Two Kinds of Luck...

Hello all!! So today for the first time I wore a sweater and it made me a little sad. Before you get mad at me for making a reference to amazing sunny, warm, wonderful weather, I am going to move on….This past week has been action packed. On Monday I officially switched from the computer literacy project to a math/English tutoring program for sixth graders in the in the same place, Khayalitcha. (sorry I spell it different every time but I figure you all know what I mean). Interestingly, it is practically the same program as the one I am involved with on Thursday is Kensington but in a township. As a result, I can really compare the two experiences to each other and understand the differences between the two communities. From Monday’s events, it is clear to me that while neither community receives an adequate amount of resources, townships must deal with the unique and frustrating problem; a horrendous teacher:student ratio. In one classroom filled with three sections of the sixth grade, I was presented with a class of 15 sixth graders. The physical makeup of our area was a thin vertical line of desks that prevented half the class from being able to hear what I was saying, the presence of two other classes in the same room did not make the situation any easier. Overwhelmed by a sporadic curriculum that required these kids to complete long-division, patterns, exponents, rounding (and an English section we did not even touch) in one lesson and the glaring reality that a few kids were capable of doing all of the math while some were completely lost was a terribly enlightening glance into the world of poverty, discrimination and unreached potential. I put forth as much effort as I could possible exert to both teach and initiate relationships with these kids, I sweat so much running from group to group trying to help them with the presented problems and yet there was no possible way that these kids would have access to the assistance and information they needed…and this is a selective after school program. I cannot even imagine how the schools in the townships function.

I am a privileged, study-abroad student eager to learn about the world around me and to volunteer for a few hours a week in impoverished areas is a significant part of my experience. How does someone who has been teaching in the flawed educational system for 7 years, who has witnessed a huge percentage of her students drop out to pursue elusive employment, crime, or simply does not see the point to attending , who has to deal with a massive spectrum of knowledge among the remaining students, who will never have enough materials to offer, how does that person teach in these circumstances every day? I cannot imagine. I really cannot fathom the amount of persistence, strength and hope that such a position requires. Most likely, there is a great deal of anger and despondency among the teachers as a result of such impossible conditions that creates yet one more obstacle within the educational system.

Recently, my attention has been directed toward the sad reality that even if a person brought up in such a situation is able to do what is expected of them and follow a path that is arguably deemed good, what do they achieve as a result? There are so few opportunities available to these kids to do anything with an education, if they are even capable of finishing all of the requirements. There is more incentive to get involved in crime or drugs than to complete high school. Add this to the ever-present danger of simply surviving the dangers of township life and what hope is there? What chance does anyone have to escape when there are millions upon millions more exactly like them?

I bet this description is rather generic and could accurately be attached to countless other communities, societies or groups throughout the world. This is probably the reality of a lot of areas in Philadelphia. So I suppose that the inequalities about which I wrote in my last post are clearly not unique to South Africa. Perhaps I could only realize this in a foreign location, in a place where I did not drive by poor, urban areas on the way to school every single morning and simply allowed it to fade into the background. Perhaps as a human being, and one who has lived in American for my entire life, I have the responsibility to acknowledge the issues that arise wherever I am and I have to avoid the desensitization that I now have to poverty in the U.S.. But how? How can I, a person who is lucky enough to never actually experience this, who is lucky enough to not have to worry about such basic needs and as a result can acknowledge those who do, do anything constructive in the attempts to change a virtually unchangeable world that will continue to favor me and provide me with the things I need? I guess in the end, all I can really do is become aware of these issues; not just those surrounding the victims of unequal distribution but those related to my undeserved status as someone who benefits from the system, as someone who is consuming the resources denied to those who need them most. I continue to have experiences that reveal how lucky I am, but now that I have realized all of the above, it is clear to me that my luck comes at the expense of so many others. It does not even seem like luck anymore but rather theft, theft of what should not belong to me. Yet I can never help in breaking down this system, because I will continue to say these things from a privileged seat in the hierarchy of the world. My empathy will only last as long as I am looking down at it from a distance. Steve Biko, you were completely and utterly correct.

Moving on to another privilege in life that I am not entitled to, I had an interesting revelation this week about my Judaism. I have realized that because I grew up in an Orthodox community (albeit in a unique way) and experienced that lifestyle my whole life and for a good chunk of my college experience, I have built a strong network within this community. Since I have recently stepped outside of this framework, I have noticed that I still have access to this same network without having to completely commit to the Orthodox system. Yet it is this shared adherence that acts as the foundation for creating connections within the community. Subsequently, in a sense, I feel like I have cheated because a significant benefit associated with orthodox communities is the wonderful network (not to minimize the importance of halacha and practice at all by the way) and I can still be a part of that without actually conforming to the orthodox system. So I feel like if I did not have the upbringing that I did, I might feel more compelled to remain within the Orthodox system with those ulterior motives; to have access to this network of people and sense of community. It makes me feel a little guilty that I get to be a part of orthodox communities without conforming to their standards of practice…I know that sounds strange, but it almost seems to me like to be a part of a community you often have to make personal sacrifices and somehow I managed to not have to do so. At the same time I feel weird saying this because I know that communities should accommodate difference in practice and belief and sometimes this is the case but I don’t think in many practical cases this is so. I was thinking about this in the framework of realizing how easy it is to be a part of the South African Orthodox community without having to adhere to certain things which, to me, seems almost necessary in America (i.e. driving to shul, eating out, not fully hold fast to the halachic process etc). So you might say you can still be a part of the orthodox community without fully adhering to the system but it seems to me that in America if you choose to be traditionally conservative, egalitarian or whatever it is that I may be (which I don’t think either of these terms actually describe) you do commit yourself to a different grouping through the practices you chose to uphold (i.e. going to a conservative shul). Anyway in the end I don’t feel bad about this but rather lucky (the good kind of lucky that does not come ant anyone else’s expense) that I get to have such diverse first-hand exposure to Jewish communities.

Speaking of Jewish communities, in about an hour and a half I will be traveling once again to Milnerton for Shabbat (that is the place that always has lots of people for Shabbat and a garage converted into a shul on their property) with about 15 other Americans, some from my own program, and a few other random abroad students. It should be a really interesting experience since most of them have never had a Jewish experience. I am quite pumped!!! I hope everyone there is ready for the American invasion!

South African (culture) Ulpan:

The mini taxi – the mini taxi is a staple in the culture of Cape Town. Along each major area there, these rickety vans that have a magical capacity to fit as many as 46 people (though only the size of a mini-van, ok 46 is an exaggeration but you would not believe the amount of people that can fit into these things) at a time. The taxis proceed to drive straight up and down the main roads of these areas heading into the city center and other popular destinations. As they search for new customers, the ones already present asked to be dropped off at various locations along the road. In order to attract these new customers, the drivers proceed to constantly hock their horns at various passer-bys as the second taxi worker shouts unintelligibly the name of their route. Often the taxi comes to a sudden stop as the second taxi man runs three blocks away and magically returns with five more people who he convinced to go to whatever the destination may be. One may travel both near and far distances for only 4 or 5 rand which is the less than 75 cents.

Cheers!