The Wisdom of Not Knowing

So in my books about feelings list, I just read “The Wisdom of Not Knowing” by Estelle Frankel.

I did enjoy reading this book. The author goes through different theories of what is in the unknown and why it is so scary to many people. She brings in not only cases from her own psychology practice, but also some religious texts, mostly from Judaism. I really appreciated her use of text to bring about the ideas. Something that we have to do in CPE is a theological reflection, and I think that the way she integrates theology into her experience is so seamless, and I think is what we are meant to be doing in our own reflections.

The book also made me think. She writes about accepting the unknown and being willing to jump into the unknown. I think though about what if all I see is the unknown, and in general I am ok with being in the world of the unknown, if not excited about the prospects, but what if I want something that is known? What if for a change I just want to know what is going to happen? What if I am tired of every year starting new and having to take that leap?

Yes, I realize that if it is not one thing it is another. And almost everyone is making decisions of the unknown all the time, just at times they are bigger unknowns than others. I find that being in the place of almost constant large unknowns, it is just exhausting. There is a lot of energy that goes into embracing the unknown, and I don’t think she speaks enough about it (really I don’t think anyone does).

She also talks about embracing the silence. Well, many people speak about the beauty of silence and nothingness. And I question this too. What about if life just feels like it is only silent and alone? That is not a place to learn about creativity, that is a place of emptiness. A place of pain and perhaps even suffering. I was talking to a friend today, and he said that he was bored. And he found it strange because in general he likes doing nothing. I said, that there is a difference between doing nothing and being bored, in the same way that there is a difference to being alone and being lonely. There is a difference in how you are feeling in this time of quiet, nothingness, aloneness; I think that the biggest thing that creates the change is the choice (although this too is not always true): am I choosing to be in the quiet and not with people or is it that everything around me is quiet and there is no one to go to or no one that wants to be with me.

Some quotes that I really enjoyed:

pg. 28

As an archetypal symbol, the “stranger” represents not just someone in need of kindness but also the transmitter of new and unknown ideas and possibilities. To open the door to the stranger is a means of inviting in the unknown. It requires a willingness to be shaped and altered by new ideas and experiences. Sometimes a single encounter with a stranger can open up doors to unknown possibilities that forever change our lives. Xenophobia, in contrast, is an expression of fear of the unknown and the unfamiliar….

Open-mindedness and curiosity make room for the imagination to flourish. Just as the unknown stranger is welcomed through the opening of the tent, the unknowable divine mystery enters our consciousness as we open up the gates of our imagination.

pg. 34-35

But do we really know anything? Truthfully, each moment of our lives is a miracle unfolding, unlike any other moment. When we awaken to this truth, any experience can be an epiphany. The twentieth-century mystic and philosopher Rav Kook compares such moments of heighten awareness to the miracle of creation: “An epiphany enables you to sense creation not as something completed, but as constantly becoming, evolving, ascending. This transports you from a place where there is nothing new to a place where there is nothing old; where everything renews itself, where heaven and earth rejoice as the moment of Creation.”

pg. 49

When we use our curiosity to probe the internal significance of things, we enter into a more intimate dialogue and relationship with the world. To not ask questions leaves us as passive spectators and observers of reality rather than participants. As Rilke says in his Letters to a Young Poet, questions have the power to open up previously locked doors, to reveal the inner meaning of things. Until we ask the right questions, the way forward cannot be revealed.

pg. 77

Reality is always

Soft clay,

ever shifting and changing

its shape.

Fire it

into form, and at the very moment you are

hailing it as final truth

it will break in your hands. – Dororthy Walters, “No Matter What You Know”

pg. 105

Words reveal that which can be known, while silence guards the gates of the unknown. At the same time that words and language provide an essential tool for self-awareness, over reliance on them can snuff out the mystery of the white fire – that aspect of our being that can only be approached in silence.

pg.112

If we live long enough, we all may encounter events and experiences in life that simply do not make ordinary sense and do not lend themselves to rational inquiry. In many instances, the only dignified response to human suffering and tragedy is silence and the suspension of thought. In the face of incomprehensible events, silence may be the only true expression of faith. In silence we admit the limitations of human comprehension. In Jewish law, one who visits the bereaved is instructed to be silent – to not speak unless spoken to. Holding the sacred space of silence for mourners makes it possible for them to be present in their grief. In silence, we do not run the risk of trivializing the mourner’s experience with our well-intended but often awkward words.

pg. 116

The “Song of the Sea” made its way into the daily liturgy as a reminder that reality is not fixed but continually being created anew each moment. Gazing into the white spaces of the parchment surrounding the words of this song, we are invited to enter the white fire of our lives – to see the primordial light that shines within the dark edges of our finite existence, to hear the song that emerges from the silence and see the miraculous possibilities that are hidden inside the ordinary stuff of our lives.

pg. 183

Courage is the quality that enables us to overcome our fear as we venture into the unknown. It is a capacity we develop over the course of our lives by continually confronting, rather than avoiding, the challenges that life presents. People often mistakenly equate courage with fearlessness when, in fact, it is simply the willingness to act or persist in one’s purpose despite the presence of fear, danger, or resistance. Courage is not he same as impulsive risk taking, which stems from a need to show off or generate adrenaline. Instead, courageous deeds tend to be powerful – to benefit others or help us grow. Each time we take a risk by stepping into the unknown, we build our courage reserves. Sometimes the risk is to our sense of physical safety; other times, to our self-image or self-esteem. By stepping our of our comfort zone and facing our fears rather than avoiding them, we discover our courageous hearts. And each successive step we take into the unknown builds upon that acquired strength of heart.

pg. 184-185

The Hebrew expression for courage, ometz lev, suggests that courage involves “strength of heart.” In scriptures the word ometz, “strength,” sometimes appears as a noun, other times as a verb (ametz), suggesting that courage is a capacity that we develop through practice. We build our courage muscle by intentionally strengthening our hearts – the seat of our courage. This strength training involves learning to bear difficult emotions like fear.

pg. 189-190

…In an interview with the activist-journalist Maria Shriver, Laura offered readers the following tips:

Don’t underestimate yourself. You can probobly do much more than you think you can. If you find an endeavor you feel passionate about, take one step at a time, and soon you will have created a path. Solving small problems can help you build the capacity to meet far greater challenges.

Don’t let anxiety stop you. It’s fine to notice when you’ve left your comfort zone, but don’t let that dissuade you from pursuing something meaningful. Your anxiety most likely means that you are on the edge of an important learning curve.

Be open to an unpredictable future. I thought I would spend my professional career as an obstetrician.When health problems interfered with that plan, I had to let go and see where life was taking me. As it turned out, I stumbled upon and area in public health that had been neglected – solar electricity for health care- and in the process found my passion.

Be willing to be a consummate learner. Although I knew nothing about solar electricity when I started my organization, I was willing to learn. And now, when I travel the world teaching midwives and doctors about solar electricity for their health center, I can say, “If I could learn this…so can you!”

And finally, be persistent. It hasn’t been easy to start an organization and raise money for projects in Africa, Haiti, and Asia. Something I think my greatest attribute is my stubborn nature.

If you believe in your mission – don’t give up!

pg. 193-194

The poet Ruth Gendler sums worry up as follows:

Worry has written the definitive work on nervous habits. She etches lines on people’s foreheads when they are not paying attention. She makes lists of everything that could go wrong while she is waiting for the train. She is sure she left the stove on, and the house is going to explode in her absence. When she makes love, her mind is on the failure rates and health hazards of various methods of birth control. The drug companies want Worry to test their new tranquilizers but they don’t understand what she knows too well: there is no drug that can ease her pain. She is terrified of the unknown.

pg. 195

Fear, of course is not all bad. IT serves the important evolutionary purpose of keeping us alive and safe. There are many dangers and risks worth avoiding. Having courage does not mean being foolish or taking unnecessary risks. But, all too often, our fears exaggerate the actual dangers we face. And when we allow our anxieties to control our decision making, we often end up unnecessarily restricting our lives. Each time we allow fear to paralyze us it take a bite out of the quality and scope of our life. Courage, on the other hand, enlarges us and expands the playing field upon which our lives unfold.

pg. 197

…as the Indian philosopher and compiler of the Yoga Sutras, Patanjali, writes:

When you are inspired by some great purpose, some extraordinary project, all your thoughts break their bonds: Your mind transcends limitations, your consciousness expands in every direction, and you find yourself in a new, great, and wonderful world. Dormant forces, faculties and talents become alive, and you discover yourself to be a greater person by far than you ever dreamed yourself to be.

 

 

 

 

Waiting for the Snow

Every time there is about to be a snow storm – in all the cities I have ever lived – the city feels funny right before it happens. There is a feeling like the city is holding it’s breath, just waiting to see what will happen. Each time not remembering what it was like OR knowing that the snow is magical and dangerous and changes everything that it touches.

The city is full of excitement and anticipation – we are going to have snow. Lots and lots of snow, according to the weather channels.

People made sure that they had essentials in their homes. Shelters opened for all those who do not have a house. Schools are closed already.

And it hasn’t even started snowing yet. It’s not cloudy outside. It’s not much colder than it was earlier today.

But the snow is coming.

It’s all everyone can speak about or post about. It’s the upcoming snow. People posting pictures of it snowing in places that it does not normally snow. I think about how it might actually be fun in a weird way, to be stuck in the hospital during the snow – there seems something special about it.

How much snow will there really be? What should we do on the snow day? How will I get to work tomorrow? Will my commute really take much longer? Will the buses be running or just the subway? Will I have to sleep at the hospital tomorrow night? Will I sleep there because I can’t leave or because someone needs to be on call?

And yet, as I am about to fall asleep, there is nothing. It is dark outside. The streets are bare. Maybe it is slowly getting colder.

But I’m sitting in anticipation – knowing or hoping –  and imagining that when I wake up everything will be white, and quite, and have that special feeling that only happens when the world is covered in snow.

 

Bubbling Over with Tears

There is too much that I am unsure of right now. I feel shaken. I feel vulnerable. I feel cracked. I feel pulled. I feel tired.

I can’t decide what is best me to do next. I feel like I don’t know the direction I am supposed to be following. I am unable to listen to my heart- or I think I know what my heart is telling me, but my head is very much fighting against it.

I can’t decide what I should do this summer. But I guess what I do over the summer is based on what I do next year.

It feels like every decision is THE descision. I know that is not true. I know that things can change and move and I should go with the flow. But I feel like everything is going off course. I feel like the decision will change everything and I really just don’t know what is the best thing for me. I can’t figure out what country I should be in. What career path I should choose. What does it mean for me to no longer be a student? What does it mean when my indenties are all in a mix. For so long my identity has been American/Israeli/student/theatre/old people/nomad….but that is all up in the air. I don’t know where I belong or what I should be doing…

Today I broke down in process group. I felt bad that we ended a half hour late. I felt bad to just burst out with everything. I felt weird to be the center of attention and to be a blubbering mess. It felt weird to be so vulnerable and open and to share all of this. I both want people to care, but at the same time I don’t want pity. I don’t want people to treat me differently. I don’t want people to worry about me.

In some ways I think it was a good thing. The tears that have been bubbling over are not any more. I don’t have as intense of an urge to burst into tears. It was hard to say outloud that I feel lonely and alone. And hwo hard it is to feel like when people have been trying to be so open. I guess it is good that people know what I am going through. That I am not so excited about the next steps. That I am not put together. THat I feel lost and sad and alone.

I was told by many that I need to allow myself to be open to others coming in and coming close to me. That I need to trust that people won’t necessarily hurt me, that there are people who will not fail me, that there are people who have the ability to do what I need them to.

I was asked when I started feeling like I was alone and there is no one that will be able to help me. I was told that this was something that helped me up to this point, that it protected me and it is what made me stronger and able to do what I did, but it is not the only way to be. I don’t have an answer as to when I first started thinking this. But I guess for a long time I have felt that I am not understood. That it is up to me to accompish things. I guess in some ways I have always been the outsider tryign to get in, but not managing, so I would just do me, and made myself be ok being alone and doing alone. But I can think of the times that I have asked for people to be there for me and they were not able – either they did no comfort/help me in the way I needed or wanted, because they didn’t understand or I was unable to verbalize. Or the times (especially over one summer program) that I was told regularly by my staff that they would hear me asking for help and decide not to because they knew that I would be able to figure it out on my own, and they had what to do. Or when I reach out and it’s only because I reach out that someone is there for me.

I have gotten to a point where the feeling of being alone hurts and I don’t feel capable of creating something else to help me not feel that void. Or maybe I have reached a point where the void is too big, so not matter what I do there is no way to make it feel full. I am aware that I need to let people in. I know that it is my nature to pull away, so then my aloneness feels like my choice and not because someone else decided that I am not worth caring for/hanging out with. I know that being vulnerable terrifies me, the feeling that I won’t be held, that I won’t be understood, that nothing with come out of it.

I feel like I need to be the strong one. I need to be the fighter. I need to accompish and be accomplished. I need to do the things that no one else does. I need to be the one that is happy and excited and gets other people involved. I need to be able to do it on my own and not need anyone. The problem is- what if I do need others? What if I don’t feel like I have strength? What if I am sad?

I didn’t get any answers today. It was a mix of people telling me to just go back and I will create and do things the way I know how. And there were people who were telling me I should stay, that there is much to be learned and gained from CPE. That doing something will be good for me.

I think that there is a part of me that wants to just go back to Israel. I will go back to the routine that I know. I won’t be pushed too much. I won’t have to share my feelings with everyone. I will get to once again just create, but maybe I will just be coasting…

My heart is torn as to where I should be living. My friends, the people who have become my support system are all in Israel right now. But my parents, grandparents, and half my siblings are in the US. I have never lived this close to any of them, and yet I still don’t see or speak to them that often. I want to get close, but at the same time that is scary and hard. We are all used to me being somewhere else, doing on my own, knowing they are there but not using them. If I go will I lose that opportunity to be around forever? What if I go back to Israel and then move again, will I be able to do that? If I am already around, and have a reason to be, should I not try and stay, just for the year, just to make them happy or try to be closer? My friends will still be there (yes of course tragedy could occur), but the truth is my parents and grandparents are only getting older, and that only means one thing, isn’t it up to me as their child and grandchild to be around?

I think there is a part of me that wants CPE so I can be pushed to feel and to share those feelings. I think that there is a part of me that feels like I can’t do it in school because I do feel very much like an outsider, but in CPE we are all going to be starting off together. There is a part of me that is scared of going out into the big world alone, and what it means not to be a student, so I am giving myself one more year. In CPE there is a start and an end; there are clear goals; there are people that I can turn to for support. If I go back to Israel right now, I am on my own. I need to be building and working. I need to turn to people who might care about me, but don’t understand what I am doing. I will be the creator of my goals. I will be the creator of what my position is and what it should look like. The end will only be when I decide that I want to move onto the next thing. And I guess that scares me…

Trying to Climb Out

Once again it has been an intense week. So much has happened and I have too many thoughts and feelings.

I really have been feeling lonely. I miss my friends and my support system. I want to be able to do things with other people. A few weeks ago, someone asked me why I haven’t started organizations or been as outgoing as I have in the past. At the time I didn’t have an answer, and then I thought it was that I was just not sure where to start. I realized early this week that it is because of not knowing what is next.

There is a lot of talk about the exhaustion and difficulty of making friends, but we don’t talk so often about the exhaustion and difficulty of saying goodbye to friends. Both sides take a lot of energy, which I do not feel like I have right now. And because there is a good chance that I will be moving once again in June, I don’t really want to put in the investment in making friends because once again I will have to say goodbye, feel hurt, and start all over. Part of me wants to know what is next, or at least accept the fact that I might not be going back to where I want to go.

Last year when I went to therapy, I spoke about enjoying being known by strangers. I realize that I don’t have that here either. I walk the streets, take the subway, take the bus – and everyone is a stranger. No one is going to say good morning to me. In many ways I feel invisible. That no one will notice if I am missing or that my existence doesn’t really mean much. I miss speaking to people on the street. I miss being noticed. I miss feeling part of a greater world than my small bubble.

This is not to say that I didn’t feel loneliness in Israel – I did, but it didn’t feel the same. This feels much deeper, where really I am unsure of how to change it. I don’t really know where to find friends or how to start a community. I also am so unsure of what I want…

And then there is the really big news that I got today. I got into the CPE residency that I applied for. When I read the email acceptance my body went numb and all I wanted to do was cry – I think that is what shock is.

On the one hand it is great. It means that I really am finishing school and will have a job. It is a really well respected program and difficult to get into. I think that I am good at being a chaplain. I think that the skills I will learn will serve me well, no matter if I work in a shul, hospital or nursing home. It means that I have a job for at least a year. It means that I won’t have to move to a new city and start over, again. It means that I will not have to prove the legitamcy to my existance . I don’t need to worry about what the RCA, the OU, the Rabbanut or any other body says, because all the hospital cares about is if I can do the work.

On the other hand I’m really sad and terrified. It means that I really am finishing school and will have a job. It means that I am still far from my dream of becoming a pulpit rabbi. It might mean that I am giving up some of the fight for female clergy, as I will be taking the “easy” way out. It means that the past 7 years of studying halacha are for nothing, because my role is to provide pastoral care, not rabbinic knowledge. It means that I will be in New York for another year. It means that I really will not be moving to Israel.

And then on top of that, Friday would be my 7th Aliyahversary. It would be 7 years since I moved to Israel. Talking about Israel and moving to Israel are things that are constantly spoken about and celebrated. Making aliyah was so much part of my identity. But here I am, back in the US. I now am part of conversations talking about dreaming about living in Israel – I had it and gave it up. I was praised and had a party when I moved to Israel, it was something I constantly spoke about – and I did it, but now I am back. In Israel there is a lot of talk about those who move, and then move back to their home country because they couldn’t make it – and now that is me, even though I was feeling settled. I moved and made it my home, and then I had to leave. Normally, I would be celebrating on Friday…but this year, the date hurts. It feels like a reminder of what I had, but also a reminder of failure.

I need something to happen to make things make sense and bring me out of this dark and confusing space.

Thoughts From the Week

So in school I took notes on mini-thoughts I had throughout the week, and figured now that it is vacation and I have nothing else to do today, I will share them with more than a computer sticky note.

Issue of being Israeli in America– if you want it so much, then just move…What does it mean to teach the love of the country that I had the opportunity to live in, but had to make the choice to leave..

So I am in a really weird place where I don’t really feel like I have an identity. I want to call Israel home, it is where I chose to live, and where I want to go back to, but I also know that I might not be able to. In a weird way, school keeps on calling me the Israeli, which is upsetting other people who were born there, lived there for just as long (if not longer), who also identify as such. I heard from a third party that it is causing tension. I guess rightly so. There is no reason for them not also to be seen as such. I guess the biggest difference is I am still talking about going back; I’ve been fighting against being in America; I am the one who so recently came back…I don’t know. But I do know that I don’t want to cause unneeded tension, there is more than enough in school, without that.

In addition, we speak often about the love of Israel. In shul we say the prayer for Israel. Israel is part of so many conversations, but I feel like they are false. I want people to love and respect where they live. I want them to not glamourize Israel. If you love it so much than move.

Maybe my hurt and upset is because I want to be there, and I had to make the choice not to be. Maybe it’s because I am still in a process of mourning that I had to leave (I think if I knew it was only for a year or even only for 5 I would feel differently, but the unknowing if I will ever go back is what is hard). Maybe it’s because I feel like in some ways I failed. I am the one who moved to Israel only to move away. That I spoke about it so often and part of my identity is now “the Israeli”, that to not be able to go back, or not pushing to go back, makes me feel like I am a hypocrite. And so every time we have a conversation about Israel, it is a small reminder that I am not there; that I failed; that I’m back to a place of just talking and hoping, when I could be there if I really wanted to be.

Place of a woman to be quiet and accepting, while at the same time having the ability to fight back and to just do without pragmatism…Place of being able to make decisions when you have power vs. when you are seen as one without power. How can you make change when you are just fighting for you own being…What it means when you are in the community vs. your starting part is outside- and what that means for ability to create change and sustain strength

One of our classes this past week was about fighting back. Our teacher who was/is an activist taught it. For much of his life, he just did what he felt was necessary, even willing to go to jail. He did not care about being accepted by the mainstream.

I think about being a woman and being able to do this. I don’t think that it is possible – or maybe it is, because I have less to lose… But when I think about it, I see this man, who has smicha from an accepted place, and so for the most part he is accepted and heard, and then he makes himself louder. For myself, I am not accepted and heard at all, and so just to be noticed I need to be loud, if I go too extreme then I will lose those who are supporting.

There is still an expectation that I will be quiet and accepting on what is given to me. The idea of fighting the fight without thinking, I know that people will comment that I am just going crazy. That I don’t have any standing. That I will not have the respect that I need to actually accomplish change.

But maybe I need to remember that this is a strength. That no one has any expectations (or maybe they are expecting me to be crazy – which is another reason not to). That I am already creating drastic change to tradition, so might as well just go all the way.

The more I am back in school I am once again feeling frustrated and trapped in being an Orthodox woman. It was amazing how both in the hospital and Australia, I once again felt that freedom. But back in school, a school that is supposed to be getting me ready to go out into the world to do such a thing, is where I feel the most stifled, and frustrated with my gender.

Anger at similar weakeness & lack of ability to hold that…The needyness and whining and want…

I find that when I was working in the hospital or nursing home or even with friends outside of school I am willing and able to hold other people’s pain and suffering. But when it comes to schoolmates, I get so angry and frustrated with them. I just want to scream at them. Or I just don’t have the patience to the sit with them.

I know that it is because their pain and weakness is the same as myself. I know that it is because all I want to do is scream at myself for not doing more. For not standing up for myself. For not being able to get what I am working for. For allowing others to make my decisions.

But I also think that in general many of the woman I am with are just really whinny and needy. That a visitor has a cookie, offers it to a teacher, and they call out that they want it, even before the teacher says that they don’t want a cookie and are happy to give it to someone else. That there are people who always need attention. Who need to be heard. He need their needs to be met, no matter what else is going on.

I guess this too is about being jealous. I wish that I was sure enough to take up space with my needs. That I could voice them and people would actually be there and listen, and help me. That I would be willing to allow myself to be that vulnerable but also selfish.

Having a taste and then worried that will never become a reality

As I am beginning the job search for real, I am terrified that I will never be able to live up to my dream. I loved CPE this past summer, but I also really loved my job as a rabbi in Australia. Being back in school I am remember the parts I don’t like, and think that maybe I should go back to the idea of CPE, going into the caring professions. But then things happen – like going to my internship in Chicago, where standing in front a shul giving a speech seems like the most natural thing or being part of a conversion ceremony for a new born baby brought me such joy and reminds me that is what I want to be doing.

I want to be working with people. I want to bring a richness and beauty and accessibility to Judaism to those who are looking for it.

Yesterday the mikvah felt like a party. There were 5 conversions going on, all with different rabbis, from different denominations. It was just really fun. All of us talking. All of us colleagues. All of us doing the same thing. For many, they got to see friends or people they haven’t seen in a while. I was there with another student, and she asked if this was initiation. All I was thinking was, wow, this reminds me of the events in Australia. I was one of the clergy. I saw some people over and over, or went to events and was already part of that circle of people.

I miss being part of that. I am ready to really be part of that. But I worry that I won’t have the opportunity to be part of that.

I applied for CPE residency and I have been offered an interview. I am really excited, because it is a great position. But I spoke to the rabbi from Australia last night, and he asked me if it is what I want to be doing – my answer was that I felt like I didn’t have other options. I saw a job last night for a rabbi position in Perth, and I was so excited by it. I was also saddened because I would not be able to apply. They put in the requirements that one needs to be able to sit on a Beit Din, which according to almost all opinions I can’t do, even if I might have the education. But it was that job that excited me more than anything else that I have seen.

Thinking about it more this morning, I think that I should apply to this job in Boston, that although is not really a rabbi job, it might be closer. Or maybe I should push going back to Australia again, because I was really happy there, and it was what I want to be doing. So maybe I need to push myself out of this funk (please God soon), and just apply to things and hope for the best. That I need to figure out what I want and go for it, it is the only way I have done things in the past.

Feeling completely uprooted and needing to be settled

I was talking to a teacher the other day and she commented that I must be feeling more settled now, and I answered no, I’m not. She was a bit taken aback, but I answered the truth. I feel like I am just floating along. I have nothing. I don’t have a home. I don’t have friends. I don’t have a job. I don’t have a community. I don’t have a country.

Yes, I go to school every day. Yes, I have a place to sleep every night. But nothing is mine. I think to myself that God is testing me/teaching me to be dependent. That I need to just accept other people doing things for me. That I need to accept that I have absolutely no control on anything, and so all control that I might have thought I have I just don’t.

I miss having a place to call home. A place where I don’t need to feel like I am taking up space of someone else’s roommates. A place where I can walk out of my room to go to the bathroom without fear that someone will start talking to me when I really don’t want to talk to anyone. A place that I have space for my things. Where I feel like it is mine. Where I am not living by someone else’s rules. Where I have the food things I like to eat and when I like to eat them. When I don’t need someone else to go everywhere or anyone I want to.

I have decided that when people ask me where are you from, I will answer, I currently live in New York. But event thinking about it make me feel home sick. It is hard for people to realize that I just gave everything up. I once again have nothing waiting for me. No matter what I chose to do next, I will have to start over. Yes, if I go back to Israel there are some friends who will still be there for me. But as I know from my travels, everything changes. I change as I have had different experiences. People change – friends will have babies, have new private jokes, move houses, make new friends… and I once again have to adapt to it and try and fit it.

I have already said goodbye to that life, but seeing pictures on my computer of people in the nursing home make me miss them and my work there. I wanted to convince myself that I was only going away for a year. I wanted it to be a study abroad. I wanted things to go the way that I want them to go. But I think that the reality is that I won’t be able to go back, at least right way.

I hope that moving into my own place will once again make me feel like a person, and feel a bit settled. It is very unsettling to be completely uprooted, to have nothing at all holding me, to have both the present and the future completely unknown.

 

 

 

Waiting for the Unknown

The sin of the calf is the turning point in the book of Shmot. Everything is going great (more or less), the Jews were taken out of Egypt, they just got the commandments, Moses goes up the mountain…well, and then he comes down and sees the people doing what basically the first through third commandment says not to do. There are the people just dancing around a golden calf.

Many commentators (and regular people) are confused as to how they could do such a thing. They were actually at Sinai, they actually saw the see split, but they go to build an idol- can they really not believe in God?! Some commentators say that they came to build the calf because they miscounted, they thought Moshe should have come back already, and when he didn’t show up they were scared, and thought to worship this way again.

Thinking (as I have been for the better part of the year) how this can relate to life (or to my life at the moment), I think about the desire to know or better yet, the ill ease of the unknown.

I know that I like to know what is going to happen. I like plans. I think a lot (probably too much), and try and figure out all the possible outcomes- but there are times that I can’t do that, and it scares me. I think about my upcoming move (I finally bought tickets on Thursday and said to work when I was leaving- slowly this is getting real) and I just don’t know what will happen next. If I knew that I would be coming back after the year, I think I would be less nervous about the move. But I have no idea what will happen next.

I think that even in relationships, I like to know what is happening- I want it to make sense, even though it doesn’t always. My grandmother the other day was telling me about how my great-grandparents (my grandfather’s parents) didn’t speak the same language at all (one was Hungarian and the other was Russian)- but still got married. I am just shocked as to how that could happen- here I am thinking that verbal communication is something important, so I say that guys need to be able to at least understand English, and I speak fluent Hebrew! And the guys who I can’t tell if they are flirting or TLV that just doesn’t make sense to me that he would want to date me….

I also tend to think the worst of things, especially when it comes to school. This past week I had an evaluation- and I was sure that they were going to tell me that I wasn’t good enough, and that I had to move to the US earlier than I want. I am sure that is just residual fear from the old program, where all evaluations were bad, but also probably a bit of an exaggeration. I am not used ot people telling me good things. If I am doing well, people just ignore me- if I do badly, then they will talk.

So then what can we learn from this parsha? I don’t think that it is saying that if we don’t trust we are going to get killed by serpents… But maybe it is teaching us that at times we just too just wait and see- we need patience. That we need to not always jump to the worse conclusions- that maybe something good can still happen. That sometimes there is something good and exciting (be it also terrifying) from the unknown- and it is just up to us to sit and wait to make the unknown, known.