My Precious Moment from Poland

It has been a remarkable trip traveling with fifteen Temple Hillel Students to Poland. Not only have I never been to Poland, but I had not lead or participated on a Hillel immersive trip (such as Birthright Israel or Alternative Spring Break). I was a bit nervous, unsure of my role on a trip like this. I would be encountering each experience with the students for the first time, while also needing to curate some of the information and help them process it. Our group was an interfaith group and most of the Jewish students in the group had a loose connection to their Judaism, with minimal educational background. In other words, it wasn't just that we were encountering new sights and facts, it was also a vital week for them to explore and grow their Jewish identities and story. On top of that, we wanted to create a cohesive group through listening, bonding, and kindness. And oh yeah, did I mention I had no idea what to expect from the sights and my own personal feelings and reactions?

I want to share my answer to the final question posed by our Scholar-in-Residence in Krakow, "What precious moment will you bring home?" For me, it is finding my role as a Jewish leader.  I am very grateful for my time in congregational life. I learned many important lessons about the value of community, how to communicate, and how to engage individuals to give back to an idea bigger than themselves. However, I was never the rabbi. And as someone who wanted to be a rabbi for many years, I never felt that I could fully grow into the leader I wanted to be and knew I could be. I want to make something very clear - the rabbis and congregations I have worked with have always encouraged me, and these feelings of feeling a bit limited are solely mine. I know some of them will read this and think, "Terri, what are you talking about?" You can call this feeling insecurity or immaturity, and perhaps it is entering a new job as a more developed professional and Jew or perhaps it is because I am now a little older. But there was a small piece of me that never felt complete or whole, because of this limitation I had created, whether it was true in reality or just my head.

Spending the week with fifteen young adults in their early twenties, as I am in the final year of my twenties, helped me reflect on the experiences and knowledge I have acquired during this decade. So my precious moment - seeing myself be a strong female Jewish leader to fifteen individuals who are exploring their identities, specifically the eleven females on the trip. Whether it was listening to a student share trauma of murder in their life at Auschwitz and helping them process it. Or taking a group of tentative students to an Orthodox service and preparing them so they can see the beauty (and limitations) of a different religious practice. Or leading aspects of prayer for the first time since high school and feeling connected to my own spirituality while doing it. As one student said, "This trip created a space to let me explore my Jewish identity, and that was a precious gift no one had given me before."

I couldn't have helped that student process without the modeling by thoughtful and gifted rabbis in my life, who have showed me how to listen and to use kindness to process feelings. I could not have prepared and guided students through an Orthodox service without my own studies and growth. I could not have lead a prayer service again without feeling connected to my own spirituality. And I could not have been the educator I am without amazing teachers and colleagues who are leaders in the field.

This trip has affirmed for me my role as a Jewish professional and how it connects to my own Jewish experience. It has affirmed my background and training as an educator is a strong, solid, and a sturdy foundation that I will stand on as I continue to grow as a Fundraiser-Educator. And it has affirmed that I can be a leader without being a rabbi, something I knew in my heart on my flight home junior year from Israel and it took me the last eight years to see that idea grow and blossom. And most importantly, I am grateful for all the people, experiences, and institutions that have supported me during this decade. Thank you.

My Kippah and Me

It was only time – Jewish communities around the country were threatened in waves these last few weeks. I would scroll through my social media feeds, and see lists of Jewish Community Centers who were threatened and cemeteries that were vandalized. Now it has come to my local community.

Sunday, I was sitting in my cousin’s apartment on the Lower East Side, where so many Jews, who eventually moved to the various communities that have been threatened, first came to America. It was there, I saw a picture of one of my rabbis lifting tomb stones in Philadelphia. I felt so far away. There I was for two days at a conference, watching my Philadelphia community from afar responding, acting, posting, informing – and I was in New York, a mecca of American Jewry.

As I leave New York, I feel sad and furious. Philadelphia was not first or second, we are on of a growing list of Jewish communities that have been threatened. All I can think is, how is this still happening - followed by, what can I do?

I have always had a bumpy relationship with a kippah. There were times in my life that I loved how it represented my place as a liberal Jewish woman, there were times I viewed it with disdain from a less liberal place, and now, I wear it because, as a married Jewish liberal woman, it is the easiest thing to use to cover my head. But after these past two days, I keep on thinking about a kippah, not as an act of modesty in prayer, or a connection to God, but as a political statement.

My great grandparents did not leave war-torn Russia for this to be happening, my Omi and Papi were not forced from their homes in Germany for this, and my Great Aunt Eva did not survive the Holocaust in Germany for this to be happening. But this is about more than my Jewish heritage. As I walked the streets of Astoria and Manhattan these last two days, a sea of different languages, colors of skin, and identities – I was reminded how important my Jewish American history is for the new (insert race or religion here) American history of so many others. How my family’s combined history is just one example for those who come to America to be free to practice their religion, to live their lives, and to have access to opportunities.

Tomorrow, for the first time in my life, I will wear a kippah throughout the day, not only to pray. I don’t know how long I will do it for, but I am going to try to wear a kippah daily until I feel that our country is seeking justice for these hateful acts in my community. I will wear my kippah to support those in my community who are scared. I will wear my kippah to show those who are not Jewish, that I too carry an identity other than American with me daily.  And I will wear it to remind myself, that these acts of hatred are not normal, just as me wearing a kippah daily is not normal.

Thursday I will attend the Stand Against Hate rally at noon on Independence Mall. I will be there in my kippah, with my community (both Jewish and Philadelphia), reminding myself again, this is not normal.

Dear Jake,

Dear Jake,

This trip is more important than the playlist, the hotel baskets, or your suit.

When we wander the streets, how do I express to you that She brought us together?

I have changed since I left Her four and half years ago. My Judaism is more liberal, I am more politically moderate, but the values She inspired me and forced me to confront have continued to shape me and ultimately us.

Five years ago I never wanted us. 40 shekel gin in Talpiot was enough, until it wasn't any more and just stale and empty. I began to pray three times a day and my soul awoke from a long hibernation. Everything felt new, fresh, and holy. A talk in a basement in Ma'ael Adumim during a Shabbat day nap made me say the values I was internally realizing. A John Mayer tattoo showed me that I deserved the love that accompanied those values. And then I returned, descended, but ascended into us.

I have evolved, you have helped my soul grow. But those values have not changed; my core has not second guessed what I want and what you give me.

But how do I introduce both of you?

I am excited like when I told you, "I loved you" to a Fruit Bats song in my bedroom in New Jersey. Not only do I want you to see every spot, smell, and taste of why She is so important, but I am also scared to share Her. Up to now She has been mine, no one could come between us. And now She will be ours too.

I want you to love Her like I do. But I know you might not like Her, or love Her differently. She is not low maintenance, She is not easy. But She brings the best out of me, and I hope she inspires something within you.

I just want you to be here and experience Her. I am going to stop talking now, She can speak for Herself. Israel is never shy.

I love you,

Terri  

Fucking Berekim

"I'm feeling strong. Eating well. Running along the Mediterranean Sea for two days" and then I felt it, unsteady, and I fell straight onto the pebble concrete cement on the promenade between Tel Aviv and Yafo on all fours. I quickly pop up, mortified. I never fall. I feel like I'm 5.  I'm bleeding from one knee and this Israeli man stops his run to check on me. I'm a mess and manage to utter a "beseder," (all in order) fighting back tears even though I know he is an Israeli man, which to me means he could probably have spat on it and fixed it.

I know why I am crying,  I can't seem to win in this country that I have studied the language for 7 years, where I have traveled and lived four times before, and a country that I committed 22 WHOLE days to discussing in the last 2 years, excluding countless conversations and side thoughts and yet it is not easy to be here. Why is it so hard to return?

My knee is bleeding, and I am heading home, kicking myself for using my only bandaid on a bugbite the night before and hating myself for forgetting the word for knee in Hebrew (even though I know once I look it up I'll be even angrier because the rabbi I work with sings the "Head Shoulder Knees and Toes" song in Hebrew often).

I get into the shower, clean it out, and curse myself because I know I will be late for the second day of my internship and then curse myself more knowing no one will care, it is Israel. I inhale two spoonfuls of cottage cheese and throw two figs into a bag with my water bottle (of course one gets squished when I check later) and run to my corner mercolite (corner store, bodega, papi mart) hoping he has some form of bandaid so I don't need to speed walk to the Super Farm on Allenby. Corner stores in Israel are not like America with a spectrum of items (for example mine in Philly has frozen shrimp, toilet paper, nutella, and most likely bandaids.)

I enter, stumbling over the Hebrew word that google translate tells me means bandaid. The man sees my still bleeding knee, says it is called plaster and looks in his personal kit and says no luck, then tells me to walk to the Super Farm. I am tight on time and speed walk, which as a non Israeli means I look out of place and will sweat. I get to the Super Farm and the two women working there see my knee and basically just hand me bandaids and as I try to explain neosporin give me some spray. I check out and dash up Allenby, shaking off the bad memories left by Tagglit participants past.

I wait for the bus with my leg on a trash can fixing my knee. I then decide to eat my figs, aka one fig as I clean the other fig remands off my water bottle. The bus comes, it is full, and I am upset I may need to stand for the 35 or 40 minute ride, depending on traffic around Kikir Rabin, Rabin Square. A seat opens in a four person seat, where a pair of seats face each other but there is a black lab in front of the seat. The owner moves her lab Emma with the purple collar that matches the woman's outfit and Emma immediately licks my knee. She probably knows the word for knee in Hebrew.

I smile, what else could go wrong? About 20 minutes later my bus breaks down. I am now in charge to get the couple from London to my internship at the museum with me because when he showed Emma's owner the museum's website I offered to be their guide. I discover a shortcut, I guess that is the silver lining for the day? As I explain in broken Hebrew to the guard why we need to use this gate for the museum, the British couple in their white socks and sandals tell me they are so impressed with my Hebrew. I don't have time to yell at them, "Yeah?! If my Hebrew was GOOD I would remember the word for knees!" Instead I just speed walk, leaving the British man in the dust, as a he takes pictures of the campus on his iPad.

That was a week ago. I have been back to the Super Farm once because I saw my knee starting to get an infection. I asked him if he spoke English, he said he did, and then he explained everything to me in Hebrew. By then I knew the word for knees, berekim.

My Jewish Voice

Today many people shared the piece "Shalom Mother******" from Times of Israel and one person commented that even though they agreed with the content, the title was a bit much. I agreed.

Tonight I saw that the United Nations is investigating war crimes against Israel and Hamas. I was furious and started ranting against the UN. Someone had to remind me that it is just the UN and when was the last time they were more than a glorified Red Cross? (Ok that last part was my own jab). I realized I was on edge after weeks of reading, talking, and grappling with Israel and the anti-Semitic acts appearing around the world (read France).

The whole Jewish community is on edge. At first I was worried because we talk about ourselves as a community that should keep calm and be able to reflect on our moral role in the world responsibly. But then I thought about all the times I have defended to myself my decision not to make Aliyah or serve in the IDF because the diaspora needed Jews like me to also fight for Israel.

I am happy the Jewish community is heated. I am proud we are defending ourselves and not taking this sitting down, pretending that these waves of anti-Israel, anti-Semitism (wherever it is on that scale) are going to pass. Now more than ever we should take a deep breath before we speak and debate the morality of our actions. But that does not mean that we should be idle. 

Israel, I do not support everything you are doing. I wonder, how can this end? I am scared you will reoccupy Gaza. I am concerned about the West Bank and a bus exploding tomorrow in Jerusalem. I know the time of quiet is over, for a while.

But Israel, I think of you always. I am standing with you, not only as someone who supports Israel but as a Jew. I am standing with the Jews around the world. I am proud to have my Jewish star around my neck and walk into a Jewish building every day for work. As a proud Jew, it is my responsibility to be knowledgeable and to speak.

I am out of my corner, standing up, and ready to fight as many rounds that are sent my way.

I pray for Shalom, but I'm not taking this sitting down mother******

On the Subway #fastforpeace #fastfortolerance

Today on the subway a man was looking at me. Not in a "You look so fine," way, but more like "You have something hanging from your nose." I looked down, then at him, and realized he was touching his chest and nodding. He was acknowledging, supporting, and feeling a connection with me because of the Jewish star on my neck. Today, he decided to acknowledge my Judaism. I assume he was Jewish but maybe not...but why today? It has to be about Israel.

Currently, my whole essence and being is about Israel. I can not go on facebook without seeing posts from American friends visiting now and having to go to shelters, colleagues posting articles, and angry rants about the how the media unjustly portrays Israel. I can not pray without thinking about Israel, I can not sit at a dinner table without talking about, and I can not get through a class at the Jewish Theological Seminary without someone making some mention of it. And at the end of the day, the end of weeks, I don't know what to write or say.

I am done reading Times of Israel opinion pieces, done feeling excited by  Ari Shavit's eloquent words in Haaretz about redefining peace and scolding the Likud party and specifically their prime minister, and I am done proselytizing the narrative that Israel is unjustly portrayed on the world media stage, even if it is true.

I do not want to talk about Israeli politics, I want to talk about my community in America. I am saddened by the stale and tired reaction by the American Jewish community. It is time to move beyond just peace and holding Israel support rallies at noon on Friday in front of the Federation buildings. We need to reach out to the Muslim American community. I know Muslims and Palestinians are different, but Israel, the Palestinians, the world need to see that we want tolerance. We want civility. We want someone to do something that is not in their typical political rhetoric (oops I slipped into politics). We need to show that we can be the bigger people and we want to see someone, something, be brave and try something new in Israel.

Let us go back to the subway. As I was riding it the other day I was surrounded by three Muslim young women, and I thought this is what it should be in Jerusalem, in the Galil, in Israel. People being tolerant. People creating a safe society for each other. These are universal rights. This Tuesday, July 15, it is Ramadan and a Jewish fast day (the Seventeenth of Tammuz). It is a day that both people will be reflecting, praying, and thinking. Even if you don't fast on these days, I think it is an important one to be conscience of.  It is a day Israelis and Palestinians are united in pray and dehydration in the desert. There is a facebook campaign called #fastforpeace on July 15. The campaign encourages breaking fast together, as two communities after a day of reflection and perhaps a clean slate. Check it out! Even if you can not have a meal with your local Muslim community, find an instance of tolerance and greater community and share it (on facebook, twitter, instagram, etc) with #fastforpeace, or add on #fastfortolerance.

Even though it was nice that man on the subway felt connected to me for being Jewish I am not looking to only feel connected to other Jews. I wanted to reach out to those three Muslim girls on the subway because the four of us riding the subway together represented what I want for Israel; tolerance.

A Little Too Much Marror: A Reflection on the KC Shootings, a Labor Seder, and the Ukraine

Passover is about the start of spring, having family together in our homes, and telling a timeless story. The Seder is designed to engage us, to make us question, and to reflect on where we are now. Engage ,in the foods we eat and sing songs that are symbolic of the bitterness of slavery and the sweetness of freedom. Question, not only why we have a Seder and celebrate Passover, but also what does it mean to be enslaved or free today. And reflect...

Last night, Jake and I attended a Labor Seder hosted by a new Jewish community we are trying in West Philly. The Seder had enlightening speakers as well as the traditional components of a Seder. At the beginning of the Maggid (the telling of the story), we had to turn to someone new and explain why we wanted to come to this Seder. I gave the cheesiest answer but it was the truth: I love Seders that frame our story in a modern context. 

The community meets in a church/community center basement, and I could not help but to think as the opening guest labor organizer spoke, that there must have been so many labor meetings in this space throughout time. Throughout the night we heard from an organizer from Fight for 15. This group is uniting, primarily fast food workers, to ask for a living wage. As Jake and I sat there with our liberal arts BA's and potential masters, and across from a women working towards her PhD in Historical Law, and listening to two works explain how hard it is to live on $7-9 dollars an hour, I could not help but feel grateful. I understood that my life is the sweetness of the Charoset. That I was given the opportunities that are part of the American dream...and Justice, who is a single parent and works at Subway, is still experiencing the bitterness of the Marror. However I did not feel guilty, because I knew I was with a community who wants to help, who wants to participate and make a change. 

During the traditional songs and actions that reflect on our freedom as Jews, I thought about Kansas City and the situation in the Ukraine. As we sung Dayenu, I felt the song sounded more like a mourners cry than a celebration. If you read this blog, you know how I feel about guns, so I am not going to spend a lot of time on that. But the Ukraine...when we went over what the peschal lamb represents, I thought of the Ukrainian Jews having their Seder and wondering what other steps will be taken for them to publicly identify as Jewish? During the Passover story, the lamb's blood was a way for the Jews in Egypt to identify their Jewishness so they would be saved from the death of the first born, it was a step towards freedom. In the Ukraine, they are only experiencing the first step in them losing their freedoms. This is scary, this is horrific, and it will be interesting to see what Israel does if the situation escalates. Will they sweep in and rescue the Ukrainian Jews? Will there be an Exodus from the Ukraine this year? As the Ukrainian Jews said Next Year in Jerusalem at the end of their Seder, will that be a reality? 

I mentioned above that Passover is a time for reflection. Even though this Seder had more bitterness on the Hillel Sandwich than I usually like, I felt empowered by the group of activist Jews I was with. The group of Jews who wanted to listen, who could empathize, who wanted to make a difference. There has been a lot of talk about the state of the American Jewish community this year...but if my generation of Jews are engaged in change, in action, are able to be grateful but still feel for those less fortunate, I feel pretty proud. Maybe we are not identifying, maybe we don't know what to do about Israel, and maybe we are not joining big synagogues with large building funds. But we are living our Jewish identities through action and being just. Most of the young Jews in that room are free, but we understand many of our Jewish brethren around the world and non-Jewish neighbors in our own city are not. 

Avadim Hayinu tells us if not for an action, we would still be enslaved. That is the lesson I am taking from Passover this year - if not for one voice, one step toward action, we would all still be enslaved. This year we are slaves, next year more can be free.