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.

The Duality of Power

We, as humans, have the powerful ability to hurt, belittle, and demoralize one another. Whether we do it out of jealousy, rage, embarrassment, self-defense, ambition, or revenge doesn't matter. The end result is the stuff that wars are made of. Pain becomes pain becomes pain.

The paradox is, no matter how deeply we wound our brethren, we humans also have the amazingly unique capacity to apologize-- and to make amends. By showing love and empathy, we can undo even the worst of deeds.

I hope that those of us with power in the world will someday recognize the duality of our power, and choose to move forth in the ever challenging direction of light and love.

God is a Sly Dog.

Just when I was feeling ultimate confusion about why the hell I'm picking up and traveling again, leaving behind community, a job, friends, family, temperate sunshine-y weather, familiarity.... I ran into a fellow traveler.

As someone who has impeccable timing in life, I received an email yesterday about an amazing program called the LIFE program in Israel and India. Ten months of leadership training and individually customized professional internships in the field of social change and innovation. Five months in Hyderabad, India, and five in Jersualem, Israel.

Sweet. Here I am scheduled to be leaving in less than a month for Tel Aviv to do the Tikkun Olam program, and I choose to spend two hours on the phone with the Founder and Director of a whole other program this morning rather than sticking to the plan of braving the Israeli Consulate in SF to get my visa. It's my typical self-imposed decision insanity crisis. Maybe you're familiar.

So I brewed some beer with Warren and went for a walk. I always find that walking is a much better alternative to sitting and stewing over a big decision. Something about the movement, and the physical act of progressing forward in a straight line helps bring my rational thinking in line with my emotions. But today I didn't get very far. Laptop in hand, I headed for Philz Coffee in North Berkeley to think, research, and write. On my way in, someone caught my eye.

It was the front desk receptionist from my Yoga studio. Now, I have always been a yoga skeptic. But something about this past year has had me craving my downward dogs. Maybe it was the chaotic spiritual aftermath of what I now call the "dengue fever detour," or maybe it was just the undeniable magic of a good teacher, but I'm now a regular at Yoga Mandala. Enough to recognize the woman from the front desk with the incredible blue-green eyes and the strange semi-European accent.

We said hello, exchanged formalities, and somehow the topic of India was broached (she had just returned from a trip). I asked if I could pick her brain a bit, and we ended up in what turned out to be the best (and most honest) conversation I've had in 2011. I can't recreate it here, but it soon became obviousthat we were kindred souls (without using such a tacky phrase) and that travelers share the bond of speaking a common language. She told me about India, yes, but she gave me a kind of reassurance I've been craving since I told the first person that I was bound for foreign lands again.

"Don't worry about what you're trying to accomplish," she said. "When you're in India, or any country for that matter, you never know what will happen. It's magical. You'll find that you've accomplished or learned something completely different from what you set out to achieve."

Her words were like a soothing balm for my tormented soul. Not to be melodramatic, but I've felt to unsure of myself, like an awkward filly venturing out into the exciting yet terrifying world of independent adulthood. "I'm going to do a volunteer fellowship...?" I hypothesize when asked what I plan to do in Israel. "I'll be placed in an NGO that works for coexistence????" I assure people that I'm excited, when in my most anxious of hearts I'm terrified that I'll fail in my unnamed mission, or that I'll return to the U.S. completely clueless as to my next step, single and broke to top it off, with no degree or professional skill-set to show for it.

While I feel hindered by the constructs of American individualism-obsessed, goal-worshipping society, I also am sure that I don't want to float free and meaningless through the vast wide world like some kind of selfish tourist-gypsy. I don't fit in at festivals, and I think hula-hooping is stupid past the age of 12. I feel obligated to use my intelligence and education to better the world, and yet I feel panicked at the thought of having to choose a profession. Like most Americans, I care about making my family proud and looking attractive to potential employers. I want friends and boyfriends to think I'm cool and adventurous, but struggle with the doubt that they might dump me once they realize they can't count on me to be around for a while.

In truth, I don't know what to expect when I'm abroad. The best things usually happen when you least expect them, and the relationships seem to materialize from thin air. One day you're wandering alone through a crowded street trying to find your hostel, the next day you're boarding a ferry with your new best friend Jane that you feel like you've known forever, discussing ex-boyfriends and Nietzche. You set out to save the monkeys of China, and you end up re-discovering your childhood passion for writing in journals, and reveling in smog and nauseating overnight bus-rides in Vietnam.

After our chat, I felt reassured that the universe had FINALLY sent me a sign that I'm gonna be okay. That I'm not fucking up my life, or signing my death sentence for an eternity of isolation, poverty, and homelessness by going on an adventure. Whether I go to Israel, or India, or both or neither, I'm going to have an incredible learning experience by leaving my comfort zone and boarding a plane to another world.

This woman, this gorgeous international supermodel of a traveler, kissed me on the cheek, assured me of my own wisdom, and thanked me for stopping to talk to her. I hate to rest on the words of those before me, but in this case the Grateful Dead said it best:

"Once in a while you get shown the light, in the strangest of places if you look at it right."

God Bless the Dead, and God bless fortuitous encounters with strangers on the street of Berkeley, California. I'm home again in my own skin.