"Achla Jude!"

On Thursday evening in Tel Aviv, Paul McCartney delivered a message that this part of the world sorely needs: “Give Peace A Chance.” Forty-three year after the Beatles were banned from performing in Israel, I was lucky to be amongst the 50,000 fans in HaYarkon Park who witnessed Sir Paul’s debut in the Holy Land. It was amazing to be part of such an historical event, and, as you’ll see below, there’s nothing like watching such a huge crowd of people repeat one simple line of lyrics that holds a world of significance (please note that this is my first attempt at video blogging, so feel free to let me know if you have trouble seeing any of the footage):

Paul made his own attempt to "Give Peace a Chance" by diplomatically wishing the audience both a “Shana Tovah” ("Happy New Year" in Hebrew) and a “Ramadan Kareem” (Arabic for "A Generous Ramadan"). This was despite death threats from Muslim extremists, who were angered that Paul’s appearance in Israel suggested that he supported Israel’s status as a Jewish state. The fact that Paul was determined to play the concert made a huge statement in itself, and he even made a sizable attempt to speak in Hebrew – for example, “Hey Jude” became “Achla Jude.” I joked that his Hebrew was better than mine, although Frani, my partner-in-crime for the evening, disagreed. And while we were very happy that "Yesterday" was included amongst the encores, we were slightly disappointed that he didn't translate that into Hebrew as well -- although we realize that "Ehtmol" doesn't have quite as nice a melodic ring to it....

The crowd was extremely diverse – teenagers, senior citizens, families, religious people, Israelis, Americans, Brits, and many, many more. Frani and I were amongst the last fans to actually get seats with a view of the stage, thanks to a lovely miscommunication from Israel’s equivalent of Ticketmaster. The ticketing agent specifically told us that we needed to pick up the tickets in downtown Tel Aviv’s Diezengoff Square before heading over to the park. After waiting on a long line over there, we were told that the tickets had actually been brought over to the park earlier that afternoon – so typical! Because of this, we had to cut short the time we had planned to spend on the beach -- although we did manage to take a quick dip in the warm Mediterranean waters, which was absolutely delightful! And although we feared that the scene at the concert would be extremely chaotic, the Israelis actually had things reasonably under control, in a low-tech sort of way. They sorted the tickets in order of the credit card numbers with which they were purchased without using a single computer -- and despite the obvious heightened security, the entry process here was a million times easier than it was when Bon Jovi played in Central Park this past summer.

The Israelis saved their high-tech prowess for Paul's rendition of "Live and Let Die," which was accompanied by the unbelievable pyrotechnic display you see below:

Not only was the concert completely and totally exhilarating, but it was nice to be able to take a little break from Jerusalem. As my trusty Frommer's guidebook says, "Tel Aviv is everything Jerusalem is not... To an idealistic kibbutznik, an Arab Israeli from Nazareth, or an observant Jew from Jerusalem's Mea Sherim District, the mere mention of Tel Aviv can conjur up an image of Gomorrah in its worst depravity." To me, this sentiment was a welcome relief. In Jerusalem, I get yelled at if I wear shorts during my five minute walk to the gym. In Tel Aviv, Frani and I happily walked the streets in our beachwear and even made a brief stop in a grocery store without anyone saying a word. Tel Aviv is definitely my kind of city, and I look forward to coming back many more times this year -- especially since it's just a quick bus ride away!

That's right -- I almost forgot to mention that I finally got over my "fear" of the buses here -- or at least the intercity routes. The amount of security you need to go through to get into the Jerusalem bus station is equivalent to the screening process in most major US airports, so I feel pretty safe. I can't wait to explore more of this fascinating country, and am eagerly contemplating daytrips to many other Israeli cities!

'Tis the Season

No, not that season, silly. The High Holidays are quickly approaching, and Saturday evening marked the beginning of the Selichot period. Selichot are special prayers of forgiveness that are recited daily during the week leading up to Rosh Hashanah, as sort of a "warm-up" for the marathon days of prayer that await us. 

Since I had never been to Selichot services before, I decided to join some of my classmates at the Great Synagogue, which, by virtue of its name, is essentially Jerusalem's flagship Orthodox congregation. In anticipation of the fact that services there are conducted entirely in Hebrew, I borrowed a Selichot pamphlet with English translations from the Conservative synagogue. Apparently the Conservative version of this service is much shorter than that of Orthodox congregations -- I wound up getting completely lost after about 10 pages. 

Despite the fact that I barely understood a word, however, I was completely and totally mesmerized by the gorgeous music of both the cantor and choir. Now, most of the time I feel that synagogue choirs add an excessive "performance" element to the service that can sometimes discourage congregants from participating fully themselves. But at the Great Synagogue, the choir actually comes forth out of the congregation. They all sit in the first few rows, they all face the ark, and they all wear Tallitot. They presented beautiful harmonies, and I hummed along softly from my place high up in the women's section in the balcony. But, thankfully, I didn't feel as though I was missing anything by being behind this "mechitza" -- ie, up in the balcony. It was no different than sitting in the balcony for a Broadway show -- if anything, it gave us a birds-eye view of all of the action going on below us. 

The music enabled me to find a truly meaningful connection to Jewish tradition and history, which is not something that I typically experience in prayer. Too often I find myself either struggling to translate the Hebrew or else skimming quickly through English translations that, as I've recently discovered, do not always actually reflect what is being said in the Hebrew text! It's easy for me lose sight of the true meaning of prayer, and I find it frustrating that it sometimes becomes a chore, as opposed to a spiritual experience. I'm hoping that this year in Israel will help gain the skills I need to delve in to prayer more deeply. But during Selichot, I felt as though I had nothing to worry about -- for me, the evening was about using beautiful music as a backdrop for reflecting on the past year. That's the kind of effect I can only hope to have on my congregation as a cantor. 

It's ironic that one of my most positive prayer experiences thus far in Jerusalem came while davening at an Orthodox congregation. And as my classmates slowly trickled off to bed (did I mention that the service started at 10:30pm?), I tried my hardest to stay awake as long as possible -- I just couldn't get enough of the music! I started to crash at around midnight, and the very thought of the fact that I needed to wake up at 7am for Ulpan was enough to convince me to call it quits. However, I did manage to record bits of the service on my ipod, and am excited to add it to my ever-increasing collection of Jewish music. 

On the Muslim side of things, we are also currently in the midst of Ramadan.  This afternoon my classmate Russ and I went on a walk along the ramparts of the Old City walls, which brought us into the heart of the Muslim Quarter. But since we were high up above the streets, we were able to safely see parts of the city that would normally be off-limits to us. It was fascinating to watch the Muslim shopkeepers set up their wares so that the Muslims could purchase food during their evening respite from the fast. 

   

  

The irony, however, was that we were greeted with a huge gust of wind just as we entered the Muslim section -- so big, in fact, that it blew the kippah right off of Russ' head! It landed in a courtyard between two houses, and neither of us had any clue how to go about retrieving it -- not to mention the fact that we didn't want to find out what would happen to two Jews wandering through the Muslim Quarter! So we bid farewell to Russ' kippah, and I snapped a picture to make sure that its memory will endure. 

Lastly, I would be remiss if I did not mention last night's terror attack that took place here in Jerusalem. For those of you who didn't hear, a Palestinian drove his BMW into a crowd of Israeli soldiers who were on their way to pay a pre-High Holiday visit to the Western Wall. Thankfully, no one was hurt too seriously, except for the driver, who was shot to death by one of the soldiers. That's not to say that it wasn't incredibly scary. At around 11pm -- in a fruitless attempt to go to bed early -- Leslie came into my room and asked me if I had heard gunshots. I hadn't, and at first I didn't think anything of it. But then we heard lots of sirens, at which point both of us frantically kept on refreshing our computers and calling everyone we knew in Jerusalem to see if they had any information. We could tell from the sirens that something really bad had happened -- we knew it wasn't your average car accident. When we finally managed to piece together what had happened, we called our parents to tell them that we were safe, watched the coverage on tv for a bit, and attempted to at least get some sleep, despite the knowledge that something unthinkable had just happened a mere 10 minute walk from our apartment. 

With that in mind, I wish you all a Shana Tovah with the hopes that we won't have to deal with any similar incidents in the coming year. Also, please forgive me if I have wronged you at all over the course of the past year -- what better place to publicly absolve myself from sin than a blog! :) 

Cell Phone Symphony

Last night a bunch of us went to see the Cell Phone Symphony with the Jerusalem Symphony Orchestra, although that wasn't what was scheduled to be on the program...

The concert featured clarinetist Giora Feidman, who is supposedly one of the most famous klezmer musicians in the world. He began the concert from the back of the audience, walking down the aisle while playing strains of "Yerushalyim Shel Zahav." It was incredibly beautiful and eerily moving, until another strain of music came forth from the audience: the Nokia cell phone ring.

Mr. Feidman stopped in his tracks, ceased playing for a moment, and then proceeded to start the piece all over again. This must have happened about three more times before he finally reached the stage and finished the piece. Then the conductor politely asked everyone to please turn off their cell phones.

But the conductor wasn't miked, so his plea to the patrons was met with loud screams of "Lo Shomim! Lo Shomim!" -- the Hebrew version of "We can't hear!" I used to think that nothing could be more annoying that those chattering alta cockers in New York who make similar remarks when they can't hear what's going on in a theater, but this was far, far worse. People were just downright rude! 

Then Avi Avital, a mandolin player, took the stage for the world premiere of a piece written for mandolin, clarinet, and strings. As he played through a particularly intricate and stirring passage, he too was interrupted by our old friend Nokia. This time, the phone kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing, until Mr. Avital finally cut the piece short and angrily stormed off the stage. 

Needless to say, I was speechless -- it's bad enough for a phone to go off by mistake, but it takes real chutzpah to let it keep on ringing! The next piece, Haydn's Piano Concerto in D Major, was thankfully not interrupted by cell phones. It was, however, marred ever so slightly by a concert- going public who didn't seem to understand the concept of concerto movements. Rather than saving their applause until the very end of the piece, they clapped in between each movement -- sometimes they even clapped in the middle of a movement at a cadential moment! Not to mention the fact that there were certain people in the audience humming along rather loudly to the music....

But the piece was incredibly unique in the sense that the conductor, Peter Breiner, also served as pianist for the concerto. He actually conducted the piece from the keyboard, turning a massive piano concerto into a piece of chamber music! In the final movement, Maestro Breiner inserted strains of Hatikvah and improvised a jazz riff, all the while still landing on the tonic! I never thought I would hear Haydn infused with Hatikvah -- it seems like a rather unlikely combination -- but this actually worked quite well. Maestro Breiner played with great personality and musicality as well -- this was definitely my favorite part of the evening.

Regardless, the bottom line is that Israelis need a serious crash course in concert-going etiquette, although one of my classmates smartly reminded me that classical music is a Western art form, and we are currently living in a Middle Eastern country.

I will say that the one positive aspect of this being a uniquely Israeli concert was that the orchestra began the evening with a gorgeous rendition of Hatikvah. The audience stood with pride and sang along, and at the end broke out into yelps and applause, just like we Americans tend to do at sporting events! Oh, and there's also the fact I was able to freely take pictures without anyone stopping me (despite the fact that it felt strange to do so in a concert hall), and I'm happy to share a photo of the orchestra as well as a shot of Dina, Frani, and myself.

Enjoy, and Shabbat Shalom! 

Shaking Things Up A Bit

We had our first Conservative Yeshiva Shabbaton over the weekend, which took place near beautiful Ein Gedi on the shores of the Dead Sea. We spent all day Friday climbing through the rocky desert, swimming under waterfalls, and floating in the salty sea. We soaked in gorgeous desert scenery, prayed at the ancient synagogue of Ein Gedi, and observed an abundance of ibex (pictured below). 

Saturday was filled with student-led services and faculty-led learning, during which many of my cantorial classmates made contributions. Shulie's Maariv was vocally alluring, while Marisa (a member of last year's cantorial class who loved Israel so much that she decided to stay for another year) and Russ shook things up a bit with Spanish-Portuguese and Moroccan Torah cantillation. 

Admittedly, I was too nervous to lead services or read Torah this time around, so I chose instead to be an observer. I did, however, agree to lead Havdalah, the concluding portion of Shabbat, alongside my classmate Frani. But I didn't want to do just any old Debbie Friedman Havdalah. Like Russ and Marisa, I wanted to shake things up a little bit and expose to the community to a melody that they wouldn't ordinarily be familiar with. To me, that's the essence of a cantor's role of transmitting Jewish musical traditions. 

Last week, Frani introduced our class to a book called Songs of the Jews of Calcutta, which was compiled by Rahel Musleah, a member of my hometown congregation of Temple Israel of Great Neck. You'll notice that I've been finding lots of connections to Temple Israel here in Israel, which is one of the things that's neat about going to a school that's affiliated with the Conservative movement. What is even more incredible is that Jewish geography also connects Shulie with Rahel, as Shulie went to high school with Rahel's nephew! They say that Jews are the people of the book, and I find it really special that this other seemingly random book connects half of our cantorial class. But I digress.

Frani and I decided to adapt some of the Havdalah music from the Jews of Calcutta in order to formulate our service for the Shabbaton, and stayed up late Thursday night putting all the pieces together. It was a little challenging, in the sense that the book didn't include an actual Havdalah service -- just songs associated with the conclusion of Shabbat. We pulled three of these melodies and used them to formulate the three different sections of the service -- the introductory "Eliyahu Hanavi" song, which we taught to the whole group, the "Hinei El Yishuati" paragraph, and the actual Havdalah blessings. If you have no idea what I'm talking about and are curious to learn more, I'm happy to explain -- I'm just too tired to go into detail now!

Our service turned out to be a great success, especially because the melodies lingered in many of our classmates' heads during the bus ride home. I hope that they'll remember the tunes they learned over the weekend well enough to teach them to other congregations, thus perpetuating the musical traditions of the small but vital Jewish community in India.

A Spiritual Experience?

I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but I didn't realize that today was 9/11 until one of my fellow students at the Conservative Yeshiva asked the rabbis how they were planning to acknowledge the tragedy that befell us exactly seven years ago. I was shocked to discover that they hadn't realized it was 9/11 either! Apparently Israel is more isolated from the outside world than I had initially thought -- not only was 9/11 just another day in the life, but most of the Israelis I've met have never heard of the concept of female cantors, even though the Conservative movement has been ordaining them for over 20 years! 

Once prompted, the rabbis put together an impromptu memorial "service" of sorts that was both beautiful and meaningful. There's something to be said about having a moment's notice to pick an appropriate reading for marking a difficult occasion, as the choice must be one of spontaneity and instinct. In the mincha service that followed, I made it a point to stand during the Mourner's Kaddish, which is something I normally go out of my way to avoid. I usually use the time to reflect on how incredibly lucky I am to have no one to mourn for at the moment. But today, with thousands of families across America in mourning, standing up felt like the right thing to do. 

Even so, all of this reminded me of the haphazard way in which I first learned about the 9/11 attacks. The first plane crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center at 8:46 am, and I'm embarrassed to say that I had no idea what had happened until about 11am. It was not entirely my fault, however -- not to mention the fact that I accidentally left my cell phone behind in my dorm room that morning! I had a 9am class that ran late, and as I ran up the hill to my 10am class, I heard someone talking about a plane crash in Pennsylvania. When I arrived late to my Hebrew class, my classmates were observing a moment of silence. I automatically assumed that something had happened in Israel, but when I asked the professor to clarify, he shushed me, yelled at me for being late, and went on teaching. I finally figured out the whole story at my next class, which the professor thankfully cancelled. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the school newspaper office watching the news reports and coming up with different angles for presenting the events for the Tufts community. 

Back then, I was so appalled by my Hebrew professor's apparent apathy that it completely colored my attitude in his class for the rest of the semester. I was uninspired to do my work, and as a result, my Hebrew failed to improve. Thankfully, I'm making up for lost time in my Ulpan! But now I have more perspective on where he was coming from. As a Russian Jew who made aliyah to Israel and ultimately ended up in the United States, he came from a life of oppression and tragedy. Sad as it may seem, he probably saw the 9/11 attacks as being no different from the many other acts of terror that he'd lived through. That's the Israeli way -- you clean up and move on. Most of the Israelis I meet are shocked and almost offended that I won't take the busses around here -- they feel that I'm letting would-be terrorists win by virtue of the fact that I'm giving into fear.

So I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that most Israelis paid little heed to 9/11. I tried to observe the moments of silences that took place this morning New York as I worked out in the gym this afternoon in Jerusalem, but was distracted by chattering Israelis on the treadmill next to me. But all frustration left as I flipped through channels and happened upon the ceremony in which they were reading the names of the 9/11 victims. I thought of the fallen heroes from my hometown of Great Neck, NY who perished in the attacks -- Andrew Stergiopolous and Jonathan Ielpi (and, as my mom reminded me, a third victim -- Frederick Kuo) -- and wondered if I would hear their names. 

Seconds later, Jonathan's name was read aloud. 

Now, I'm not a particularly spiritual person. This may seem like an odd statement coming from a future cantor, but my current connection to Judaism comes from my love of Jewish culture, tradition, and community. One of my goals for this year in Israel is actually to develop a deeper relationship to the spiritual side of Judaism and to incorporate more meaning behind ritual. I don't think that the fact that I heard Jonathan's name out of the thousands of 9/11 victims in the five minutes I spent listening to the ceremony on TV was an accident. Perhaps it was a marker meant to set me off on a path of discovery. If so, I look forward to seeing where it goes, and hope that the memory of Jonathan and the rest of those who lost their lives on that tragic day, remains as blessing.

Oh, and thanks to 9/11 I've developed two personal rituals over the past seven years: I don't leave the house in the morning without reading CNN.com first. I'm also pretty obsessive about making sure I have my cell phone with me everywhere I go!

Shabbat-Induced Anxiety

It seems ironic to be using the words “Shabbat” and “Anxiety” in such close proximity, but that’s exactly how I felt as I walked to Kabbalat Shabbat services on Friday night.

I had told Dina, one of the JTS Rabbinical students, that I would meet her at a specific intersection at 6:45 to attend services at Yakar. She had invited me to Shabbat dinner at her apartment, which is conveniently located around the corner from the shul.

My Jerusalem Street Atlas has essentially become my Bible here, to the point where I almost feel guilty that I’ve been studying it far more closely than my Tanakh (aka the Hebrew Bible). But, as I discovered on Friday, it has its own set of flaws. Even though I double and triple-checked what seemed like the best route to the shul, some of the streets were mislabled, causing Rebecca and I to get hideously lost. A friend of ours later told us that the only good place to find good maps of Jerusalem is in Tel Aviv. Go figure.

It would have been so easy if we could just call or text someone for more clear directions, or at least to let Dina know that we were running late. But, of course, we’re not supposed to be using the phone on Shabbat. 6:45 came, and then 7, and I began to feel so badly about the fact that poor Dina was probably waiting for us. I had no way of telling her to go ahead without us and that we’d catch up eventually.

Since so many others were also walking to shul, we asked several people for directions on the way. I was very proud of the fact that I was able to conduct an entire “conversation” in Hebrew, even though it was completely simplistic:

Me: Afoh Rechov HaPalmoch? (Where is HaPalmoch Street?)

Woman: Sham (There – and she pointed towards the left).

Me: Todah Rabah (Thank you very much).

Woman: B’vakasha (You’re welcome).

Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s not REALLY a conversation worth writing home about, but at least it got us to the right place – well, sort of. I asked a teenage boy to confirm that the building that we were standing in front of was Yakar, and his response was “Which one?” Turns out that two minyanim meet at Yakar – a Carlebach-style service with lots of music and a more “traditional” service. 

Dina, of course, had thankfully given up on us and had already headed into services. I took a gander that she would be upstairs at the Carlebach service, so Rebecca and I followed the sounds of the music. Since Yakar’s website notes that the congregation is “traditional and creative,” I was somewhat surprised to find that there was a mechitza separating the men and the women. My immediate knee-jerk reaction was to leave. But then I noticed the ruach (sprit) amongst the women in the congregation. There were so many people that some were even spilling out onto the balcony.

We looked around for Dina but didn’t see her right away. We didn't want to be disruptive, so we decided to wait outside, where we could still hear the music. It actually didn’t seem any different than it would’ve been had we actually sat behind the mechitza!

But all anxiety disappeared once we actually got to dinner at Dina’s gorgeous apartment. She cooked us a feast accompanied by wonderful company and conversation. It was definitely worth all of the "anxiety" it took to get there, and despite the fact that we got lost yet again on the way home, it was nice to get into the Shabbat mode. Every single person we passed while walking home wished us a "Shabbat Shalom," including both the "secular" Jews and the Haredi, which added a great sense of community. 

But Shabbat anxiety/frustration returned once again on Saturday morning. I learned the hard way that when services in Israel are called for 8:30am, it means that you actually need to get there at 8:30am. It’s not like back home when you can saunter in at 10am, which is about when Frani and I arrived at Shira Hadasha. Shira Hadasha is described as a “Halakhic Egalitarian Minyan,” which basically means that women are permitted to read Torah and lead certain parts of the service, even though they sit separately from the men. Unlike Yakar, this mechitza was relatively non-threatening -- it was a thin curtain that could actually be pushed out of the way, as it was during the D'var Torah. It seemed to serve more of a symbolic purpose than anything else, and while I'm generally opposed to the overall idea of a mechitza, this one was honestly not so bad. Would I have preferred there to have been mixed seating? Of course -- but if this mechitza made it comfortable for more people to participate in the service, then so be it. 

But that's not what frustrated me. Since Frani and I got to services late, we ended up sitting in the very back of the women's section, beyond the end of the mechitza. We had such a clear view of the men davening next to us that it almost defeated the concept of separation. It also meant that we were sitting amongst several young mothers and their screaming children -- and instead of encouraging their kids to calm down and be quiet, the mothers themselves were gossiping up a storm! Such yentas! The noise was so distracting during the Amidah, one of the most sacred parts of the service, that Frani asked two of the biggest offenders to be quiet. The women, of course, were not happy. "You're telling ME to be quiet?" asked one of the women in Hebrew. It boggles my mind how some religious Jews can go through all the trouble of doing things like covering their heads while sitting separate from their husbands, but they don't respect the crux of one of the major prayers in Judaism. It's like they're going through the motions without having meaning in their traditions. Needless to say, we were both pretty upset. What good is ritual if there's no feeling behind it? I actually have a lot to say on this topic, but I'll save that for another day. 

Thankfully, my Havdalah experience was ripe with feeling, tradition, community, and ruach, which I personally believe are four of the major things necessary for Jewish continuity. A group of us ventured to the Old City and bid farewell to Shabbat at the Kotel -- or at least as close to the Kotel as we could get without separating the men in our group from the women. 

I have mixed feelings about the Kotel. You may recall from a previous post that when I visited the Kotel on Birthright, I was disappointed that I couldn't experience all the singing and dancing that was taking place over on the men's side. The post-Shabbat feeling at the Kotel is different from anything else I've ever experienced - there are no tourists, no beggars, and the mood on both sides seemed generally consistent -- or at least it was this past week. I'll have to go back to find out if it's the norm or not. Either way, I have proof: I snuck a picture of the men's side of the wall through one of the slats in the mechitza!

The rituals surrounding the Havdalah service require three things: a braided Havdalah candle, wine, and spices. Thanks to an unfortunate bug scare in our spice cabinet (I'll spare you the gory details...) we had to improvise on the spices by using a tube of scented lotion. But my philosophy is that it's the thought that counts more than the specific way that a ritual is carried out, and I'm just happy that we were able to put together an impromptu service that was both meaningful and unique. We attracted a curious crowd of onlookers, which made me slightly concerned that some of the more Orthodox Jews in earshot would take issue with the fact that both men and women were davening together so close to the Kotel, the Western Wall, the holiest of all holy Jewish sites -- but no one seemed to openly object. And the best part? The Muslim call for evening prayers came right in the middle of our service, and while some people in our group found it distracting, I loved hearing the Islamic melody enmeshed with our own songs of prayer -- to me, it signified the essence of coexistence and the hope that we'll all be able to share the land of Israel in peace.

Our crew, as pictured above, finished off our evening with falafel and frozen yogurt on Ben Yehuda Street. The frozen yogurt alone is seriously enough of a reason to visit Israel -- it's kind of like Pinkberry in New York, only they let you choose as many toppings as you'd like without charging an arm and a leg. They also blend the fruits right into your yogurt rather than putting them it on top. I've found a few places in the US that have similar concepts, but not with the variety of fruits you'll find in Israel. I've gotten pretty adventurous with my flavor combinations -- who knew that dates and halva could work so well together? Watch out, Ben and Jerry! :)

Ha Tallit Sheli

For those of you non-Hebrew speakers, the title of this post means "My Tallis" -- or at least, I think it does. My Hebrew grammar is, as they say in German, nichts so gut. Thanks to my vocal training, I already speak little pieces of so many different languages -- namely Italian, German, and Spanish, which makes it very difficult for me to wrap my finger around Hebrew. Most of the time when I try to speak in Hebrew, my brain defaults to Italian. But then I think about how I spoke very little Italian before I went to spend a summer in Italy, and I came out with a functional use of the language. The only time it failed me was whenever it came time to argue (namely in bakeries and on trains, as Jodi and Amy may recall...)

Anyway, I digress. This morning I bought my very first tallis, or prayer shawl! 

Alright, alright, I lied. I actually bought an inexpensive tallis a few days ago from a Yemenite weaver. I wasn't totally in love with his selection, although my classmate and I really liked this one woven turquoise tallis. I liked the fact that it was non-traditional and not overly girly, but I was concerned that wearing such a bright color would make too much of a statement from the Bima. So I opted not to buy it, despite the fact that it was actually quite affordable. 

I spent the next few days perusing all the Judaica stores on Ben Yehuda, where I found many tallitot that were either way too girly, too generic, or too expensive.  I couldn't find anything that was just right. The Yemenite tallis stood out as my best option, especially since my classmate agreed, and, as I've learned from watching way too much Bravo, you should never ignore fashion advice from a gay man! :) Since I've been feeling pretty self-conscious as the only woman in the Conservative minyanim I've been attending who does not wear a tallis, I went back to the store and bought the turquoise tallis and bag that you see below. I even got to watch the weaver make the fringes himself, which was especially cool. 

But then I found out about a place called Yad L'kashish, or Lifeline for the Aged, which aims to keep senior citizens busy by teaching them how to make various handmade goods. I had actually heard of the organization before, but it turns out that they specialize in designing tallitot for women. My friend Rebecca and I took a walk over there this morning, and poured through their incredible selection of handmade tallitot, each one more beautiful than the next. She bought a pink tallis with hand-painted images of the four matriarchs, while I bought one that is fairly traditional in terms of style, but it also has a beautiful design of flowers and pomegranates. Take a look:

You can ignore the flowers on my bedspread, of course. One of these days I'll actually post pictures of my room, but I haven't had a chance to really decorate yet. I do have a king-size bed, which is awesome, but it unfortunately leaves little space for anything else in the room but a nightstand.

Anyway, I'm very happy with my new tallis and can't wait to wear it for the first time at Shabbat services tomorrow. The first time I ever wore a tallis was last Yom Kippur, and it was actually quite by accident: Temple Israel gets such a huge crowd for the High Holidays that they host an overflow service in the tent, which is where my family sits. It's lovely except for the fact that it got so cold at night during Kol Nidre, and I had forgotten to bring a little sweater. I improvised by putting on a tallis, and I was quite surprised that it actually felt different to daven with a tallis on. It served as a symbolic way of separating the secular and the sacred, which is something that I'm going to continuously have to explore as a future hazzanit. 

After visiting Yad L'kashish, Rebecca and I braved the hustle of the shuk that is Friday morning, as evidenced below:

   

I discovered today that Marzipan, the most popular bakery in the shuk, sells the cheapest iced coffee I've found in Jerusalem -- just 5 shekels. But you have to be careful with iced coffee here. If you order iced coffee, you'll end up with a frappucino. For real American iced coffee, you have to order "cold coffee," which is "cafe karr" in Hebrew. And they automatically add whole milk, so you have to be sure to request skim -- the proper way to say that is "im skim." See, I'm learning! :) 

Tonight I'm off to services with a congregation called Yakar, followed by dinner with some of the JTS Rabbinical students. 

Shabbat Shalom, everyone! :)

Juxtapositions and Jewish Geography

These pictures were taken from the Haas Promenade, or Tayelet, overlooking a gorgeous view of Jerusalem. Since it provides such a wonderful panoramic overview, it's typically the first stop made by all tour buses that enter the city.

The photo of me was taken by a kind American couple who saw me snapping away at the scenery and offered to take a picture that actually had me in it. Like me, they just moved to Israel last week. I asked them what made them decide to make Aliyah, despite the fact that they sounded about as Deep South as you can get. Silly me. It turns out that they are Christian missionaries who came to Israel to do their own brand of holy work in the Church. As a Cantorial student immersed in all things Jewish, it’s easy for me to forget that Israel is the also the homeland for Christianity and Islam as well. This is especially ironic given that the majority of students in my Ulpan class are actually Arab Israelis trying to learn Hebrew! 

I currently have three hours to kill near the Talpiyot neighborhood of Jerusalem. I just had a fabulous first voice lesson in Israel, and am waiting to have dinner with my friend Mimi (she just made Aliyah in July), followed by a rehearsal with the Jerusalem Gilbert and Sullivan Society. My classmate Shulie (who also happens to be my second cousin by marriage - talk about Jewish geography!) suggested that I use the time to take a walk over to the Tayelet, and I'm so glad I did. It feels strange typing away on my shiny new macbook as I overlook the Old City of Jerusalem, with all its rich history and stories. At least there’s no wireless signal, which means that I’m typing in Word with the intention of posting this entry when I get home later. While part of me wishes that I could check my e-mail, I don’t think I could handle such a complete juxtaposition between the old and the new. Plus there’s the fact that the Jewish community is so strong that we don’t even necessarily need the Internet to be connected to our traditions and our people.

Case in point: I auditioned for the Jerusalem Gilbert and Sullivan Society on Sunday, and was offered the role of Kate in Yeoman of the Guard and the opportunity to learn and cover the lead role of Elsie Maynard. The show was actually cast back in June, way before I got here, so I’m very happy to be a part of the group and to have an outlet outside of the bubble that is the Conservative Yeshiva.

Admittedly, I came to the group by googling “Gilbert and Sullivan” and “Jerusalem,” thus killing my theory that the Jewish people don’t necessarily need the Internet to make connections. But, as it turns out, my connection with the group goes far deeper than my persistent search for performance outlets in Jerusalem. I was schmoozing with the director after my audition, and we discovered – quite by accident – that he spent much of the seventies working as a Youth Director at Temple Israel of Great Neck, where I grew up! He proceeded to pull out a scrapbook of programs from all of the little plays he directed there, which included many, many names that I recognized. It’s a shiddach that’s truly meant to be!

In addition to Jewish Geography, there’s apparently also quite a bit of G&S Geography. As Gayden wisely told us during one of our first Princess Ida rehearsals last year, almost every major city in the world has group has a G&S group, thus creating a fabulous network for music and theater nerds like myself. Indeed, when I mentioned to the music director of the Jerusalem group that I’m active with the Gilbert and Sullivan Light Opera Company of Long Island back home, he knew full well that they are also doing Yeoman this year. I'm actually psyched that I don’t have to take a year setback on my quest to perform a role in every single one of the G&S operettas! The Jerusalem directors are also very familiar with Gayden’s book, A Most Ingenious Paradox, and are impressed that I've been able to work with him so closely.

While the majority of my fellow cantorial students think I’m a little meshuggah to commit to the show on top of my academic work, it feels great to be connected to so many different communities, both musically and Jewishly. Perhaps that’s why I’ve developed a reputation for finding people I know almost everywhere I go! :)