Two spreads for selecting a spiritual counselor

I just scheduled an hour-long spiritual counseling session with someone I've watched on YouTube a few times. Our appointment isn't for another sixteen days, which has given me time to second-guess my decision.

So I tried to create a spread to determine if working with this counselor would be beneficial. (I selected The High Priestess as the counselor's significator, because she's a guide and because she has very black hair.)

First reading

These were my questions: 

• As I approach, does she want to help me? 5 Swords
  Not a pretty card, it usually indicates a mean person, a "sore winner," who enjoys inflicting both defeat and humiliation. This doesn't look like the image of a spiritual counselor; maybe it's saying more about me as I approach her. Is there any indication that my situation would make me an "attractive" client to her?A positive spin would be that she wants to take negative thoughts (swords) from me.
• Does she have the resources to help me? Queen Swords
  Her rank indicates she has the experience to help, her sword indicates she has the knowledge and communication skills to help, and her open hand may suggest that she wants to help. But what might she do with the sword in her right hand if I reach for her left hand?
• Can she intuit what help I need? 6 Wands
  The card suggests that as long as I’m cooperating with her, she’ll be able to successfully intuit any needs that I am unaware of or unable to articulate.
• Will working with her put me on the right path? Tower
  This can be a terrible card, but could be interpreted positively, as enlightenment and recognition of what part of my foundation needs to be replaced.

I realized that, in the first reading, I'd committed the cardinal error of asking yes/no questions, so I did a second spread, which included a significator for myself, the Four of Wands, which appeared in a reading earlier today. I understood it to mean that my energy and creativity are restricted.

Second reading

These were my questions for the second reading: 

• What does the counselor want from me? 10 of Pentacles
  The cynical part of me answered: 'She wants my coins.' The more creative part of me thinks she's seeking wholeness, both for me and for herself.
• What do I want from her? 8 Strength
  Self-awareness, inner strength, a connection to my feelings, the integration of my conscious and unconscious.
• What can the counselor offer me? 7 Chariot
  Encouragement to get back on the horse and move forward, and an idea of what direction to go.
• What can I gain from working with her? 3 Empress
  Creativity, self-love, and a sense of self worth.
• What she cannot give me: 8 of Swords
  She cannot free me; I have to do that myself.
• Outcome of our work for me? 2 of Swords
  Usually a negative card, but here it might mean recognizing what my choices are, examining my feelings and intuition, and then balancing those with rational decision making, so I can get off the ruin and move to a better place.

The second reading seems fairly encouraging. And the outcome card (for each reading) could be positive, even though I most often assign "negative" meanings to The Tower and the Two of Swords.

EDIT: Oephebia had some additional ideas about both readings. In summary: Make sure the counselor is a compassionate person. Avoid being rigid; I must be willing to change and move forward without looking back.

The Right Place

Just realized that I may be in the right place, or close to it, for the first time in 15 years.

My worldview fits. In contrast, Facebook is filled with comments by and stories about liberal American Jews who oppose recognizing Jerusalem as the capital of Israel, and their complete ignorance of recent history. (As I've asked before, "What occupation?")

I began wondering how many of the fellow students who ostracized me made aliyah? I'm betting none.

My dreamworld fits. I've always been drawn to turtles, but whenever I bought a turtle item, it would mysteriously vanish. Even the heavy garden turtle that I put in my yard one day, was gone the next. A couple years ago, I acquired two turtle objects, somehow knowing that they wouldn't vanish-- it was after I made the commitment to make aliyah. Just learned that turtle is the "matron animal" of Kohenet because turtle carries her house/shrine with her wherever she goes.

I have a very good friend in Arlan.

Gold Ray Quest - Descent

Pictures from the homework assignment that I just submitted.

Three Views of the Afterlife

Death is a topic that has always intrigued people. Many hope for or fear an afterlife, others believe it is the end of body, personality, and soul. My friend, Arlan, and I once had a long discussion about this, each of us holding a different perspective. He believes, sensibly I think, that death can only be the end, that no part of him will survive. I agree with him—-on an intellectual level. However, I understand how people are unable to fathom an end.

I told him of my experiences of Rene, my mother, and my father after each of their deaths. I'd always assumed that those experiences said something about me, certainly nothing about the afterlife. Arlan pointed out that those experiences say something about each of those people.

Photo by Rene's sister, Mona

Rene died at a time when I couldn't cope with one more loss. Surprisingly, her spirit seemed to linger with me, filling me with inexplicable laughter whenever I felt overwhelmed by her absence. She stayed with me for nine months, until the night I dreamed of unusual home where a woman was about to give birth. Rene had always been a source of laughter and joy, but this experience revealed her enduring presence in my life.

At the moment of my mother’s death, I saw her spirit ascend in an instant to a cloud where she held a harp and everything difficult about her had fallen away. My mother spent years hiding from the world; that was the afterlife she would have wanted.

While I had always known that Rene was a bringer of laughter, I had not recognized, at least not consciously, that my father had always been deeply afraid of everything, including death. After he died, I repeatedly saw him wandering alone in a barren landscape: lost, frustrated, afraid, and crying.

And then there was Butterfly (פַּרְפַּר), my beloved cat. My experiences of him after his passing were of an entirely different caliber: I knew they were real. After he passed away, his spirit visited me one night; he was as big as I am and he spooned himself against my back. Although he came to the house many other nights, on those occasions he focused entirely on reassuring his daughter, Nutmeg.

Might my experiences of those people have been shaped by the predominant and sometimes unexplored facets of their personalities? Were the things I saw actually windows into their souls or into my perceptions of them?

Whether my visions were true or not, they do suggest the complexity of human existence. There are so many mysteries that lie beyond our understanding; I’m not inclined to spend much time considering the possibility of an afterlife, but those experiences do prompt me to cherish the connections I have in this life.

Tarot BlogHop MidFall/Samhain 2017

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This season's topic suggestion from Jay Cassels was too emotionally charged for me to work with publicly. So I decided to take a different approach. I turned to a tarot spread developed by Carolyn Cushing to gain insight into how best to navigate this season. This reading allowed me to explore what sacred path I should follow, which contemplative practices would aid me on my journey, and which attitudes and behaviors would be most beneficial in undertaking these practices at this time.

To perform this reading, I divided my tarot deck into three piles: one containing the Majors and the Aces, another containing the other Number cards, and the last one containing the People cards. I shuffled each pile separately and drew one card from each to answer the following questions:

from right to left: 

The Teacher, the Ten of Earth, and the Explorer of Air

from The Gaian Tarot by Joanna Powell Colbert

1. What sacred path would best serve me this season?
The card drawn for this question was 5 - THE TEACHER. The image suggests embracing a mindset of continuous learning and growth. It encourages me to seek guidance by spending time contemplating nature, engaging in introspection, and learning to trust my insights. This season, the focus should be on personal development, embracing lessons from life experiences, and cultivating a deeper understanding of myself as well as a sense of oneness with creation.

2. What contemplative practice will help me move along this pathway?
The card drawn for this question was THE TEN OF EARTH, which symbolizes reflection on the cyclical changes of the seasons, ancestral wisdom, and my own legacy. It suggests engaging in practices that foster introspection and connection with my roots, both ancestral and experiential. Reflecting on the cyclical nature of life, honoring traditions, and contemplating the impact of my deeds on future generations can provide insights and a sense of purpose.

3. What attitudes and behaviors will be most helpful in undertaking this practice?
The card drawn for this final question was THE EXPLORER OF AIR, which represents curiosity, courage, and mental clarity. This season calls for achieving a mindset of openness to new perspectives and a willingness to explore different paths. By cultivating a sense of curiosity and embracing uncertainty, I will be able to navigate challenges with resilience and creativity. Focusing on my highest values and rising above negative thought patterns will be necessary to foster personal growth and self-awareness.

Since I chose to use The Gaian Tarot for this reading, it's no surprise that the reading emphasized spending time in nature as a way to experience this season. I've shifted from Carolyn's more mystical interpretations to more practical ones that can help me in personal development. This reading reminds me to reconnect with the natural world, learn from it, and trust in my own inner wisdom. Somehow, awareness of nature will go hand in hand with self awareness. I will reflect on how to develop resilience. As the season unfolds, I will keep these insights in mind and strive to walk the sacred path of learning and contemplation. 

If you ever find yourself wondering about the season ahead, perhaps a tarot reading like this one can provide you with the guidance and clarity you seek.

Click on the links below to read posts from other participants in the Tarot Blog Hop!

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Bright moments

Easy day because of a little help a friend had already offered me. Beautiful day because I'm in Eilat.
 
I was familiar with the bus stop and bus route to the doctor's today because Arlan had volunteered to come with me to that office the first time I had an appointment. (Bus 6 in front of the sefriyah.)

Today, I didn't know the bus schedule, but luckily arrived just seconds before the bus, and I didn't have to stand in the sun for an hour. After I got on the bus, Arlan texted me with a reminder of which streets and neighborhoods I'd travel before getting to my stop all the way across town. It felt good to recognize places in the city; the information he has been giving me on our walks has sunk in!

The last time, Arlan and I had gone to the mall from the doctor's office, so today I had to ask him which bus to take back home and where to catch it. I waited perhaps 60 seconds before it arrived. (Yay!) I could have gotten off on Yerushalayim HaShleima near WIZO, but stayed on much longer. The bus seemed to meander away from where I was headed, but eventually I recognized HaTivat HaNegev. The walk back to my apartment was short and the weather wasn't too hot.

The therapist's appointment was a big disappointment, not the chance to talk that I'd been waiting and waiting for. But when I returned home, I discovered that my internet had fixed itself. Thank goodness!

Poppy?

Soul candles and sukkahs

The Hebrew date of my mother's yahrtzeit is on motzei Yom Kippur. It's traditional to begin building a sukkah that night, after Yom Kippur goes out. What kind of ritual could I create for that evening, remembering my mother and using those memories to build a shelter for a figurative harvest, a shelter to dwell in while I journey under the wings of Shekhinah towards a place of promise?

Floating Sukkah, photo by Shoshana Jedwab and sukkah by
the Isabella Freedman Jewish Retreat Center. 

Tomorrow is the Gregorian date of the anniversary of my mother's death. At sunset this evening, I lit a ner neshama for her, on my bedroom altar, since, because it's not Shabbos, it can be moved before I go to bed and the flickering light won't haunt me all night. (I'm not shomeret-anything anymore, but a rule or two has stuck with me.)

At the center of my altar is an image of Leah. Before I lit the candle, I said spontaneously,

Leah, please embrace my mother and comfort her. Sarah, Rivkah, Bilhah, Rachel, Zilpah, v'Leah, my Mothers, welcome Dolores, daughter of Mary, daughter of Susan, Daughter of Brigit. Hold her; heal Dolores, mother of Jeannine. Help me understand her and teach us to embrace.

 Then I recited Kaddish and El Malei Rachamim.

Leah by Sara Novenson

The date of my mother's yahrtzeit should be easy to remember: motzei Yom Kippur. I always remembered it when my father was still alive (he'd nod his approval and say, "God damn Jews do something right"), but I've forgotten the date many times since he passed away. Some years, if I remember soon enough, it's possible to light a "makeup candle" on the Gregorian date (this evening).

Perhaps if I understood her better, I'd have a stronger connection to her and I would remember. Or perhaps, her passing was so difficult for me, that part of me needs to forget. There was the horror of her dying, the horror of how she died, and the added horror of sensing in myself some relief that she was gone and that I didn't need to be afraid any more. 

I believe that during some period of my life, perhaps when I was an infant, my mother must have shown me love. Otherwise, why would I have always longed for her love? Looking back on the years that I can remember, all I can say is "God, that woman really hated me."

This past Rosh HaShannah and Yom Kippur were amazing and gave me insights and hope for the future. Over the last few days, the hope has faded and most of the insights, too. Then I zoned out for nineteen hours last night, the night before I was to light a ner neshamah for my mother.

I always remember to light a candle for my father's yahrtzeit. I've come to understand him. I don't understand my mother. I recognize that she was in hiding most of my life. I didn't discover until after she died that she had no friends or even acquaintances (she always spoke as if she did), she seldom left the house, and, during the last few years of her life, she brilliantly concealed her senility.

Was her reclusiveness her choice or my father's? He did try to keep me isolated, so maybe he was the cause of her isolation, too. (Then again, she tried to keep him isolated-- a year or two before she died, she said we shouldn't let him go out and talk to people because "he says terrible things about us.")

I know little about my mother's life. The one time I dared asked how my parents met, my mother silenced my father; so it was only when she was dying that he told me they married after knowing each other for only two days. (Was the story he told me true?) I know three of her babies died and I imagine she had many miscarriages because of her A-Negative blood type. I know that when she was a little girl, she had a Russian friend named Valentine, and that she found a copy of Lady Chatterly's Lover hidden underneath her mother's mattress. She told me that her mother-in-law was mean and that I looked just like her. She once told me that she hated how her father treated her mother. She gave me very little advice (most of it insane) and told me family histories that I later learned were not true, but I don't know if she was untruthful or out of touch with reality.

I recall only a few motherly moments with her. And two thought provoking moments. Many occasions when she was viciously cruel. And a couple of occasions when she was mean without apparently intending to be.

Who was this woman that I am commanded to honor, this woman I want to love?

Hugging Dad

Rabbi Berg isn't a hugger, so I was so touched by the enthusiastic hug he greeted me with on Rosh HaShannah. I'm also not a hugger, so my response was a tiny bit clumsy.

Once, when I was five or six, and wanted to show solidarity with my father when my mom was yelling at him, I threw my arms around him. He shouted back at her, "Now look what you've made her do!"

Years later, when I was dropping him off at the airport, I tried to hug him and he avoided it by quickly bending over to pick up his suitcase.

Moments after he died, I tried to lean over the hospital bed and hug him. The rail on the hospital bed was too high, so I couldn't.

At least I'm not an abomination

The statement “A woman wearing a tallis and wrapping tefillin is an anathema to Orthodox women” was a response I encountered during a Facebook discussion on Ryan Bellerose's page. It is frustrating to witness Jewish women cursing fellow Jewish women who choose to observe the mitzvot, the commandments of our Torah, particularly when Israel is under serious threat from Christian missionaries and Islamic terrorists.

Living in Israel, I have experienced the unfortunate reality that I cannot freely pray at the Kotel while wearing my tallit, unless I am prepared to risking being spat on or subjected to physical violence.

I struggle to comprehend why Orthodox women feel compelled to dictate whether other Jewish women should wear tallitot or wrap tefillin. Why should the practice of another person or another community interest them?
The Rabbis stated that women are not obligated to observe time-bound mitzvot (with the ironic exceptions of lighting Shabbat candles, immersing in the mikveh, and taking challah, which are all required of women and are definitely time-bound). However, the Rabbis never prohibited women from observing other commandments. In fact, the Talmud even mentions women who observed the mitzvot and it regards such actions positively. The daughters of Rashi, a renowned medieval commentator on the Talmud, wrapped tefillin. Were they considered anathemas? Certainly not!

Ryan has deleted all comments to this pos

Ryan's underlying concern is the prohibition on Jews praying on the Temple Mount, which is indeed a significant issue. However, it is important to acknowledge that we cannot democratically change this reality. In 1967, Israel regained control of Jerusalem, which had been conquered and occupied by Jordan in 1949. As part of a diplomatic resolution, Israel entrusted Jordanian Islamic authorities with control over the Dome of the Rock and the Al-Aqsa mosque. Prayer at the Western Wall, which is located below the Temple Mount, falls within the purview of Israeli democracy.

There is no valid reason for Damon Rosen to falsely claim that everything is perfectly satisfactory at the Kotel nor should he denigrate non-Orthodox Jews by referring to them as 'Jewish-in-quotes.’

Our sages, Chazal, asserted that the destruction of the Temple was a consequence of baseless hatred among Jews, and sadly, such hatred exists today. Damon's words only fuel the fires of animosity.

During the High Holy Days, while I was in the United States, I was free to wear my tallit in public as I prayed as a Jew. It was a personal and meaningful experience that did not harm anyone and felt right. However, living in Israel, I will not be able dance with a Torah scroll on Simchat Torah this year, a holiday that signifies our joy in receiving the Torah. This limitation is due to the influence of right-wing Orthodoxy on practices and norms here.

In all other areas of Israeli life, diversity is accepted and we celebrate our shared heritage. Divisions that affect our spiritual lives are a real anathema.

Looking over the mehitza, stealing a siddur, and desecrating it!

Fast Reading

I get lost when I do emotionally charged readings for myself. So I did these three readings really fast, so I wouldn't have time to overthink. My thanks to Dianna Collins for insights into the Eight of Cups and The Hermit.

Middle row: what purpose should I strive to achieve now? 
2 Wands - it's time to take action, make a choice 
Emperor - be realistic and act logically, create structure 
Temperance - take a moderate approach but test yourself 
Conclusion: focus on immediate employment rather than dreams

Top row: how helpful to hire a career coach? (images mirror cards of middle row) 
3 Wands - action taken, creating a future  
King Coins - practicality and hard work lead to success 
10 Coins - financial success and dream of belonging 
Conclusion: it would be helpful

Bottom row: how helpful to move back to the US? (images seem to be the reverse of the middle row) 

Knight Swords - think through decision
8 Cups - painful act of letting go, might be nothing more to be done here 

Hermit - discern an entirely new path for yourself 

Conclusion - don't rush; give this some thought

There are no plastic shamans here

Indigenous activist and Zionist, Ryan Bellerose, sees the similarities between Indians (he seldom uses the term Native Americans) and the Jewish people. He sometimes fails to see the differences.

Jews have no difficulty understanding why cultural appropriation is offensive to Native Americans. Jews living in the United States are offended by cultural appropriation almost daily. ("Let me teach you what your Bible really means.") However, there is a difference. Native American culture is under threat, while our culture and traditions have survived and thrived in the face of massive cultural appropriation: namely, Christianity.

Ryan posted this article and declared that this Orthodox rabbi is the Jewish equivalent of a "plastic shaman."

Ryan is wrong. Rabbi Potek is not twisting Jewish practices to prey on gullible gentiles for profit. He is trying to bring Jews back to Judaism. However bizarre the headline, the article makes clear that he is not serving beer on Yom Kippur.

Maybe he saw Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer too many times?

Ryan seems to think that ultra-Orthodox Jews are the only "real" Jews. He isn't aware of how innovative and radical Judaism has always been (or how old Reform Judaism is) but he does think he's qualified to tell Jews what Judaism is.

Hmm, come to think of it, maybe there is a plastic shaman here. It may be you, Ryan.

Tarot Blog Hop - Mabon 2017

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I'll be traveling from September 19 until October 3, so I've post-dated this entry and it will (hopefully) appear at the same time as everyone else's. Unfortunately I may not be available to comment on other posts in this thread immediately.

________

We have been given the following instructions for our Autumn Equinox posts:

Think of a character from your favorite Tarot deck, tune on them and ask them what dishes they would prepare for Mabon – in a sacred way so that these dishes could be really healing and energizing for all of us. I wonder what the Empress, the High Priestess or the Hermit would cook? And how? Where? It can also be part of your writing. Or our more than charming Emperor, or the guys in 5 of Wands? Feel free to invent your own recipes, as well... If you are not really into cooking, what about creating your own beauty product(s) consisting of natural Mabon-components?

________

I asked, "What beauty secret can you share with me at this time?" The tarot provided this unexpected response:

from the Gaian Tarot

Five of Fire - Set your voice free, be yourself without hesitation or constraint. Don't be afraid of yourself. Don't avoid competition or struggle or any other part of life. 

This card is often interpreted as a card of conflict, internal or external. The RWS image also shows the potential for cooperation and harmony. (Those five wands could almost form a pentacle if the boys would work together.)

Harmony and beauty are not immediately apparent in the fiery image in the Gaian Tarot. However, two phrases come to mind, "speaking your truth" and "speaking truth to power." Throughout my life, whenever I need to speak up for myself, an invisible hand closes my throat. One of my aspirations has been to gain the ability to speak up for myself, to take care of myself. This card seems to address that aspiration. It encourages all of us to be ourselves, to acknowledge our own worth, and to embrace our unique voices.

Draw on your fiery energy to set your voice free as the Five of Fire suggests. Let people see who you are. First of all, you must let yourself see who you really are! You may find that you are beautiful. The Five of Fire encourages us to harness our inner fire, to liberate our voices, and to be unapologetically ourselves. It challenges us not to shy away from life's conflicts or competitions, but to embrace them as opportunities for growth and self-expression.

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Wishing all a good and sweet year

Arrived in Lake Oswego around noon the day before erev Rosh HaShannah.

Last year, it was a crazy idea to travel to Oregon for the High Holy Days, but I was so glad that I did. This year, it was five times crazier to do it. And again, now that I'm here, I'm so glad that I did.

There is no reason that Lake Oswego should feel like home, but my memories of the High Holy Days here last year are quite vivid and meaningful. There is no reason that Beit Haverim should make me feel like I did at Beth El, during "my ten good years," but it does. Alan and Bonnie would be mystified if they knew how important they are to me. Anticipation of being at their shul tomorrow has precipitated still more self reflection and, finally, some useful insights.

The views from the plane when we flew into Portland were beautiful. After living for two months in the hot desert of Israel, the greenness of Oregon and the clouds in the sky were a balm, and, as expected, the moderate temperature seemed quite cold to me. My Irish ancestors, who left Ireland in 1799, must have thought when they arrived in Oregon that it looked just like the home they had left. Could that be why I, too, felt as if I were coming home?

My cab driver was pleased to hear that I live in Israel. He is Kurdish and told me that Israel is the only nation supporting Kurdish independence. We talked a bit about mid-East politics. He moved to Portland from Iraq twenty years ago. I knew there is a Kurdish community in Jerusalem; he told me something I didn't know: that particular Kurdish community is Jewish.

After eating lunch, enjoying a view of the lake, and settling in, I slept for seven hours. 

At midnight, I wrapped myself in a comforter and sat near an open window listening to a light rain fall on the lake and the sound of a train whistle in the distance. In the dark, all I could see were the shapes of trees and a few lights reflected on the water. It was just one of those moments that feeds your soul... 

(Tomorrow, I will take my computer to a repair shop before I meet Jon for lunch, so I won't post again for a while. My memories will have to be preserved with pen and ink.)

What a great day!

The full moon of Elul hung low in the sky as I walked across town to meet Arlan during his daily walk. We went up into the hills above Eilat as the sun rose.

When I returned home, I found a message inviting me to meet the girls for coffee this evening. This is how life's supposed to be! 

(Except for the part about income.)

Lag baOmer

This year, Lag baOmer was celebrated for two nights in Jerusalem!

The holiday was "officially" postponed one day so that no one would violate Shabbat to prepare for it, but I smelled bonfires on both motzaei Shabbos and Sunday night. In fact, Sunday night, the air was thick with smoke.

I recently read that Lag BaOmer may have originated in a brief victory of Bar Kochba's troops against the Romans after a series of defeats. That rings true for me. It would mean the holiday is older than Shimon bar Yochai, and attributing it to a later figure reflects the rabbinic inclination to avoid celebrating rebellion or war. Dancing around bonfires for Shimon bar Yochai or the Kabbalistic "splendor within splendor" seem like a later accretion. The Bar Kochba rebellion origin also makes sense of the bows and arrows, symbols associated with the holiday.

Google image

Update: According to my employer, the Minister of Education made the announcement postponing Lag Ba'Omer just three weeks ago and it was a vain attempt to control people who don't observe Shabbat; people who are Shomer Shabbat obviously waited until after havdallah to light their fires. Most people had already made plans for the long weekend and didn't change their plans. So the real question, is "Who celebrated Sunday night?"

(Yay! Israeli kids have an extra day off from school!)

Journey

(In bed, not planning to record my journey.)

Journeyed to Lower World. Saguaro-square danced with me and then pointed to the desert in the south.

Returned.

(Drifted off to sleep)


EDIT: I moved south to Eilat. It saved my life.

What is my soul telling me?

I read the cards from right to left. 

Consider what shaped you.

Observe those who were raised differently.

Plant a seed and grow into a new person.

When I was nearly 40, my mother spoke words she hadn't uttered for decades. She threatened to kill me. A wave of nausea washed through my whole body and then a number of different thoughts flashed through my mind. Memories of my childhood fear of her resurfaced, yet I couldn't ignore the absurdity of her threat now that she was aged and diminished.

When I was growing up, my parents were really the only people in my life as we relocated incessantly. Whenever I forged connections with other children, my father's voice would erupt in a blend of anger and teary distress, admonishing, "They aren't your friends!"

Decades have passed and I've labored to ignored what Dad tried to teach me, that he was right. Slowly, it dawned on me that he was right. Even if I had the energy to sow another seed of hope, I don't want to risk deceiving myself again.

 

* Cards from the Aquarian Tarot.

Korban Pesach - the holiness we no longer recognize

I’ve long been curious about the ancient practice of sacrifice. Why, I’ve often wondered was the Book of Leviticus, filled with descriptions of these rituals, considered by many to be our holiest text? Yet, I confess that I cringed yesterday, upon reading that some Orthodox men planned to enact the ancient practice by sacrificing a lamb near Temple Mount before Passover.

Undoubtedly, my reaction is a product of modern sensibilities, the misconception prevalent in our era that meat originates from styrofoam packages in grocery stores rather than from once living beings. Kosher slaughter was designed to minimize animal suffering, but today, arguments from vegans and vegetarians challenge the morality of this practice under contemporary moral attitudes.

I am convinced that comprehending why our ancestors offered animals to God as sacrifices is important. However, I cannot bridge the gap between modern perspectives and ancient practices. Even Rav Kook was uncomfortable with the idea of animal sacrifice and predicted that only grain would be offered in the Third Temple.

Would watching the video of yesterday’s sacrifice provide me with some insight or merely be an act of voyeurism?

While studying Leviticus with my chevruta in the Tucson library, I did not come any closer to an understanding or acceptance of sacrifice. However, I stumbled across a book which includes a passage describing something like a sacrifice that occurred on the Navajo Reservation. While the significance of the ritual was lost to me, it clearly held meaning for its participants. I invite you to ponder this passage and share your thoughts.

But Native American Week officially ended in the courtyard.

Only the eighth-grade students were allowed to go there. We gathered in a loud crescent inside the courtyard that morning, while teachers monitored to make sure none tried climbing the cedar tree.

The smell of snow on cedar mixed with the metallic scent of clay when they brought Dibé (the sheep) from Mr. Bahe’s auntie’s ranch near Kinlichee.

Dibé had lost his fight during the fifteen-mile drive in the back of the pickup truck. Mr. Bahe carried him in like an old laundry sack, the legs bound with hay-wire. Mr. Yazzie followed in with a cedar log and a bowl large enough to toss a salad for eight. At least three students volunteered to hold them for him.

Jeers and laughter greeted Dibé as soon as he entered. My friends whistled, snapped fingers, raised eyebrows, and shouted breath-calls until Dibé rolled his eyes in his small skull and bleated loud and hoarse. We pushed close enough to smell the thick, sweet scent of alfalfa on his wool, to see the clay stains on his feet, dark like blood. But I noticed that everyone’s hands stayed in their pockets, and the feet furthest from Dibé bore most of the weight. The crowd grew silent.

This was the respect for animals that most Navajos practiced. Sheep were the “everlasting money” that had delivered the Navajos from starvation and poverty during many winters. Many traditional Navajos still refer to sheep as “the mother of the tribe” or “our mother,” and are as attached to their animals in the way some Anglos latch on to their cats or dogs. You didn’t insult or berate them.

Dibé never felt the cold concrete under him. His wool was still thick from the long winter. When they put him down, his neck began to swing, as though shaking away gnats in some sage-meadow of his obscure, fleeting memory.

Mr. Bahe, the eighth-grade algebra and geometry teacher, cupped the sheep’s head with his hand, lifted, and turned it to the sky. Mr. Yazzie, our wood-shop teacher, came behind him and braced the neck with the cedar log, so that it bowed and Dibé saw the world upside down. Mr. Bahe held Dibé under the chin and stretched him as his hand slipped into the pocket of his thick denim jacket. It came out holding a knife with a dark, six-inch blade. Mr. Yazzie came around Mr. Bahe with the bowl. No students stepped back. Some had seen this before.

Dibé was bleating hard now, and the steam from his breath clouded in the cold March air. In Diné Bikéyah—the traditional Navajo country—spring is slow, but the grass would be growing when winter was done. The grass would push up through the sand when it had collected enough water from the runoffs of the mountains. Dibé had never seen those mountains, but he’d been fed by them.

Mr. Bahe lifted his hand—as though to trace a parabola-graph or parallelogram model on his chalkboard—and used the dark knife for what it was meant. Dibé bleated until the knife cut his throat, and his hard gasps sprayed blood over his white wool like spots of warm rust. His bleating faded, flooded, as though Mr. Bahe had pushed a rag down Dibé’s throat, and the students made no noise while they watched the bowl fill. All of them, but Gabriel Smith.

Gabriel Smith, the son of a bilagáana from New Mexico, laughed.

The crescent of students turned on Gabe, as though he were chuckling at a paraplegic who’d fallen out of a wheelchair.

Angelo James put his fist into Gabriel’s shoulder and the laughing stopped.

Dibé sought the ground with his bound legs, tried to run, but only kicked at empty air. He flexed out, relaxed, then opened up. Steaming olive pebbles fell from his rectum. He was dead.

Mr. Yazzie pulled out his own knife and unbound the legs. Mr. Bahe ran the blade around the wrists in a neat circle, then cracked the bones with a sound like chalk breaking against a blackboard. The two teachers slit down the limbs, intersected to run along the chest and belly, and then took the skin away with careful, passing cuts of their knives to avoid damaging the thick, winter wool. Finally, Mr. Bahe cut through the neck and hewed off the head. He gave it to his aide, Roberta Tahe, who ran toward the fire pit at the far corner of the courtyard with the severed head dripping blood over her pink snow-boots. They would roast the head until the wool singed away. Two lucky students would get to eat the eyeballs.

Mr. Bahe took Dibé to the cedar and gave him to the highest bough. They hung the body by a single rope, and it glistening like plastic in the sun. Mr. Yazzie cut into the inverted belly and Buddy Nez brought a large mixing bowl to catch the pale stomach, firm and shiny like wet rubber, that slid out of Dibé. He ran it inside to the kitchen at the far end of the gymnasium.

Gabriel Smith snickered again. Phil Begay hit him this time, between the shoulders, and Gabriel grunted and squinted to hide his tears.

Mr. Yazzie, as his parents had taught him, found the pale joints of cartilage at the shoulders and hips, and cut away the hindquarters and front limbs one after the other. He gave them to the larger boys—mostly football players like Alfonso Wauneka—to take to the school secretaries tending the meat at the fire-pit.

Buddy Nez ran back from the kitchen, and, since his auntie was cooking at the pit, he got to eat the first cut from one of the thighs. He returned to the crescent, his mouth shiny and smiling. The rest of us moved to the fire pit, while one of the school secretaries met us with paper plates and thick paper towels. The far side of the fire pit was used to cook frybread. The fire hissed under the drops of fat falling through the iron grill and the flattened dough hovered over the sputtering lard in the pan.

There really is no taste like fresh mutton, one of the Navajo staples. It’s also one of the fattiest meats you can eat. Grill a mutton steak, then let it sit for more than twenty minutes, and it develops a white film of congealed fat over it that shines like shortening.

We ate strips of the salty, dripping mutton, wrapped in oval sheaves of frybread and joked about who kissed whom after class, who would be fighting after school and where it was going to be, or how Charles Kee quit the basketball team because he threw up on the last leg of sprints and slipped on—and into—the stripe of vomit he’d left on the waxed court of the Fieldhouse.

I went with some of my friends to the cafeteria kitchen, where two of the custodians showed us how to clean the intestines by filling them at the sink and rinsing over and over until their surface was clean like the skin of water-balloons.

One of the building custodians showed me how to pick the stomach free of k’ah, the fat that clumped like wet cotton on its surface. I ran the organ through my hands, feeling the inner wall, rough like a cat’s tongue against my fingers. It would be filled with blood, like the intestines, to bake as sausage.

The stomach was as slick as a fish’s skin, hard to pinch, but this was the slippery world I had known. I tried not to think about Mom’s talk about moving us from the Rez to work in some border town hospital. Maybe Farmington, maybe Page, or Inscription House. Perhaps even Phoenix. There would be better pay there, and a chance for Darren and me to compete for college scholarships that were practically nonexistent for Anglo students on the Reservation.

I picked the fat and tried not to think about it.

The next week would be the section exam for Algebra I, and Mr. Bahe would yell at his students to study like always. The Ganado Hornets would play the Window Rock Scouts on their way to the state championship that year. And they would spill the blood of their rivals from over the mountain summit on the court and in the parking lot afterward, pending the game’s score.

I left that day with mutton and frybread wrapped in paper towels to deliver to Mom, Carmen, and Lorinda Benally during their shift at the hospital. Mom was eating for two now, after all.

When I got home, I picked up Yanabah from day care, bundled her into her blanket, and we began our after-school stroller ride through Ganado. I tried not to think of leaving Ganado. It was like contemplating the death of a relative or a friend, something dreaded yet certain. I knew Mom was preparing applications and that she had even talked about working at the Navajo Generating Station, a coal-burning power plant just outside Page, Arizona. But I pushed the thoughts away and turned Yanabah’s stroller toward the horse corrals and the wash.

We eventually found ourselves along the barbed-wire fence perimeter of the campus, where the wash ran in a quiet, sparkling trickle below where Ferlin and I had outrun our skinwalker, where we’d built stick-dams, tracked the prints of deer and bears that followed the water south from the Defiance plateau summit, where we’d woven a quiet respect for the life of Diné Bikéyah, The People’s Land. A land that I felt had somehow become a part of and didn’t want to leave. Yanabah and I watched the wash sparkle and wind along its sandy bed.

- Kristofic, Jim, Navajos Wear Nikes: A Reservation Life. University of New Mexico Press. Kindle Edition.

Beit Haverim and Listening to My Soul

At least twice, I've written here about the importance of listening to intuition.

Last year, after a bout of insomnia, I made reservations to visit Oregon for the High Holy Days. For years, even before I sold my house, I'd had the feeling that I needed to go there.

After I'd made the reservations and gotten some sleep, I thought I'd made a crazy decision. However, moments after I arrived at shul on erev Rosh HaShanah, I knew it had been a good choice. I wrote, "Best thing I've done for myself in 22 years!"

There were many meaningful moments during that week, but what was most notable was how it felt to be there. I felt like I had during my "ten good years." It crossed my mind that I should cancel the reservation for my aliyah flight and move to Oregon instead of Israel. What I want most is community and Torah study.

Since I've made aliyah, I've longed for Jewish community, but been unable to make any connections. And, just about everything I've tried to do since I've been here has failed. It turns out that all the reasons I didn't make aliyah five years ago were sound.

Most people consider obstacles challenges to be overcome, but I've learned to think of them as signs that I'm heading in the wrong direction. Is that defeatism or realism?

This morning, after a rare full night of sleep, I made plane reservations to leave Israel. Was I responding to intuition or did I mistake some other feeling for intuition?

I'd rather live in Israel than in the United States, but the fact is, I can't live here. Just acquiring the basics is impossible for me. I haven't found a place to live, people to practice speaking Hebrew with, or friends to spend time with. In Oregon, I think I could have community and Torah study as well as a place to live and a job.

I need that elusive something that upheld me and propelled me forward during my ten good years and I might get it at Beit Haverim.

Then again... Israel is home. I missed it so much and it was such a struggle to get back. The political situation in America is frightening. Food and medical care are certainly superior in Israel. The potential for a better future is greater here than in the States, but I need help to achieve that potential. I do not manage well alone and I'm very alone.

Whenever I've had a good night's sleep  (presumably a good time to make a decision), I wake up with the certainty that I should return to the States. And every tarot reading I do, confirms that moving to Oregon would work out well for me.

Since I don't want my aliyah to be a waste, I made airline reservations to fly back to the States in five months, just before the High Holy Days, which will give me more time to learn Hebrew. (My appointment at Misrad HaKlita to request a second ulpan voucher is on April 30. I've also written to the Reform seminary, asking if I could hire a student to study the "new" Reform siddur with me.)

Round trip tickets were cheaper than a one-way ticket, so the option of returning to Israel will still be available to me, but I think a shul with a congregation that makes me feel strong and included, is the right place for me. Even though I will also be alone in (cold, rainy) Oregon, I will be in a country that I know how to navigate and I will speak the language, and I can be part of a Jewish community that uplifts me.

My first doubt came when I caught myself planning a seder for "next year in Portland," and realized that's just weird. I'm having many doubts. I will try to listen to my soul for guidance. (It's just so hard to hear my soul when I live in a place that is mostly pavement, garbage, and loud traffic.)

The Left and anti-Semitism

Trump worries me, but those protesting Trump most loudly worry me more. And Jews on the Left, who have been participating in the Trump hate fest, really screwed up.

For a while, antisemitism was in the news, but only as a way of maligning Trump. Trump is not the source of antisemitism and this would have been a good time to discuss the origins of antisemitism and how it is being expressed today. The media has consistently ignored that more than half the hate crimes in the US are directed against Jews. Jews could have spoken up about antisemites (predominantly other lefties), but they stuck single-mindedly to the Left's anti-Trump agenda.

Now the opportunity is gone. It turns out that all those those bomb threats American JCCs received were made by some disturbed, Israeli-American adolescent. You can bet that antisemitism will now be treated as an imaginary phenomenon, that conspiracy theories about Jews will start making the news, and that people will be even more inclined to believe lies about Israel.

Edit: Just in time for Passover, an explanation of how Jews help Putin and Trump rule the world.

The Missionaries - Part 2

Buses were not running last Friday because Derech Hevron was closed for the Jerusalem Marathon. I walked to the First Station, built in the 1890s for the first railway between Yaffo and Yerushalayim, which has been upgraded from an abandoned building to a bunch of highbrow restaurants. It was a nice day for a walk. At first, I was puzzled to see so few runners, further on, there were many, but running in opposite directions. Either there were multiple courses or a handful of people ran much, much faster than the majority.

I planned to spend my morning reviewing von Kellenbach’s book, Anti-Judaism in Feminist Religious Thought.

Earlier this month, KJ responded to a post on her Facebook page, writing that this would be the first summer in fifteen years that she won’t attend camp at the Williamsburg Christian Retreat Center. It’s not as if I needed confirmation that she, like the rest of her family, faked her conversion to Judaism in order to obtain aliyah benefits, but I had held out a lot of hope. She hid or deleted the post shortly after I saw it, so I couldn’t comment on it.

I don't understand why it makes me cry. I wish understood myself better.

After worrying about it a lot, I eventually decided to talk with her. I don’t know her family’s motives (but her parents frighten me) and I doubt anyone has ever told her the Jewish perspective on Christian missionary activities. She’s smart enough, and possibly compassionate enough, to understand or at least comprehend why it’s wrong.

After reviewing the book for a couple hours, I had begun to wonder whether the conversation would even be possible. Christians do this kind of thing when they are unable to view Judaism as a separate and valid religion. Katerina von Kellenbach writes that antisemitism continues because of "the Christian inability to accept Judaism as a different and equal religious alternative." What KJ’s family is doing epitomizes that inability.

KJ seems more open than the rest of her family, but every time I've seen her offered a chance to learn about Judaism, she has avoided it and changed the subject.

I literally cried on Chaya’s shoulder, but Roni had the same question I’ve been asking myself. “Why are you crying? It’s not like we didn’t know.” Chaya told me once again to contact Yad L'achim, the anti-missionary group.

A couple of days ago, I went to someone whose advice I trust. Without mentioning names, I explained the situation and asked if he thought I should talk with her. He told me, without hesitation, to call Nefesh b'Nefesh. He said that last year, an "olah" admitted to him that she was a Christian. He told NBN and revoked her aliyah benefits.

I'm still not sure what to do. KJ is a smart person who might wise up to her indoctrination, and she could save lives if she serves in the IDF. However, her terrifying parents are returning to the country soon; talking with the mother is reminiscent of a medieval Jewish history class I once took.

Christianity is the source of Western antisemitism and has caused the deaths of millions of Jews over two thousand years. No Christian should be taking money intended to help Jews return to Israel. (We finally get away from them and they follow us here!)

I still hesitate to act. Nefesh b'Nefesh has not proved itself to be a competent organization; would they be willing to admit their mistake and address this? What would be the repercussions for me if the family isn't expelled from the country but learns that I turned them in?

It may be that they haven't actually broken a specific law. Months ago, I broke down crying in front of Jason, the city of Jerusalem olim representative. I told him about my living situation at the hostel. Since they hadn't tried to convert me, he didn't understand why I was upset.

I know that I’m right to be upset.

But why am I so upset about learning that KJ has deceived us all. Perhaps it’s simply disappointment in learning once again that people who don’t respect Judaism want to cling to their prejudices. Or perhaps it’s because that I prefer not to see negative traits in people I consider my friends.

March 24 – Yesterday, I went to the shiva for Chaya’s mother, who survived work camps and Bergen Belsen. Many words of Torah were spoken and as I walked back from the Old City, I recognized that turning the family in is the right thing to do. Israel is the home of the Jewish people, not of Christian missionaries.

March 27 - I was worried about being a "tattle tale" but I find myself feeling relieved for taking action and reporting them. Neither Nefesh b'Nefesh nor The Jewish Agency is going to take any action, but I did my part to protect the Jewish people from those who mean us harm. (And I got a pat on the back from RM Bellerose.)

The Missionaries - Part 1 is here

Settled

Small Jerusalem hotel seeks services in exchange for room. Short-term 3-4 months starting immediately. Prefer English-speaking , with current visa. Services include helping with coffee shop and relief shifts at front desk. Hebrew helpful, but not required. Email your information.

I have a job and a place to live! A free room and breakfast at a small hotel in exchange for working at the reception  desk of a small hotel.

Maya, a friend from ulpan, found the advertisement on Janglo just a few days ago and forwarded it to me.

I applied immediately and had an interview the next day. Relying on public transportation to reach a job interview on time was nerve wracking. I took a bus, got off at the wrong stop, and wandered around lost, but still managed to be early for my first interview. After a second interview and two training sessions, I know how to get there.

A French girl assigned to the bed above mine at the Post Hostel took great interest in helping select my wardrobe for the second interview. That was a very good thing, as was her lecture after I was offered the job. It took more chutzpah than I usually exhibit, but I wrote to the boss and asked her to confirm the details of our agreement in writing.

I am required to work a few more hours than I'd believed. Maya was disappointed. She thought that 40 hours a week for room and board was unfair and she didn't want me to miss the last few weeks of ulpan. However, I haven't reviewed my finances since the apartment fiasco and I still don't want to.

I doubted my ability to make a wise decision. One morning, Zakai, a newer student in the class, heard me explaining my dilemma and pointed out that taking the job would solve two problems at once, expenses and a place to live, and that, in the grand scheme of things, missing the last few weeks of ulpan would be insignificant.

His points made sense, so with some trepidation, I packed my bags and schlepped them across Jerusalem. I think I made a good decision.

My responsibilities are shamefully few. All I have to do is set the tables for breakfast and make a list of rooms that require cleaning. I've gotten in the habit of emptying the dishwasher, putting the dishes away, tidying the lobby, and in the morning, bringing in the newspaper and bread delivery. I've also started making a list of people checking in and out the next day, noting which bills have been paid. I hope it helps the next person on shift.

Everyone who works here is very pleasant. Samy who trained me, came in half an hour early the first morning to relieve me and gave me his phone number so I can call with questions in the middle of the night if necessary.

My bed is comfortable and the bathroom is decent. There is no desk in the room, so I have to study in the lobby/dining area, but it's usually quiet enough. It's nice to hear bird song instead of city traffic.

So far, I've only worked night shifts (midnight to 8 o'clock) and haven't missed ulpan once. However, I can't make myself sleep during the day, so my brain is very foggy. The building is very old so I hear every person talking in the stairwell or hallway, every key opening a door, every tv, and even the phone ringing in the lobby. Something usually wakes me as I'm drifting off to sleep.

Google image

I've seen my boss deal with employee errors (not mine-- yet) with tact and she is probably the nicest boss I've ever had. After my first week, I mentioned to her that I hadn't been sleeping and she told me that I should get a pillow and blanket from the linen room and sleep on the couch by her office during my shift. (I recall pretty clearly, her husband telling me during my first interview that sleeping on duty was not allowed.) If all the guests have checked in, I curl up at 2:30 and sleep until a box of bread slams against the front door around 5:00, acting as my alarm clock. It's not quite enough sleep, but it helps. The other "volunteer," Andrea, told me that it took her about three weeks to sort out her sleep, so soon I should be straightened out sometime next week.

I'm the only monolingual person here (everyone else speaks between two and four languages!), so I'll probably continue to be scheduled at night. And since the other volunteer is going to Hebrew University, I'll probably continue to get exactly the same schedule I did the first week. It means that, if I ever want to, I could be shomeret Shabbos again.

For now, I just want to finish ulpan and take the exam. I'm not sure what's next. Perhaps I'll stay here over the summer and take a second ulpan. If I learn to make do with one meal a day, my only expense will be the bus and incidentals.

Seeing Jerusalem and Finding a Roommate

I finally feel as if I'm in Israel!

Touring the Temple Tunnels and some other sites in the Old City last Friday was such a nice change from my routine of the last several months and companionship improved my mood and outlook. Then on Shabbos, I came close to catching up on my Hebrew (I'd missed two days a couple of weeks ago because of a bad cold).

Last week, I'd had to once again move into an expensive hotel because the Post Hostel was fully booked. That's when I met Sam. She was making a short stop here on the way back to New Zealand after spending some time in England helping her mother move. I told her that she could visit a class at Ulpan Morasha on Sunday. She loved it and impulsively decided to stay in Israel for another six months.

We've been apartment hunting-- and she's very good at it! We've viewed dozens of nice places this week. (How in the world has she found them?!) She seems committed to staying in Israel and has registered at Ulpan Milah.

Aaron unexpectedly offered to come with us tonight to look at an apartment on the corner of King George and Agron. It's very nice and, since the former tenants were with the US Embassy, I'm guessing everything works and there won't be any surprises. It's large and clean; it's furnished, the kitchen is good, and the balcony wraps around half the building. The building is known as "the ugliest building in Jerusalem," but who cares when the inside is so nice? The price isn't too high; most of the apartments Sam found were very expensive. Aaron and Doron were wild about it and I'm ready to get a copy of the contract and have an attorney look at it. (This time I'm hiring an attorney!) However, Sam isn't sure and needs a night to sleep on it.

Edit: Sam didn't want that particular apartment and eventually she left the country. The landlord agreed that I could rent the apartment by myself and add a roommate to the contract when I found one. Instead, I took a job at a hotel, a room in exchange for 40 hours a week working in the lobby.

Character

I dreamed of Alan and Bonnie last night. Bonnie was explaining to me how Alan cares the way he does. Many times, I've wished I could apprentice with Alan, learning his skill and compassion in comforting mourners and respecting the departed. However, I've always know that these abilities come from within him and cannot be taught. It's a matter of character and perhaps also of upbringing. Bonnie's heart and brain work together, too. I know no one else like them and I wish I could be like them.

No Revelation Without Interpretation

I knew that I couldn't have been the first to notice! And, in fact, not only modern feminists, but also the Rabbis recognized that Moses interpreted God's words and, in doing so, seems to have changed their meaning. (Maybe that's the point.)

And HaShem said to Moses, "Go to the people and warn them to stay pure today and tomorrow. Let them wash their clothes. Let them be ready for the third day; for on the third day HaShem will come down, in the sight of all the people, on Mount Sinai. You shall set bounds for the people round about... When the ram's horn sounds a long blast, they may go up on the mountain."

Moses came down from the mountain to the people and warned the people to stay pure... And he said to the people, "Be ready for the third day: you should not go near a woman."

The Rabbis wanted to clarify that both men and women were participants in theophany and they interpreted the phrases, "Thus shall you say to the house of Jacob and declare to the children of Israel," to refer respectively to the men and the women."

Rashi interpreted Moses's instructions as way to ensure that women could be present. Since semen loses its purported ritual impurity after three days, if men stayed away from women, then women could be ritually pure during revelation.

What should we think of Moses changing the words of the divine command?

Judith Plaskow writes,

"Several lessons can be drawn from this. One is the inseparability of revelation and interpretation. There is no revelation without interpretation; the foundational experience of revelation also involves a crucial act of interpretation. Second, we learn that the process of interpretation is ongoing. What Moses does, the Rabbis in this case seek to undo. While they reiterate and reinforce the exclusion of women in many contexts, they mitigate it in others. Third, insofar as the task of interpretation is continuing, it now lies with us. If women's absence from Sinai is unthinkable to the Rabbis-- despite the fact that they repeatedly reenact that absence in their own work-- how much more must it be unthinkable to women and men today who function in communities in which women are full Jews? We have the privilege and the burden of recovering the divine words reverberating behind the silences in the text, recreating women's understandings of revelation throughout Jewish history." (The Torah, A Women's Commentary)

It's our privilege and responsibility to interpret Torah and we do so within a 4,000 year old tradition.

Maale Adumim

I've spent almost a week in a town over the Green Line called Maale Adumim. It's a city really, but so much quieter and cleaner than Jerusalem, with many more trees and views of undeveloped valleys and of Jerusalem. The air is clean and there's so little traffic that you can hear the birds sing. I felt my heart open up the first time I came here to visit with Maya and Ivan.

The commute via bus and train to Jerusalem is inconvenient, but seeing bare earth rejuvenates my soul, which I did not even realize needed rejuvenating.

The commute has its up side. One day, when traffic was particularly bad and I was beginning to be annoyed, the bus crested a hill and a view of the Old City appeared before us. Amazing!

Last week, Maya and Ivan helped me schlep my three small bags and drum on public transport and then Ivan helped me track down the home I'd be staying in. (Never would have found it without him!) Then we walked to their home. I spent some time with them before taking a short walk, buying a few groceries at a tiny, Ethiopian makolet, and enjoying the view of a forested valley in front of Dennis's and Batyah's home.

I should have taken pictures, but I was so caught up in looking that it never occurred to me.

Friday was great! I've been wondering about the rhythm of the week here. In the States, Shabbat begins right at the end of the work week, so you have to spend a little time every day preparing for Shabbat, and then, after enjoying Shabbat, you have Sunday to either rest some more or run errands. Here it often feels that we don't have a weekend at all. You spend Friday morning rushing to do errands or see sites before everything shuts down in the early afternoon.

I think this past Friday are what Fridays in Israel are supposed to feel like, a gentle movement toward Shabbat. I took a very early morning walk, then went back to bed, did my laundry, and helped a tiny bit with Shabbos cleaning. The art museum was closed and so was the archaeological site, so then I walked past stunning views to the kanyon (K.N.H. - shoresh for buying) and wrote a little bit.

Maya had started a new job my first day there and was also very, very sick, so I hadn't see much of her, which was one of the main reasons I came out here for the week. On Friday, she dragged herself out to spend time with me. We sat on the grass near some olive trees in front of the town's knesset, enjoying the warm sun watching a black and tan raven and talking about Tolkien and aliyah. Maya really should have been in bed resting, but I was so glad we had that time together.

She took me to a grocery store and showed me how to "rent" a shopping cart. I  managed some short, Hebrew conversations in the grocery store (Yes, I can save your place... Sorry, sir, there's one person ahead of you...) before heading back to Dennis's and Batyah's home.  I admired the view, their son showed me how to set a table, and then I began reading the weekly parasha.

To my surprise, Dennis asked if I'd like to walk to shul with him. It was kind of him, but I didn't want to sit alone in the girl's section and try to remember my way around the prayer book, so I stayed to finish reading the parasha and to light candles with Batyah.

Just three months of intensive Hebrew has transformed how I read the parasha! I could locate words and phrases more easily, knew what to look up, and wondered at past tense verbs that shouldn't have been in the past tense. It was the most fun I've ever had reading the parasha alone. Just think what a few more years of study could do for me!

I had interacted with Dennis and his children just a little and had barely seen Batyah before the weekend, so I wondered what Shabbat dinner would be like. Fabulous! Dutch melodies are different, but they asked me what my favorite song was and Dennis (for obvious reasons) knew the Sephardic tune that I love. And discussion of the parasha was relaxed and inquisitive. Dennis also explained the "tense changing vav" to me.

Woke early again, Shabbat morning. The sun was warm and I listened to birds singing and gazed at the trees. This is the kind of place I need to live in. I feel human again.

My day was very Jewish, if unobservant. It was Tisha B'av and I listened to an online meditation and a lecture by Jill Hammer about the evolution of Tisha B'av observance. Then I walked some more and took a Shabbos nap. I was reading when Batyah invited me to join them for havdallah. How nice of them! It's one of my favorite rituals.

My time here was wonderful, but I won't stay any longer. The local aliyah rep would help me find an apartment in Maale Adumim, but it's not the town for me. I think I'd be too alone. Dennis doesn't think a single woman could find community. I don't think I'd see much of Ivan and Maya, and besides, they will be moving away at the end of the summer. It's a shame, because I like Maale Adumim so much more than Jerusalem.)