Posts
The last few days have had the undercurrent of ending. I have known in the back of my head that my time of travel, my time abroad has been coming to an end. I am so sad that this month is over. I have been thinking back to what Joe said when I left New York and was feeling scared of what this month would bring, as I expressed my concerns I would waste the time somehow: Rachael, you can go and come back exactly as you are and that would be just wonderful. He was convincing me that just going was enough.
Joe, you were right. Just showing up was enough...and yet, I am changed, I am different somehow...but how, is not yet clear. I think maybe I am just more intensely just who I am than I was before I left. I have learned much about myself, what I love, what excites me, what I am passionate about...my mission is coming clearer, the fight I want to fight, the task I want to take on is coming in to focus.
Right before I left, Rabbi Larry Hoffman asked me, what do you need to find out about before becoming a Rabbi...He was not askinh, what additional skills do I want to acquire. But more, what do I need to know, to kopf, to groc to understand, to own and internalize before I, ME, can BE a rabbi. I will get the title May 2, 2009 (God willing.) But what do I need to have the mantle of that title rest comfortably upon me?
I need to find about me and where I am going, amongst some other things as well.) I have promised that I will not commit to DOING anything next year. I will learn, explore, and do finding out. That is my job, that is my next task.
The rest of the summer, I will be working with Jewish Community Action in Minneapolis, MN. That is my next stop. I think working on and with those tools and skills will be an important next step in the finding out process....
On a more personal note, some part of me went on this trip looking for something. One day, in a small village in the middle of nowhere in Kampala Uganda, a girl asked me, what makes you happy? And I said coming home to people I love. She then asked, but how can you ever be happy if you are alone? Culturally, she could not conceive of happiness existing outside of family, community and connection with others.
She raised an obvious contradiction in my life. I live alone. I go and do on my own. And sometimes, I have not been sure where my home is. I feel I have been away, looking for home for a long time. And I finally have found it. I think I have been thinking so long that I am alone. And now I know. My home is wherever I am. As my Grandpa Sy (z”l) would say, Well, you take yourself with you, now don't you...This is a man who believed in leaving before you outstayed your welcome. This is a man who I think, was always looking for his home...He is right, you do take yourself with you.
For me, that means I am never alone. Not because I am always with myself (which is also true and I do love taking me with me...we have really come to have so much fun...I come home from this trip, the thought and worry lines on my face softer, the laugh lines deeper....) but because I am never without you. I am never without those of you who read this. I am never disconnected from everyone I love. Even if I cannot call or write or touch...I am never without you.
As I stood at the edge of the Nile, thinking of the enormity of the task at hand of working to make the world better, feeling overwhelmed by it...My internal google earth map image zoomed back. I saw myself standing alone in a tiny corner at the end of a long road in a land far, far away from everyone and everything I know. I felt, in that moment so far away as the mental camera zoomed further and further back, I got tinier and tinier and the distance to those who I love got larger and larger...
But then, as I could see me and each of you as tiny points on the map, the image was clearer. I am never alone in this world. I am never alone in this world. How can I be happy if I am alone? I do not know because I am usually pretty happy and I am never truly alone.
I am content within the sad of leaving the world of travel because I am journeying to the world of Boston where I can not only feel the presence of but also touch many of the actual people there who I hold so dear to me. I will call my grandmother and hear her voice which I have missed so truly. I will be greeted at the airport by my parents who will hug me and kiss me. I will go to coffee with my cousin, Eve, ice cream with my friend Dave, a wedding with another of my Daves, and many other connections with lots and lots of people who mean the world...who ARE the world to me.
So Joe, I am coming home, one month later neither the same nor different. The New York Times fiction story I read (while staying in my since-college friend, Tami's extra bedroom because she loves me enough to take me in and share her home with me...) right before leaving New York said, If you want to get to know yourself, sleep in a bed somewhere else. It is so true...so very very true...
Thank you to everyone who made this month possible. I am grateful to you (and dare I say it, I am grateful to God) for being the fabric of who I am.
With much love from the airplane as I fly away from Italy and slowly make my way to Canada and Boston,
Rachael
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Ambassador Mordechay Levy, Ambassador of Israel to the Holy See
After hearing from Cardinal Kasper, Ambassador Levy addressed us. He told us this bizarre, detailed story of all that went in to Pope Benedict's recent visit to Israel. I was horribly confused by why he told us this and so I asked...
My question: What would be the take away from your speech explaining about the details of the pope's visit (because I simply do not understand why he would share with us such a tale).
I refuse to answer that question. It is up to you to use your intuition and thoughts to decide what parts of a story are important and unimportant.
How I feel. At first, shocked. But after a moment, I feel that perhaps my question called him out on something...like the irrelevancy of his comments or perhaps on the overly obfuscating nature of his words. Why would he share with us those embarrassments? All that went awry? The biggest message I took away from his remarks were that Israel was better than the Catholics because Israel (and the Jews and the Arabs) all accepted the changes within the schedule and were flexible in a way the Catholics were not. What I heard was, he took a moment to show the Catholics in the room (perhaps, primarily Father Hoffman who is the representative to the Papacy?) why would you show up somewhere and insult them? Perhaps he is right, perhaps I do not understand. And maybe I am too confused to be offended. I am ok with that. I think, given that this man who has just told us several stories about diplomacy and all his skills as a diplomat...given that this was an excessively undiplomatic responses...well, maybe instead of asking the wrong question, I just asked the right one....I feel that means something beyond he thinks I am a moron.
In asking around, some felt he told the story to share the challenges of what it takes to make a a Papal visit happen. But then I asked, what would he need or want us to know that for (and to whom exactly was he directing his comments? Someone specific in the room?) Others said he was sharing his view of how challenging it is to be diplomatic. My question was the same...why do we need to know that?
If anyone out there has a sense of what we should have been learning from this man (From whom I really wanted to learn! About whom I am incredibly curious. From whom I truly desire to hear his message....) please tell me...please!! I would really like to know
Below are my notes on what he said prior to this moment...
Reminds us of the history of the Papal visits and how important the Popes visit to Jerusalem, Yad Vashem and the Wall post Nostre Aetate
Pope Benedict had a long standing wish to go to Israel. In 2008, the visit was set in motion. The requests were submitted very discretely that no one knew. (I am not sure why he is telling us this...) Only a person with the post in the radio division of the papacy knew about it. He planned the whole event. He added a political dimension. The Jerusalem program wanted to ask for gestures which all could agree to. They agreed to an olive tree planting in Jerusalem
resopnse to visit: http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull&cid=1242029498309
The details were handled in a last minute way. He is telling us all the ins and outs of how it was arranged. This is why he did not address the minister because the speeches were already written.
What the Pope said at Tel Aviv on his exit
http://www.radiovaticana.org/en1/Articolo.asp?c=287756
Text with most of his speeches.
http://www.goisrael.com/Tourism_Eng/Tourist+Information/Christian+Themes/Pope+Benedict+XVI+visit+to+the+Holy+Land.htm
The Catholics were unhappy with the Pope's visit and what happened there. The vatican was happy with meeting their needs. Surrounding lands were happy with it too.
The Pope feels
Judaism stands within the Torah and is not separate from it. New Testament is a continuation.
This Pope's visit was a good model for future visits. Meaning of Batach-enriching the meaning of security and confidence. Commitment to the older brother, hoping it will make contact with the catholic brothers in the third world. Out of the strong comes weakness...(Judges)
My question: What would be the take away from your speech explaining about the details of the pope's visit (because I simply do not understand why he would share with us such a tale).
I refuse to answer that question. It is up to you to use your intuition and thoughts to decide what parts of a story are important and unimportant.
How I feel. At first, shocked. But after a moment, I feel that perhaps my question called him out on something...like the irrelevancy of his comments or perhaps on the overly obfuscating nature of his words. Why would he share with us those embarrassments? All that went awry? The biggest message I took away from his remarks were that Israel was better than the Catholics because Israel (and the Jews and the Arabs) all accepted the changes within the schedule and were flexible in a way the Catholics were not. What I heard was, he took a moment to show the Catholics in the room (perhaps, primarily Father Hoffman who is the representative to the Papacy?) why would you show up somewhere and insult them? Perhaps he is right, perhaps I do not understand. And maybe I am too confused to be offended. I am ok with that. I think, given that this man who has just told us several stories about diplomacy and all his skills as a diplomat...given that this was an excessively undiplomatic responses...well, maybe instead of asking the wrong question, I just asked the right one....I feel that means something beyond he thinks I am a moron.
In asking around, some felt he told the story to share the challenges of what it takes to make a a Papal visit happen. But then I asked, what would he need or want us to know that for (and to whom exactly was he directing his comments? Someone specific in the room?) Others said he was sharing his view of how challenging it is to be diplomatic. My question was the same...why do we need to know that?
If anyone out there has a sense of what we should have been learning from this man (From whom I really wanted to learn! About whom I am incredibly curious. From whom I truly desire to hear his message....) please tell me...please!! I would really like to know
Below are my notes on what he said prior to this moment...
Reminds us of the history of the Papal visits and how important the Popes visit to Jerusalem, Yad Vashem and the Wall post Nostre Aetate
Pope Benedict had a long standing wish to go to Israel. In 2008, the visit was set in motion. The requests were submitted very discretely that no one knew. (I am not sure why he is telling us this...) Only a person with the post in the radio division of the papacy knew about it. He planned the whole event. He added a political dimension. The Jerusalem program wanted to ask for gestures which all could agree to. They agreed to an olive tree planting in Jerusalem
resopnse to visit: http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull&cid=1242029498309
The details were handled in a last minute way. He is telling us all the ins and outs of how it was arranged. This is why he did not address the minister because the speeches were already written.
What the Pope said at Tel Aviv on his exit
http://www.radiovaticana.org/en1/Articolo.asp?c=287756
Text with most of his speeches.
http://www.goisrael.com/Tourism_Eng/Tourist+Information/Christian+Themes/Pope+Benedict+XVI+visit+to+the+Holy+Land.htm
The Catholics were unhappy with the Pope's visit and what happened there. The vatican was happy with meeting their needs. Surrounding lands were happy with it too.
The Pope feels
Judaism stands within the Torah and is not separate from it. New Testament is a continuation.
This Pope's visit was a good model for future visits. Meaning of Batach-enriching the meaning of security and confidence. Commitment to the older brother, hoping it will make contact with the catholic brothers in the third world. Out of the strong comes weakness...(Judges)
Notes of Cardinal Kasper's Words to Us
Thursday morning, several people came to speak with us including Cardinal Kasper who is the representative to the Holy See on Jewish-Catholic relations. He is Father Hoffman's boss. His whole office was recently demoted under the new Pope; a sign to many that J-C relations just are no that important to Pope Benedict.
What follows are my notes on what he had to say to our group. He was a charming and dynamic speaker and I enjoyed listening to him.
Cardinal Kasper (President of the commission of Catholic relations with the Jews) and Emmaus, the president of the Focolare Movement (5 million people...that's a big job)
Jay begins with the ask-a seat at the table
Thanks and critique
Cardinal Kasper-we need you to take the torch with new and fresh ideas. It is important for Jews and Christians to unite and work together in this gloablized world. There are so many difficult and dangerous things and conflicts. All people especially Jews and Christians must work together through our common interest for a better world which is your world. We do not need documents. We need friendship, personal meetings, and trust! We need trust. We need to know eachoither, to look at his face...this makes a difference in being able to see them as a human being. Yes we are different, there are differences, God created us this way...but it is beautiful to learn from each other, enjoy each other, look at our interests and make a difference in the world. So we need you!
The last pope new Jewish people and grew up with Jewish people and played football together. He was different...he (the Pope) has a much more important message in making peace in the wworld. It is not through war and armies, but through making peace in the hearts of people. This is the message of the pope who touched the hearts of people...yes, there is a lot of fear and suffering on both sides [he spoke of the Israel-Palestinian situation, but perhaps he means about all issues] The speech he gave at Yad V'shem was an important speech, it was not political, but a spiritual message. Yad V'sham, to know or remember the names...everybody has a name which says something about the dignity and importance of each person which is different from each other person. It never forgets anyone. The names we forget, but God does not forget. The name is written on the head of everyone. This is the most important thing you can say about those in the Shoah...we never forget the names. You caan never erase the dignity of a person...the name is not gone for forever...a message Jews and Christians together.
The fruits of this message are not seen immediately. There is more work to do and it takes time...we had a meeting in Budapest...any conference with Jewish people, the first half hour is a dispute amongst each other. There are all these different arguments but there is something right in every argument. The spirit is there...
We must go one even with our arguments. We have the ten commandments together. If everyone could go on with these 10 commandments together...we could go one very differently. We have not just this, but also hope. Jews and Christians, we have the language of hope. There is a short supply of hope and it is the most important thing that hope is possible. Only out of hope can we do anything. There is a lot of resignation and people give up their ideals...but now we have hope that truth, justice, love, mercy have the last word.
What follows are my notes on what he had to say to our group. He was a charming and dynamic speaker and I enjoyed listening to him.
Cardinal Kasper (President of the commission of Catholic relations with the Jews) and Emmaus, the president of the Focolare Movement (5 million people...that's a big job)
Jay begins with the ask-a seat at the table
Thanks and critique
Cardinal Kasper-we need you to take the torch with new and fresh ideas. It is important for Jews and Christians to unite and work together in this gloablized world. There are so many difficult and dangerous things and conflicts. All people especially Jews and Christians must work together through our common interest for a better world which is your world. We do not need documents. We need friendship, personal meetings, and trust! We need trust. We need to know eachoither, to look at his face...this makes a difference in being able to see them as a human being. Yes we are different, there are differences, God created us this way...but it is beautiful to learn from each other, enjoy each other, look at our interests and make a difference in the world. So we need you!
The last pope new Jewish people and grew up with Jewish people and played football together. He was different...he (the Pope) has a much more important message in making peace in the wworld. It is not through war and armies, but through making peace in the hearts of people. This is the message of the pope who touched the hearts of people...yes, there is a lot of fear and suffering on both sides [he spoke of the Israel-Palestinian situation, but perhaps he means about all issues] The speech he gave at Yad V'shem was an important speech, it was not political, but a spiritual message. Yad V'sham, to know or remember the names...everybody has a name which says something about the dignity and importance of each person which is different from each other person. It never forgets anyone. The names we forget, but God does not forget. The name is written on the head of everyone. This is the most important thing you can say about those in the Shoah...we never forget the names. You caan never erase the dignity of a person...the name is not gone for forever...a message Jews and Christians together.
The fruits of this message are not seen immediately. There is more work to do and it takes time...we had a meeting in Budapest...any conference with Jewish people, the first half hour is a dispute amongst each other. There are all these different arguments but there is something right in every argument. The spirit is there...
We must go one even with our arguments. We have the ten commandments together. If everyone could go on with these 10 commandments together...we could go one very differently. We have not just this, but also hope. Jews and Christians, we have the language of hope. There is a short supply of hope and it is the most important thing that hope is possible. Only out of hope can we do anything. There is a lot of resignation and people give up their ideals...but now we have hope that truth, justice, love, mercy have the last word.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
From the conference: Disappointment
My disappointment
I think I am spoiled. Well, I know I am spoiled and entitled. I know I expect to get what I want and often even expect to get it when I want it. I think I stay balanced because generally, I think I do not want for that much. What I want here, from this conference is simple. I want to feel a shared sense of commitment to a mission and an obvious of course of action which corresponds with that mission. I have been taught through community organizing, there are to types of organizations: those which are mission driven and those which are program driven. Program driven institutions drive me a little nutty. Action for actions sake feels wasteful (and I have a near visceral reaction to being wasteful of anything.) People invest time and energy into an event for what end? Maybe I am stating this a bit in the extreme. Here is an example, when I am at services, I want more than just to pass the time in services. I want to walk out of prayer feeling moved somehow. Moved to act, moved to be a better person, moved to unite and connect with my fellow pray-ers...something. And that does not truly happen by accent. The kernels for those responses are within the liturgy. It is incumbent (I feel) upon the community and leadership to create a service which will help to elicit the desired response. What do we want this prayer on this day to inspire us to do and feel?
The same is true of a human being. As an individual in this world, I want to be asking myself the same questions of the institution of my Self. What do I want my actions, my world, to inspire me to do and feel? What is my purpose? What is my goal? When the mission is clear, the actions fall in line. It is simply (getting clear on the mission...well, that is the tricky part) If I just go and do whatever I fancy in a given moment, my life looks and feels scattered...like buckshot (I am certain of this because much of how I have lived the past year has been buckshot...then I remember my mission for the past year has been exploration-then all the actions, explorations, various trips, conferences and events make sense. All is simple, clear, everything fits in to my greater purpose, my greater direction.) Acting for its own sake feels very scattered to me. Acting for a greater purpose brings meaning to my life, it connects me to God, to those around me, to my self even. Beginning my determining my focus seems so important to me...essential like the air I breath.
And in order to determine my focus, I need to know who I am, what I am about. What makes me passionate? What interests me? What do I like? What gets me excited, mad, glad, sad, scared, etc? All this knowledge comes from sharing time with myself. I know, some of this sounds silly, but I am thinking of the community organizing model. Through knowing other people and all these things about them, we can harness our social networking abilities to act in a way that is direct and satisfying.
All this is true here as well at this conference. Here is what I want. I want us to dedicate our actions right now towards coming to know one another and determine the shape and scope of this organization. I want us to focus on getting to know ourselves well first. Then, use that knowledge to determine if we are an institution of some kind and if so, what is our mission? What is our purpose? Once that is clear, then the follow up actions are simple, straightforward and obvious. Is our purpose to further Jewish-Christian dialogue? Is it to further inter-religious discussion regardless of faith group? Is it to create strong relationships between the established institutions of The Church and of the Jewish People and the common man within those faith groups? Different missions will lead to differing responses, differing actions.
My frustration here has been that we are not aiming towards any of that. Or, if we are, it is so implicit, tacit or obscured that I do not see it (and maybe I am not looking hard enough or in the right places...I do not know...)
As we drew to the end of the conference, there was a desire to act, to continue and further the beautiful relationships being developed here. Amen to that!! And the response is, we have all been asked, between now and November, to engage in two out of three of the following actions; create an visit of a local Christian religious leader to a local Jewish institution which will model the upcoming papal visit to the Old Synagogue in Rome, engage in any act of social action in any Jewish-Christian interfaith environment, or ...well, this is my point, I can't even remember the third thing we have been asked to do, it is so random, and without greater purpose. I feel like we are 55 people trying to clear a forest, each of us pushing on a different tree trying to knock it down. We are definitely in the same forest, but we are unlikely to make much head way in our endeavor. BUT, if all 55 of us were working on one tree at a time...well, it would take a while, but slowly, slowly, we could knock them all down.
We have been called to act for its own sake and when asked to commit, I cried and said no. No, I am sorry. I will not stand here and push up against my tree alone. Only if we work together, only if we determine a more united course of action, a more focused sense of purpose, mission and problem to solve, only then will I join the effforts.
Everyone seemed so busy puzzling with their own trees that I feel no one heard me.
Thankfully, for me...there are many other forests with many other trees, and many other people willing to work as one...
I think I am spoiled. Well, I know I am spoiled and entitled. I know I expect to get what I want and often even expect to get it when I want it. I think I stay balanced because generally, I think I do not want for that much. What I want here, from this conference is simple. I want to feel a shared sense of commitment to a mission and an obvious of course of action which corresponds with that mission. I have been taught through community organizing, there are to types of organizations: those which are mission driven and those which are program driven. Program driven institutions drive me a little nutty. Action for actions sake feels wasteful (and I have a near visceral reaction to being wasteful of anything.) People invest time and energy into an event for what end? Maybe I am stating this a bit in the extreme. Here is an example, when I am at services, I want more than just to pass the time in services. I want to walk out of prayer feeling moved somehow. Moved to act, moved to be a better person, moved to unite and connect with my fellow pray-ers...something. And that does not truly happen by accent. The kernels for those responses are within the liturgy. It is incumbent (I feel) upon the community and leadership to create a service which will help to elicit the desired response. What do we want this prayer on this day to inspire us to do and feel?
The same is true of a human being. As an individual in this world, I want to be asking myself the same questions of the institution of my Self. What do I want my actions, my world, to inspire me to do and feel? What is my purpose? What is my goal? When the mission is clear, the actions fall in line. It is simply (getting clear on the mission...well, that is the tricky part) If I just go and do whatever I fancy in a given moment, my life looks and feels scattered...like buckshot (I am certain of this because much of how I have lived the past year has been buckshot...then I remember my mission for the past year has been exploration-then all the actions, explorations, various trips, conferences and events make sense. All is simple, clear, everything fits in to my greater purpose, my greater direction.) Acting for its own sake feels very scattered to me. Acting for a greater purpose brings meaning to my life, it connects me to God, to those around me, to my self even. Beginning my determining my focus seems so important to me...essential like the air I breath.
And in order to determine my focus, I need to know who I am, what I am about. What makes me passionate? What interests me? What do I like? What gets me excited, mad, glad, sad, scared, etc? All this knowledge comes from sharing time with myself. I know, some of this sounds silly, but I am thinking of the community organizing model. Through knowing other people and all these things about them, we can harness our social networking abilities to act in a way that is direct and satisfying.
All this is true here as well at this conference. Here is what I want. I want us to dedicate our actions right now towards coming to know one another and determine the shape and scope of this organization. I want us to focus on getting to know ourselves well first. Then, use that knowledge to determine if we are an institution of some kind and if so, what is our mission? What is our purpose? Once that is clear, then the follow up actions are simple, straightforward and obvious. Is our purpose to further Jewish-Christian dialogue? Is it to further inter-religious discussion regardless of faith group? Is it to create strong relationships between the established institutions of The Church and of the Jewish People and the common man within those faith groups? Different missions will lead to differing responses, differing actions.
My frustration here has been that we are not aiming towards any of that. Or, if we are, it is so implicit, tacit or obscured that I do not see it (and maybe I am not looking hard enough or in the right places...I do not know...)
As we drew to the end of the conference, there was a desire to act, to continue and further the beautiful relationships being developed here. Amen to that!! And the response is, we have all been asked, between now and November, to engage in two out of three of the following actions; create an visit of a local Christian religious leader to a local Jewish institution which will model the upcoming papal visit to the Old Synagogue in Rome, engage in any act of social action in any Jewish-Christian interfaith environment, or ...well, this is my point, I can't even remember the third thing we have been asked to do, it is so random, and without greater purpose. I feel like we are 55 people trying to clear a forest, each of us pushing on a different tree trying to knock it down. We are definitely in the same forest, but we are unlikely to make much head way in our endeavor. BUT, if all 55 of us were working on one tree at a time...well, it would take a while, but slowly, slowly, we could knock them all down.
We have been called to act for its own sake and when asked to commit, I cried and said no. No, I am sorry. I will not stand here and push up against my tree alone. Only if we work together, only if we determine a more united course of action, a more focused sense of purpose, mission and problem to solve, only then will I join the effforts.
Everyone seemed so busy puzzling with their own trees that I feel no one heard me.
Thankfully, for me...there are many other forests with many other trees, and many other people willing to work as one...
From the conference: Amazement
the people here are fabulous. I have been thrilled to find so many not likely. I thought this would be a conference of seminarians. But it is not. Clergy is in the minority. Here, I get to identify as “secular religious Jew-American who was juts in Africa.” I speak as an educated representative of Judaism. I speak as a world traveler and as a Justice doer. Mostly, I get to be here as a person in the midst of my own life and causes. I do not primarily represent anything or anyone other than me. It is different. I am not sure how I feel as being just me, belonging to no one other than me...
But the other people...
Religious Jews who are not sure what to make with me and my talk of halacha refering to the rules I live by based on my sense of God and holiness, informed by Talmud and Torah and traditional halacha but not bound to it.
Catholics belonging to the Focolare movement (if I were Catholic, I would be a Focolare)
http://www.focolare.org/home.php?lingua=EN
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Focolare_Movement
The basic ideas of this movement within Catholicism is unity and it is lived out in everything that the Focolare do. It is really an increidble group of people. All the Focolare seem to b incredibly kind. There is sense of stepping back to allow the other to go forth for the sake of creating unity. At first, it felt to make like a lack of interest. But now, I see it as a sense of grace, kindness, compassion. As a Jew, I think I have learned to fight hard to have my voice heard. Here, there is no fight and it becomes easier to listen because I am not working so hard to get my voice out there.
The kindness too...a willingness to always do for and care for the other. This is a community of people I feel I could, we all could, learn so much from...
As Jews, we talk a lot, we argue a lot. One of the things we keep saying to each other and hearing here is, ok, and now, let's let the Catholics talk...because if no one reminds us, if we do not remind one another, our Jewish tradition of arguing and talking will over run the Catholic tradition which seems to be softer, quieter and much more patient.
Then there is the international difference as well. As an American, I have a sense of entitlement and perhaps even judgment and defensiveness. I see it in other Americans. I do not see it others from other lands. (I noticed this in Africa too). I think as an American, I am so incredibly priviledged. Maybe I, as a person, am just spoiled. Maybe I am just mouthy, pushy and successful at fighting, arguing for a wrangling for what I need. But maybe, it is because I live in a land which, for most of my life, everyone in the world has aspired to come to and be like (recently, our social cache is less). I think I have, we have perhaps, internalized a sense of yes, we are better, we do have it “right, “ the world SHOULD be like us...
Our informal interactions have been so delightful...the meals together talking religion, nationality and the issues. Or the meals together talking about men, dating, restaurants and travel. We went to town for a drink one night and we filled the small square of the town, Jews and Catholics, a global community of young leadership, young professionals, the next generation from several corners of the earth. Our day in Rome, telling one another about our experiences, last night our cultural even—we had a tisch where we sang, told offensive religious jokes, offensive jokes about God, marriage, death and life's mysteries. We shared so many stories, fables, midrashim....
We are sitting in a meeting now with Cardinal Kasper and Father Ludwig just shared a story. A woman and St Catherine come to a river to meet, but there is no bridge, no way across. No, says St. Catherine, we can meet, we just need to go up the river to the source.
Here we are united, here I see what believe. There is something greater than all of us that we all belong to. We belong to a global community. I wish there were more faces here, more religions here, more colors here, more nationalities here...but this is a start, this place, these people, this group, gives me hope. Hope that people can truly come from all over the world and truly feel they belong to one another. This is a moment worth celebrating and reveling in.
But the other people...
Religious Jews who are not sure what to make with me and my talk of halacha refering to the rules I live by based on my sense of God and holiness, informed by Talmud and Torah and traditional halacha but not bound to it.
Catholics belonging to the Focolare movement (if I were Catholic, I would be a Focolare)
http://www.focolare.org/home.php?lingua=EN
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Focolare_Movement
The basic ideas of this movement within Catholicism is unity and it is lived out in everything that the Focolare do. It is really an increidble group of people. All the Focolare seem to b incredibly kind. There is sense of stepping back to allow the other to go forth for the sake of creating unity. At first, it felt to make like a lack of interest. But now, I see it as a sense of grace, kindness, compassion. As a Jew, I think I have learned to fight hard to have my voice heard. Here, there is no fight and it becomes easier to listen because I am not working so hard to get my voice out there.
The kindness too...a willingness to always do for and care for the other. This is a community of people I feel I could, we all could, learn so much from...
As Jews, we talk a lot, we argue a lot. One of the things we keep saying to each other and hearing here is, ok, and now, let's let the Catholics talk...because if no one reminds us, if we do not remind one another, our Jewish tradition of arguing and talking will over run the Catholic tradition which seems to be softer, quieter and much more patient.
Then there is the international difference as well. As an American, I have a sense of entitlement and perhaps even judgment and defensiveness. I see it in other Americans. I do not see it others from other lands. (I noticed this in Africa too). I think as an American, I am so incredibly priviledged. Maybe I, as a person, am just spoiled. Maybe I am just mouthy, pushy and successful at fighting, arguing for a wrangling for what I need. But maybe, it is because I live in a land which, for most of my life, everyone in the world has aspired to come to and be like (recently, our social cache is less). I think I have, we have perhaps, internalized a sense of yes, we are better, we do have it “right, “ the world SHOULD be like us...
Our informal interactions have been so delightful...the meals together talking religion, nationality and the issues. Or the meals together talking about men, dating, restaurants and travel. We went to town for a drink one night and we filled the small square of the town, Jews and Catholics, a global community of young leadership, young professionals, the next generation from several corners of the earth. Our day in Rome, telling one another about our experiences, last night our cultural even—we had a tisch where we sang, told offensive religious jokes, offensive jokes about God, marriage, death and life's mysteries. We shared so many stories, fables, midrashim....
We are sitting in a meeting now with Cardinal Kasper and Father Ludwig just shared a story. A woman and St Catherine come to a river to meet, but there is no bridge, no way across. No, says St. Catherine, we can meet, we just need to go up the river to the source.
Here we are united, here I see what believe. There is something greater than all of us that we all belong to. We belong to a global community. I wish there were more faces here, more religions here, more colors here, more nationalities here...but this is a start, this place, these people, this group, gives me hope. Hope that people can truly come from all over the world and truly feel they belong to one another. This is a moment worth celebrating and reveling in.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The Nature of Dailogue
The nature of dialogue
Here is the tension we are living in here in Castel Gondalfo...Apparently, there is an old giard of people who have done interfaith dialogue for forever. They recognized a need to pass the torch to the next generation. So here we are. 55 young Jews and Catholics from around the world. We are ready to receive rthe torch, but the torch they are passing is their torch anf not ours. What this means is I am at a conference on interfaith dilaogue being communicated through frontal learning, lectures and even a power point presentation. Even the modality is generationally off. We have been asking for something differnet-more in depth conversation, more time looking at and discussing the painful places in our relationships with one another. And the leadership...well, I think what we are asking for is so outside of their experience that they are not quite sure what to do. There is a coup a foot to take over our own learning...
It will be exciting to see what happens over the next few days...
Here is the tension we are living in here in Castel Gondalfo...Apparently, there is an old giard of people who have done interfaith dialogue for forever. They recognized a need to pass the torch to the next generation. So here we are. 55 young Jews and Catholics from around the world. We are ready to receive rthe torch, but the torch they are passing is their torch anf not ours. What this means is I am at a conference on interfaith dilaogue being communicated through frontal learning, lectures and even a power point presentation. Even the modality is generationally off. We have been asking for something differnet-more in depth conversation, more time looking at and discussing the painful places in our relationships with one another. And the leadership...well, I think what we are asking for is so outside of their experience that they are not quite sure what to do. There is a coup a foot to take over our own learning...
It will be exciting to see what happens over the next few days...
Making Love in the Afternoon
Our afternoon session was about tools for dialogue. The Jewish perspective was using chevruta to talk and to honor the differences amongst us and celebrate them while also finding the common ground. Use the common ground to develop a relationship with the other so that we can talk about the places that hurt.
The Catholic perspective was love is the answer. Love your neighbor as yourself because we all recognize that God is the universal father for all and we are all God's children. If we are all God's children, then we are all brothers and sisters and should treat each other as such.
Ok, so as a Jew, this is not language I would use...but I do like the underlying idea. I believe in the interconnectedness of all people, that we are all responsible for one another, we all belong to one another. And I think there is potential for conversation around “we are all brothers and sisters” and how we treat our sibs. My experience of having a sibling means many many things. When I was young, my brother and I fought like crazy. He used to say the meanest things to me!! He beat me up and blamed me when he was in trouble. I would try to do the same (as the little sister, I was less successful in the beating up...)
And at the same time, in high school, when I was in trouble, I called my brother. He and his friends would come and bail me out. At the end of my last relationship when I was feeling really very sad, my brother was the first or second person I called.
A real sibling relationship involves both antagonism and protection, hate and love, push and pull. We did not talk about that so much...but I think the model is good...although not the point our presenter was making. For me, sibling means there is a lot of room for struggle as long as love and care is included as well.
The Catholic perspective was love is the answer. Love your neighbor as yourself because we all recognize that God is the universal father for all and we are all God's children. If we are all God's children, then we are all brothers and sisters and should treat each other as such.
Ok, so as a Jew, this is not language I would use...but I do like the underlying idea. I believe in the interconnectedness of all people, that we are all responsible for one another, we all belong to one another. And I think there is potential for conversation around “we are all brothers and sisters” and how we treat our sibs. My experience of having a sibling means many many things. When I was young, my brother and I fought like crazy. He used to say the meanest things to me!! He beat me up and blamed me when he was in trouble. I would try to do the same (as the little sister, I was less successful in the beating up...)
And at the same time, in high school, when I was in trouble, I called my brother. He and his friends would come and bail me out. At the end of my last relationship when I was feeling really very sad, my brother was the first or second person I called.
A real sibling relationship involves both antagonism and protection, hate and love, push and pull. We did not talk about that so much...but I think the model is good...although not the point our presenter was making. For me, sibling means there is a lot of room for struggle as long as love and care is included as well.
The Conference itself-from Castel Gandolfo Day One
Thoughts from Castel Gondalfo
What is so interesting to me here is this: We are here to develop or lead inter religious dialogue. Yet, last night, after a one hour discussion, we could not agree upon an inTRAreligious way to pray. I was trying to pose the question, as a community of Jews here (and that already contains and assumption, that when Jews come together identifying as Jews that we are A community) is our priority to be a community or is the priority to have our own individual needs for prayer met?
We have had a session on the history of Jewish/Catholic relations and then a session on the history and theological meaning/impact of Vatican II/Nostra Aetate. First of all, these two sessions are so different from each faiths point of view. This is so fascinating. One person representing IJCIC (International Jewish-Catholic Interfaith Counsil) who is the Jewish host of the conference, claimed the importance of their organization and how it is a representative voice. I have never heard of it before now!! And I think of myself as being organizationally savvy. One participant here tried to point out how everyone one of us represents a different aspect of Judaism and we do not have shared theology. Another participant disagreed saying there are certain things we all agree on like God is one and the power of Shabbat. Yet, I would disagree with that!! I do not think we all (Jews) agree with that conception. I am uncomfortable saying this is what all Jews believe...
The conversation continued but no one was mentioning the recent change which Pope Benedict made to the Good Friday Prayer (changing the Latin to pray for the Jewish people to be enlightened to find our way to Jesus Christ our savior). So I asked. Father Hoffman, the representative from the Vatican, gave a political answer about how it was misunderstood. I asked for someone not from the Vatican to answer (it did not really happen) our time was up and Father Hoffman came over to clarify more. Many others gathered around.
He explained that the Pope made this change to rectify an internal schism. Fr. Hoffman feels this pope is committed to creating Catholic unity so that greater conversation can be possible. Dominus Jesus was an internal text created by the current Pope (before he was Pope) basically reinforcing "On the Unicity and Salvific Universality of Jesus Christ and the Church" (this is the subtitle of the document according to wikipedia) was an internal conversation clarifying or trying to clarify some of the theological questions raised by Vatican II. Again, he said that the Pope was trying to achieve internal harmony.
Someone else offered that basically, the belief is that any of us can achieve salvation. For Catholics, salvation is only through Jesus even if one does not know it is through Jesus (I may not know Jesus is saving me, but Jesus is behind my salvation if I find salvation).
Ok, so this does not sound so bad. But my follow up question is, what does it mean for Joe Christian on the ground? Does he or she know that this is an internal memo? It sounds to me like a call to pity and judge the Jewish people as wrong...a call to save the Jews and pray for our redemption. It feels dismissive, judgmental, and very...holier than thou...
Little response...then off to lunch. There, one person told me that this is what it looks like-Pope Benedict wants to role back this aspect of Vatican II. He does not want to touch the pieces which support anti Semitism or Deicide (this is good). But he does not believe that anyone can be saved without Christ. These events feel dangerous to me...
Then, in my room, my roommate told me that the Pope is NOT the whole church, but one voice among many. She does not believe that this means very much on the ground for most Catholics.
But I am still troubled....the Pope's words and recent actions seems to open the door and give permission for actions which are problematic.
I do not think this is good for the Jews.
The other thing my roommate said was, she thinks it is unfortunate that the Pope is using the Jews and this prayer to find a common enemy for these different factions within Catholicism to unite around
What is so interesting to me here is this: We are here to develop or lead inter religious dialogue. Yet, last night, after a one hour discussion, we could not agree upon an inTRAreligious way to pray. I was trying to pose the question, as a community of Jews here (and that already contains and assumption, that when Jews come together identifying as Jews that we are A community) is our priority to be a community or is the priority to have our own individual needs for prayer met?
We have had a session on the history of Jewish/Catholic relations and then a session on the history and theological meaning/impact of Vatican II/Nostra Aetate. First of all, these two sessions are so different from each faiths point of view. This is so fascinating. One person representing IJCIC (International Jewish-Catholic Interfaith Counsil) who is the Jewish host of the conference, claimed the importance of their organization and how it is a representative voice. I have never heard of it before now!! And I think of myself as being organizationally savvy. One participant here tried to point out how everyone one of us represents a different aspect of Judaism and we do not have shared theology. Another participant disagreed saying there are certain things we all agree on like God is one and the power of Shabbat. Yet, I would disagree with that!! I do not think we all (Jews) agree with that conception. I am uncomfortable saying this is what all Jews believe...
The conversation continued but no one was mentioning the recent change which Pope Benedict made to the Good Friday Prayer (changing the Latin to pray for the Jewish people to be enlightened to find our way to Jesus Christ our savior). So I asked. Father Hoffman, the representative from the Vatican, gave a political answer about how it was misunderstood. I asked for someone not from the Vatican to answer (it did not really happen) our time was up and Father Hoffman came over to clarify more. Many others gathered around.
He explained that the Pope made this change to rectify an internal schism. Fr. Hoffman feels this pope is committed to creating Catholic unity so that greater conversation can be possible. Dominus Jesus was an internal text created by the current Pope (before he was Pope) basically reinforcing "On the Unicity and Salvific Universality of Jesus Christ and the Church" (this is the subtitle of the document according to wikipedia) was an internal conversation clarifying or trying to clarify some of the theological questions raised by Vatican II. Again, he said that the Pope was trying to achieve internal harmony.
Someone else offered that basically, the belief is that any of us can achieve salvation. For Catholics, salvation is only through Jesus even if one does not know it is through Jesus (I may not know Jesus is saving me, but Jesus is behind my salvation if I find salvation).
Ok, so this does not sound so bad. But my follow up question is, what does it mean for Joe Christian on the ground? Does he or she know that this is an internal memo? It sounds to me like a call to pity and judge the Jewish people as wrong...a call to save the Jews and pray for our redemption. It feels dismissive, judgmental, and very...holier than thou...
Little response...then off to lunch. There, one person told me that this is what it looks like-Pope Benedict wants to role back this aspect of Vatican II. He does not want to touch the pieces which support anti Semitism or Deicide (this is good). But he does not believe that anyone can be saved without Christ. These events feel dangerous to me...
Then, in my room, my roommate told me that the Pope is NOT the whole church, but one voice among many. She does not believe that this means very much on the ground for most Catholics.
But I am still troubled....the Pope's words and recent actions seems to open the door and give permission for actions which are problematic.
I do not think this is good for the Jews.
The other thing my roommate said was, she thinks it is unfortunate that the Pope is using the Jews and this prayer to find a common enemy for these different factions within Catholicism to unite around
Looking at Africa from Rome...
Thoughts on Africa from Rome.
I am having a bit of culture shock coming back in to the places which I thought would be familiar. In Rome, mostly everyone is white. In contrast to Uganda and Rwanda, it is so striking to me. And I am not comforted by this. I think it is the discrepancy, the unbalance of color which is throwing me...And the link of color to privilege and affluence. Most of the people I have encountered in Rome are on vacation which means they have financial means to BE on vacation...and they are predominantly other white people.
I hate this about our world...
I am having a strange experience. I did not fit in Africa for being white. There, I always felt so conspicuous. But here, in Italy, I feel I do not fit because I notice we're all white and I do not like it. I am just like everyone around me and yet so different at the same time.
I do like the invisibility created by my outward appearance which is enhanced by the language barrier. Maybe I am just tired from all the travel, but I am way less invested in learning Italian than I was in picking up Lugandan and Kiniyerwandan and Amharic and Swahili...or it may simply be that I already know enough Italian to get by... Not sure....
The other piece of culture shock I am encountering is simply being around so many other people. Suddenly, there is company all the time. I am here at this conference and I have a roommate. There is an expectation I will talk with people during meals and not simply watch them. There is so much noise coming at me. After nearly a month with a great deal of solitude, this suddenly onslaught of togetherness is so much to take in. I am trying not to be standoffish and I think it is going fine. But I am overwhelmed by suddenly belonging to 55 other people from Argentina, Uraguay, Germany, Israel, Italy, America, Poland, Bulgaria, Syria, Canada, Switzerland, London, Hong Kong, Serbia, Vienna, and Odessa.
I do love being with this group of people from all over the world. There are so many new people to explore here and so much to learn. I look forward to this very much. We are a very racially homogenous group and only represent Judaism and Catholicism, BUT this is a brain child working on bringing younger voices to the interfaith table. So in that way, we are a real success!!
This should be an exciting week of learning, sharing, and connecting. Tonight we (us Jews) had a discussion on how to handle services. Always a fascinating conversation. This talked clearly raised the question which I think is present in all faith communities. At this moment, is your priority meeting your own needs or being a part of the community?
What do you think? Do you see that question playing itself out in some of your community politics? Curious if this experience is relevant elsewhere....
I am having a bit of culture shock coming back in to the places which I thought would be familiar. In Rome, mostly everyone is white. In contrast to Uganda and Rwanda, it is so striking to me. And I am not comforted by this. I think it is the discrepancy, the unbalance of color which is throwing me...And the link of color to privilege and affluence. Most of the people I have encountered in Rome are on vacation which means they have financial means to BE on vacation...and they are predominantly other white people.
I hate this about our world...
I am having a strange experience. I did not fit in Africa for being white. There, I always felt so conspicuous. But here, in Italy, I feel I do not fit because I notice we're all white and I do not like it. I am just like everyone around me and yet so different at the same time.
I do like the invisibility created by my outward appearance which is enhanced by the language barrier. Maybe I am just tired from all the travel, but I am way less invested in learning Italian than I was in picking up Lugandan and Kiniyerwandan and Amharic and Swahili...or it may simply be that I already know enough Italian to get by... Not sure....
The other piece of culture shock I am encountering is simply being around so many other people. Suddenly, there is company all the time. I am here at this conference and I have a roommate. There is an expectation I will talk with people during meals and not simply watch them. There is so much noise coming at me. After nearly a month with a great deal of solitude, this suddenly onslaught of togetherness is so much to take in. I am trying not to be standoffish and I think it is going fine. But I am overwhelmed by suddenly belonging to 55 other people from Argentina, Uraguay, Germany, Israel, Italy, America, Poland, Bulgaria, Syria, Canada, Switzerland, London, Hong Kong, Serbia, Vienna, and Odessa.
I do love being with this group of people from all over the world. There are so many new people to explore here and so much to learn. I look forward to this very much. We are a very racially homogenous group and only represent Judaism and Catholicism, BUT this is a brain child working on bringing younger voices to the interfaith table. So in that way, we are a real success!!
This should be an exciting week of learning, sharing, and connecting. Tonight we (us Jews) had a discussion on how to handle services. Always a fascinating conversation. This talked clearly raised the question which I think is present in all faith communities. At this moment, is your priority meeting your own needs or being a part of the community?
What do you think? Do you see that question playing itself out in some of your community politics? Curious if this experience is relevant elsewhere....
Rome is a small small world...
The best story from the rest of my weekend in Rome is a small world story. I was going out to dinner on Saturday night. I asked the concierge for a recommendation and she gave me three restaurants to try. The first was too secluded and I wanted to people watch. The Second was terribly far away. So, I tried the third place. As I was walking up, I heard an American voice say, Oh look, there it is (and then gave the name of the restaurant. Oh, I said, have you heard good things? I was speaking with a young couple who looked vaguely familiar to me but not enough for me to play “do I know you from somewhere?” They told me their concierge had recommended the best place for lunch and that the dinner locale also came from her. Sold, I said, and we each went to our separate tables al fresco. Ot turns out the one thing on the menu that I wanted/could out was sold out for the night so I decided to go somewhere else. As I left, I said goodbye to the couple.
Is your name Rachael? The woman asked. I was stunned. Yes...Rachael Bregman? Yes...
The night before I left for Africa, I was at Brooklyn Heights Synagogues for my last service and their old board/new board installation. There also happened to be an aufrus that evening for the Rachel and Andrew Fingerman, the couple before me in the restaurant, now married, and on their honeymoon. I pulled up a chair and sat with them for a few moments, just mostly dumbfounded by the amazing nature of our running in to one another (that we walked up to the same restaurant at the same time as they said it out loud etc etc...) When the shock wore off, I wandered off into Italy for a my dinner adventure (which was quite lovely).
Sunday morning, I woke up early ish (very worn out from all the walking) and went to the Roma flea market
I walked through it for 40 minutes (stopping very little) and maybe covered half the market. This this is huge!! If ever there were an epicenter for useless junk that someone else has already used, this is it!! I eventually walked home, took a little rest, watched more about what is happening in Iran, and then headed off for the Roman Catholic Leadership Conference I am in Rome to attend.
Is your name Rachael? The woman asked. I was stunned. Yes...Rachael Bregman? Yes...
The night before I left for Africa, I was at Brooklyn Heights Synagogues for my last service and their old board/new board installation. There also happened to be an aufrus that evening for the Rachel and Andrew Fingerman, the couple before me in the restaurant, now married, and on their honeymoon. I pulled up a chair and sat with them for a few moments, just mostly dumbfounded by the amazing nature of our running in to one another (that we walked up to the same restaurant at the same time as they said it out loud etc etc...) When the shock wore off, I wandered off into Italy for a my dinner adventure (which was quite lovely).
Sunday morning, I woke up early ish (very worn out from all the walking) and went to the Roma flea market
I walked through it for 40 minutes (stopping very little) and maybe covered half the market. This this is huge!! If ever there were an epicenter for useless junk that someone else has already used, this is it!! I eventually walked home, took a little rest, watched more about what is happening in Iran, and then headed off for the Roman Catholic Leadership Conference I am in Rome to attend.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Rome Day Two-it is hard work being on so much vacation!!
More of the same of today. I walked everywhere, saw everything!! I got lost a lot and then found a lot. I am entertained by the people here. We all seem to be tourist. Everyone seems to be walking around, map in hand. No one offers anyone else help with directions since none of us seem to know. I met several lovely people today as we traded looks at maps and have taken each other's photographs in front of various famous sites.
I keep thinking of my friends in the US who are on their way here-how there day is being sent preparing for their journeys. I am sending prayers and wishes for safe journeys and travels.
I also have been thinking much about my friends and family back home. Next time, I hope to come with others. And, at the same time, as I listen to families and couples have various arguments about where to go next, how to get there, or just the frustrations of travel, I think...wow, I really love wandering about on my own. I get to ho when I want, at the pace I want, where I want in any direction I choose.
I am having too much fun-sometimes spinning in circles, sometimes standing for a long time staring down at a map, up at a street sign, down at the map, back up at the street sign, down...up...down..up...trying desperately to make sense of the conflicting pieces of information. I love it. If only I had a compass!! Navigating Rome is like playing a great game!! I love it.
The plan for the evening/afternoon is to head south on the train to a 6-story tall market and culinary delight. Rachael the foodie has taken over and Rachael the justice seeker is taking abreak for some gelato.
I keep thinking of my friends in the US who are on their way here-how there day is being sent preparing for their journeys. I am sending prayers and wishes for safe journeys and travels.
I also have been thinking much about my friends and family back home. Next time, I hope to come with others. And, at the same time, as I listen to families and couples have various arguments about where to go next, how to get there, or just the frustrations of travel, I think...wow, I really love wandering about on my own. I get to ho when I want, at the pace I want, where I want in any direction I choose.
I am having too much fun-sometimes spinning in circles, sometimes standing for a long time staring down at a map, up at a street sign, down at the map, back up at the street sign, down...up...down..up...trying desperately to make sense of the conflicting pieces of information. I love it. If only I had a compass!! Navigating Rome is like playing a great game!! I love it.
The plan for the evening/afternoon is to head south on the train to a 6-story tall market and culinary delight. Rachael the foodie has taken over and Rachael the justice seeker is taking abreak for some gelato.
Shabbat Dinner in Rome
Leonore Rosenberg works for the Joint Distribution Committee. (JDC). I had emailed the JDC seeking assistance in finding a place for Shabbat and they had connected me with Leonore. She lives in the Testaverte neighborhood of Rome right near the little island. My walk over to her home was delightful and refreshed my failing spirits. I was going to someone's home and would be welcomed there as a guest, a stranger, and young woman without a home.
I was not disappointed! Leonore ushered me in to her apartment several floors above the bustling neighborhood below. Since she is shomer Shabbas, (she does not use electricty or do other forms of work on Shabbat) she could not buzz me in to her aparment. Instead she had to climb down and then back up) the 3-5 flights of stairs to let me in. She did so happily and I was welcomed by her, the warmth of her space and her two beautiful black cats. The smell of Shabbt filled the room and we sat down to bless the meal and then to heartily dine.
Leonore was a delight. I truly enjoyed my dinner with her (and her cooking too!!) I left a few hours later exhausted, full and happy! My faith in Jews was renewed, I enjoyed my ambling walk home through the crowded cobble-stone streets of her charming, quaint, hip and cool neighborhood (think East Village meets ruins).
Thank you Leonore, thank you.
I was not disappointed! Leonore ushered me in to her apartment several floors above the bustling neighborhood below. Since she is shomer Shabbas, (she does not use electricty or do other forms of work on Shabbat) she could not buzz me in to her aparment. Instead she had to climb down and then back up) the 3-5 flights of stairs to let me in. She did so happily and I was welcomed by her, the warmth of her space and her two beautiful black cats. The smell of Shabbt filled the room and we sat down to bless the meal and then to heartily dine.
Leonore was a delight. I truly enjoyed my dinner with her (and her cooking too!!) I left a few hours later exhausted, full and happy! My faith in Jews was renewed, I enjoyed my ambling walk home through the crowded cobble-stone streets of her charming, quaint, hip and cool neighborhood (think East Village meets ruins).
Thank you Leonore, thank you.
Shabbat Services in Rome...sort of...
I walked over to the synagogue at 7:30 for an 8:00 pm service. I wanted to wander and get into a Shabbat mood. When I arrived, any sense of Shabbat I had was gone. I approached the men sitting outside the shul and asked where the entrance was. They at least offered me a Shabbat shalom and then waved me off in some other direction. I found some people taking phots casually of the Bar Mitzvah boy. I sat down amongst the pockets of family members, friends, and guests. I wished Shabbat Shalom to a few people and was perpetually ignored. Eventually, I noticed the crowd was thinning. They had wandered off to the door which I was no where near (the first people I contacted had sent me in the general direction of the entrance but to the wrong side of the building.) I passed through security without a hello, acknowledgment or anything.
I encountered a woman sitting on the steps. I thought I had heard her speak Hebrew with her husband so I struck up conversation. She was nice enough. Israeli, visiting for a few days in Rome. A congregant walked by and her husband asked him a question. He began speaking with us in Hebrew. I thought he said there were 50 synagogues here in Rome. I asked if there was another one on the property where we were. (I watched many people walk past the entrance to another side of the building). He waved me off.
Eventually, the woman's husband went in leaving she and I sitting on the steps. (I was in no rush to get inside) A congregant then stepped out from the sanctuary and yelled at us for sitting on the stairs. This is a synagogue, go sit in a piazza over there. This is a place for Jews to pray...
The impression I had was he felt we were non-Jews loitering in a pretty place.
I felt sick to my stomach, I felt so out of place. I really had been looking forward to connecting with people after a day all alone. I went inside with the Israeli woman who walked ahead of me on the stairs. I sat in the high balcony for 10 minutes and then left.
There is a 2nd synagogue on the property. It is the Sephardi space. I went there. As I entered, I met a Hebrew-speaking, pregnant, French woman. She and I tried to make a place for ourselves in the back part of the shul where the women sit. The women who had entered prior to us were sitting such that getting to the empty seats meant climbing over those already sitting. The pregnant French woman and I just tucked ourselves in to a corner where we could see even less than the usual limited view of the woman's section. We each wanted a siddur but could not find one on our side of the room. The far side of the room had a bookcase full of prayer books but accessing it felt uncomfortable disruptive.
After 10 minutes there, I left.
I took a deep breath and headed across the river to Leonore Rosenberg's home
I encountered a woman sitting on the steps. I thought I had heard her speak Hebrew with her husband so I struck up conversation. She was nice enough. Israeli, visiting for a few days in Rome. A congregant walked by and her husband asked him a question. He began speaking with us in Hebrew. I thought he said there were 50 synagogues here in Rome. I asked if there was another one on the property where we were. (I watched many people walk past the entrance to another side of the building). He waved me off.
Eventually, the woman's husband went in leaving she and I sitting on the steps. (I was in no rush to get inside) A congregant then stepped out from the sanctuary and yelled at us for sitting on the stairs. This is a synagogue, go sit in a piazza over there. This is a place for Jews to pray...
The impression I had was he felt we were non-Jews loitering in a pretty place.
I felt sick to my stomach, I felt so out of place. I really had been looking forward to connecting with people after a day all alone. I went inside with the Israeli woman who walked ahead of me on the stairs. I sat in the high balcony for 10 minutes and then left.
There is a 2nd synagogue on the property. It is the Sephardi space. I went there. As I entered, I met a Hebrew-speaking, pregnant, French woman. She and I tried to make a place for ourselves in the back part of the shul where the women sit. The women who had entered prior to us were sitting such that getting to the empty seats meant climbing over those already sitting. The pregnant French woman and I just tucked ourselves in to a corner where we could see even less than the usual limited view of the woman's section. We each wanted a siddur but could not find one on our side of the room. The far side of the room had a bookcase full of prayer books but accessing it felt uncomfortable disruptive.
After 10 minutes there, I left.
I took a deep breath and headed across the river to Leonore Rosenberg's home
Welcome to Rome
The point of this blog for me to work out my beliefs and feelings about being a Rabbi. I like to use this space to write on the issues which trouble me in a more professional arena. This weekend in Rome is pure vacation so I am hesitant to write much about my journey.
But then again, this is so fun, it is lovely to share with everyone who reads.
Here are the highlights. I got in Friday morning at 5 and found my way to the hotel. Sadly, the shuttle which my parents were wonderful enough to arrange for me, did not show up. And the customer service number failed to work so I had to take a cab to the hotel. (I could have taken a train to a bus to something else....but in the end, decided I was too tired to do all of that.)
The hotel is just fantastic and the location could not be better. I am a 5 minute walk from the old synagogue and just close to everything.
Once I settled in, I hit the road, map in hand, and started walking. I was for the next several hours just wandering the city streets. I saw many wonderful sites and beautiful places. Rome is just stunning. I finally wound my way up to Triofale Square where there is this enormous open market. It is a series of stalls which are color coded (the tops of the stalls are green for veggies, red for meat, blue for fish etc.) There is a map since the space is so big!! I did some grocery shopping and had some lunch, then finally headed back to the hotel.
I spent the afternoon resting and trying to catch up on email I then had a another short city adbeture to poke around, then finally returned to dress for shabbat.
But then again, this is so fun, it is lovely to share with everyone who reads.
Here are the highlights. I got in Friday morning at 5 and found my way to the hotel. Sadly, the shuttle which my parents were wonderful enough to arrange for me, did not show up. And the customer service number failed to work so I had to take a cab to the hotel. (I could have taken a train to a bus to something else....but in the end, decided I was too tired to do all of that.)
The hotel is just fantastic and the location could not be better. I am a 5 minute walk from the old synagogue and just close to everything.
Once I settled in, I hit the road, map in hand, and started walking. I was for the next several hours just wandering the city streets. I saw many wonderful sites and beautiful places. Rome is just stunning. I finally wound my way up to Triofale Square where there is this enormous open market. It is a series of stalls which are color coded (the tops of the stalls are green for veggies, red for meat, blue for fish etc.) There is a map since the space is so big!! I did some grocery shopping and had some lunch, then finally headed back to the hotel.
I spent the afternoon resting and trying to catch up on email I then had a another short city adbeture to poke around, then finally returned to dress for shabbat.
Thinking of Larry
I have been pondering something Larry said to me in the car en route to the airport. He said he thought that if people were giving the choice of being born, living life, and then dying, no one would do it. Life is too hard and too difficult. So many things can go wrong. Suffering ensues. (This was my sense of the why he was giving...) I disagreed and then related my response to my intended journey into Addis. I felt there was much that could go wrong, but even if it did, I would manage and be fine. I would learn from that experience, grow from it, LIVE!! Larry was trying to convince me not to leave the airport.
So, I am curious, blog readers. What would you do? If given the choice, would you live this life? Would you have left the airport in Addis Ababa?
So, I am curious, blog readers. What would you do? If given the choice, would you live this life? Would you have left the airport in Addis Ababa?
Filling in some details
Oh right...
Some things I did not get to blog about which make the other posts make sense....
Catherine is the 3 foot tall wooden giraffe I purchased in Uganda.
Larry and I had a long, really good talk on the way to the airport where we talked about God and faith and religion
I think those are the interesting parts that make everything else make sense...
Some things I did not get to blog about which make the other posts make sense....
Catherine is the 3 foot tall wooden giraffe I purchased in Uganda.
Larry and I had a long, really good talk on the way to the airport where we talked about God and faith and religion
I think those are the interesting parts that make everything else make sense...
A night in Addis Ababa-Three incredible stories of kindness
Story #1: Mr. Patel
Here was the plan. Land in Addis. Get off the plane. Clear Customs. Take out 250 Birr (The local currency-about $20). Take a taxi into Addis to the Merkado (Africa's largest open market) if it was still open or to Bole Road (restaurant row) for dinner. Spend not more than 2 hours. Taker a cab back. Fly to Rome. (This makes for lunch in Uganda, Dinner in Addis, Breakfast in Rome...)
One thing to contend with-Catherine. Would she survive the jostling? I was trying to devise a way to have her baby sat while I was in the city. I mean, she is a three-foot tall wooden giraffe wrapped in plastic bags. Not exactly easy to travel with or inconspicuous.
I went to customs and the attendant was so nice. I was in the wrong line so he walked me to another window. That attendant sent me back to the first (a five hour lay over is a strange amount of time apparently). The first told me to go through the transit people and to ask if they would watch Catherine.
While in line, I met Mr. Patel. He was flying from Bombay to England on business and was worried about declaring the money he was carrying. Mr. Patel is a white-haired Indian business man with about 20 hours to kill in Ethiopia. He was trying to get his hotel voucher and we began chatting. Mr. Patel faired better than I did and got what he needed. I was told no for a transit visa and no for Catherine. I was standing in another line when Mr. Patel found me and told me he had been successful just as an agent was telling me if I left, I would need to purchase an actual visa. How much? $20...Well, I did not have it. I only had $12. For a moment, I thought my plan, my hope for seeing even just a minute of Ethiopia was dashed. Mr. Patel asked what was wrong so I explained my situation. He promptly opened his wallet and handed me the required funds. Please, how do I pay you back!!? When you can, if you can, send it here. He gave me a card and I wrote his US address down. I thanked him profusely and went to get my visa.
Story #2- Mohammed.
I cleared immigration and went to the ATM. It took a while to find it and a few tries with some people to determine exactly how much I needed. Finally, I got the amount and headed for the blinking yellow “ATM” sign.
It did not take my card.
I had $2 in US and a whole smattering of other funds from other countries all totaling about $4. Someone directed me back to the other side of immigration for the money change people there. I tried, quickly losing hope. I was on the wrong side of the Ethiopia border again...
The money guys could not help. I was so frustrated. What do I do? I have nothing...where do I go? The money man sent me to the Ethiopia Air agent. By the time I approached a small group of three men, well, I was in tears. I really wanted to not spend 5 hours in the airport in Ethiopia. I wanted to go and see and explore! What is wrong? They all asked. I explained. They looked at me, then at each other, and then one said, I will give it to you. What? But how will I pay you back? You will get money out there and when you return for your flight, you will pay me back. But what if I cannot find a an ATM that takes my card. Really it is alright. Just please, don't cry.
He took me to the Ethiopia Air office and handed me 200 Birr. I do not think it is enough he said. Wait one moment. He disappeared and came back handing me 100 more. (I swear, I am not making any of this up.) I had put Catherine down and he said, wait, where is your item? Oh my goodness!! I had put her down in the office and we had walked out. Would you like to leave it here? He asked. Could I? Would it be ok??? Absolutely. You will come back and get it.
And so, with hands free, a light heart, and 300 Birr, I took the recommendation of Fodor's Ethipoia, the In Flight magazine and Mohammed and friends to go to Bashera on Bole Road. They told me which cab to take and how much it should cost. I was off on the next part of the adventure.
Story #3: Alex, Abbaba, Peter, Raf, and Anthony
I arrived 8 minutes later at the restaurant. Where is it? I asked the driver. Back there, down that alley. Down the alley? Yup.
Ok....
So I stepped out, said hello to the guards and wandered back towards the load bass beat I heard wafting from the dark alley way. In the day time, this might not have felt so...back alley!! But in the dark, it was a little...well, let's just say, my mother would have been FREAKING OUT. Then I rounded the corner, saw the lights and the little sign that said, W'as UP?? And I knew I was fine.
The restaurant had live Ethiopian singing and dancing. The place was full of people,life, energy and noise. I was so happy just to be there. I could not believe my good fortune as I set down at my table for one. I asked the waitress if they had a sampler plate. Well yes, but it is for three people like that one. She pointed to the table next to me and the five men sitting there looked up. I explained why we were pointing and looking at their half eaten plate of food. The one Ethiopian of the group came over and tried arguing with the waitress on my behalf. The American sitting closest to me explined that he was their guide and was trying to strong arm her into taking care of me. No avail. What is best I asked. He pointed to one pile on his plate. The Ethiopian man said something else was best. I did not know what Iw ould order. Would like a taste? The American offered. No! I cannot eat your food...Are you kidding, came his reply, we're finished and look how much is left. Here, come and join us.
And so I did.
Alex, Abababa, Peter, Raf and Anthony were all working fair trade, organic coffee. Alex works for an organiziation promoting the goods. Abababa is their guide. Peter, Raf and Anthnoy are all Belgian business men in the coffee trade touring the plantations where their coffee comes from.
We all chatted over dinner and Ababa taught about Ethipian culture and customs. He and I danced the shoulder dance and I had honey wine. I also ate in the traditional manner-being fed by someone else and eating only with the right hand.
The food was delicious.
I had some intestines. Not bad. I liked the stuff Alex first pointed to the best.
None of this is ok for me to eat but this was a night I said, it's gonna hurt later, but boy is it wonderful now.
I was right.
After an hour which was all too short for such wonderful company, it was time to go. They insisted on covering my portion of the bill (they get to expense it any way and it is not like they ordered extra-they explained) and then insisted on bringing me to a cab to make sure I was safe on my way to Rome. There were jokes that they would join me in my suitcase.
Pictures abound, emails were exchanged, and off I went back to the airport.
I made my way back to Catherine but could not find Mohammed. I left him 200 of the 300 (I had spent 100 on the taxi fare) and a note in the place where he had set Catherine down. I hope he finds it. I will email later as soon as I can get on line.
And now I am at the gate waiting to board.
I feel truly blessed and in love with this culture. And I simply cannot believe what a night it has beeen.
Here was the plan. Land in Addis. Get off the plane. Clear Customs. Take out 250 Birr (The local currency-about $20). Take a taxi into Addis to the Merkado (Africa's largest open market) if it was still open or to Bole Road (restaurant row) for dinner. Spend not more than 2 hours. Taker a cab back. Fly to Rome. (This makes for lunch in Uganda, Dinner in Addis, Breakfast in Rome...)
One thing to contend with-Catherine. Would she survive the jostling? I was trying to devise a way to have her baby sat while I was in the city. I mean, she is a three-foot tall wooden giraffe wrapped in plastic bags. Not exactly easy to travel with or inconspicuous.
I went to customs and the attendant was so nice. I was in the wrong line so he walked me to another window. That attendant sent me back to the first (a five hour lay over is a strange amount of time apparently). The first told me to go through the transit people and to ask if they would watch Catherine.
While in line, I met Mr. Patel. He was flying from Bombay to England on business and was worried about declaring the money he was carrying. Mr. Patel is a white-haired Indian business man with about 20 hours to kill in Ethiopia. He was trying to get his hotel voucher and we began chatting. Mr. Patel faired better than I did and got what he needed. I was told no for a transit visa and no for Catherine. I was standing in another line when Mr. Patel found me and told me he had been successful just as an agent was telling me if I left, I would need to purchase an actual visa. How much? $20...Well, I did not have it. I only had $12. For a moment, I thought my plan, my hope for seeing even just a minute of Ethiopia was dashed. Mr. Patel asked what was wrong so I explained my situation. He promptly opened his wallet and handed me the required funds. Please, how do I pay you back!!? When you can, if you can, send it here. He gave me a card and I wrote his US address down. I thanked him profusely and went to get my visa.
Story #2- Mohammed.
I cleared immigration and went to the ATM. It took a while to find it and a few tries with some people to determine exactly how much I needed. Finally, I got the amount and headed for the blinking yellow “ATM” sign.
It did not take my card.
I had $2 in US and a whole smattering of other funds from other countries all totaling about $4. Someone directed me back to the other side of immigration for the money change people there. I tried, quickly losing hope. I was on the wrong side of the Ethiopia border again...
The money guys could not help. I was so frustrated. What do I do? I have nothing...where do I go? The money man sent me to the Ethiopia Air agent. By the time I approached a small group of three men, well, I was in tears. I really wanted to not spend 5 hours in the airport in Ethiopia. I wanted to go and see and explore! What is wrong? They all asked. I explained. They looked at me, then at each other, and then one said, I will give it to you. What? But how will I pay you back? You will get money out there and when you return for your flight, you will pay me back. But what if I cannot find a an ATM that takes my card. Really it is alright. Just please, don't cry.
He took me to the Ethiopia Air office and handed me 200 Birr. I do not think it is enough he said. Wait one moment. He disappeared and came back handing me 100 more. (I swear, I am not making any of this up.) I had put Catherine down and he said, wait, where is your item? Oh my goodness!! I had put her down in the office and we had walked out. Would you like to leave it here? He asked. Could I? Would it be ok??? Absolutely. You will come back and get it.
And so, with hands free, a light heart, and 300 Birr, I took the recommendation of Fodor's Ethipoia, the In Flight magazine and Mohammed and friends to go to Bashera on Bole Road. They told me which cab to take and how much it should cost. I was off on the next part of the adventure.
Story #3: Alex, Abbaba, Peter, Raf, and Anthony
I arrived 8 minutes later at the restaurant. Where is it? I asked the driver. Back there, down that alley. Down the alley? Yup.
Ok....
So I stepped out, said hello to the guards and wandered back towards the load bass beat I heard wafting from the dark alley way. In the day time, this might not have felt so...back alley!! But in the dark, it was a little...well, let's just say, my mother would have been FREAKING OUT. Then I rounded the corner, saw the lights and the little sign that said, W'as UP?? And I knew I was fine.
The restaurant had live Ethiopian singing and dancing. The place was full of people,life, energy and noise. I was so happy just to be there. I could not believe my good fortune as I set down at my table for one. I asked the waitress if they had a sampler plate. Well yes, but it is for three people like that one. She pointed to the table next to me and the five men sitting there looked up. I explained why we were pointing and looking at their half eaten plate of food. The one Ethiopian of the group came over and tried arguing with the waitress on my behalf. The American sitting closest to me explined that he was their guide and was trying to strong arm her into taking care of me. No avail. What is best I asked. He pointed to one pile on his plate. The Ethiopian man said something else was best. I did not know what Iw ould order. Would like a taste? The American offered. No! I cannot eat your food...Are you kidding, came his reply, we're finished and look how much is left. Here, come and join us.
And so I did.
Alex, Abababa, Peter, Raf and Anthony were all working fair trade, organic coffee. Alex works for an organiziation promoting the goods. Abababa is their guide. Peter, Raf and Anthnoy are all Belgian business men in the coffee trade touring the plantations where their coffee comes from.
We all chatted over dinner and Ababa taught about Ethipian culture and customs. He and I danced the shoulder dance and I had honey wine. I also ate in the traditional manner-being fed by someone else and eating only with the right hand.
The food was delicious.
I had some intestines. Not bad. I liked the stuff Alex first pointed to the best.
None of this is ok for me to eat but this was a night I said, it's gonna hurt later, but boy is it wonderful now.
I was right.
After an hour which was all too short for such wonderful company, it was time to go. They insisted on covering my portion of the bill (they get to expense it any way and it is not like they ordered extra-they explained) and then insisted on bringing me to a cab to make sure I was safe on my way to Rome. There were jokes that they would join me in my suitcase.
Pictures abound, emails were exchanged, and off I went back to the airport.
I made my way back to Catherine but could not find Mohammed. I left him 200 of the 300 (I had spent 100 on the taxi fare) and a note in the place where he had set Catherine down. I hope he finds it. I will email later as soon as I can get on line.
And now I am at the gate waiting to board.
I feel truly blessed and in love with this culture. And I simply cannot believe what a night it has beeen.
I should have been an art teacher-Lilian and Makere College
On Wednesday, my last full day in Africa, I went to Makere college to teach art. “College” in Uganda is like a junior college in the US but without the diminutive standing as second best to a full college or university. College here seems to just be something some people do en route to University. It could be everyone does it, I was unclear. Makere is a premier learning institution in Uganda. It has within it a secondary school (high school), a college, and a full university. The secondary school is run, in part, by the ed school at the college and university. It functions as a training ground for the developing teachers. It is a very cool set up.
The facilities are stunning especially in comparison to the other schools I have been to. This school has minimal signs of detritus and it even has supplies in its classrooms!! The children seem more vibrant even in the same gray and blue uniforms. Somehow, at Makere, it all was less drab. Perhaps it was the fresher paint on the walls, the wider open spaces, the larger size of everything and that there simply was less dust, dirt and grime on everything. Larry drove me in and brought me to the art room where I met Allen (a woman) dressed in bright pink! She was teaching a drawing lesson and invited me to jump right in. I began making rounds with the students-all fifteen ish years old. We were talking perspective and lines, light and dark, shadow and shaping. It was delicious to be reviving an old language of mine. It felt so good, so comfortable like an old pair of shoes. The art room...the smells, the energy, the exhaustion. The frustration of fighting to draw that line just right, the wrestle with translating reality or the imagined on to paper. The intensity of focus and of concentration so deep that nothing could pull you away...I sighed with longing over a chapter of my life long time closed...
I met Madame Jennie, the head art teacher. She told me all the work she was doing and where I could fit in to most of it...if I only I were there longer. I taught her some bead work made from paper I had been playing with as a model for a lesson I could do with a class if there were no supplies other than scraps on hand...we exchanged creative ideas and thoughts for projects to take on.
I reveled in it and for a brief moment I thought...jeez, maybe I should have done this. I truly love it...
With that dancing in the back of my head, Allen escorted me off to the school's art gallery. There, she convinced one of her teachers to take me on a tour off the closed work spaces. All the students art work was on display for grading and so all spaces were closed to visitors. We talked Robert, her professor in applied design (he makes furniture) into taking me in anyway. He and and I walked the vast room. The work was all solidly very good. Technically sound. But then, a piece or two broke out of the ordinary expectations of the assignments and truly soared. Robert and I talked art, what we liked, why, it was beautiful. The works opened up a space for dialogue between us about a whole world which usually takes months of friendship to find one's way too. I loved it!! I had a great time playing art teacher. But then, the best part came...
Allen brought me to the gallery itself. There, we got the see the work currently on display. Since it was mid-installation, the artist herself, Lilian, was there. All the pieces were about HIV and AIDS. As she and I talked, she shared more and more of her story and what the works said to her. Her husband had found he had the disease in the mid 80's. He refused counseling and was in total denial. Lilian herself somehow managed not to contract the HIV virus. Nor did her daughter (now 24). Her husband was sick for years with less than optimal treatment. If only he had connected with someone, if only someone had talked to him about it, counseled him, he could have lived so much longer....Lilian reasoned. Many of her works are about the power of relationships as the highest form of protection against the disease. Relationships between mothers and daughters, the healthy and the ill, parents and children, were all highlighted.
Two pieces in particular elicited lengthy conversations with Lilian, Allen, and the three 20 something art students who were listening in on what the artist had to say. The first was a smooth wooden statue of a thin male body (mid belly to thigh) and an enormous phallus with a copper-plated tip. Lilian sort of giggled as we looked at it. It was fabulously direct and straight forward. Cover it boys, just cover it. I asked the young man we were with what he thought. I am going to make sure I wear a condom, he replied. See, Lilian, it works. Nothing to be embarrassed. I am not embarrassed she said, I just worry I will offend. What if someone sees this and takes more risk by having protected sex (as opposed to no sex at all) and the condom fails, someone gets sick and it is my fault? I reasoned with her that most would be having sex anyway and one might, like this young man, might be reminded/inspired to wear a rubber. The two young women we were with marveled. You could see them wanting to touch the giant penis, but no one dared. It was just so OUT there!! Begging to be touched...it is hard to describe, maybe the pictures will help...
The other work was a series of translucent soap molds of a small army of penises and vaginas. They were filled in various ways with dark red beans. Some at the penis tips, some in the uteruses, some very few, some over loaded...Lilian said this was her favorite.
She talked of how soap is cleansing, yet one can never be clean from this. She talked about the normalness of the beans like the normalness of HIV/AIDS and disease. Then she began speaking my language. She explained... I showed this to some women I work with who are all infected. They loved it!! They felt that it created a space for dialogue around disease. People do not talk about it here so directly. This is very blunt and straightforward. Instead of using pretend words. I asked, What do you call a penis or a vagina? She and the other women there all giggled as they said the Lugandan word for small furry animal. It is the same word for either male or female genitalia. I asked the two 20 year olds. Later when you talk with your moms about this piece of work, how will describe it? One girl jumped in, I will be really proud to tell her about it, tell her I saw this. What words will you use? I asked? The real ones or slang? Real words she said. Again, she talked about being proud to talk with her mom about sex in a way that is honest and straightforward. I was pretty impressed.
I want to make kits, Lilian said. I want the women I work with to make these soap kits so everyone can have a tool for talking about HIV and AIDS. And then the women I work with who have so little can begin earning an income of some kind...
I smell micro-loan waiting to happen...
The idea needs more research...but it has some merit. My one question is...will people buy a soap penis kit? Regardless, I like how she was thinking-teach someone how to fish instead of feeding them yourself.
I left the gallery with a renewed sense of mission. Teaching art would be wonderful and I am sure I would have a good time. But helping someone like Lilian help a community of women to stand more firmly on their own two feet would be way, way better.
I would love being an art teacher, but really, God made me to be a change agent (or maybe a fund raiser...) ;)
The facilities are stunning especially in comparison to the other schools I have been to. This school has minimal signs of detritus and it even has supplies in its classrooms!! The children seem more vibrant even in the same gray and blue uniforms. Somehow, at Makere, it all was less drab. Perhaps it was the fresher paint on the walls, the wider open spaces, the larger size of everything and that there simply was less dust, dirt and grime on everything. Larry drove me in and brought me to the art room where I met Allen (a woman) dressed in bright pink! She was teaching a drawing lesson and invited me to jump right in. I began making rounds with the students-all fifteen ish years old. We were talking perspective and lines, light and dark, shadow and shaping. It was delicious to be reviving an old language of mine. It felt so good, so comfortable like an old pair of shoes. The art room...the smells, the energy, the exhaustion. The frustration of fighting to draw that line just right, the wrestle with translating reality or the imagined on to paper. The intensity of focus and of concentration so deep that nothing could pull you away...I sighed with longing over a chapter of my life long time closed...
I met Madame Jennie, the head art teacher. She told me all the work she was doing and where I could fit in to most of it...if I only I were there longer. I taught her some bead work made from paper I had been playing with as a model for a lesson I could do with a class if there were no supplies other than scraps on hand...we exchanged creative ideas and thoughts for projects to take on.
I reveled in it and for a brief moment I thought...jeez, maybe I should have done this. I truly love it...
With that dancing in the back of my head, Allen escorted me off to the school's art gallery. There, she convinced one of her teachers to take me on a tour off the closed work spaces. All the students art work was on display for grading and so all spaces were closed to visitors. We talked Robert, her professor in applied design (he makes furniture) into taking me in anyway. He and and I walked the vast room. The work was all solidly very good. Technically sound. But then, a piece or two broke out of the ordinary expectations of the assignments and truly soared. Robert and I talked art, what we liked, why, it was beautiful. The works opened up a space for dialogue between us about a whole world which usually takes months of friendship to find one's way too. I loved it!! I had a great time playing art teacher. But then, the best part came...
Allen brought me to the gallery itself. There, we got the see the work currently on display. Since it was mid-installation, the artist herself, Lilian, was there. All the pieces were about HIV and AIDS. As she and I talked, she shared more and more of her story and what the works said to her. Her husband had found he had the disease in the mid 80's. He refused counseling and was in total denial. Lilian herself somehow managed not to contract the HIV virus. Nor did her daughter (now 24). Her husband was sick for years with less than optimal treatment. If only he had connected with someone, if only someone had talked to him about it, counseled him, he could have lived so much longer....Lilian reasoned. Many of her works are about the power of relationships as the highest form of protection against the disease. Relationships between mothers and daughters, the healthy and the ill, parents and children, were all highlighted.
Two pieces in particular elicited lengthy conversations with Lilian, Allen, and the three 20 something art students who were listening in on what the artist had to say. The first was a smooth wooden statue of a thin male body (mid belly to thigh) and an enormous phallus with a copper-plated tip. Lilian sort of giggled as we looked at it. It was fabulously direct and straight forward. Cover it boys, just cover it. I asked the young man we were with what he thought. I am going to make sure I wear a condom, he replied. See, Lilian, it works. Nothing to be embarrassed. I am not embarrassed she said, I just worry I will offend. What if someone sees this and takes more risk by having protected sex (as opposed to no sex at all) and the condom fails, someone gets sick and it is my fault? I reasoned with her that most would be having sex anyway and one might, like this young man, might be reminded/inspired to wear a rubber. The two young women we were with marveled. You could see them wanting to touch the giant penis, but no one dared. It was just so OUT there!! Begging to be touched...it is hard to describe, maybe the pictures will help...
The other work was a series of translucent soap molds of a small army of penises and vaginas. They were filled in various ways with dark red beans. Some at the penis tips, some in the uteruses, some very few, some over loaded...Lilian said this was her favorite.
She talked of how soap is cleansing, yet one can never be clean from this. She talked about the normalness of the beans like the normalness of HIV/AIDS and disease. Then she began speaking my language. She explained... I showed this to some women I work with who are all infected. They loved it!! They felt that it created a space for dialogue around disease. People do not talk about it here so directly. This is very blunt and straightforward. Instead of using pretend words. I asked, What do you call a penis or a vagina? She and the other women there all giggled as they said the Lugandan word for small furry animal. It is the same word for either male or female genitalia. I asked the two 20 year olds. Later when you talk with your moms about this piece of work, how will describe it? One girl jumped in, I will be really proud to tell her about it, tell her I saw this. What words will you use? I asked? The real ones or slang? Real words she said. Again, she talked about being proud to talk with her mom about sex in a way that is honest and straightforward. I was pretty impressed.
I want to make kits, Lilian said. I want the women I work with to make these soap kits so everyone can have a tool for talking about HIV and AIDS. And then the women I work with who have so little can begin earning an income of some kind...
I smell micro-loan waiting to happen...
The idea needs more research...but it has some merit. My one question is...will people buy a soap penis kit? Regardless, I like how she was thinking-teach someone how to fish instead of feeding them yourself.
I left the gallery with a renewed sense of mission. Teaching art would be wonderful and I am sure I would have a good time. But helping someone like Lilian help a community of women to stand more firmly on their own two feet would be way, way better.
I would love being an art teacher, but really, God made me to be a change agent (or maybe a fund raiser...) ;)
Larry, twenty points if you hit the Guinea Fowl. It would be tastier for dinner than what we had.
We drove Anat and Noam to their camp ground. It was late and dark.
En route, we had a similar run in with the Guinea Fowl that we did with the baboons on the way in. But the addition of darkness made it even more exciting. And more people in the car added to the sense of adventure. This time, there were plenty of others to hollar, Larry! Slow Down!! I got to call out “twenty points, thirty if you get the whole family.” From my vantage point in the back seat, I was almost certain we nailed one...but at the last minute, apparently, the bird did a dodge or a swerve and escaped from the clutches of the wheels of the 4x4.
We finally made it out of the 20-odd km of bumpy, rutted, back roads onto the main street. (Gravel not paved). We stopped in the first town for dinner. It was about 9 pm. Larry said there were two choices-the hotel restaurant in the wrong direction (more expensive to boot) or a local joint heading our way. Anything else? I asked. Probably, but I do not know where. Great, let's go with the sure thing and not spend our time running around. We all agreed. So off we went. It was basically a beer hall with a pool table out front. The menu was limited catering for a more Euro-American clientele hankering for post park nosh. Not so much dinner. They did have rice and a side of beans so I figured...how bad can it be? Bad. Really bad. This was the moment I should have said, time out...Larry said, are the beans a quick meal? And the waitress said, they are in a tin. We just need to heat them up.
Beans from a tin.
If you are thinking Campbell's canned beans, you are on the right track. But grosser.
After the waitress disappeared in to the kitchen, we heard the faint beeping of the microwave oven followed, 90 seconds later, by the tone announcing “your food is done.” And, since Larry and I both had ordered beans, we heard this twice...
When the “meal” came, I gave the beans a shot...and then, I promptly asked for pepper and hot sauce. The waitress said they had neither. Turns out, one of the bottles of red sauce on the table was medium sauce...after some language confusion we cleared up that indeed that was “hot sauce” of a mild spiciness. Still, no pepper. (A whole restaurant...no pepper) It was truly laughable. The meal was so outrageously disgusting...I really had to sit back and just giggle at the whole thing. Ray learned all about Africa's various fried finger foods like chipati and samosas. Larry had his favs...fries and beans. I ate a lot of hot sauce drowning the beans and rice. Larry, you are never again allowed to choose the restaurant. We all snickered a little. It was truly terrible.
We finally hit the road and headed back to Kampala. I was sad to see the wilderness, and beauty of the park go. The day had been hot and equatorial-lots and lots of sun, warm and wild animals. My eyes were numb from all the green and lush, all the people and faces, all the exploring and wandering. I contented rested for several hours as we drove on “home” in the night.
En route, we had a similar run in with the Guinea Fowl that we did with the baboons on the way in. But the addition of darkness made it even more exciting. And more people in the car added to the sense of adventure. This time, there were plenty of others to hollar, Larry! Slow Down!! I got to call out “twenty points, thirty if you get the whole family.” From my vantage point in the back seat, I was almost certain we nailed one...but at the last minute, apparently, the bird did a dodge or a swerve and escaped from the clutches of the wheels of the 4x4.
We finally made it out of the 20-odd km of bumpy, rutted, back roads onto the main street. (Gravel not paved). We stopped in the first town for dinner. It was about 9 pm. Larry said there were two choices-the hotel restaurant in the wrong direction (more expensive to boot) or a local joint heading our way. Anything else? I asked. Probably, but I do not know where. Great, let's go with the sure thing and not spend our time running around. We all agreed. So off we went. It was basically a beer hall with a pool table out front. The menu was limited catering for a more Euro-American clientele hankering for post park nosh. Not so much dinner. They did have rice and a side of beans so I figured...how bad can it be? Bad. Really bad. This was the moment I should have said, time out...Larry said, are the beans a quick meal? And the waitress said, they are in a tin. We just need to heat them up.
Beans from a tin.
If you are thinking Campbell's canned beans, you are on the right track. But grosser.
After the waitress disappeared in to the kitchen, we heard the faint beeping of the microwave oven followed, 90 seconds later, by the tone announcing “your food is done.” And, since Larry and I both had ordered beans, we heard this twice...
When the “meal” came, I gave the beans a shot...and then, I promptly asked for pepper and hot sauce. The waitress said they had neither. Turns out, one of the bottles of red sauce on the table was medium sauce...after some language confusion we cleared up that indeed that was “hot sauce” of a mild spiciness. Still, no pepper. (A whole restaurant...no pepper) It was truly laughable. The meal was so outrageously disgusting...I really had to sit back and just giggle at the whole thing. Ray learned all about Africa's various fried finger foods like chipati and samosas. Larry had his favs...fries and beans. I ate a lot of hot sauce drowning the beans and rice. Larry, you are never again allowed to choose the restaurant. We all snickered a little. It was truly terrible.
We finally hit the road and headed back to Kampala. I was sad to see the wilderness, and beauty of the park go. The day had been hot and equatorial-lots and lots of sun, warm and wild animals. My eyes were numb from all the green and lush, all the people and faces, all the exploring and wandering. I contented rested for several hours as we drove on “home” in the night.
Charging Elephants and the falls, far far away.
Tuesday, we awoke early to the most wonderful sunrise. I ran with my camera to catch the pre dawn light as it disappeared with the rising sun across the landscape. The story of the day was this: We found an elephant, hanging out on the side of the road (3-5 meters from the car!) and he let us tape him for a long time. First, he peed. Seeing an elephant pee...well, oh my goodness!! It was a sight to behold (which, you can see once I can put up the video) Next, he threw dirt on hims self and fluttered about his giant ears. And then... he charged!! Just a step or two, but it was scary!! We backed off, watched a little longer and then moved on.
We had a nice time with the giraffes too, but nothing as exciting.
After the safari, we had lunch back at the lodge and had some rest time. (I NAPPED!! Me, of all people!! Laid my head down and NAPPED!) Eventually, I turned on the computer and found that Sassy (my little web book) had made friends with a whole smattering of tiny ants which thankfully do not bite. Just a little memento from the trip which does not go away...
At the end of lunch, I met Jenny with New Hope Orphanage. She was part of a group of 55 people from one church (with 3500 families) from Colorado Springs, CO. Jenny and her family had moved to Uganda 24 years ago to minister after the war that was being fought here then. Her parents are still here running New Hope with her. Her brother is now a pastor at their home church, the one visiting. This church also has 2 other trips happening in two other countries. Ministering trips-three at the same time. And usually they have six!! This is a slow year! Unheard of in the Jewish world...a model I would like to adopt...Jenny and I spoke about God, being called, and how challenging the education system is here in Uganda. The kids are just not learning how to think. They are simply learning how to memorize and regurgitate. Academic bulimia at its best...a country at its less than best as a result. How can people imagine a different, or even a better world than the one they are in if they do not know how to IMAGINE at all?
In the afternoon we took the boat ride out to the falls. Hannah (UK) and Johannes (German) were a couple on the boat. Hannah, my age-ish, is doing an elective at a hospital in Uganda for a month of the summer. She and I spoke about the fight against TB, AIDS and malaria that is an ongoing war here. She reopened my eyes to all of the positive work being done in this country to fight for change. If Rwanda is a model for fast change led from the front, then Uganda is an example of slow change led from the middle. Anything accomplished here is hard fought by the few for the sake of the many one small battle at a time. Including the one against education.
The falls were far off (2 plus hours) and we could not get so close. On the way we saw worthogs, the great egret, 2 different ibises, Egyptian geese, yellow billed some or another, a red breasted ant eater...the list goes on. OH! And Hippos!! tons and tons of hippos. Plus a few crocodiles/aligators (since I do not know the difference, I cannot say with confidence what we saw...)
We made it back very late (around 6 when we should have been back by 5:30). I really had to use the bathroom after 3 plus hours on a boat. I ran up to the gatehouse to the water entrance way and begged to use theirs. Sure, no problem. I entered on of the cleaner bathrooms I have seen here and noted what looked to be a basket of wetnaps on the back of the toilet. Upon further investigation, I realized, they were not wetnaps but rather condoms!!
What a country. One of the ongoing, underlying battles is against HIV and AIDS. The approach is educate, educate, educate, protect, protect, protect. The ABCs (as Jennie had explained them to me earlier) Abstinence, Be Faithful, Condoms. All in an effort to slow the rampant spread of HIV/AIDS. Coming from the US, it is so strange to see a campaign of this topic since we are to Puritan about sex. But oddly, so are Ugandans. Having to talk about sex is still so taboo!! Fighting a campaign for safe sex without talking about sex certainly has its challenges. At the end of the day, our social mores are in direct competition with our will to survive and one has to give. The two seem to be compromising, one for the other. In the mean time, people are still dying...
Larry, slow down, don't hit the baboon. Entering the Murson Falls National Park
Monday morning we left for the safari. We included Larry, the new guy Ray, and myself. We started out on the long journey to the park. It took us much longer than we had expected. We hit a jam (traffic here is called “jam”) and needed to make a few stops. Then there was this 5 mile or so stretch of road being repaired. The Ugandan approach to this is to cover the whole road with speed bumps. These were particularly effective. It took forever to cover this stretch...
We were aiming to make it to a 2:30 boat ride to see birds, hippos, crocs, and the Murson Falls. We hit the gas station 90 minutes from the boat at 1:00 and had not had lunch. Larry drove us in to the park and there was a lengthy debate with the attendant about the balance TATS was carrying with the park. I was already pretty certain we would not make the boat ride that day (we would have to do it the following day) but this cinched it. Larry was not convinced and so, we chased down a 2:30 departure. Larry drove at breakneck speed through the park. Suddenly, we rounded the corner and there they were ...a family of baboons crossing the road. Oh look! Baboons! Ray and I cried. We were so excited to see wildlife! Larry did not blink, and just kept driving. Baboons! We cried again. This time less in delight and more to point them out to Larry. Did he not see them? Finally we called, Larry, slow down, you will hit the baboon...
He swerved, narrowly missing the poor creatures who must have been scared to death.
This continued through another family or two of apes and finally I said, Larry, please, just slow down. And so he did. To a creeping crawl. I thought his new pace was excessively slow, but also felt tension in the car was mounting so I left it alone.
The ride was beautiful and it gave me much time to reflect. I considered how I had been acting towards Larry, considering how I could have been more generous with my praise and softer in my critique. I considered his point of view, his strengths, his weaknesses. We clash. I needed him to plan ahead more and this is not his strength. I can see how we are a difficult pair of people to work with in this way and there are more days to make it work. I set myself to improve the situation and to apologize to Larry.
We finally made it to the boat launch by 3:15. (Everything in Uganda just takes longer...) and so we just went to the lodge to check in.
I spent the afternoon writing and enjoying the view. Just resting. I did it! I sat around a whole bunch and did nothing!! It was wonderful. I was very proud.
In the evening, the three of us ate dinner together with Anat and Noam, a brother and sister pair from Australia traveling together through Africa. It was a lovely meal. The conversation with Anat turned serious as we discussed world travel, the situation in Rwanda and NGOs. She said, once when she was traveling in South America, taking pictures of all the people, she began thinking, what am I doing here? Who am I that I am watching their lives as if they are an exhibit in a zoo! You earned it, her friends told her-worked hard to have the money to travel and explore...but she was not sure about that part of it.
I agree. It is so strange to be an observer of other peoples' lives. As if they are living and I find it some how for my entertainment and curiosity. I am not entirely sure what to do with it. I think Anat had a true point which has given voice something in me feeling perpetually unsettled here.
We were aiming to make it to a 2:30 boat ride to see birds, hippos, crocs, and the Murson Falls. We hit the gas station 90 minutes from the boat at 1:00 and had not had lunch. Larry drove us in to the park and there was a lengthy debate with the attendant about the balance TATS was carrying with the park. I was already pretty certain we would not make the boat ride that day (we would have to do it the following day) but this cinched it. Larry was not convinced and so, we chased down a 2:30 departure. Larry drove at breakneck speed through the park. Suddenly, we rounded the corner and there they were ...a family of baboons crossing the road. Oh look! Baboons! Ray and I cried. We were so excited to see wildlife! Larry did not blink, and just kept driving. Baboons! We cried again. This time less in delight and more to point them out to Larry. Did he not see them? Finally we called, Larry, slow down, you will hit the baboon...
He swerved, narrowly missing the poor creatures who must have been scared to death.
This continued through another family or two of apes and finally I said, Larry, please, just slow down. And so he did. To a creeping crawl. I thought his new pace was excessively slow, but also felt tension in the car was mounting so I left it alone.
The ride was beautiful and it gave me much time to reflect. I considered how I had been acting towards Larry, considering how I could have been more generous with my praise and softer in my critique. I considered his point of view, his strengths, his weaknesses. We clash. I needed him to plan ahead more and this is not his strength. I can see how we are a difficult pair of people to work with in this way and there are more days to make it work. I set myself to improve the situation and to apologize to Larry.
We finally made it to the boat launch by 3:15. (Everything in Uganda just takes longer...) and so we just went to the lodge to check in.
I spent the afternoon writing and enjoying the view. Just resting. I did it! I sat around a whole bunch and did nothing!! It was wonderful. I was very proud.
In the evening, the three of us ate dinner together with Anat and Noam, a brother and sister pair from Australia traveling together through Africa. It was a lovely meal. The conversation with Anat turned serious as we discussed world travel, the situation in Rwanda and NGOs. She said, once when she was traveling in South America, taking pictures of all the people, she began thinking, what am I doing here? Who am I that I am watching their lives as if they are an exhibit in a zoo! You earned it, her friends told her-worked hard to have the money to travel and explore...but she was not sure about that part of it.
I agree. It is so strange to be an observer of other peoples' lives. As if they are living and I find it some how for my entertainment and curiosity. I am not entirely sure what to do with it. I think Anat had a true point which has given voice something in me feeling perpetually unsettled here.
Ndere, Joanne, Art, Muzungus, and Lucy the photographer.
The Ndere Center is no where in Ntinda. In the suburban hills, just down the slope from some of the dirtier parts of the city, and at the foothills of some of the largest homes I have seen here...larger than many upper-middle class US suburban households I have seen in Framingham, Sudbury, Newton....
The facilities are stunning. It is like stepping in to a safari oasis. So beautiful and manicured-like all of the beauty of the wild I had just left all contained and orderly like. There were white tents, a small gallery and cafe, and an amphitheater set with tables and chairs. Everything is outside because this is Africa. Who needs inside??
I wandered about, waiting for Joanne, my new friend from Minnesota who I met in Mbale. She arrived with her host family-Dorothy, Bernard, and Lucy (6 years old this week).
We were there for a dance and music festival displaying Ugandan dance and music from around the country. The highlights...well, you have to see the videos and pictures once I can get them up online...My favorite tellable moments though were Lucy who fell in love with my camera. She is responsible for most of the footage from the evening. Laughing with Dorothy, Bernard and Joanne. Dancing with Lucy on the stage when all guest were called up.
For one costume change, the MC was doing his shtick, about how God painted people beginning in Africa and as he got further from Uganda, God ran out of paint. The MC said, maybe God is a woman (why, I do not recall) and a girl (about 8?) sitting in the front row began calling out, No!! God is a man! God is a man! God is a man!! She was so insistent! It was impressive, her conviction.
The whole event was truly spectacular. Dorothy and Bernard and Lucy live right behind David and Margaret (my host) so they drove me home. It is a small, small world...but, in Stephen Wright's words, I wouldn't want to paint it. But that's ok, because according to the showman, God already did.
Sunday-The chickens on the bus go cluck cluck cluck....and the colored girls go Yahweh, Yahweh, Yahweh, Hallelujah!!
So the hike did not exactly pan out. Yigal had a great plan but had not confirmed it with the necessary adults to make it so...at the end, I could have gone hiking but it would have cost a huge quantity of money I simply did not have.
So, instead, I decided on a walk to town from the village. It had taken me about 20 minutes on boda boda (which I did not enjoy on the incredibly rutted roads) so I figured a good 1 hour walk would be great. Off I went up the road (and I really mean up!!) It was a lovely adventure. I saw people living their lives. Children all ran out and said, “Muzungu, Muzungu!! I am fine how are you?!!!'” And I would say hello, I am fins how are you?” And the next child would repeat and so would I. Where there were no children, I said, Olie otiye! Which generated many smiles and giggles. Some people replied the same. Some gave the answer jendji. (I am fine) Oli Otiye? (How are you?) to which I would reply jendji. Some would try more conversation and I would smile, shrug and say, I don't understand! Mirembe! (peace) Often more giggles.
I passed some young girls pumping from a well. Muzungu! Pump water!! Ok, I said, so I did. I came and pumped and played oli otiye/how are you with them for a while. Then a mom came over and chastised the girls for shirking. I took pictures and said goodbye, walking on.
I passed an old woman who stopped to chat with me. We did not get far, but we did exchange the perfunctory greetings, and then some unspoken exchanges of handshakes and warm grins. It is amazing how much a smile can say, how much can be communicated beyond words through bodies, faces, gesture and presence.
One gang of men were sitting on the side of the rode, staring as I walked. I mustered the courage and smiled a big oli otiye! And suddenly, the dark faces were bright toothy smiles. It was a delightful walk until I hit town and was accosted by boda drivers-sister, sister, where are you going? Sister! How are you!!
I ignored them, and walked to the bus.
I had learned in the village that there was a bus (not a 14 passenger van, but a real bus!) available from Mbale. Off I went. I found the bus park. Several women were sitting in the available shade of a small MTN (airtime minutes) shack. So I stepped in to the shade of a nearby building with one shop. I sat on the ground (like the women by the shack) and had a snack. A man came over and said, let me get you a chair. Why are you sitting in the dirt? I am fine I said (looking at the other women also sitting in the dirt). Then another man came and said the same thing. Let me bring you a chair. No, I again refused. I did not like the muzungu priviledge. Vendors tried selling me bedsheets, purses, water, etc. No, no, no, I said. Then a third man and I said, offer those women a chair. They are sitting in the dirt, they are older than I am and have more things. Suddenly, their English was not so good.
After that, everyone left me alone.
I hope the women sitting by the shack understood why I was pointing at them...It was not fair to me, that my sitting in dust generated excitement, their sitting on the floor went unnoticed.
And then the bus came...
Think Electric Mayhem from Muppets...
55 seater, 2 seats, an aisle then three. Yellowed, torn, plastic on the seats. The stairwell into the bus, very steep.
Buying tickets...a man opens a book and is mobbed by people waiving 10,000 sh notes in his face. He takes money and gives tickets arbitrarily. More people than tickets, more bodies than seats. I pushed to the front and found myself standing in the middle of the fray, pushing people back off of me as they tried to reach the seller.
He took my funds. But still, no ticket in hand. Finally, he had a ticket, he was about to hand it to a man about my age-no, he said, give it to the Muzungu.
I wish my brain worked faster. I wish, I were not so afraid of missing that bus and being stranded there. I wish I had said no, and forced the ticket in to that man's hands. In the crowd, I did not see his face, I do not know, if he made it out of the hording-mob on to the bus.
I took the first seat I found which was right at the top of the stairs. I was too tired after the long walk to navigate the staring faces, the different seats, or even to look to see if there were more available spots to sit in. I was on the aisle of the three-together side of the bus (right side). I was seated next to a slender man, mid 40's, reading a book on statistics (the first person I have seen reading in Kampala). Turns out he was studying for his CPA keeping current exam. I took out my lunch and ate the rice and beans I had purchased in town.
Apparently, this is odd behavior...the ticket collector sat chatting, waiting for me to finish. The other woman in our three-seater did not want to step out to purchase something because I was eating. I did not mean for them to wait, I simply did not understand how eating is seen here. Something to be done without doing anything else-unhurried, unrushed. This makes no sense to me since most, if not all, my New York meals happen while I am doing 9-10 other things...
So much for me to learn as I try to acquire SOME kind of cultural competency here.
At one point, I thought I heard clucking.
So, I looked around and sure enough...one of the men who was selling tickets, manning the door, and managing the bus (there is no office so all bus business happens on the bus) was reaching under the seat in front of the door and untying the feet of two chickens (or hens...) The two animals were lshed together and he switched their binding so that each was only bound to itself. Maybe he wanted to make them more comfortable...
I took out my camera and shot. He asked why, I showed him. He asked me to take another of just him and bring it to him (this is a frequent request I receive) and I said I could photograph him, but I was unsure how to share it with him....
Yes, chickens.
The driver was playing the same 4 song 8 track over and over again. I understood enough Lugandan to get that it was gospel/church music. Then a song...Yahweh, Yahweh, Yahweh, Hallelujah. Over and over...Yahweh Hallelujah? I was so curious....Yahweh? God? No one to ask really...and then, it was on again...and again...eventually, it just got old...
After four hours, we arrived back in Kampala. As I exited the bus, an older man in a suit asked me where I was from. He had studied at Missouri State U!! He is now retired, but used to teach mathematics. I asked him how to get to my next destination-Ntinda for a dance and music performance. He not only offered directions, he walked me through the ins and outs of markets, crowds and dense people to the taxi station. I never could have gotten there without him!! He was my hero.
When in the taxi park, he helped me to find the platform for the stage going to Ntinda. He said to the men gathered, this sister is visting. She needs to get to Ndere center. Let's take good care of her here in Kamapala? Let's make sure she gets there ok. The men all agreed and we got chatting. Don't forget to get on the coach! My new friend reminded me. I thanked him repeatedly. I was so grateful. I would have been lost without the Professor. I approached the door of the van. Is there room for one more? As I came up, 2 men stepped off and walked away. Were they leaving because of me? Out of offense? To make room for me? I hopped on. Should I have? Maybe I should have looked after the, seen where they went to...in that moment I again did not feel curious, just grateful and hyper focused. Get on the van!! Where is my curiosity? My generosity in those moments? Why is it so hard to care for others when I am in the midst of needing care??
I took a seat, third row by the way opposite the door. A woman behind me said, where are you trying to go? I explained. I think she had seen me talking outside the van with my Professor friend. She reiterated the directions and off we went. When at Ntinda, she said, oh, get off here. The van pulled over, 2 people hopped out. I made my way to the door and the van began pulling away. Everyone yelled, stop stop!! The whole van seemed committed to being helpful, committed to getting me to where I needed to go. I laughed and laughed, so touched by such warmth, such hospitality.
I got off and walked in to Ntinda for some supplies. I went back to the veggie market I had found my first day and said hello to Tekla, the clerk there. I told you I would return!! We greeted one another warmly and talked veggies. I bought my carrots, took her picture and said goodbye.
I went off the Ndere Center and into another world.
So, instead, I decided on a walk to town from the village. It had taken me about 20 minutes on boda boda (which I did not enjoy on the incredibly rutted roads) so I figured a good 1 hour walk would be great. Off I went up the road (and I really mean up!!) It was a lovely adventure. I saw people living their lives. Children all ran out and said, “Muzungu, Muzungu!! I am fine how are you?!!!'” And I would say hello, I am fins how are you?” And the next child would repeat and so would I. Where there were no children, I said, Olie otiye! Which generated many smiles and giggles. Some people replied the same. Some gave the answer jendji. (I am fine) Oli Otiye? (How are you?) to which I would reply jendji. Some would try more conversation and I would smile, shrug and say, I don't understand! Mirembe! (peace) Often more giggles.
I passed some young girls pumping from a well. Muzungu! Pump water!! Ok, I said, so I did. I came and pumped and played oli otiye/how are you with them for a while. Then a mom came over and chastised the girls for shirking. I took pictures and said goodbye, walking on.
I passed an old woman who stopped to chat with me. We did not get far, but we did exchange the perfunctory greetings, and then some unspoken exchanges of handshakes and warm grins. It is amazing how much a smile can say, how much can be communicated beyond words through bodies, faces, gesture and presence.
One gang of men were sitting on the side of the rode, staring as I walked. I mustered the courage and smiled a big oli otiye! And suddenly, the dark faces were bright toothy smiles. It was a delightful walk until I hit town and was accosted by boda drivers-sister, sister, where are you going? Sister! How are you!!
I ignored them, and walked to the bus.
I had learned in the village that there was a bus (not a 14 passenger van, but a real bus!) available from Mbale. Off I went. I found the bus park. Several women were sitting in the available shade of a small MTN (airtime minutes) shack. So I stepped in to the shade of a nearby building with one shop. I sat on the ground (like the women by the shack) and had a snack. A man came over and said, let me get you a chair. Why are you sitting in the dirt? I am fine I said (looking at the other women also sitting in the dirt). Then another man came and said the same thing. Let me bring you a chair. No, I again refused. I did not like the muzungu priviledge. Vendors tried selling me bedsheets, purses, water, etc. No, no, no, I said. Then a third man and I said, offer those women a chair. They are sitting in the dirt, they are older than I am and have more things. Suddenly, their English was not so good.
After that, everyone left me alone.
I hope the women sitting by the shack understood why I was pointing at them...It was not fair to me, that my sitting in dust generated excitement, their sitting on the floor went unnoticed.
And then the bus came...
Think Electric Mayhem from Muppets...
55 seater, 2 seats, an aisle then three. Yellowed, torn, plastic on the seats. The stairwell into the bus, very steep.
Buying tickets...a man opens a book and is mobbed by people waiving 10,000 sh notes in his face. He takes money and gives tickets arbitrarily. More people than tickets, more bodies than seats. I pushed to the front and found myself standing in the middle of the fray, pushing people back off of me as they tried to reach the seller.
He took my funds. But still, no ticket in hand. Finally, he had a ticket, he was about to hand it to a man about my age-no, he said, give it to the Muzungu.
I wish my brain worked faster. I wish, I were not so afraid of missing that bus and being stranded there. I wish I had said no, and forced the ticket in to that man's hands. In the crowd, I did not see his face, I do not know, if he made it out of the hording-mob on to the bus.
I took the first seat I found which was right at the top of the stairs. I was too tired after the long walk to navigate the staring faces, the different seats, or even to look to see if there were more available spots to sit in. I was on the aisle of the three-together side of the bus (right side). I was seated next to a slender man, mid 40's, reading a book on statistics (the first person I have seen reading in Kampala). Turns out he was studying for his CPA keeping current exam. I took out my lunch and ate the rice and beans I had purchased in town.
Apparently, this is odd behavior...the ticket collector sat chatting, waiting for me to finish. The other woman in our three-seater did not want to step out to purchase something because I was eating. I did not mean for them to wait, I simply did not understand how eating is seen here. Something to be done without doing anything else-unhurried, unrushed. This makes no sense to me since most, if not all, my New York meals happen while I am doing 9-10 other things...
So much for me to learn as I try to acquire SOME kind of cultural competency here.
At one point, I thought I heard clucking.
So, I looked around and sure enough...one of the men who was selling tickets, manning the door, and managing the bus (there is no office so all bus business happens on the bus) was reaching under the seat in front of the door and untying the feet of two chickens (or hens...) The two animals were lshed together and he switched their binding so that each was only bound to itself. Maybe he wanted to make them more comfortable...
I took out my camera and shot. He asked why, I showed him. He asked me to take another of just him and bring it to him (this is a frequent request I receive) and I said I could photograph him, but I was unsure how to share it with him....
Yes, chickens.
The driver was playing the same 4 song 8 track over and over again. I understood enough Lugandan to get that it was gospel/church music. Then a song...Yahweh, Yahweh, Yahweh, Hallelujah. Over and over...Yahweh Hallelujah? I was so curious....Yahweh? God? No one to ask really...and then, it was on again...and again...eventually, it just got old...
After four hours, we arrived back in Kampala. As I exited the bus, an older man in a suit asked me where I was from. He had studied at Missouri State U!! He is now retired, but used to teach mathematics. I asked him how to get to my next destination-Ntinda for a dance and music performance. He not only offered directions, he walked me through the ins and outs of markets, crowds and dense people to the taxi station. I never could have gotten there without him!! He was my hero.
When in the taxi park, he helped me to find the platform for the stage going to Ntinda. He said to the men gathered, this sister is visting. She needs to get to Ndere center. Let's take good care of her here in Kamapala? Let's make sure she gets there ok. The men all agreed and we got chatting. Don't forget to get on the coach! My new friend reminded me. I thanked him repeatedly. I was so grateful. I would have been lost without the Professor. I approached the door of the van. Is there room for one more? As I came up, 2 men stepped off and walked away. Were they leaving because of me? Out of offense? To make room for me? I hopped on. Should I have? Maybe I should have looked after the, seen where they went to...in that moment I again did not feel curious, just grateful and hyper focused. Get on the van!! Where is my curiosity? My generosity in those moments? Why is it so hard to care for others when I am in the midst of needing care??
I took a seat, third row by the way opposite the door. A woman behind me said, where are you trying to go? I explained. I think she had seen me talking outside the van with my Professor friend. She reiterated the directions and off we went. When at Ntinda, she said, oh, get off here. The van pulled over, 2 people hopped out. I made my way to the door and the van began pulling away. Everyone yelled, stop stop!! The whole van seemed committed to being helpful, committed to getting me to where I needed to go. I laughed and laughed, so touched by such warmth, such hospitality.
I got off and walked in to Ntinda for some supplies. I went back to the veggie market I had found my first day and said hello to Tekla, the clerk there. I told you I would return!! We greeted one another warmly and talked veggies. I bought my carrots, took her picture and said goodbye.
I went off the Ndere Center and into another world.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
All posts in One
I am having trouble with the internet...here are about 7 posts rolled in to one...sorry
Harder to read
I will have to fix it later...
For now I wanted to psot
heading to Safari today...Very excited for that and to meet the new person here...Ray...
I am a stranger who has found a home
Tonight was...as we say in the land where my people come from...wicked awesome!
It has been a long time since I have had a true Shabbat. Often in New York, I am working and then going out to dinner with friends or heading home to get through school work, or prep for the following day's teaching, sermon, or study.
Tonight was a true gift.
First of all, I took a HOT shower. My first in 2 weeks. Having been sitting next to the open window on the high way for 4 hours and then taking the boda boda out to the guest house along some dirt roads...well, I felt grungy...but I did not realize how gunky I really was....
As I showered and washed my hair (the first time since Dubai...because no hot water means Rachael is not sticking her head under anything!!! So no hair washing!! Don't judge me.) the water ran with mud...I mean, the water was black! And dirt just poured and poured off of my body! Arms too (since they were exposed on the various rides...not to mention my face...) When I was done, I used the towel to further remove the fine layer of Uganda that was wearing. I took a picture of the towel It's pretty disgusting...
Ok, that was not the amazing part of the evening, but it certain was noteworthy...
I went to services and met up with Joanne there. Slowly the community came in as we did Kabbalat Shabbat. The words I knew, the tunes were different. Lovely and rhythmic and tropical. I felt like I was in Aruba...We all got up and danced (we rhythmically walked around the bima) for L'cha Dodi. Then all the women were called up to light candles. After that, I was up. I had offered Rabbi Gershom that I would do whatever I could to be helpful as a Rabbinic student. He asked if I would drash and I did.
When he introduced me, he talked about having the opportunity to learn from a sage. And I was tunned by the language. I do not see myself as a sage...and I was incredibly humbled by hearing that. I wished, in that moment, I had prepared more, had more to give, more to offer. I want to live up to “sage.” I knew my sermon was short and sweet-but not scholarly. There was a moment where I wished I had gone a different route with my preaching and tried to be my most erudite and impressive self...
In the end, I think I gave the right sermon...
I told the following story...
yesterday I was teaching at a school in a rural and remote village outside of Kampala. One of the students asked what makes me happy. I replied, when I go away and then come home to my family, and they throw their arms open wide, hug me and say, welcome home.
I then pulled a line from this week's Torah portion (Behaalotecha) which read (Numbers 9:14) when bringing the Passover offering the rules for the Israelite and the Ger, the stranger are the same. H. Gunther Plaut explains that a ger is someone without home or clan who is seeking sponsorship.
I am a stranger here. I am without a home or a clan and I am looking for a sponsor.
I then talked about the last few weeks away from home. I said it little, but truly, I have felt notably out of sorts pretty often. I have been feeling like a foreigner and as much as I love learning a new place, there is a challenge when few moments provide a sense of “home.” Although, I do love the host family I am with and feel incredibly at ease when I am there. That has made all the difference to me...
(so has internet access...I am finding a true power in plugging in and connecting to other people I know and love in the world. It is very grounding...)
I then retold my experience of contacting this community and how everyone said, please come and spend Shabbat. So I had a sponsor but did I have a home.
Tonight, we lit candles, sang songs, prayers, blessings that all Jews do. This was all very familiar and that was wonderful But what really mattered is, when I arrived, Gershom, Seth, Rachel and Isaac all greeted me with their arms open wide, a big hug me and said, welcome home.
I thanked them all and wished them a Shabbat Shalom.
I returned to my seat, the service continued. I have not prayed in shul in a long time without being dismissive of the experience. I realized that one aspect of Judaism I find so powerful is here, in this community, I can be my most quirky, messy, outrageous, kind, caring, offensive self and I still have a place here. I still am a member of this tribe, these people, these rites and rituals...Within Judaism, I have a true home.
And there it was, the longing to have a congregation...it pops up every now and then...
After services, Joanne and I were invited to Rabbi Gershom's home for dinner. We walked next door to his home and everyone gathered in the living room for blessings. Then kiddush over the challah (I forgot to ask why there is no wine) The challah was enormous and gorgeous and still warm. I great big round loaf of incredibly dense bread...it was a delight to see.
Then dinner with Gershom, his sister Shoshana, who is here for 2 months from Phillie, and a hosue FULL of children, and other adults. We had goat for dinner. I've never had goat before!! And of course-matoke and rice. Conversation was lively and spirited. It was relaxed and easy. I was thinking of my other family in Uganda and their dinners. The conversation is also lively and spirited but since it is in Lugandan, I am an observer, not a participant. I was delighted to be able to participate and released from the quiet of being an observer. Talking was freeing for me!
After dinner, singing shabbat songs and birkat hamazon. Mom, you would have been just in heaven!!! Yigal, Gerhsom's son, pulled out a tamborine. I usually do not like singing at Shabbat table, but this was just so fun!!
At 10, we left, Yigal and Daphna (Gershom's older daughter) walked us down the hill to our guest house.
And here I am...
It has been a while since I invited Shabbat to be a presence in my life. Hello old friend, it is just so good to see you again. Again, I feel hugged and held and welcomed home.
Saturday
As much as the Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jewish people
I have a true love for living within such a small community. The intimacy and proximity allows access to so much beauty and interaction. Not to mention, opportunity to be together.
This morning, I had breakfast in the guest house with a young man from Ghana who is studying with Gershom so that he can become more knowledgeable in Judaism, and then return home to educate and lead his community. His community was forcibly converted to Christianity in the 70s (It hink) and now they have decided to return to Judaism. Gershom is the nearest Rabbi and is running a yeshiva. He has 8-9 students-adult males, learning and studying-mostly halacha from what I can tell.
After breakfast, I went to synagogue which is 100 meters away. The service again was familiar and different with the addition of the Lugandan. I felt comforted to be praying such familiar words, in such a familiar surrounding. This morning was the Bar Mitzvah of Jeremiah, an 18 year old from another village, who has been studying here. (I am not sure if he is studying in the high school here or was only doing Jewish learning...oh yes, there is a Jewish high school here in the village and Jewish primary school down the hill. There seems to be a secular primary school here too (it is definitely a primary school...I am unsure if it is Jewish or not..)) Jeremiah's community was a group of 7th Day Adventists (I think I have this right) who decided they no longer believe in Jesus and want to be Abayudayan.
The word Abayudayan (Aba-YEHUDA) means coming under Judah. It is an ethnic slur (of all things). Gershom was saying that when he tells people he is this, they laugh at first and do not take him seriously. What an interesting name to choose for one's self...
For the bar mitzvah, Jeremiah lead a brief discussion of the parasha where he pointed out that Behaalotecha (this week's portion) mentions that the menorah needs to be placed in front of the ark. He then asked us what light means to us as a Jewish people. He then took answers from the community.
Jeremiah's father and 2 of his brothers were there as well. They do not speak Lugandan, but apparently they do understand, but do not speak, English. Everything from the bima was translated into Lugandan by Rachman (who is in Gershom's yeshiva-he is perhaps from Kenya...) When Abraham, Jeremiah's father, spoke (both while answering Jeremiah's question and later when giving a blessing for his son) Jeremiah's brother would translated from their native language (an African dialect different from Lugandan) into English and then Rachman would repeat it in Lugandan.
It was awesome!!
It all worked, everyone seemed to know what was happening.
Jeremiah's read Torah and lead some of the prayers. He reminded me much of a thirteen year old in his nervousness and his newly learned Hebrew. His brother and father both gave him blessings. They too are Jewish already. They both talked about the power of Jeremiah choosing the RIGHT path and the right way by coming to Judaism. Then we threw candy, kids ran, one cried (what would services be without on crying child when the candy is thrown?)...and then I stepped out for a nap.
Truly, I am exhausted!!
I ended up speaking with Lorne at length. He is a volunteer with Kulanu (kulanu.org) from Vancouver living here for 6 months. We sat and chatted about life, world travel, kulanu's work, my work, his work, his life here and his involvement in the community...He is organizing a spelling club at the school and they are challenging other schools to spelling bees. The first they did was watch Akela and the Bee. He also teaches English (his career was as a journalist), and is prepping some students for their upcoming exams. He is into chant and is bringing some of that here. He also is involved with Aleph and just has a good spirit about him. He is a pleasure to chat with and very informative about life here in Uganda.
Then, I had a brief nap and refreshed. I rejoined the community at the end of services for community lunch. First, there was a brief reflection on the parasha, then Jeremiah led hand washing and motzi. After that, the women brought out lunch for everyone. Rice and gnut sauce (peanuts which are ground up and then boiled-skins still on so it has this pretty pink hew to it) for most everyone. Gershom, Lorne, some of Gershom's family, and I were given matoke, gnut sauce, a small piece of goat, and some of the goat juices. (Truthfully, I like rice better...I am a little matoke-ed out...I find it is like eating clay...the consistency is so thick...my body...quite frankly...is just too full of matoke!! There is no more room!!! I miss salad and vagetables and fiber....sigh...)
I thought it was interesting how everyone greets everyone else with hand shakes and shabbat shalom at the beginning and ending of everything. Also, noteworthy, the children seemed to be served first at lunch. Additionally, there is a hierarchy with the chairs...I do not understand it...I was given a plastic chair and did not argue (not wanting to offend by sitting in a metal chair when I am not supposed to...)
After lunch, birkat hamazon of course!! And then Torah study. People asked questions and Gershom answered. He deftly guided two conversations. The first was about the nature of angels and devils within Judaism. What do they look like? How do you know when you are dealing with one or the other? And bringing everyone to the idea that angels and devils are part of our own nature-the possibility to be either resides within each of us. Then, he brought us to the idea of gossip which is touched on in this weeks parasha when Miriam is given leprosy for gossiping against Moses (this is how the rabbis of old understand her receipt of leprosy) Again, he subtly and very effectively lead everyone through a discussion about how hard it is not to talk about others. What he highlighted as the take away was if you have something to say about someone-good or bad-you should say it TO them and not to someone else. It was very well done.
After lunch, I went for a brief walk of the school with Daphna and one of her friends. One our walk, they took me to the girl's boarding dorm. Two rooms with mattresses on the floor and one set of bunk beds. Girls hanging out.
African Children are incredibly well behaved. I doubt there is a house mom. They space was relatively neat and clean.
In America, kids would a) never sleep on a floor b) never board without supervision c) never b left to their own devices on a Saturday afternoon.
We walked on and ran into some other children. A rain was coming in so we moved in. It was good to see the facilities. They are so dilapidated by my standard. Depressingly so. But here, this seems to be a great school! Vibrant, active, has a field, clubs, kids, teachers, happy children...
I still do not get the scale of measurement for anything I am seeing. What I see as poverty seems to sometimes be luxury (a structure with a roof if really something when many are without even that. The bulk of the population that I have seen on villages and towns throughout Uganda seem to live at a variety of levels making up a lower, middle and upper class (within the strata of general Lugandan society...which seems to be on a separate scale from the Muzungus...meaning the foreigners and the “cultured”-those Ugandans who have achieved wealth and status...mostly in Kampala...) When I see the general populace, they all strike me as poor, subsistence existence...but their perception of their standing is so different...
I am reminded of an article I read in some literature by AJWS-the US lives at an economic level thirty times that of the economic level of poor countries. I can see it here. I cannot quite wrap my brain around it...
Comfort is the biggest missing ingredient. The taxi has no cushioning on the seat. Industry is different too. There is no mass production here (I saw a sugar plant and a drug company). I saw where bricks are made...one at a time, by hand, in a swampy area along the side of the road from Kampala to Mbale. I saw metal workers sitting on the road side beating metal in to forms for function. There are one or two beer manufacturers as well. There may be more, but the point is this...it is very minimal!! Most are living off of selling what they produce in their gardens, wood shops, and craft stores. There is a lot of internet and food. There must be building happening because of the paint advertising. Whole storefronts are painted with the ads. Not only paint, but also internet time, baby milk powder, cooking oil and the occasional Juicy Fruit Gum. Imagine the scene...there is one road through your town. 10 shops interspersed with people sitting in the dirt with little huts they have fashioned from old board where they sell their goods (usually a whole row or block of people selling all of the same thing as opposed to intermixing). The shops are either painted with an ad or completed rotted out. The ads however, consume the whole building and, as good ads are, each is bright and colorful. For example, Zain, an cell phone company with true zeal for store front adverts, is hot pink. Four or five shops in a row all painted hot pink with the logo for ZAIN! Badolin paint is bright royal blue, MTN cell phone is canary yellow. One of the cooking oils is a vibrant, GREEN, and another cell phone retailer has the market on red.
A drive through a town looks like this...
hot pink, hot pink, shack with corn shack with corn, canary yellow, grey rotting, RED, GREEN, hot pink, hot pink, hot pink...all in a haze of reddish or grayish dust as the traffic (there is a ton of traffic) whips by on sort of paved roads with no separation between roadside and dirt shoulder. Passing on the right is a constant as is the game of chicken it brings as cars in opposite directions all vie for road space.
This place is not for the faint of heart.
I am so saddened by the repeat of this image of towns over and over and over again. Breaks in between of the lush rain forest/jungle surroundings...and then, another roadside freak-show of depression and paint. I love and hate the scenic breaks in between town because it means I get a rest from seeing that...but it is always a short time before that lurid, nightmarish vision appears again. It's like a bad dream which I will awaken from on Friday morning at 5 am when I land in Rome.
I am grateful for the times out. I relish the sanctuary of being in my host home or here in Mbale. I am away from that for now. I know it is out there and I know I am upset by it (people should not live like this!!!) and I know it is so beyond what I can fix or endure.
The goodness of respites are heightened by the pain of the travel.
Tomorrow I leave here, returning to the read Kampala. Monday, I head to safari and I am looking forward to again, hiding in the folds of the constructed life full of comforts like a door or a window which closes. A car...access to food, running water...If you never knew anything else...I suppose this would not be a bother. But I do know something else. And I long for it for them and for me.
But then again, at this point in time, what good is knowing? Would it not just be an abuse for this world to know that there is another world out there? One they can wish for but they will likely never reach? It would take a mass of education in what the possibilities are to generate the motivation it would take to inspire a nation to fight for, demand, and win a better life.
The complexities of that...
Lo alecha hamelacha ligmor-Pirke Avot, the Ethics of our Sages in the Talmud says it is not upon us to finish the work, nor are we free to walk away from it. The day is late, the workers are goofing off and the master is waiting for us to get serious, get down to business, and get it done...
Havdallah with the whole community was very sweet. Smaller than I had expected...everything else had gathered 100-150 people. This was about 20 of the die hards (I guess) ...or perhaps people went home and it is too far to come back (I do not know where anyone lives-there are not so many homes in the immediate hillside). At Havdallah, I made two new friends. Devorah and Yehudit. 8 and 6 years old. Yehudit is a cuddler. This morning at services she began standing up next to me and nuzzling in. It was lovely this morning. This evening, we got to play a little bit of chase together with Yehudit. It was so dark, it was hard to see their faces so I might be embarrassed tomorrow when I see them and do not recognize them. They stole my heart a little bit.
I had dinner in the guesthouse with Lorne, the kulanu volunteer who is staying here for 6 months. Goat again (there was goat for lunch too). Apparently the community gathered enough funds to slaughter a goat so it is the readily available meat right now. We ate late-almost 10:00 and I settled my bill.
Tomorrow morning, Yigal, the rabbi's son, will be taking me on a hike of the beautiful mountain across the way. Rachman (the translator and yeshiva sturdent) will be joining. A few others may also come along too. The mountain is beautiful!! After, I will head to Mbale where I think I may explore a little and then head back to Kampala. Who knows what the next adventures will be! Tomorrow's challenge, hiking with all of my things send I will be heading home from there. I do not have so much stuff...
I am excited to see waterfalls and this mountain. I remember Noam mentioning how stunning it is. It was fall of 2004 and I still remember thinking, wow, I wish I could do that some day...and now...here I am....
There is a new guy here in Kampala with TATS-Ray. He may meet me in town tomorrow for dinner. Joanne might be around too and Charles is ever available to spend some time. He offered to take me out for dried fish. In Uganda, that might be like a night at the Ritz. I have no idea...but it is sweet none the less. I plan on internet hanging out tomorrow and getting my banana bread recipe off of the net for Joy. She and I will bake on Wednesday evening which will be a real treat!! I like Joy so very much! She has a wonderful smile and warmth which I understand with or without a common language.
I need to talk to Larry about doing some strategic planning and fund raising training with his staff. He had asked if I would and I truly would enjoy that opportunity. I would prefer to do that on Wednesday to anything else. I do not like teaching art to elementary school kids. If only they would let me teach yoga! (not that I know how to do that either...) Maybe I would be better off with Math...
Harder to read
I will have to fix it later...
For now I wanted to psot
heading to Safari today...Very excited for that and to meet the new person here...Ray...
I am a stranger who has found a home
Tonight was...as we say in the land where my people come from...wicked awesome!
It has been a long time since I have had a true Shabbat. Often in New York, I am working and then going out to dinner with friends or heading home to get through school work, or prep for the following day's teaching, sermon, or study.
Tonight was a true gift.
First of all, I took a HOT shower. My first in 2 weeks. Having been sitting next to the open window on the high way for 4 hours and then taking the boda boda out to the guest house along some dirt roads...well, I felt grungy...but I did not realize how gunky I really was....
As I showered and washed my hair (the first time since Dubai...because no hot water means Rachael is not sticking her head under anything!!! So no hair washing!! Don't judge me.) the water ran with mud...I mean, the water was black! And dirt just poured and poured off of my body! Arms too (since they were exposed on the various rides...not to mention my face...) When I was done, I used the towel to further remove the fine layer of Uganda that was wearing. I took a picture of the towel It's pretty disgusting...
Ok, that was not the amazing part of the evening, but it certain was noteworthy...
I went to services and met up with Joanne there. Slowly the community came in as we did Kabbalat Shabbat. The words I knew, the tunes were different. Lovely and rhythmic and tropical. I felt like I was in Aruba...We all got up and danced (we rhythmically walked around the bima) for L'cha Dodi. Then all the women were called up to light candles. After that, I was up. I had offered Rabbi Gershom that I would do whatever I could to be helpful as a Rabbinic student. He asked if I would drash and I did.
When he introduced me, he talked about having the opportunity to learn from a sage. And I was tunned by the language. I do not see myself as a sage...and I was incredibly humbled by hearing that. I wished, in that moment, I had prepared more, had more to give, more to offer. I want to live up to “sage.” I knew my sermon was short and sweet-but not scholarly. There was a moment where I wished I had gone a different route with my preaching and tried to be my most erudite and impressive self...
In the end, I think I gave the right sermon...
I told the following story...
yesterday I was teaching at a school in a rural and remote village outside of Kampala. One of the students asked what makes me happy. I replied, when I go away and then come home to my family, and they throw their arms open wide, hug me and say, welcome home.
I then pulled a line from this week's Torah portion (Behaalotecha) which read (Numbers 9:14) when bringing the Passover offering the rules for the Israelite and the Ger, the stranger are the same. H. Gunther Plaut explains that a ger is someone without home or clan who is seeking sponsorship.
I am a stranger here. I am without a home or a clan and I am looking for a sponsor.
I then talked about the last few weeks away from home. I said it little, but truly, I have felt notably out of sorts pretty often. I have been feeling like a foreigner and as much as I love learning a new place, there is a challenge when few moments provide a sense of “home.” Although, I do love the host family I am with and feel incredibly at ease when I am there. That has made all the difference to me...
(so has internet access...I am finding a true power in plugging in and connecting to other people I know and love in the world. It is very grounding...)
I then retold my experience of contacting this community and how everyone said, please come and spend Shabbat. So I had a sponsor but did I have a home.
Tonight, we lit candles, sang songs, prayers, blessings that all Jews do. This was all very familiar and that was wonderful But what really mattered is, when I arrived, Gershom, Seth, Rachel and Isaac all greeted me with their arms open wide, a big hug me and said, welcome home.
I thanked them all and wished them a Shabbat Shalom.
I returned to my seat, the service continued. I have not prayed in shul in a long time without being dismissive of the experience. I realized that one aspect of Judaism I find so powerful is here, in this community, I can be my most quirky, messy, outrageous, kind, caring, offensive self and I still have a place here. I still am a member of this tribe, these people, these rites and rituals...Within Judaism, I have a true home.
And there it was, the longing to have a congregation...it pops up every now and then...
After services, Joanne and I were invited to Rabbi Gershom's home for dinner. We walked next door to his home and everyone gathered in the living room for blessings. Then kiddush over the challah (I forgot to ask why there is no wine) The challah was enormous and gorgeous and still warm. I great big round loaf of incredibly dense bread...it was a delight to see.
Then dinner with Gershom, his sister Shoshana, who is here for 2 months from Phillie, and a hosue FULL of children, and other adults. We had goat for dinner. I've never had goat before!! And of course-matoke and rice. Conversation was lively and spirited. It was relaxed and easy. I was thinking of my other family in Uganda and their dinners. The conversation is also lively and spirited but since it is in Lugandan, I am an observer, not a participant. I was delighted to be able to participate and released from the quiet of being an observer. Talking was freeing for me!
After dinner, singing shabbat songs and birkat hamazon. Mom, you would have been just in heaven!!! Yigal, Gerhsom's son, pulled out a tamborine. I usually do not like singing at Shabbat table, but this was just so fun!!
At 10, we left, Yigal and Daphna (Gershom's older daughter) walked us down the hill to our guest house.
And here I am...
It has been a while since I invited Shabbat to be a presence in my life. Hello old friend, it is just so good to see you again. Again, I feel hugged and held and welcomed home.
Saturday
As much as the Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jewish people
I have a true love for living within such a small community. The intimacy and proximity allows access to so much beauty and interaction. Not to mention, opportunity to be together.
This morning, I had breakfast in the guest house with a young man from Ghana who is studying with Gershom so that he can become more knowledgeable in Judaism, and then return home to educate and lead his community. His community was forcibly converted to Christianity in the 70s (It hink) and now they have decided to return to Judaism. Gershom is the nearest Rabbi and is running a yeshiva. He has 8-9 students-adult males, learning and studying-mostly halacha from what I can tell.
After breakfast, I went to synagogue which is 100 meters away. The service again was familiar and different with the addition of the Lugandan. I felt comforted to be praying such familiar words, in such a familiar surrounding. This morning was the Bar Mitzvah of Jeremiah, an 18 year old from another village, who has been studying here. (I am not sure if he is studying in the high school here or was only doing Jewish learning...oh yes, there is a Jewish high school here in the village and Jewish primary school down the hill. There seems to be a secular primary school here too (it is definitely a primary school...I am unsure if it is Jewish or not..)) Jeremiah's community was a group of 7th Day Adventists (I think I have this right) who decided they no longer believe in Jesus and want to be Abayudayan.
The word Abayudayan (Aba-YEHUDA) means coming under Judah. It is an ethnic slur (of all things). Gershom was saying that when he tells people he is this, they laugh at first and do not take him seriously. What an interesting name to choose for one's self...
For the bar mitzvah, Jeremiah lead a brief discussion of the parasha where he pointed out that Behaalotecha (this week's portion) mentions that the menorah needs to be placed in front of the ark. He then asked us what light means to us as a Jewish people. He then took answers from the community.
Jeremiah's father and 2 of his brothers were there as well. They do not speak Lugandan, but apparently they do understand, but do not speak, English. Everything from the bima was translated into Lugandan by Rachman (who is in Gershom's yeshiva-he is perhaps from Kenya...) When Abraham, Jeremiah's father, spoke (both while answering Jeremiah's question and later when giving a blessing for his son) Jeremiah's brother would translated from their native language (an African dialect different from Lugandan) into English and then Rachman would repeat it in Lugandan.
It was awesome!!
It all worked, everyone seemed to know what was happening.
Jeremiah's read Torah and lead some of the prayers. He reminded me much of a thirteen year old in his nervousness and his newly learned Hebrew. His brother and father both gave him blessings. They too are Jewish already. They both talked about the power of Jeremiah choosing the RIGHT path and the right way by coming to Judaism. Then we threw candy, kids ran, one cried (what would services be without on crying child when the candy is thrown?)...and then I stepped out for a nap.
Truly, I am exhausted!!
I ended up speaking with Lorne at length. He is a volunteer with Kulanu (kulanu.org) from Vancouver living here for 6 months. We sat and chatted about life, world travel, kulanu's work, my work, his work, his life here and his involvement in the community...He is organizing a spelling club at the school and they are challenging other schools to spelling bees. The first they did was watch Akela and the Bee. He also teaches English (his career was as a journalist), and is prepping some students for their upcoming exams. He is into chant and is bringing some of that here. He also is involved with Aleph and just has a good spirit about him. He is a pleasure to chat with and very informative about life here in Uganda.
Then, I had a brief nap and refreshed. I rejoined the community at the end of services for community lunch. First, there was a brief reflection on the parasha, then Jeremiah led hand washing and motzi. After that, the women brought out lunch for everyone. Rice and gnut sauce (peanuts which are ground up and then boiled-skins still on so it has this pretty pink hew to it) for most everyone. Gershom, Lorne, some of Gershom's family, and I were given matoke, gnut sauce, a small piece of goat, and some of the goat juices. (Truthfully, I like rice better...I am a little matoke-ed out...I find it is like eating clay...the consistency is so thick...my body...quite frankly...is just too full of matoke!! There is no more room!!! I miss salad and vagetables and fiber....sigh...)
I thought it was interesting how everyone greets everyone else with hand shakes and shabbat shalom at the beginning and ending of everything. Also, noteworthy, the children seemed to be served first at lunch. Additionally, there is a hierarchy with the chairs...I do not understand it...I was given a plastic chair and did not argue (not wanting to offend by sitting in a metal chair when I am not supposed to...)
After lunch, birkat hamazon of course!! And then Torah study. People asked questions and Gershom answered. He deftly guided two conversations. The first was about the nature of angels and devils within Judaism. What do they look like? How do you know when you are dealing with one or the other? And bringing everyone to the idea that angels and devils are part of our own nature-the possibility to be either resides within each of us. Then, he brought us to the idea of gossip which is touched on in this weeks parasha when Miriam is given leprosy for gossiping against Moses (this is how the rabbis of old understand her receipt of leprosy) Again, he subtly and very effectively lead everyone through a discussion about how hard it is not to talk about others. What he highlighted as the take away was if you have something to say about someone-good or bad-you should say it TO them and not to someone else. It was very well done.
After lunch, I went for a brief walk of the school with Daphna and one of her friends. One our walk, they took me to the girl's boarding dorm. Two rooms with mattresses on the floor and one set of bunk beds. Girls hanging out.
African Children are incredibly well behaved. I doubt there is a house mom. They space was relatively neat and clean.
In America, kids would a) never sleep on a floor b) never board without supervision c) never b left to their own devices on a Saturday afternoon.
We walked on and ran into some other children. A rain was coming in so we moved in. It was good to see the facilities. They are so dilapidated by my standard. Depressingly so. But here, this seems to be a great school! Vibrant, active, has a field, clubs, kids, teachers, happy children...
I still do not get the scale of measurement for anything I am seeing. What I see as poverty seems to sometimes be luxury (a structure with a roof if really something when many are without even that. The bulk of the population that I have seen on villages and towns throughout Uganda seem to live at a variety of levels making up a lower, middle and upper class (within the strata of general Lugandan society...which seems to be on a separate scale from the Muzungus...meaning the foreigners and the “cultured”-those Ugandans who have achieved wealth and status...mostly in Kampala...) When I see the general populace, they all strike me as poor, subsistence existence...but their perception of their standing is so different...
I am reminded of an article I read in some literature by AJWS-the US lives at an economic level thirty times that of the economic level of poor countries. I can see it here. I cannot quite wrap my brain around it...
Comfort is the biggest missing ingredient. The taxi has no cushioning on the seat. Industry is different too. There is no mass production here (I saw a sugar plant and a drug company). I saw where bricks are made...one at a time, by hand, in a swampy area along the side of the road from Kampala to Mbale. I saw metal workers sitting on the road side beating metal in to forms for function. There are one or two beer manufacturers as well. There may be more, but the point is this...it is very minimal!! Most are living off of selling what they produce in their gardens, wood shops, and craft stores. There is a lot of internet and food. There must be building happening because of the paint advertising. Whole storefronts are painted with the ads. Not only paint, but also internet time, baby milk powder, cooking oil and the occasional Juicy Fruit Gum. Imagine the scene...there is one road through your town. 10 shops interspersed with people sitting in the dirt with little huts they have fashioned from old board where they sell their goods (usually a whole row or block of people selling all of the same thing as opposed to intermixing). The shops are either painted with an ad or completed rotted out. The ads however, consume the whole building and, as good ads are, each is bright and colorful. For example, Zain, an cell phone company with true zeal for store front adverts, is hot pink. Four or five shops in a row all painted hot pink with the logo for ZAIN! Badolin paint is bright royal blue, MTN cell phone is canary yellow. One of the cooking oils is a vibrant, GREEN, and another cell phone retailer has the market on red.
A drive through a town looks like this...
hot pink, hot pink, shack with corn shack with corn, canary yellow, grey rotting, RED, GREEN, hot pink, hot pink, hot pink...all in a haze of reddish or grayish dust as the traffic (there is a ton of traffic) whips by on sort of paved roads with no separation between roadside and dirt shoulder. Passing on the right is a constant as is the game of chicken it brings as cars in opposite directions all vie for road space.
This place is not for the faint of heart.
I am so saddened by the repeat of this image of towns over and over and over again. Breaks in between of the lush rain forest/jungle surroundings...and then, another roadside freak-show of depression and paint. I love and hate the scenic breaks in between town because it means I get a rest from seeing that...but it is always a short time before that lurid, nightmarish vision appears again. It's like a bad dream which I will awaken from on Friday morning at 5 am when I land in Rome.
I am grateful for the times out. I relish the sanctuary of being in my host home or here in Mbale. I am away from that for now. I know it is out there and I know I am upset by it (people should not live like this!!!) and I know it is so beyond what I can fix or endure.
The goodness of respites are heightened by the pain of the travel.
Tomorrow I leave here, returning to the read Kampala. Monday, I head to safari and I am looking forward to again, hiding in the folds of the constructed life full of comforts like a door or a window which closes. A car...access to food, running water...If you never knew anything else...I suppose this would not be a bother. But I do know something else. And I long for it for them and for me.
But then again, at this point in time, what good is knowing? Would it not just be an abuse for this world to know that there is another world out there? One they can wish for but they will likely never reach? It would take a mass of education in what the possibilities are to generate the motivation it would take to inspire a nation to fight for, demand, and win a better life.
The complexities of that...
Lo alecha hamelacha ligmor-Pirke Avot, the Ethics of our Sages in the Talmud says it is not upon us to finish the work, nor are we free to walk away from it. The day is late, the workers are goofing off and the master is waiting for us to get serious, get down to business, and get it done...
Havdallah with the whole community was very sweet. Smaller than I had expected...everything else had gathered 100-150 people. This was about 20 of the die hards (I guess) ...or perhaps people went home and it is too far to come back (I do not know where anyone lives-there are not so many homes in the immediate hillside). At Havdallah, I made two new friends. Devorah and Yehudit. 8 and 6 years old. Yehudit is a cuddler. This morning at services she began standing up next to me and nuzzling in. It was lovely this morning. This evening, we got to play a little bit of chase together with Yehudit. It was so dark, it was hard to see their faces so I might be embarrassed tomorrow when I see them and do not recognize them. They stole my heart a little bit.
I had dinner in the guesthouse with Lorne, the kulanu volunteer who is staying here for 6 months. Goat again (there was goat for lunch too). Apparently the community gathered enough funds to slaughter a goat so it is the readily available meat right now. We ate late-almost 10:00 and I settled my bill.
Tomorrow morning, Yigal, the rabbi's son, will be taking me on a hike of the beautiful mountain across the way. Rachman (the translator and yeshiva sturdent) will be joining. A few others may also come along too. The mountain is beautiful!! After, I will head to Mbale where I think I may explore a little and then head back to Kampala. Who knows what the next adventures will be! Tomorrow's challenge, hiking with all of my things send I will be heading home from there. I do not have so much stuff...
I am excited to see waterfalls and this mountain. I remember Noam mentioning how stunning it is. It was fall of 2004 and I still remember thinking, wow, I wish I could do that some day...and now...here I am....
There is a new guy here in Kampala with TATS-Ray. He may meet me in town tomorrow for dinner. Joanne might be around too and Charles is ever available to spend some time. He offered to take me out for dried fish. In Uganda, that might be like a night at the Ritz. I have no idea...but it is sweet none the less. I plan on internet hanging out tomorrow and getting my banana bread recipe off of the net for Joy. She and I will bake on Wednesday evening which will be a real treat!! I like Joy so very much! She has a wonderful smile and warmth which I understand with or without a common language.
I need to talk to Larry about doing some strategic planning and fund raising training with his staff. He had asked if I would and I truly would enjoy that opportunity. I would prefer to do that on Wednesday to anything else. I do not like teaching art to elementary school kids. If only they would let me teach yoga! (not that I know how to do that either...) Maybe I would be better off with Math...
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