nothing could be further from the truth!

The truth, I guess, is that I've been living my life Stateside these days and Minna, still in Israel, has been very busy! She's got a "full house" going right now -- not just her parents visiting (and staying in the apartment at 3 Mivtza Kadesh), but also her brother, her sister-in-law and two young nieces! Just since the younger visitors' arrival on Friday, they've been to the Jerusalem Zoo, the Old City (including the Kotel) and Gilo (where they visited with a friend who is on the Jersualem police force and her family). . . And that's just what I remember!!! (From what Minna has told me.) . . . Tomorrow they're going to visit the Supreme Court (especially exciting for Minna's lawyer dad)!

Meanwhile, the one "Israel-related" thing I've been doing here is continuing to train for the Hazon ride in the Spring (we're going to ride from Tel-Aviv to Eilat, 300 miles!). Today I got back from a two-day training tour of about 85 miles total. It was fun, but _very_ challenging. It's winter here in Pennsylvania. Happily, there was no snow or anything else falling from the sky, but sub-freezing tempatures kept me dreaming about spring in the Negev!

Minna Got a Brand New Bag*

Shabbat is rushing toward me, but I had such a lovely morning that I wanted to share. Not surprisingly, small town girl that I am, what I love most about being here is having mornings like this:
Got up, put tiny computer and a few re-usable shopping bags into my new big red purse,* grabbed the compost and headed out the door. I dumped the compost and went to Duvshanit, my "local." Duvshanit is a family-owned coffeeshop and bakery and they make my favorite challah in town. I have more than once arrived after the last of the challot sold out and have since tried to make a practice of getting there early (8:30 at the very very latest). I got challot and rolls and ordered myself two little cheese bourekas (baked in the kitchen in the back) and a large low-fat cafe hafuch/קפה הפוך which literally means "upside down coffee." If there is a distinction between this and a cappuccino, I don't know what it is.

Then I sat and mostly answered emails and very gratefully wrote thank you notes to folks who had made donations to our Hazon Israel Ride (if you want to give and haven't yet, you can do so by clicking here). I've been enjoying the aspect of fund-raising that involves getting in touch with people I might not otherwise get around to contacting.

After lazily typing away and watching the pre-shabbos crowds rush in and out, I walked back toward my house and went food shopping at Mister Zol.

Now the chicken is in the oven and shabbat is very close! I love being able to walk everywhere and living in a neighborhood where the things I need most (besides Alan and the rest of my family, none of whom are things) are right here.

*This bag was hand-picked with the very able assistance of Jen Klein who is an expert in such matters. I have never developed a purse habit, but with a bag like this, which is not done justice in these pics, I think I could get used to it.