Crossing the Bridge

I'm going to admit something. It's the reason I don't blog as often as I should, and the reason that when I do--it's solely based on my grand adventures. I'm homesick, and I don't like to talk about it.

I was disappointed to find that I am not the adventurer I thought I was. It takes a brave soul to leave home, set out into the world and put themselves at the will of the universe. But I came here for a reason: to be the globetrotting storyteller. I have a story to tell, and I am going to tell it.

This life is not for everyone. Surprisingly, it did not take me long to get used to the fact that I hardly ever know what people are saying around me. The cultural shock, (while yes, was quite a shock) did not scare me. I found it exciting, and still do. It's a challenge. I just never expected to miss home as much as I have, and it sinks in the most during the holidays. Needless to say, the past few weeks have not been easy. There is something about the smells and sounds of your own home that are irreplaceable. They blend into your consciousness with memories of childhood, of family gatherings, of dinners and brunches, of barbecues, birthdays, and holidays... Every Friday night, as the Sabbath sun sets over Jerusalem, I can hear "The Phantom of the Opera" playing from the worn out speakers of my parents old record player. I can see my mother in the kitchen; the gentle flicker of the Shabbat candles. The house smells of roast chicken, and my entire family is there. When your life has been built on a foundation of familial traditions, new experiences are difficult to compare. The every day events that you left behind, become the extraordinary ones--the ones you find yourself longing for. The grass is always greener.

I've always dreamed of traveling the world--of discovering strange, far-off places tucked away in hidden nooks and crannies across the globe. "The world is too big, and too beautiful to ignore." I'd say. Despite desperately missing the familiar, I have found that I thrive on the unpredictable. My creativity flourishes when the world unfolds before me like a pop-up map. Every morning as the sun climbs across the sky, I see the Old City on the horizon. The crisp mountain air is laced with hints of wild rosemary and sage, and everywhere I look there is beauty to be found. I remember how unhappy I was working in Manhattan. I can still see the gray skies, and the towering buildings whose enormous shadows blocked the warmth of the sun from my face. I can still hear the subway screeching to a stop as a gust of warm air rushes by. I don't miss that.

I do miss my family.

Every year Jews from all over the world sit down with their families to retell the story of the Exodus from Egypt, and every year we say "Next year in Jerusalem." Last year was different; when I said it - I meant it. I wished and prayed that my life would somehow lead me to Jerusalem; that I would find a way there, and spend my time exploring the city and land that I yearned to be a part of.

This year when I said it -- Jerusalem of Gold shone brightly in my eyes. It was everything I had wanted, but something was missing. I felt unsatisfied. I missed home. I've come to the conclusion that I cannot be the wandering gypsy I always thought I was. I need the comforts of home every once in a while. But on days like today, when the wind is wild and I feel the breath of freedom pulsing through my veins--anything is possible. There are endless adventures to be had. Millions of stories to be heard, waiting to be told.

I came to Jerusalem nearly ten months ago. In my mind, this was it. The game-changer. In Jerusalem, I would finally find the answers I'd been looking for. What I've realized is that everyone experiences fear. It comes to us right before we cross the bridge. We can see the path ahead--it is obscured by clouds of doubt, the bridge is unsteady. It would be so easy to turn back, but instead, we must inhale deeply and push on. We must move forward, if only to find out what lies on the other side of the quarry. Perhaps we will be met by another bridge. Perhaps not.

Sometimes, I find myself longing to be home. I want to turn back to where it's safe; where it's easy. But I came here to learn, explore, write and make good art...and I'm not giving up on myself. Not this time.

"Onward!!!"

PS: Today will be a double feature. 

Please check back later for my special Yom HaShoah piece--

"We Are Still Here: Remembering the Holocaust in Israel"

Thoughts for My Family on Passover

As I walked up the driveway after a long but productive week, I couldn’t help but smile. Music danced through the front door, which had been left open just enough to allow the comforting smell of matzo ball soup seep into the street. There was something so familiar about it: the music, the smells…and then, once I was inside, the sight of my mother. My mother, who stood with her back to me as she stirred the soup, singing loud and off pitch to the music that spilled from the speakers of her old turntable.

Oh yes, this was familiar alright.

These were the sights and smells I grew up to-every Friday night. Back then, the music was almost always “Phantom of The Opera” and instead of soup, it was roast chicken. The most I could be trusted to do back then was pour chips into a bowl and set it on the snack table. I smile, as I watch my mother singing her way through the kitchen. Ah, well, there is work to be done. I put away my “big girl” bag, which is always stuffed with my handy dandy laptop, several notebooks and a handful of pens, at least one copy of my manuscript, an inspirational poem, and whatever book I am reading at the time. I kick off my shoes, and head into the kitchen, where I join the singing. We get along best like this, my mother and I, as we participate in the traditions that have become the foundation of our family life.

Now, despite the awful fuss over cleaning the kitchen, preparing the meal and a week of matzo pizza (delicious, but by day five it gets kind of old.), I love Passover. I love how my family comes together, and the idea that all over the world, there are thousands of other Jewish families arguing over who has to do the four questions this year. The Seder is not just your average holiday dinner. It is a moment. A moment shared by thousands of people, that connects us not only to our immediate family-but to the collective Jewish family of the past, present and future.

Just think about that for one second. All over the world, RIGHT NOW, Jews are gathering to begin the retelling of Our story.

We all know the story of Passover. We learned it in Hebrew School, we read it twice a year. Heck, we've even watched Charlton Heston part the Red Sea. The whole thing risks become routine. But tonight, by sitting around the Seder table tonight and reciting the story of our Exodus from Egypt, we are honoring our past, not just as individuals, but as Jews. This moment links us to our past, and paves the road for our future.

We were liberated out of Egypt, but this did not come until hundreds of years of suffering. But the story of Passover is not one of our suffering. It is one of our liberation and redemption. Our? I always found it interesting that we tell the story of Passover in first person. "We were slaves in Egypt..." But we weren't, so why say that? We have led comfortable lives. We are reclining in our chairs, the wine is sweet, the food is plentiful and the company is warm and loud. But still, "WE were slaves in Egypt." Why "WE"? Because by imagining ourselves as slaves of Egypt, we learn empathy and we learn hope.

Empathy to fill our lives and the lives of those around us with love, and Hope that we will be liberated from our own personal sufferings, however big or small.

By identifying ourselves with our ancestors, we strengthen our current place in the world as Jews. We learn how to face hatred, and we learn how to prevail.

Instead of dreading the telling (and retelling and retelling and retelling) of The Passover Story, we must share this moment, every year, and we must cherish it. Yes, the story is the same. But we are not. We have a whole new year of experience and lessons behind us. Do not forget that WE were slaves in Egypt.