A Tribute to the Mixed-Up Mixed-Jews of the World

(above: my beautiful Korean-Jewish-Iranian family)

“Once, when I was in prayer, I saw, for a very brief time and without any distinctness of form, but with perfect clarity, how all things are seen in God and how within Himself He contains them all.”
- St. Teresa of Avila, one of my favorite religious poets of all time, and... half-Jewish


Jewish identity has been on my mind lately. I wonder why ;) I've just finished a course in Tikkun Olam Jewish Peoplehood, a class that often had me feeling ill at ease, confused, and even-- at times-- angry. The biggest culture shock for me thus far in Israel has been the transparency with which Israeli Jews speak about preserving Jewish-ness as an ultimate priority over just about anything else. Being Jewish and preserving Jewish majority, to many of my Israeli friends and teachers, is an unfaltering and "given" necessity-- oftentimes equated with the survival of the Jewish culture and peoplehood as a whole.

It doesn't sound half-crazy. In a century that has been host to a number of colossal threats to the Jewish people worldwide (need I spell them out? okay: Pogroms, Holocaust, Intifada... somebody please educate me and share others from outside Europe and the Middle East!), I can understand why we might be concerned with our own survival. Speaking as the daughter of a psychotherapist, I am well versed in the language of trauma and self-preservation. I completely see the rationale behind a "me and mine first" mentality, and the promise "never again." Though Jewry worldwide has expressed these survivalist instincts in different ways according to societal pressures and situations (Israelis have built physical walls and established a vigilant army to stand guard, while American Jews have hidden behind bagels, yoga, and Hollywood actors in order to charm the others into thinking we're just like them and thus not be hated), none of us can deny the enormous influence of fear in our public relations strategy.

But when we look inward, and consider what it means to be Jewish today, we may find a big question mark staring back at us. In a globalized 21st century world, we may no longer be able to fall back on religion and tribalism to define who we are. How can we in good conscience put a Jewish agenda "first" when we now share communities, culture, and even genes with non-Jews? Though we might deny it, no-place in the world (not even Israel) is (or ever has been, if we're being honest here) entirely Jewish! How can we live our lives according to outdated interpretations of Biblical traditions and stories when they fail not only to make sense to us in the practical day-to-day, but also cease to be cognitively viable in combination with a modernizing world that has given us new concepts of morality through social movements for civil rights, environmentalism, and economic justice? We have new prophets, born from Feminism, Critical Race Theory, and Occupy Wall Street! How can we stay true to our innermost desires to love the other and embrace intelligent growth, and simultaneously preserve those traditions, laws, and prayers which our Jewish ancestors fought so hard to give us the freedom to practice?

To me, the clear answer is Jewish Renewal-- reinterpretation of texts paired with return to the Jewish spiritual connection with the Divine. But that's not enough for some people. Some of us are concerned with numbers, and I have to tip my hat to that because having seen charts, I know that the numbers of those identifying as Jewish and educating themselves in Jewish law, texts, and traditions are steadily decreasing. To be clear, I happen to be a big fan of the Jewish-Other combo (yours truly is a proudly unique blend of Jewish/Korean/Buddhist/Yoga/Suburbs/City/East Coast/West Coast/SF Giants, daughter of a nature-loving Russian-speaking acupuncturist and a Palestinian-loving Dead-Head psychologist), and a big believer in the idea that being mixed does not make you any less of one or the other. But I also appreciate the concern on the part of those who worry that we Jews need to stick together and keep our guards up to avoid being caught unawares, or suddenly we're in concentration camps again, or speaking English and decorating our Christmas trees during Hanukkah-- oops, wait, that might have already happened...)

I'd like to believe that with intention and inclusivity, we Jews can have it both ways. Inter-marry, give equal rights to all, and still make sure we protect ourselves and our history. That we can create a beautiful mish-mash patchwork of all the different values and symbols we attach to being Jewish-- baseballs, matzaballs, yarmulkes, kibbutzim, synagogues, hummus, swords, guns, minyans, candles, and Torah, with a little bit of kim chee, Jesus, and vinyasa thrown in. But I know that for the most part, Israel is still set on the Zionist mission of creating a Jewish state-- by Jews and for Jews-- so that there will be one corner of the world that we can just call Jewish and not have to ask what that means. And likewise, America still asks us to check just one box and wonders aloud "Is Jewish really an ethnicity, or is it just a religion?" while American Jews wonder if our future grandchildren will have any reason to call themselves "the chosen ones."

I guess I don't have a clear answer to all this. (For someone else's great answer, see: http://www.haaretz.com/jewish-world/the-problem-with-worrying-about-jewish-continuity-1.395277) But for now, I'm going to wave my little Berkeley Jewish-Korean peacenik flag high, and hope that it gives hope to those who wonder where all the Jews have gone, and courage to those who-- like me-- owe their existence to the bravery of mixed-marriage and march forward in the name of Jewish-based social justice and ultimate loyalty to humanity, even if humanity at times takes the form of "the other." Because I like to think that G-d would smile favorably on this kind of parade.

The Tayelet

Nov 25, 2011 Sunset on the Tayelet with Miriam and our Bikes

Whenever I come to the Tayelet to watch the ocean, the sunset, and the people, I always think to myself, "Why don't I come here more often? Heck, why don't I come here everyday?" I'm so blessed to live near the water, where troubles blow away with the breeze of the Mediterranean, and the evening call to prayer sets the tone above Jaffa's gorgeous peninsula silhouette. "Allah Akbar!" Indeed.

While sitting on a bench discussing life with Miriam, we are approached by a Nigerian woman. My first instinct is to smile, my next is to be afraid... What does she want? Is she one of the refugees we've been learning about in seminar? Will she ask us for help? For money? Why is she reaching her hand out to me?

I am shaking it, and she is asking us where we are from. We tell her, "America," and ask her where she's from. She wants to know where we are staying. She is here for two weeks, "visiting," "tourist." I ask if her companion, standing unobtrusively a few yards away is her husband. "No!" she laughs, "Just a friend." No more words are exchanged, just smiles, and she walks away to rejoin her friend on their stroll. That's it. Just a sweet, simple encounter of human recognition that we are, in this moment, occupying the same small piece of Earth.

Next, I notice a circle forming on the grass down the beach to our right. There's music. I don't know what they're doing-- it appears to be a Shanti Banti (Israel for "hippie") gathering of some sort. Perhaps related to the "Love Revolution" people who just a few minutes earlier approached us to give us hugs and hand us fliers about their Kabbalat Shabbat ceremony. People are embracing calmly in the circle, embracing and swaying gently... dancing.

But as I look closer, I see that they are not just Shanti Bantis but Tel Avivis from everyday walks of life-- people with kids, couples, guys in business clothes. They encourage people strolling along the Tayelet to join in, and some do. I feel afraid to join in too, though I want to, what if it's some kind of cult? But as I observe, I think to myself that year really seems to be about spontaneous public gatherings between people who are tired of isolation. Tired of materialism and individualism. Groups of people who want to protest selfishness and reclaim the public for positive expression of humanity. So I join.

After embracing in a circle, singing along wordlessly to a niggun, we sit and somebody invites us to go around and each share what we are feeling in this moment (in Hebrew). Somebody feels "excitement!" Others feel "fun!" "hope!" "gratitude!" "Ja Bless!" "ayayayayayayyayayaooooo!!!!!" I feel "Happiness." Happiness? Can it be? I just woke up this morning feeling numb, wondering what I care about in this world anymore, and totally confused as to the path of my life. But somehow, as always here in Israel, there is perfect timing in spontaneity.

The next question is in Hebrew too complicated for me to understand, so I slip away to sit with Miriam on the bench again. We talk, and the next time I look back, the Shanti Bantis are dancing ecstatically with the sunset, near the waves of the Mediterranean. Shabbat Shalom.

The Most Wonderful Day

Where to begin?

I am so full of inspired energy right now, and everything seems to be coming together. It's such a weight off my shoulders to feel this moment of clarity, after so many weeks of confusion and the feeling of being overwhelmed. As the late Steve Jobs pointed out in a commencement speech, it's often in retrospect that we are able to connect the dots that once seemed so random and disparate.

This morning, Niran (my Israeli housemate) and I went to eat hummus at Abu Hassan, finally, the most famous of hummus places in the Tel Aviv area. Feeling full and happy to be on vacation (it's Sukkot! festival of the Sukkah), I came home and grabbed my swimsuit before heading out with my roommate Miriam (from Mexico/Miami) to wander around Jaffa with our cameras-- since both of our families have been demanding photos! (see below) One thing in particular I noticed, amongst the many beautiful and interesting things about our city, is the prevalence of beautiful and thought-provoking graffiti street art appearing after every corner you turn. Though I'm not an artist, I love this colorful and organic avenue of expression. (Perhaps not by coincidence, I am volunteering in two different art organizations: one--Muzot-- is an alternative Arts high school for Youth that have failed out of the Israeli public school system, and the other-- Omanoot--is a start-up online platform that seeks to represent Israel through up and coming artists.)

After our photography excursion, Miriam and I sat for a drink in a place I've been wanting to try along the beach in Jaffa. It's a funky living-room esque cafe with everything you can imagine hanging from the ceiling. The view faces out to the Mediterranean, and the menu is limited to organic juice (they were out) and limonana (my favorite Israeli drink-- lemonade with fresh mint leaves... so refreshing!) We chilled to the sounds of beach reggae, watching the people go by and the waves crash on the beach until I had to head out to meet my friend Zadok.

Zadok Tzemach, playwright extraordinnaire, is a friend I made last time I was in Israel via couchsurfing. He lives in Neve Tzedek, the cutest neighborhood known to mankind, the first Jewish town established in the Tel Aviv area. It's now a trendy arts colony, but it maintains the old architecture and religious-inspired calm in its winding streets. Anyhow, Zadok is an amazing person, and he and I enjoyed a nice stroll in the sand, wading in and out of the water heading North as we discussed relationships and the futility of arguing over politics with lovers who hold different perspectives than ourselves. Zadok walked me back to Jaffa, and left me with an invitation to attend a dance show tomorrow evening at the Suzanne Dallal Center, where he directs the Kibbutz Dance company and can get me into free shows :)

I thought of heading back home, but the approaching sunset kept me riveted to my spot on the wall overlooking what we Tikkun Olam-ers fondly refer to as "Sever Utah Ether Beach" (a nickname given in reference to the most prominent graffiiti art scrawled along the southernmost wall of the southernmost beach in Tel Aviv before Jaffa). I sat for a while, enjoying the scene, until I noticed a cute guy my age standing alone at the edge of the water. He was stretching his neck and back in a way that reminded me of my life pre-Tikkun Olam (read: when my laptop was so much a part of my workday that it had begun to feel like an extension of my arms). I smiled at him, he smiled back, and we struck up a conversation as I joined him in the water. Adam works in IT (as many young Israelis now do), speaks perfect English and French, and called me the "weirdest girl ever." I gave him my number and I hope we'll be friends :)

My next stop was a meeting in the flea market with a man named Eden, who I was connected to by Danny Gal-- founder of Hub Tel Aviv. Eden is currently the Israeli director of an organization called Center for Emerging Futures, or "CEF," one of many acronyms associated with a group that facilitates two day gatherings for Israelis and Palestinians cautiously curious about meeting "the other" in Beit Jala, an Area C zone in the West Bank. Eden and I had an excellent conversation about the organization, and he had some very inspiring stories to tell of collaborations between Israelis and Palestinians-- including a joint soccer coaching program, a "Peace Cookbook," a Palestinian-Israeli "Hack-a-thon," and a cross-border field trip program. I feel so relieved to see that through the Hub, I am once again making sense of my varied interests, and I am excited to attend the upcoming Global Village Square conference put on by CEF in November. I feel filled with hope and excitement about getting involved, in whatever capacity.

Finally, as I walked home, I was wished a "Chag Sameach" by a Muslim woman walking on Sderot Yerushalayim (the main road in Jaffa) and her four smiling children. What a beautiful end to a beautiful day, and an amazing start to my Sukkot Vacation. Jaffa, I think I'm in love with you.

It's a Bittersweet Symphony... This Life....

Just something small I wrote on the bus:

I feel God when I am happy.

God is in happiness? Or are they one and the same?

Happiness comes from

Love

Purpose

and Caffeine...

God is in gratitude...

Night of 1,000 Tables

I am finally starting to understand and speak some Hebrew. Today, I succeeded in ordering burekas and making small chit-chat tonight without the stand’s proprietor switching into English as they usually do the moment I open my mouth. I also understood my yoga teacher when she instructed us in Hebrew to do downward dog with our backs “more straight.” Waved hello to the rosewater malabi man and received a smile of recognition. Granted, that takes no Hebrew skills, but it means I’m a now a familiar face on the main drag of Jaffa!

Last week, I had the privilege of attending an incredibly inspiring event organized by several leaders in social innovation, including Danny Gal- the founder of Hub Tel Aviv. “The Night of 1,000 Tables” was an enormous display of democratic civic engagement inspired by in the desire to continue the momentum of the social protests that were sparked by the makeshift tent camps on Rothschild Bouldevard in Tel Aviv, and swept the Israeli nation this summer.

On a Sunday night, two other Tikkun Olam participants and I opted out of of one night of clubbing (in Tel Aviv, this is no easy task as the city never seems to sleep and enticing music throbs from every open doorway downtown) to attend the gathering in the vast outdoor courtyard of the Tel Aviv Museum. Upon arrival, we were met with an unusual sight. Tables of Israelis, stretching as far as the eye could see, were arranged in a manner I’ve only ever seen before at large organized (and often expensive) conferences or benefits--never in a public arena open to anyone regardless of his or her social status. Strangers, or near strangers, eight or nine to a group were gathered around each table, respectfully discussing the social and economic reforms they hope for and expect for work toward in their daily lives.

Live video coverage of the event was broadcast on a large screen overlooking the square, and volunteer transcribers at each table submitted the transcript of these dicussions to a public website (unfortunately, not available in English as of yet). The facilitators were also volunteers, having signed up for the role on the facebook event or through the organizers. At one point, it became apparent that the mayor of Tel Aviv himself (Ron Huldai) was present at one of the tables, listening directly to his constituents and their ideas around new and better ways to ensure greater livelihood and freedom for all the people of Israel. He was eventually booed out by protestors (angry about his removal of the tent city remnants), which was frustrating since it seemed important that he be there, but his presence in the arena spoke to the significant influential potential of this model.

People answered three questions: “Why are you here?” “What are the top two changes you want to see from this?” And “What can you do to help generate those changes, either alone or in community?”

It all sounds very simple, but to me it was revolutionary. Why it’s so rare for people to gather in the streets of their communities to respectfully and intelligently dialogue with one another about what’s working, or not working, baffles and frustrates me. I don’t mean to discount the discussions that still happen daily in cafes, barbershops, and other “third places,” but in an age where more and more of us are more tuned in to the social media conversations happening at warp speed on our iphones, I do maintain that it’s extremeley uncommon to see a physical manifestation of democratic political engagement at such scale outside of universities. While I didn’t understand much of the content at my table (the language barrier has been frustrating at times like this), I could read from the energy and body language of the participants that something amazing was happening-- connections were being forged and people were truly listening to each other’s narratives. And a diverse set of people were reengaging with their right to use their voice for social justice.

Granted, there were fewer Arab and Black faces than I would have liked to see (in order to truly have a representative section of the population), but as I’m trying to remind myself each day...baby steps. The experience felt particularly relevant as the High Holidays approach, and we turn inward to reflect on how we want to be different and what we want to do better in the year ahead. I hope someday to see these round tables in the streets of San Francisco, New York, Baghdad, Ramallah, Mexico City, and all around the world. And in the name of Rosh Hashanah and a new start, I’m going to nurture my little flame of hope that “someday” might be sooner than we might think.

Shana Tova everyone!

Quick Snippet

Everybody in Israel is constantly asking what's happening, and if you are okay. It's like having an entire country of Jewish mothers. Everywhere you turn, "Ma nishma? At beseder? Ha kol beseder? Mah koreh?" They'll ask you three times in a row, too, or just to fill a silence. Though it's off-putting at first (I just answered you for God's sake, how can anything have changed in the past 5 seconds?!), it's also comforting to know you're not going to slip through any cracks unnoticed.

In other news, I went to an amazing gay bar last night in Tel Aviv with my friend Elliot. It was Eurovision Night, which featured incredibly choreographed performances by painfully handsome men wearing makeup and black tank tops. Wish I had video but I left my camera at home. Played in the Mediterranean at sunset tonight, and was joined in the waves by an adorable 4 year old little girl "Elli." (see below)

More to come...

Yalla Jaffa!

Whew. It's been quite a ride already and it's only been 2 weeks. My head has been swirling with thoughts, images, feelings and foreign phrases, and I haven't had a free moment to make sense of them or connect the dots. Days have been flying by, and it seems that time has sped up such that I've lost track of the date. Until now.

There are grounding moments in life that often appear when you expect them least but need them most. Today, we visited a community center in Neve Tzedek, possibly the most adorable neighborhood in the world (I stayed there on and off with a friend for several weeks last time I was in Israel and fell in love with the narrow cobblestone streets and artistic-colony architecture). The community center wasn't quite as compelling as some of the other organizations we've visited, but our visit there was the start of something beautiful.

I wandered around with some friends from the program who preferred to straggle behind and explore the neighborhood. We sat for a coffee at the Suzannne Dallal dance center, then split ways to head back to our respective "homes." Melissa and I decided to walk along the tayelet (boardwalk) along the beach toward Jaffa, as it was getting close to sunset and the beach breeze was irresistible.

Since coming to Israel, I've felt less inspired and holy than I hoped. Maybe it's that the fever of Birthright-induced Zionism has subsided in me, (or maybe it's that I'm in my quarter-life crisis where life feels eerily meaningless even as the beauty and intrigue of it is constantly nudging me in new directions), but I haven't been feeling very rooted in reality. It's as if I'm wandering through a dream, turning left and right, accelerating and decelerating at the different crossroads that keep appearing, but not really getting anywhere or comprehending what it all means.

It was with such ennui that I found myself floating in the Mediterranean at sunset, feeling the warm water lap at all edges of my body and staring at the dual-city skyline of Tel Aviv/Jaffa. I kept wondering how I could feel such a lack of passion while surrounded by such incredible beauty. The thought that has plagued me for the past several years post-college arose yet again... "Who am I? What am I doing here?" And I began to feel anxious at the enormity of it all, and the terrifying feeling of, literally, free-floating.

I made my way out of the water, and climbed back onto solid land to join Melissa on the sand. I felt a bit disappointed at my failure to appreciate the incredible natural beauty around me and wishing I could once again feel the healing of ecstatic joy that the ocean often brings. But I also felt relaxed and pleased to be in a place of such diversity and calm for a moment. It was then that I noticed some guys playing soccer on the beach behind us, and with nothing to lose, mustered up courage to ask them if we could play.

They said yes and we introduced ourselves. They spoke only Arabic, but there is very little language needed to play soccer together. After a few minutes, I knew "wahhad-wahhad"... "one to one," and they told me I was "very excellent." I've always love how effusive the Arabic language is ;)

Through playing soccer with Arabs on the beach of Jaffa at sunset, I began to reconnect with myself. But it wasn't just my existential stress that was relieved. It was also the recent memory of a couple of small Arab children throwing sticks at us as we passed a traditional wedding on Rehov Yerushalayim en route to a club the other night, and the subsequent (and understandable) emotional explosion on the part of one of our Israeli roommates.

Though we are on a unique "coexistence" fellowship, I have been feeling uncomfortable and awkward about the lack of Arab participants in our cohort. With nobody to serve as a liaison to the community, even the best of intentions of living amongst those we serve seem to fall short. How can we understand sentiments of our neighbors without the help of a translator, someone who is versed in the history and culture of the place.

Playing together will not solve a half century of conflict, nor will it unravel my confusion about what the purpose of my life is meant to be. But in that moment, it centered me and helped me put my feet on the ground. I'm now sitting back at my apartment with the fan (to ward off the unrelenting humidity of this Mediterranean climate), hearing the Muslim call to prayer emanating from a nearby mosque, contemplating my new life in the ancient city of Jaffa, and feeling the gurgling of a stomach that is unused to the strange Middle Eastern diet of Hummus and Goldstar. Things are happening around me, and I am just a sponge.