still

Imagine thirty-eight American Jews riding camels through the Israeli desert. Our Bedouin guides unabashedly laughed at us while they led the despairing creatures along in a haphazard line through the sandy terrain. Our steeds angrily nipped at legs, howled with frustration, and provoked howls of laughter from all of us with their determined acts of rebellion against the injustice of the situation. Fortunately for them (and for anyone whose legs were subject to the nipping), our group made a quick U-turn only 10 minutes into the trek. Back we trudged through the camel poop and towards the touristy Bedouin campsite awaiting us. Equal parts ridiculous and hilarious.

Photo credit: Casey Kaminsky

Emily and I took a camel that will heretofore be known as Gabe. Em rode shot gun while I rode in the back and felt up-close camel breath on my shoulder for much of the walk. No concept of personal space, that guy.

With this kind of slapstick introduction to the desert, it was difficult to anticipate how profound the rest of our time there would be. Spending the night in Negev was my favorite part of the Israel Experience, coming near the very end of a whirlwind tour. It was a climax of spiritual awareness, camaraderie, and self-reflection blooming silently in the darkness of a warm windy night.

The tour officially ended yesterday, and it was so crammed with activities and memories that it would be hard to compile into a concise little blog post. I barely had time to sleep, let alone write, but I am now on the other side of the journey and resting at "home." Home, in this case, is an apartment in Tel Aviv where Emily and I have settled in for a few days. We're staying with an Israeli guy named Shaked, who we met through couch surfing. He is a very kind host to accommodate us, especially since I am also very sick and sniffly (too little sleep and too much hookah). Today I made an expensive trip to a local vitamin shop and stocked up on homeopathic meds with labels I cannot read. My favorite remedy at the moment is the cough syrup because it tastes like honey...I've been doubling the doses recommended to me by the cashier.

So here I am, a total degenerate in my comfy clothes while Emily and Shaked are out shopping for groceries. Our host claims to make awesome schnitzel, so I believe that is what we'll be having for dinner. While I trust his abilities with chicken, he has also confided in me that he hates cucumbers and Indian food, thus decreasing my overall faith in his culinary preferences. Stay tuned for word on the schnitzel.

Really, though, it's amazing to have this kind of hospitality from a total stranger...couch surfing is a life saver (or at least a huge money saver). Instead of a hostel or an expensive hotel, I'm staying at a local's apartment. I'm listening to the voices and traffic from Rabin Square through wide open windows, and enjoying a moment of stillness and solitude. It's the perfect atmosphere for reflecting on the hustle of Birthright and the past week since I last wrote.

It's hard to put into words exactly what Israel has meant to me, but I think that what is most important for me to share is my experience in the desert. That part of the tour basically concluded the entire trip (although the real conclusion was a drunken night of debauchery that peaked with a 1:30AM dip in the ocean and ended at 4:00AM, with a tearful send-off to some of the best people I have ever known). But back to the Bedouins and the magical desert....

After we kicked off with the camel ride, our little traveling Kibbutz cleaned up and reconvened in the dining tent. We sat on floor cushions, around communal plates of vegetables and meat as the sky darkened. The Bedouin hosts plied us with tea, pitas, and fruit, and we feasted hand-to-mouth style until we were full. But the carefully planned schedule ended there, and our Birthright family transformed into a freeform state of group activities and smaller gatherings. Our interactions flowed into an easy sort of rhythm that was different than anything we had yet experienced.

I was a part of the larger group that walked out into the desert away from the lights of the campsite. We wanted to see the stars. At first we blinded ourselves with flashlights as we aimed to sidestep the camel debris and whatever rocks were lurking in the dark, but as soon as we realized our mistake in using bulbs to see, our eyes adjusted to the moonlight. It was a world of blues and purples and shadows. The bushes glowed like tropical sea coral and I could see the rocks from a distance before my feet were close. Emily and I hopped between the rocks like rabbits, trying to get a momentum going as we dodged the unseen obstacles. But as our eyes adjusted and the sand sloped down, we slowed our pace and walked until the entire group settled into a flat area surrounded by sweeping hills. We all laid down with our backs on the desert floor and looked up at the stars.

It took a minute or two for them to become visible to us...bright lights still stained our eyes and the moon was glowing more than anything from the campsite, but as we lay there on the rocks and the dust, the sky opened up to us. We were staring at the universe.

In a group like ours, with each person presenting a distinct personality and with a short amount of time to spend with so many new friends, conversations were always going. Even in down times when we were all exhausted, there was always at least one voice that could be heard. So when our tour guide Yoav requested our silence there on the desert floor, it was especially poignant that we did experience total quiet. It was the first moment of stillness that I can remember from the trip, and it was beautiful. I hadn't realized how much I needed a moment of peace.

As much as I loved being a part of a group of people to share the big moments, whether we were walking through Yad Vashem or welcoming Shabbat at the Wailing Wall, it was really special to connect with what was going on inside myself for a small moment and to realize how big that actually was. 

The desert changed the pace of Israel for me. I came back to the campsite on my own when I was ready, with a new appreciation for the community we had created. On one side of our space there was a big bonfire with most of our Birthright family sitting in a close circle, singing and playing instruments for each other. It looked like a really nice time, but I was still feeling the silence and solitude...I made my way to the other side of the camp. 

In a small little group that shifted a few of its members periodically, we sat around a table under a tree that dropped pink petals shaped like ginkgo leaves. We had our own music, a volunteer DJ who provided us with mellow songs that fit perfectly with the atmosphere. We smoked hookah, we drank tea, we shared stories, and we sat quietly listening to the sounds around us. It was such a perfect, comfortable silence. There was something freshly intimate about that circle of friends that made me feel like I was home. 

After about four hours of sleep, I (struggled to) wake up and wandered out of the sleeping tent to find a sky full of stars that rivaled anything we had seen on our desert walk. They were so clear. We all packed up and headed to Masada so that we could hike to the top in time for sunrise. The stars had all but faded by the time we got to the base of the cliffs.

After a short, steep hike and in a delirious state, our group settled on the ruins with a view of the Dead Sea stretched out below. The sun rose over the Eastern wall, peaking through a shield of clouds with the brightest shade of pink. Emily and I met the new day in our own way, stepping aside from the group for our personal version of prayer. In quiet unison, we did a short series of sun salutations and bowed yogi-style to the dawn.

There's a morning where presence comes over you,
and you sing like a rooster in your earth-colored shape.

Your heart hears and, no longer frantic, begins 
to dance. At that moment soul 
reaches total emptiness. Your heart becomes Mary,

miraculously pregnant, and body, like a two-day-old
Jesus says wisdom words. Now the heart 
turns to light, and the body picks up the tempo.

Where Shamsi Tabriz walks, the footprints
are musical notes and holes you fall through into space.

--Rumi

here

Warm wind swirls brown leaves off the ground and carries the laughter and songs of a wedding celebration over Jaffa. The live music is bright and joyful, but there is also a nostalgic quality to its tone, haunting and beautiful. Stray cats leap from stone steps stretched out around us. The city lights across the way contrast with the dark ocean below the hill. This is our first night in Tel Aviv and the city has already swept me off my feet. 

Our tour guide, Yoav, tells us that even though he expects we will have lots of questions throughout the ten days of Taglit-Birthright, we should expect more questions and less answers. "You'll find a way to answer questions later."

***

The first night in Tel Aviv felt like a meditation on what was to come, a moment to reflect on how much I still have to learn about my Jewish roots--and about identity, community, and spirituality in general. My experience of being human is part of an unfathomably larger fabric of history. Perhaps in understanding that history better, I can come to understand my small part better. Israel is so rich with stories of the past, it feels consequential to simply stand on the soil. But then my exploration will also extend beyond Israel and take a turn into complete unfamiliarity in South East Asia. This is a testament to the even greater community of being human that extends beyond myself and my family and my notions of spiritual awareness.

My intention prior to leaving the USA was to find "clarity," to obtain a sense of security in my spiritual and emotional faculties. This seems more like the analytical agenda of my rational mind. The type of clarity I am really seeking isn't about feeling secure and placid, nor about finding answers and making conclusions. Yoav assured us that the more we learn, the more questions we will have. That sounds more like spiritual and self-exploration, doesn't it? Life is messy and expansive. True clarity, then, should light the way down the infinite path of exploration, so as to continue the search.

Before leaving, I put so much weight on this trip, as if it were to be the literal manifestation of my allegorical exploration of life. True, traveling, at its core, is always something like that. A person shakes off all the familiar and sets off into the unknown--that desire to shift scenery must come from a deeper desire to expand. But if I put too much emphasis on searching for clarity or finding answers, I might just miss the point. Much better to be here now.

The beginning of this trip kicked off with my 25th birthday. It feels like starting fresh, like a new phase--and I can't imagine a better place to begin than in Israel. This country is very special. Such a heavy past and so rich a culture, yet the atmosphere is welcoming and light.

We've been here only three days, but my Birthright group generally agrees that time is irrelevant--it might as well have been weeks at this point. So far our stay has been a fantastic blur of hummus, bus rides, political and religious discussions, hot thick air, dust, hookah, and fast bonding. The relationships we are building as a group--superficial as they might be after what is in actuality a very short time--feel surprisingly easy and organic. These are good people. Everyone is so open, they just come as they are.

I'm finding myself more grounded and clear-headed than I've felt in a very long time. I think it has something to do with the welcome familiarity of living out of a backpack and definitely from the laid-back group of people with whom I am lucky enough to travel. I feel free to be myself, passionate and curious and messy as ever. All my heavy expectations about what this trip could be are dissolving into the reality of what it is: I am in a magical place with a little community of beautiful people, waking up every day to wildly different experiences than I have ever had before.

Just yesterday we hiked through the Golan Heights. We ran up rocky paths and found shade from the sun in a cool tree tunnel arching over a stream. Later at Mount Bental, we stood on top of an old bunker and waved to Syria next door. Then last night, Emily and I led a mini drunken yoga session under the stars. Emily learned how to salsa dance and count to ten in Hebrew. Today, our entire group of forty-five sang together in an echoey, ancient citadel in Safed. Emily and I drank fresh squeezed pomegranate juice and ate our third meal of falafels.

And tonight, we are in Jerusalem. It's only day three....I'm in total bliss and blowing my mind.

mama

I graduated in May, yet this past summer was just as packed with growing pains as my years in college: a bonus semester, free of charge. In the span of a few months, I found myself in a new work environment, newly single, making new friends, and then moving to a new condo. I didn't have much time to stop and panic, so it is only in reflection that I am able to see how fluidly those changes transpired. As it turns out, when I'm strapped on time for over-analyzing, my instincts are remarkably reliable. This, my friends, is exciting news to me.

My monstrous move (So. Much. Furniture.) did provide a few moments of panic, but they were minor compared with my excitement. I actively participated in the purchase and design of a home, which, although time-consuming and stressful, was an awesome and creative project. I am also now living with my favorite person on the planet, my sister, Emily. I’ll go ahead and take this opportunity to share that she is coming with me on the trip. This was a last-minute, best-idea-ever decision.

I was prepared to travel alone, which was very empowering, but I am happy beyond belief to go on this pilgrimage with my sister. Emily is the perfect travel buddy. (And as I said to one person who seemed shocked at the amount of time we have now determined to spend together, “It’s a good thing we like each other’s company.”)
 

Another person who I adore, who has always been a rock through my life's transitions, is my mother. She patiently helped me to pack my apartment while I melodramatically declared that I wanted to throw away all of my earthly possessions. She stuck it out through the stressful period of box towers and feng shui furniture shifting, until we entered the fun phase of hanging pictures and cooking nice meals. The woman is truly a saint.

This last week, on the final day of decorating, she showed up ready to help us close the job, as if she hadn’t done enough already. This was maybe her 3^rd or 4^th night assisting us with “final touches.”

When I opened the downstairs door to let her into our building, my first thought was of what a beautiful person she is, inside and out. At 5’2” she is still a force of nature, a tiny woman with voluptuous hips and an angel-sweet smile. She was wearing an ethereal tie-dyed dress and had in her hand an electric drill box. Both Mother Goddess and Ruby the Riveter.

Once we were inside, she fastened her loose curls into a large clip covered in fuzzy yellow, pink, and purple balls. It was a Dr. Seuss sort of accessory and a childlike contrast to the aged silver hair she proudly grew long, despite protests she heard from her age-fearing peers. This is my mom in essence: she pulls off the appearance of being fun and eclectic (which she is, undoubtedly), but underneath her playful façade she is also a wise and feminine pillar of strength. Strong enough to grow her hair gray, to wield a power tool with ease, to set aside her own obligations for her those of her daughters without a second thought. 

At one point, after running to the hardware store for the umpteenth time, she smiled at me and said, “It makes me happy to help you. I’m doing this because it makes me feel good to help my girls.” My mom can come across as sort of a “people-pleaser,” a quality that I can not only relate to, but have often considered a weakness of my own character. Yet when my mom said that making us happy made her happy, she was helping me to see that there is nothing weak or self-sacrificial about going above and beyond for those you love. My mom gives of herself because it brings something into her life that makes her feel more complete. She's a nurturer through and through.

My mom has always empowered me to be true to myself and trust my instincts, but the lesson seems clearer when I witness her example. She pours herself into everything she does--including how she loves--because she is unapologetically herself. I am grateful for her example, but also for her channeling all that mother goddess love into helping me through the tougher transitions. The madness of moving is finally at a close with her undeniable assistance, and that leaves me with nothing to do but finish preparing for the trip. We leave in ten days....just enough time to wrap everything up (but definitely not enough time to stop and panic). Let the next phase begin.