Thanks South Africa!

Today I am officially leaving South Africa. It does not feel as strange as I thought it would. Perhaps this reality has not fully hit me yet, but I honestly feel as though I am ready to go home. I do not mean ready in the sense that I have been waiting around to leave and I am finally getting the chance, I do not mean the kind of ready that a person forces upon themselves so that they can retain a shred of sanity in transitioning from one environment and set of circumstances to completely different ones. I think that this feeling is one produced from a healthy balance of acquiring knowledge and wanting to apply that knowledge in the life that follows the experience in which it was all attained.

I have been living in one of the most stunning cities in the world for the past five months. Yes I have enjoyed the traveling and the constant presence of mountains that dramatize and beautify every scene, but I think this experience has been defined by so much more than seeing a new place and acclimating to a new culture. My life in Cape Town has been an opportunity to confront issues that exist in my own life and in the world at large. I have read about this country, its traumatic history, its rich and ever-changing culture, its countless populations and the relationships between them that continue to foster an uneven hierarchy that was expected to be destroyed fourteen years ago, so that I could sincerely begin to understand the failures of this place and the simultaneous potential it has to be a beacon of reconciliation. I have immersed myself in the Cape Town Jewish community which has shed light upon the value of participating in a community for the sake of its survival, the difficulties and restrictions attached to being a Jewish woman and the true beauty of being a nomadic Jew who has the potential to find a home anywhere in the world. I have committed myself to my UCT experience that has provided me with a multi-dimensional academic understanding of my surroundings. I have continued conversations with so many different people and situations in my ‘normal life’ that have undergone significant changes and will allow me to merge my life in Cape Town with that which has happened in Elkins Park, PA and at Brandeis. This experience is so much more than a trip, a vacation, a break. Rather it has been an opportunity to learn about myself, about the world, and how I might possibly start going about fusing these two things together so that I can start to make a significant contribution to the world.

In an attempt to try to wrap this experience up with a nice red bow, though this seems like quite an impossible task, I would like to share a few specific lessons that I will definitely leave here with:

Though I feel as though I was aware of this before, I have learned to become extremely thankful for the amazing people in my life and those who continue to enter my life. To be surrounded by different people in different environments who expose me to new viewpoints and experiences and who challenge me, is something that I do not and hopefully will not ever take for granted. I am a product of my surroundings and thankfully I have so often been surrounded by people who, as a result of our relationships and interactions, never allow me to remain stagnant in who I am and in what I believe and who have supported me in the decisions I have made in attempting to explore these aspects of my being.

I have learned that in order to have a well-informed opinion about something it is necessary to not only understand the viewpoint with which you are aligning yourself, but that you must be acquainted with the ideas that you are opposing as well. There are 749 sides to every story, to every experience. It is not enough to acknowledge one opinion when the context of it is dependent upon so many others. It is easy to feel the freedom to have something to say about everything in the world, but the majority of us the majority of the time have so much more to learn about these topics. Yet we are so often content with the knowledge base we already possess, with the ideas we have heard third-hand and the brief headlines we read from one biased newspaper once or twice a week. Knowledge and explanation are endless. There is so much to learn in the world, we will never know everything and I have learned that I need to admit the limitations of my own ideas and beliefs and understand their lack of relevance to other people who have come from different backgrounds and circumstances. Admitting limits seems to reveal a strength in my opinion rather than a weakness, it demonstrates our capacity to allow each person to be entitled to their own experience without taking ownership over it ourselves.

I have learned that a much as I want to save the world and make a large impact, I am confined by a different set of restrictions that surround who I am and who I am not. Perhaps I may try to do so someday, but as a twenty year old, upper-middle class, white, American, college student, I have very little to offer little kids in impoverished Cape Townian townships, I have little to offer to people who look at me as someone who has monopolized resources that they have no access to. I can learn about different situations, I can empathize with various populations, but I have no voice in a community I am not a part of, I have no right to discuss problems and solutions that affect people who live in completely different circumstances. My identity is inherently tied up with a colonial past that has directly oppressed the people of South Africa. No I have not participated in this process, this dehumanization, but I reap the benefits offered by the people who did. At the same time, though if I am willing to put forth the effort, perhaps I can build the capacity to make a difference in small doses and in communities that are not only my own but ones that I commit myself to for a long period of time admitting that I can never determine the fate of someone whose circumstances I do not understand.

On a more practical level, I have learned a great deal about a country and a continent that is often ignored and simplified as the heart of darkness. I do not remember what I though of South Africa and Africa in general before I arrived, but I now know that this country and is an intensely complex conglomeration of malleable social structures that continues to grow and that, if set on the right track, has the potential to be a true light unto other nations in which so many different people, lifestyles, cultures and beliefs may one day all live side by side in harmony. I have learned that while Africa is often clumped into one entire continent by the Western world, each country within it fosters different circumstances and identities that must be seen independently from each other (and yes I admit that I can really only say I know a little about south Africa and a smidge about a few other countries nearby). This understanding is seems to me to be strongly influenced by the line between civilized and barbarian that is often very clear cut in the Western world. Yet this polarized understanding is not only incorrect in its elitist assessment of a twisted world order, it is extremely detrimental to the people who reside in each society. Westerners often elevate themselves and dismiss all Africans as static, traditional and wild which justifies colonization and infusing their civilization within societies that have rich cultures, rituals and beliefs that are in turn compromised and sometimes destroyed completely. This is a colossal problem, for once more, the world is not as set and as black and white as we are taught. It is complicated, it is layered, thus we need to recognize these different layers and not perceive them through the lenses of other social systems. Therefore I think that the solution reverts back to the acquisition of knowledge and the need to obliterate the prism that has polarized the world and the discourse surrounding all its problems into the two categories of good and evil.

Something else that I have discovered for myself is that I need to be in a place, a land, among a people that I sincerely care for and whose value system I am both in agreement with and can be inspired by. South Africa is in need of immense repair, it is sodden with problems and leadership who often fail to acknowledge them, but it is a country that understands its need to rebuild, it is a country that acknowledges its incompleteness and continues to strive for the democratic and equal objectives preached in 1994 when the beautiful ideal of the Rainbow Nation emanated throughout the country infusing a hope that has fluttered into the background recently. Yet amidst all these problems, this country is still proceeding, is still pushing forward to desperately attempt to better the lives of all of its citizens by admitting its faults and implementing new plans that, though they are often more damaging than helpful, are manifest recognition of this rebuilding process. Throughout my time here, I have developed a genuine concern for the future of this country and the well-being of those who inhabit it because I am in awe of the efforts made by South Africa to create a democratic society for all. When the black majority was handed power, they sought to reconcile with their oppressors who remained their neighbors, they did not take revenge, they did not enforce a plan of retribution. This country is currently at an extremely important stage in which each individuals decisions and actions toward each other represent something much bigger. I think that this reality is truly amazing, for it compels each person to consider the consequences of their choices, it amplifies the importance of each person.

I am extremely appreciative of my upbringing in America, I know that the resources that I had access to throughout my life are the product of my surroundings, so I do not mean to bash my motherland, however, I think that the individualism, consumerism and elitism that permeate so many different aspects of American life are forces that perhaps may collide with the ideals that I hope to base my future community, my family life and my occupation upon. When I say individualism I refer to the lack of responsibility we often feel toward one another and when I say consumerism I mean the discontentment that forces people to constantly be focusing on what can fill the voids we have been conditioned to constantly pinpoint. This is not necessarily a reference to purchasing material objects, but constantly feeling as though we need more than what we actually need in order to make us happy while so many others have so much less than what they need. And when I say elitism, I mean a mentality that seems to me to have been cultivated in the education of every American child that promotes an Ameri-centrism that justifies unjust acts and beliefs about other groups of people and ways of thinking. Therefore it seems quite easy to live a life in America that does not motivate us to care for each other and to feel as though our actions as individuals serve a greater purpose.

I know that I sound very idealistic and “I-went-abroad-and-now-everything-has changed-and -I-hate-capitalism-and-America,” but at this specific point in time I see an alternative that, for me, has the potential to offer the meaning, the value system and the opportunities that trample upon these forces that often blur our vision and complicate our capacity to care for each other on a micro and macro level. As of now, I think I want to live in Israel. That is not to say that Israel is devoid of its problems, in fact it may have more than the U.S., but they are problems that align with the same issues I have in my own head and heart, they surround faith, conflicting realities and truths and the seeming incapacity to coexist. The conversations that must take place surrounding these issues are ones in which I have begun to participate and ones that need to progress and evolve. While at times the state of Israel seems to doomed into eternal turmoil, I feel as though the constant fight to put an end to it and at times to keep it going, is one to which I have a responsibility, is one to which I am bound. To live in a country that’s inherent existence is entangled in discussions of a conflict of this nature is something that seems to add a new significant dimension to life, is something that elevates ones being into a collective that has a higher purpose. The diversity, the calamity and the uncertainty of both South Africa and Israel have produced an intrinsic value that ties each South African, each Israeli, and his or her actions together, that attaches meaning to every decision made and every war waged. Though I have benefited more than words can describe from growing up in America, I do not feel as though my existence as an American provides me with this same significance.

I have learned that as much as I may have tried to convince myself otherwise by initially embarking on this journey, Judaism is my core. I came hear knowing that I would acquaint myself with the Jewish community in order to have places to travel to on Shabbat and friends to go with, but I figured that my general abroad experience would be of a primarily secular nature. This is not to say that Judaism would not be a constant presence but that it would be more a personal dimension of my life here that would compel me to make decisions independently and allow myself the opportunity to analyze and place the religious transformation I had experienced before this. I would not have imagined that being here would in itself activate a completely new transition process within my Judaism. I would not have though that my exposure the Jewish community would have prompted me to shift from such a personal Jewish identity to one that is very much intertwined with the community at large and the need to participate in its maintenance. Ultimately, Judaism is in everything that I do and it allows me to constantly contextualize and justify the decisions that I make. It is my conscience and it what I crave. I continue to want to learn more, to attend shiurim, to talk about it, to battle with it. It is my defining feature, my essence and I feel so lucky to be able to say that. I feel so lucky to be committed to something that constantly forces me to question myself and my actions, to something that protects me, to something that allows me to understand how to live in a way that I feel is meaningful.

Along that same topic, I have learned to fully appreciate the insight and leadership of Rabbis. I think prior to this experience I had been quite hostile in my head toward Orthodox, authority figures, but being exposed to such intelligent, dynamic rabbis here who sincerely care about the welfare of their communities and who embrace the importance of their role in a shrinking Jewish population has allowed me to cultivate a sincere sense of gratitude toward them. I will forever be amazed by the ability of many of the rabbis here to work together toward a common goal and recognize the value that lies in combining their different beliefs and mindsets with the intention of accommodating different types of Jews who have different needs and may be turned off by one authority who is the sole voice in his community. Quality leadership has so much potential to generate excitement, a newfound meaning within individuals and collectives and an underrated connection between the ideals and traditions of Judaism and the world at large in which we all function.

Speaking of cool Rabbis, this past Thursday night I went to hear Rabbi Akiva Tatz, a well-known rabbi who has authored a bunch of books, speak at a shul in Sea Point. Wow, his discussion of happiness in a troubled world (which seems quite cliché I know) was just one more incredible opportunity to consume new ideas and beliefs that I can continue to relate to my own life. He said that being in a constant state of joy is about knowing that there is always something you can be doing in order to grow. Even in situations where it seems as though sorrow would consume you, like mourning, we are given guidelines and rules that allow us to do something meaningful by helping the soul of the person who has passed on continue to rise to new spiritual levels since there is no longer a physical body to do so for the soul itself. As long as we have something that continues to bestow meaning upon us we are able to be in a state of joy, of spiritual progress, because it confirms our hunch that there is something higher that we are working towards. It confirms that though we experience pain and negativity, we are constantly working toward something greater, something founded upon a great deal of meaning that can perhaps be propelled forward by both the good and the seemingly bad.

He elaborated on this point by saying that being happy during the journey is dependant upon the anticipation of getting to the destination. Being happy when you arrive is dependant upon the accomplishment you feel from the journey being so difficult. The meeting point of journey and destination is thus the pinnacle of joy because it brings these two states of happiness together. This is a reflection of olam habah, for it strips us down to what we have accomplished in this world. In the next world, we are confronted with the versions of ourselves that have reached their full potential and are then face to face with the gap between what we were and what we could have been. The world that will be is a repeat of what was without all of the other gashmiut to hide what we have become or what we have failed to become. He beautifully related this to what purpose Shabbat truly serves. It is not a time of rest from the hard work that we have been engaging in for the week that preceded it, rather it is a stoppage in the process of development, of progress, so that instead of focusing on what will be, we are able to find the joy in what already exists. This day provides us with an opportunity truly relish in all that we have been given and what we have helped create. This is why the root of Shabbat, shev, means to sit (this same root is also found in the word yeshiva), because though sitting is often perceived negatively as a halt in progress, we are allowed to remain stagnant to sit, in a place of Torah and of avodat Hashem because though physically we may not be moving forward, spiritually, we are clearly elevating ourselves. (Wow, I have become so frum, I just keep reiterating shiurim, you must think that all I do is go hear Rabbis speak. I promise while I have done my fair share of that I have also taken complete advantage of all that this experience had to offer.)

I have also learned empirically through this blog that writing is a necessary outlet for expressing my emotions and understanding my own experiences in a greater context. I have not bought much while being here and I have also not taken very many pictures. Perhaps this is because I am cheap and lazy, but I like to give myself a little bit more credit, I think another reason may be because this blog is my primary memento of this experience. I will forever be able to read this and look at the few pictures I took and the others which I stole from online (legally…I promise), for I have encapsulated my life here in a way that would be belittled and simplified by a little statue of a giraffe. I don’t know if I will continue it, but I know that this specific avenue of expression is something that will always be a huge part of my life. If I do choose to continue, I think I might keep the title and the context. While I clearly will not physically be in Cape Town anymore, I think that I can shift my understanding of this place to a state of mind that allows me to analyze so many different experiences and set of circumstances at once in conjunction with one another. So perhaps this specific alley of communication with my own mind and other people in my life has not seen its end just yet.

I think that in the end one of the most important things that I have learned is that I am content with who I am. I think I have felt this in some way for a while, but being here alone with no real roots present to hold me up, I have had to make decisions completely independently of every other force in my life and I am extremely happy with the decisions that I made and with the things that I committed myself to here. I am excited to see how I can build off of all of what I have learned here and all the lessons that I have acquired.

Study abroad experiences are often seen as a pause from a person’s normal life. While at times I did feel as though this experience took on that identity, I think that I was ultimately able to use this time constructively in dealing with identity issues, understanding of my surroundings, relationships, religious struggles and so much more; I was able to live my life in Cape Town in conjunction with my life on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. I am not returning to a world that was stagnant while I was away, I am going back to a world that has grown, that has become more complex, and I feel as though I am departing having undergone the same transformations. I have been forced to develop an awareness that must be applied to everything here, an awareness that will continue to force me to ask questions about where I am, who else is here, who is not here and why perhaps that is the case. I don’t think that can stem from simply being in a new place, rather it is the product of submitting to a much more multifarious experience that has challenged me in countless ways. Yes, I am a little apprehensive about transitioning back into American culture, remembering which side of the road to look at when I cross the street, not taking half hour naps in between surfing from one internet site to another, but I think that I am leaving with more than what I am leaving behind. I am bringing back lessons and ideas that I am eager to incorporate into the future that awaits me.

Thanks for joining me on my journey. Cheers!

A few important lessons..

I hope everyone feels spiritually renewed after a meaningful Shavuot. I had quite a good experience at my favorite shul in Cape Town. It was a very nice way to bid farewell to the wonderful community of Sea Point and to have an opportunity to really reflect on what I have gained in a Jewish context while being abroad, to once more appreciate the amazing hospitality of the people I have met and to begin to think about how all of this has been internalized and perhaps changed my perspective on certain things, on both a micro and macro scale.

I would like to share a few of the interesting ideas that I learned over Shavuot that somehow have factored into this whole process. One of the shiurim I went to explored the identity of Moshe through the lens of his forgotten name. His name which refers to having been drawn out of the water by Pharaoh’s daughter was only bestowed upon him when he was incorporated into the royal family of the Egyptians. So then what was the Jewish name (which reflects the true essence of he or she who possesses it) of this most famous leader of the B’nei Yisrael? The midrash says that the answer can be found in the pasuk that states that when the child was born, he was seen as “good.” There is further discussion about what this means (either in the midrash or in the gemarah, I don’t remember) that relates this statement back to the days of creation when God would use the same word to describe what was created on each day. That interpretation of good had a dimension of perfection attached to it. So was this good here, this tov that perhaps may have been his name, implying the same features of Moshe’s identity? The Rabbi discussed that this was a different good, a good that was not necessarily inherent but rather one that was bestowed upon Moshe by God, a good that did not stand on its own but was rather the result of a specific decision made by God to make this being good and allow that good to develop through a relationship with God. Thus Moshe’s name was not tov, rather it was tuvia, which means “good of God.” Moshe was not a being whose goodness could be separated from God but was rather dependant upon this link which teaches the lesson that our inherent qualities do not define what we are but can rather be improved upon and transformed so that we can utilize them correctly through a relationship with God. If this is the case in the development of Moshe, than kal va’chomer, all the more so, we can channel our qualities into some sort of spirituality that can strengthen and transform the characteristics that make up who we are.

Wow I feel like I have started to sound so frum from all this Jewspeak. I suppose I am ok with that. Continuing on a similar vain, another really interesting topic that was discussed was the reason why Har Sinai, the mountain at which the Jewish people received the ten commandments, possesses that name. The Gemarah records a conversation pertaining to this question. One rabbi says that perhaps it is because the word Sinai is similar to nisim, miracles, which refers to the great miracles that God performed for the Jewish people at this location. But this idea is rejected because for the generations that followed those physically present for z’man matan torateinu, (though we were all spirituall present apparently), this is not a name to which we can relate, for we did not experience those miracles first-hand. So another rabbi suggests that perhaps it is called Sinai to reflect the siman tov, the good sign, that this event represented for the future of the Jewish people. This suggestion is also rejected because the receiving the Torah was not just a good sign for the Jewish people, but is an ethical system that has the potential to benefit the entire world. The dismissal of these two ideas hints at the Gemerah’s purpose to create a system of law and legend to which every generation of Jews can understand and incorporate into their lives. The Torah and all of the processes that followed its giving, are supposed to construct a framework that continually provide guidelines for how to operate in a changing world. In the spirit of this idea, the final suggestion of the root of the name Har Sinai is found in the word sina, hatred. This seems quite strange since hatred is negative and receiving the Torah is one of the defining highlights of Jewish history. Rashi elaborates on this idea by saying that Har Sinai is the place where the non-Jewish hatred of the Jews was born. Still this seems quite negative, but the Rabbi said that the hatred is a result of the goodness and wonder of the Torah. All of the other nations of the world, which all supposedly rejected the Torah, developed a jealousy directed toward the Jews for possessing such an invaluable, remarkable system of rules. Thus the sina that developed at Sinai both communicates the morality that the Torah can potentially create for each generation as well as dictate how it can, and needs to, be used to activate these ethics in relationship to the rest of the world and implement the torah in all parts of life, both Jewish and secular, to transform this hatred into appreciation and demonstrate how this system can benefit other nations instead of being a source of hatred and conflict. This idea is at once an affirmation of Jewish life, a suggested explanation for the constant threats that confront Jewish life and maintenance and a challenge to positively implement it within the world at large.

While I suppose this idea is linked with a Jewish elitism (that has the potential to generate other issues) I personally often find very problematic, I think that this dialogue, accompanied by an extensive summary of the Talmudic process by the Rabbi, really reflected the various positive dimensions of torah study. Engaging in this activity is not just maintaining a link with our past but it is allowing that past to be relevant to the present and understanding the true timelessness of the amazing gift of the torah; an entity that offers necessary meaning, accountability and connection. Both of these discussions really expose the Jewish value placed upon the practice of looking deeper, elevating the profane to a level a sacred, and understanding the complicated nature of identity. Throughout Shavuot these were three themes that continued to present themselves which allowed me to start developing a deeper understanding of why tradition and the texts related to it are so necessary to preserving the wonders of Judaism. I say all of this a little hesitantly because I personally am extremely confused and conflicted over the balance between stagnancy and fluidity within Jewish law, text and life. I constantly ask myself, is it necessary to feel the need to uphold all of these things for the sake of Jewish endurance if they do not comply with a code of ethics that I feel committed to? However I have become more and more optimistic that the only way to explore and perhaps answer this question is by continuing to learn and to struggle.

The three themes listed above that I believe are intrinsically linked with Torah study also happen to be important lessons that have extended into so many other parts of this experience and ways of thinking. Looking deeper, elevating the profane to a level a sacred, and understanding the complicated nature of identity, are three practices that I believe are necessary to a variety of different experiences. As you may have noticed, I have tried to incorporate these into my classes, volunteering, general exposure to South Africa and the people who inhabit this wonderful, complicated and troubled country, developing a relationship with the Cape Town Jewish community and general exploration of how all of these things can influence my own identity. In doing so I have often, made mistakes, contradicted and confused myself, but I have also discovered significant truths about myself and the world that I never knew. And the most valuable lesson I have learned is to continue to learn (cliché number 623). I like to think that I have always been an avid consumer of the different resources that the world has to offer, but looking back on my introduction to the practical context of my surroundings, I admit is something I have only begun to develop since being here. I think this new process perhaps can explain why I have jumped from topic to topic, opinion to opinion overwhelming myself and perhaps you. I have been wrong about things, I have changed my standing on certain issues and feel like over the past few posts have taken what seems to be a more right wing position on certain things than I may have intended, but I suppose this is all part of the learning process. I want to know about the world in a new way, I want to understand economic policy, military strategy, the life paths of world leaders, dimensions of poverty, wealth and the spectrum that lies in between. I am hungry for all of this in all of its forms, not just through lenses that I adopt as my own, but I need to welcome voices that challenge what I think is true and just and lave me feeling like I know less than I did before being exposed to these opinions.

Another idea that was presented over Shavuot that I think sums a lot of this up was that our Jewish lives and identities strike a balance of that which is inherent and that which is created through free will. Being Jewish is something that we cannot escape, but it is our choice to define what that means to us, what kind of responsibilities and burdens that places upon each of us. We choose whether or not to receive the Torah, we choose what that means to each of us. It is up to us to decide what to do with the resources presented to us. It is also up to us to understand that we all have access to different resources and thus our decisions are a product of very different circumstances.

With a few days left in the city, country and state of mind, I will continue to sift through all that I will be leaving and all that I will be leaving with. But something tells me I will just end up more and more confused and in an ideological no-man’s land. I suppose for now though, at my young age and limited base of knowledge, that is not such a bad thing.

South African…Afrikaans Ulpan: ( I seem to be running low on cultural terms so…)

Biblioteek – library

Cheers!

The end is near....

So I am officially a college senior, though it sounds strange to focus on a solely academic transformation when it seems as though so many other processes have taken place since arriving in South Africa, for now it is something in which I take great pride. This past week was consumed by studying and test-taking, which in the end was not as trying as I would have expected. Though the South African educational system has proved itself to be of high quality to me it seems that what is expected of you in return as a student is rather simple. Two out of my three tests were regurgitations of paper that I have already written, which made studying rather unnecessary. But in the end I do think that this system allowed me to cement all of the ideas that have been festering in my head and now if you ever want to know about Black Consciousness, Robben Island, export oriented industrialization, the economic evolution of Mauritius or the historical development of Eastern Bantu speaking societies in sub-Saharan Africa throughout the Iron Age, I am definitely your gal. Ultimately, I am extremely satisfied with my academic experience here; the subjects that I learned collectively painted a very multi-dimensional image of South Africa and some of its neighbors that truly allowed me to begin to develop an understanding of my surroundings in a way that unfourtanately far exceeds my awareness of the country and society that I actually live in. But maybe now I will have the motivation to begin to build that up as well.

So now that one very significant aspect of my time in South Africa, I am left with eight days of my semester abroad to start the process of placing this whole experience within a greater context. I find it fitting that Shavuot happens to be a large chunk of that time period because reception of the Torah also seems to be quite a significant culmination that has forced us to consider our spiritual positioning over the past 49 days (and perhaps a much longer period as well) as an entire people and as individuals as well. At a shir last week, I learned that though Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur are the days that determine our welfare for the coming year and thus require us to cleanse ourselves and request forgiveness for our sins, the annual fate that is solidified during these days is one of a primarily physical nature. Our subsistence and survival is determined in this time period, but our spiritual destiny is actually one that is decided on the annual occurance of the reacceptance of the Torah, Shavuot. Even more significant, we are personally in charge of our own fate, we make the individual choice to experience a year of spiritual fortune or emptiness. Taking on the commandments of the Torah is quite a hefty task and one that we need to commit ourselves to newly every year, for we cannot get caught up in the routine of banality that strips this decision, this relationship of its significance. Shavuot is not just a memory, but a chag that heavily impacts our decisions and our alignments.

While this, along with many of the topics I have discussed in the past, is perhaps a little exaggerated and dramatized, I think that this way of thinking perhaps adds an interesting new dimension to a holiday that we often associate with yummy cheesecake. Instead of it being a day that only commemorates the event that transformed the people of Israel into a nation, religion, civilization all simultaneously, it provides us with a unique opportunity to be active participants in that process. Understanding the importance of the Torah which I would expand to an entire system of ethics and morality, in whichever way you choose to interpret it, is something that strongly influences who we are as Jews and as human beings and because of this it seems quite beneficial to partake in such a defining, intense act. This is why the period of the omer exists, so that we can prepare ourselves for this undertaking and so that we can make an informed decision regarding our own status for the coming year.

I think that now is a symbolic omer for me personally, a time to really start to think about how much I have learned and how I can bring all of this back with me into the life that has been put on pause in a sense for the past five months. While I suppose I have been doing this throughout my Cape Town adventure I think that I have been constantly obtaining very separate experiences and mental mementos and in order to truly contextualize and translate these into my normal life, I think that I need to step back and look at the broader picture to truly understand who I am now in relationship to who I was five months ago. I know this sounds quite cheesy and dramatic, but hey I have since accepted that perhaps I am these things, and I should stop apologizing for it (unless you think I shouldn't stop that since it gets to be a bit much....just kidding). But I think that each experience is one that deserves this period of consideration, of pulling out the positives and the negatives and finding them the necessary place in the whole of one's identity, one's history, so that it is possible to understand and decide what we have the potential to accomplish in the future as a result of what we have already experienced. I think that this process is quite synonymous with what is asked of us in realtionship to our Jewish and spiritual identities on Shavuot.

I think at this point, I am at a loss for how I could possibly begin to sum up this experience. So much has happened, so much has been consumed, so much has been purged and I think that I will bestow this gift of a short blog post upon you in preparation for a more extensive and thorough update of my status as a result of this experience that will have to be written in the near future.

South African Ulpan:

narchie - umbrella term for the family of miniature orange-type fruits such as tangerinea and clementines.

Cheers!

Chag Sameach!

Today is Yom Yerushalayim, I probably would not have known this if it were not for a fantastic event that happened in my favorite shul in Cape Town last night. I don’t remember ever attaching so much value to this chag but after my experience this year I think I may begin to in the future. The entire Cape Town community came together, Rabbis and members of every shul, to rejoice in an often forgotten holiday. In celebration and commemoration of the reclamation (wow that could be a rap) of Jerusalem that occurred 41 years ago today, on the 28^th of Iyar, we davened, sang, danced and ate (obviously) together as one unit, one people. While anything related to Israel, Jerusalem and war are clearly loaded topics, especially in South Africa (as you may have gathered by now), this act of remembrance seemed to transcend politics for one evening and rather than fight, we could collectively recognize the miracle of this event that happened six decades ago. Morasha (the shul where this took place) imported a Rabbi from Johannesburg, the Jerusalem of Cape Town that apparently has more kosher restaurants per Jewish capita than any other city (just a fun fact for you), for the event. When I heard the community was bringing in someone I was confused because there are so many dynamic Rabbis already here. But as Rabbi Lawrence Perez spoke, I understood why many were excited for him to impart wisdom upon all of us, and more significantly, I began to understand the true miracle of the event we were memorializing.

In a commanding yet compassionate tone, Rabbi Perez historically set the stage for the six day war. Now I know, that ultimately Israel was victorious against Egypt, Syria and Jordan (whose collective army was assisted by soldiers from four other Arab countries), I know that the remarkable strides made by Israel into various territories are an important aspect of the controversy that persists in the politics of the region today, but the way the Rabbi set the stage for the inevitable war made me question if such a victory was at all possible. A Rabbi had once told him that in preparation for an inevitable war in which Israel would fight alone against an Arab defense force made up of soldiers from seven different countries all salivating over the likely destruction of the lone Jewish, middle Eastern democracy, he was sent to a famous park in Tel Aviv to halachically convert it into a cemetery, for those that already existed would not be enough to accommodate the expected 50,000 Israeli casualties. This was a war in which a budding teenager of a country, of an army somehow defended itself from an established, cooperative, world force and in the face of probable, complete destruction. Not only did the IDF hold off this seven country army, but they captured The West Bank, Gaza, the Golan Heights and East Jerusalem in six days. How was this possible? How were only around 700 soldiers killed (not too diminish the importance of those lives)? How could looming, inevitable obliteration of a land that was starting to provide hope for a healing Jewish people translate into enriching a country and an entire nation with a new sense of strength and pride?

Rabbi Perez answered this question in a fashion that froze me in my seat. He said that the American army collects strategies and plans from every war that has ever been documented in order to assess and widen the possibilities of its own military actions. One war is not included in this collection: the six day war. When an American general was asked how this could possibly be, how could the tactics of the underdog of all underdogs not be important in considering military engagement, he answered that you cannot learn from a miracle. There was something else driving the army of the Jewish homeland toward victory, a power that’s presence transcends the physical world; this victory was a modern day miracle.

Since the events of Chanukah 2,200 years ago, the Jewish people have lived and subsisted without any manifestation of the finger of God. Jews have been expelled, tortured and killed without any divine intervention. The chosen people have been physically disconnected from the God who chose them and still this nation has endured. Yet this generation is different from those of the past two millennia for we have witnessed a miracle, we have seen the finger of God in action.

He then went on to forge a connection between Yom Yerushalayim and Shavuot, which arrives exactly one week after. He discussed how when the Jews arrived at Mt. Sinai, Moshe said to them atem ra’item, you have seen the miracles of God, you have been freed from your shackles and placed on the wings of eagles, now you are ready to accept the Torah, you are ready to submit yourself fully to a God who has proved the unfathomable completeness of what God is capable of. As we prepare to reaccept the Torah in one week’s time, we must recognize that we have seen miracles as well. We have a land that substantiates the existence and power of God, we have lived through or her first hand accounts of an unexplainable military victory. We live in a remarkable time of atem ra’item. Rabbi Perez strengthened this point by pointing out that our generation has generated an unprecedented movement of Jews who have returned to their religious roots, who have felt this physical, celestial presence here on earth.

At its roots, Shavuot and receiving the Torah are about understanding the true power of God and committing to what that God tells us to do, for we are at God’s mercy. Yom Yerushalayim allows us to once again remember the miracles of our generation, not distant stories of our nation’s past, not narratives in which memories only live on in the pages of a sacred text. Rabbi Perez then discussed how in Megillat Esther, the Jews are said to have reaccepted the Torah after the death of Haman and the ensuing war. The reason for this parallels the mission that we are about to embark on in the coming week. When one witnesses a miracle, present in the Purim story, present in the 1967 six day war, it provides us with the opportunity to reevaluate our connection and discover the true power of God. Our generation of atem ra’item places us in a remarkable historic position that has been absent for more than two millennia.

I felt stuck in my seat after hearing Rabbi Perez speak. I sincerely felt heavier and that more effort was required of me to move. I had never before understood the unfathomable wonder of the six-day war and the subsequent reclamation of Yerushalayim. This experience and belief has been supported even more by my latest literary adventure, a political biography of Yasir Arafat. Before reading the book, I had a general idea of Arafat’s indecisive nature and constant use of “diplomacy” to appease both the Western world who for decades believed they could make an ally out of Arafat who would someday reform his ways and loyalties and simultaneously convince the Arab world of his unwavering devotion to the destruction of a Jewish state. But wow, how did the world let this pattern repeat over and over again? He and the Palestinian Liberation Organization whose primary objective for decades was simply to destroy Israel without any plan of empowerment, mass mobilization or country building, simply moved from Arab country to Arab country exploiting there hospitality and exacerbating most problems that have existed in the Middle East for the past half of a century. When looking for a dwelling place the PLO would set up camp in Jordan and then stage cross-border attacks on Israel which Jordan condemned because it led to Israel conducting defense attacks on not just the PLO but Jordan as well. Though Arafat, the unchallenged leader of the Palestinians, promised to stop, he did not hold to his word, a pattern he repeated so often in the future. Jordan finally was fed up with the danger Arafat’s presence posed to the country and told them they were no longer welcome. The PLO proceeded to settle in Lebanon and replicated these actions and were then expelled after causing the virtual destruction of Beirut. Arafat constantly shifted his loyalties to suit his own interest and that of his high officials to keep them loyal to him. Once dependent upon Egyptian support and than Syrian support, he would not hesitate to break these allegiances. And all along Western countries saw his nationalism as some sort of indication that he was more moderate than the Arab countries who relied on staunch religionism (Islamism) and would continue to discuss peace and change.

AAAHH!! When reading this book, I constantly grip it tightly and sigh to myself at the corruption, apathy and selfishness of this man. Granted I have not finished the book, I clearly am commenting from an extremely limited base of knowledge and the book that I am reading is perhaps written from a specific point of view, though Barry Rubin seems to be quite a credible source. But it seems to me that if ever someone would have challenged him and posed some sort of plan to better the lives of Palestinians as opposed to focusing only on the destruction of Israel which the PLO had no plan for translating into a successful formation of a country, perhaps the Israeli-Palestinian conflict would not seem as complex and, at times, hopeless. The hate that Arafat fostered toward Israel or his entire life, though he suppressed at some points to further his own gains, and his ability to instill that same hate in the hearts of so many Palestinians who were hungry for leadership even if it would never lead to a better life and better conditions, seems to have set the scene for the dangerous and desperate political landscape of Israel today. It also has revealed the hate that existed among all the Arab countries in the time of the imminent six day war. The only thing Arafat can be thanked for in my mind seems to be that he caused internal turmoil among the Arab countries so at times they could shift their hatred from Israel to each other. Ultimately, this book has terrified me about the disdain that is directed toward Israel and has simultaneously compelled me to believe in the generation of atem ra’item, for it truly seems that God must have been active in defeating such strong hate and destruction. I know that I am not qualified to discuss these things and perhaps I should not try, but the primary reason I wanted to discuss the Arafat book is because it all the more so convinced me of the miracle of the six-day war, and the miracle that in all its difficulty and criticism, Israel endures…and it must endure, for it is a huge element of what ties all Jews together.

Thinking back to a rally that I attended last week dealing with the plague of xenophobia that continues to leave tens of thousands of fearful refugees throughout South Africa (many in Cape Town) with empty stomachs, inadequate materials to survive the ensuing winter weather and uncertain futures, I realized the importance of a homeland, of a place that if kept safe can keep all of us safe, that can offer us asylum if ever we were to need it. While 18 different representatives of different religious, political, medical, human rights, refugee groups and others spoke out in solidarity against the embarrassing, destructive and dehumanizing attacks, I was overcome by a sense of pride in being present for such a wonderful display of community and mobilization around a common cause, but simultaneously by fear, a fear for all of those whose cause is being discussed but not actively confronted. For hate runs through the veins of some South Africans, a hate that is jeopardizing the future of so many refugees who had high hopes upon arriving in the African beacon of hope. What can be done for those who escaped danger and arrived in a situation that welcomed them with the same dangers? Where can they go?

However, another experience I had last week allowed me to see the commonality that we all share in a very unexpected context, providing me with a hope that perhaps the hate that threatens the peace of so many regions in the world could perhaps be destroyed through understanding our similarities, our ubuntu,our nying je. Along with my Religion, Sexuality and Gender class I visited the Claremont Mosque, the only Mosque in all of Cape Town that allows women to sit on the same floor as men. It was an extremely interesting experience. The women all covered there hair with scarves which was quite an interesting sight in its own right since most of us were noticeably white and American. The prayer itself was a simple Friday afternoon service, but it seemed quite amazing to welcome the group of us who were simply interested in seeing what a Mosque service is like. I don’t believe that any of us are Muslim, but we were a part of this community, a community made up of those forging connections with God, those listening to words that would compel them to be better versions of themselves. I personally felt in watching the devoutness of so many of these men and women that shine through in their intense and passionate facial expressions, that the prayer that I offer in such a similar form and context perhaps ends up in the same place. There are similarities in our differences, there is perhaps a shared struggle to be inspired, to improve, to feel like we belong in a structure larger than ourselves. Islam is often associated with the negative, but being present for religious ritual, hearing the Imam renounce xenophobia, feeling the warmth of the desire to be better made me feel, were experiences I could relate to, were experiences that gave me hope that perhaps we can embrace that which is both different and similar, instead of simply fearing and hating that which is not like us.

Obviously this idealism has its limitations in political, social and economic realties. But at that moment in the mosque, it seemed possible. Perhaps the solidarity among all of us is just another miracle in our generation of atem ra’item that we can both hope for and attempt to bring to fruition.

You have clearly read enough. Cheers!