It's officially Rosh Hashanah here in Jerusalem: the start of a new year. It's hard to believe the High Holidays have begun, even though the deluge of Chagim-inspired advertisements began to permeate Israel a few weeks ago, and in spite of the recent, fall-inspired change of weather. It's hard to believe, even though every single checkout clerk and waiter, telephone operator and bus driver, is wishing me a Shana Tova.
It's hard to believe it because I'm not where I always am: somewhere in California, leading services, with my family as my guests. Wearing a suit and tallit. Surrounded by Throat Coat, bottled water, and stacks of music. It's the first year since 1997 (that's 11 years, people) where I am not participating in High Holiday services in some way. So it just feels bizarre, and unusual.
Quite honestly, this didn't impact me until I actually sat my ass down at services tonight. I'd been operating on this mentality that I was totally, one-hundred percent excited to be here in Israel. That I was one-hundred percent okay with being a participant in services. Of course I missed being with my family, and being the Shaliach Tzibbur, but I wasn't really thinking about any of that. I was more mentally immersed in soaking up my High Holiday experiences here in the Holy Land than in lamenting the life I used to lead. This could be looked at as a good thing by some.
But then tonight actually happened.
Tonight, while sitting amongst my friends in the Blaustein Ballroom on HUC's campus, I had tears in my eyes and pride in my soul. In that beautiful room overlooking the Old City, I listened as my cantorial student friends sang beautifully. I contemplated the meaning of my existence as Rabbi Marmur delivered a fantastic, stirring sermon. I laughed and clapped with my classmates through a five-course dinner and rousing song session. I looked around and thought, "Wow. It IS a new year, and I'm here celebrating it with all these wonderful human beings." Far from home, but still enveloped in a whole lotta love.
As I listened to the choir, comprised entirely of cantorial students (all female) and a few rabbinical men, it really and truly hit me that that part of my life is over. I had a moment, during Nancy's Avinu Malkeinu solo, where I really got it. I am no longer going the route of the cantor. It's officially over. The career I wanted, the training I devoted myself to, it's all over. I believe it led to something truly wonderful, something I was simply meant to do. But perhaps I needed this High Holidays in Jerusalem to really accept and acknowledge the loss.
The problem is, I love this music terribly. I think it is so beautiful. I still have a tremendous connection to all of it, and wished at several points this evening that I could be up there with them. As a student rabbi, and hopefully in my career, I will definitely be able to sing. I WILL learn guitar, and I will play it. I will lead services, and I'll rock the Janowski Avinu Malkeinu. I will make it happen, and it will be on my terms.
Last September I was tiptoeing into a new world, fairly certain I wanted to become a rabbi. And now, twelve months later, I am here in rabbinical school, where I felt I was always meant to be. It's funny how things come full circle. And it's odd how feelings you thought were lying dormant deep inside you bubble to the surface at the most random of moments.
All in all, it was a deeply moving and powerful service. It evoked feelings and memories within me from years of prayer at Stephen S. Wise. And it brought me even closer to my classmates and friends, all of whom I think so highly of.
So to each of you I send my warmest hugs and my best wishes for a sweet, beautiful new year. Even in these troubled times, in America and abroad, may we hold on to a sense of optimism that if we will it, things will indeed become right again.
Much love,
Jaclyn
Monday, September 29, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
The joy in the struggle
Something peculiar is happening to me here in Israel. Something I suspected would happen, but not to this extent. It's something I feel so proud of, yet terribly surprised by. It's perplexing as to why it's happened after Adam's departure. And all of it has been on my mind all day, through the rigmarole of my life as a rabbinical student at a Reform seminary in religious, pre-Chagim Jerusalem.
As I distance myself further and further from my former life, I find myself more and more captivated by the direction I'm heading towards. I'm walking into school each day more eager and excited to learn than I ever was in high school or college. I'm cultivating incredible respect and deep admiration for my teachers, and furthering bonds with future colleagues and friends. I open my books and feel enchanted by what they can offer me. I'm hanging on every word in lecture. I feel so tremendously blessed to be receiving this education. I'm participating, I'm engaged, and I'm fully present in this role as student; as rabbi-to-be.
Perhaps the most surprising of all, I'm starting to feel a part of my community. I smile at the familiar faces and they smile back. I laugh at the young boys with peos and tzitzit playing in the park near our apartment. I have short, simple conversations with locals in Hebrew and walk away with a smile on my face. I have a genuine relationship with my laundry man, who recently welcomed a baby into the world. All this after two months of only observing obnoxious Israelis, shockingly expensive groceries, and 20-year-old pregnant married women pushing baby strollers. Two months of heat as intense as the dialogue between Israelis and Arabs. Two months of discomfort, of unsettledness, and of acclimation.
After such a rocky start to fall semester, where I felt way in over my head and completely vulnerable due to Adam's leaving, this all seems so strange and sudden. It's only been two weeks. I still feel like I know almost nothing, and am still a little lost in certain classes. But it doesn't matter. I'm finding joy in the struggle. It baffles me, and yet makes me smile, as I'm sitting in Hebrew class partially understanding two-thirds of what's being said. I confidently chime in during Rabbinics class, though my words may be wrong.
I just feel, at this moment in time, like I was meant to do this. After all the bullshit I had to go through with cantorial school and having to essentially redefine my identity, it makes me all the more appreciative of exactly where I am. I feel so blessed and so fortunate to be here, and believe so strongly in what I'm doing, that it outweighs the homesickness and the longing for the life I left behind. My complete and total immersion into this whole program is something I've never really done before, but I like it. And I want it to continue.
Adam's being here throughout the summer was the most wonderful, helpful, and genuinely kind things anyone has ever done for me. Giving up his life, giving up a paycheck, simply to be here with me and help me acclimate; I don't know what I did to deserve such a gift. I've said it before, and I'll keep saying it until the day I die. It meant the world to me, and I am so glad we got to share that time.
But while he was here, I had the biggest reminder of the life I loved in Berkeley sitting right next to me every day. I looked at him and thought of Cheeseboard, the apartment on Bonita, the Marin Headlands, and the green rolling hills of the East Bay. I thought of us falling in love all throughout California during the summer of 2003. And with every passing day, in the back of my mind I knew that he would one day be gone; that I'd be alone here in a foreign land, forced to redefine myself as an individual: as Just Jac. I dreaded that day for months, yet when it finally came and went I felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders. And though I miss him terribly, I feel good knowing that I can do this year on my own.
All these realizations have been compounded by the fact that I'm approaching the Yamim Nora'im, my favorite time of year. Jerusalem is preparing itself for this sacred time. Fall has started and the weather, while still hot, is shifting towards cool. People are readying themselves physically, emotionally, and spiritually. You just can't help but think of where you are, and where you're going, at a time like right now.
So here I am in Jerusalem, having this peculiar epiphany. I will continue to ride this wave, and hopefully blog about it as well. Until then, I wish you all a wonderful week.
Todah Rabah,
Jaclyn
As I distance myself further and further from my former life, I find myself more and more captivated by the direction I'm heading towards. I'm walking into school each day more eager and excited to learn than I ever was in high school or college. I'm cultivating incredible respect and deep admiration for my teachers, and furthering bonds with future colleagues and friends. I open my books and feel enchanted by what they can offer me. I'm hanging on every word in lecture. I feel so tremendously blessed to be receiving this education. I'm participating, I'm engaged, and I'm fully present in this role as student; as rabbi-to-be.
Perhaps the most surprising of all, I'm starting to feel a part of my community. I smile at the familiar faces and they smile back. I laugh at the young boys with peos and tzitzit playing in the park near our apartment. I have short, simple conversations with locals in Hebrew and walk away with a smile on my face. I have a genuine relationship with my laundry man, who recently welcomed a baby into the world. All this after two months of only observing obnoxious Israelis, shockingly expensive groceries, and 20-year-old pregnant married women pushing baby strollers. Two months of heat as intense as the dialogue between Israelis and Arabs. Two months of discomfort, of unsettledness, and of acclimation.
After such a rocky start to fall semester, where I felt way in over my head and completely vulnerable due to Adam's leaving, this all seems so strange and sudden. It's only been two weeks. I still feel like I know almost nothing, and am still a little lost in certain classes. But it doesn't matter. I'm finding joy in the struggle. It baffles me, and yet makes me smile, as I'm sitting in Hebrew class partially understanding two-thirds of what's being said. I confidently chime in during Rabbinics class, though my words may be wrong.
I just feel, at this moment in time, like I was meant to do this. After all the bullshit I had to go through with cantorial school and having to essentially redefine my identity, it makes me all the more appreciative of exactly where I am. I feel so blessed and so fortunate to be here, and believe so strongly in what I'm doing, that it outweighs the homesickness and the longing for the life I left behind. My complete and total immersion into this whole program is something I've never really done before, but I like it. And I want it to continue.
Adam's being here throughout the summer was the most wonderful, helpful, and genuinely kind things anyone has ever done for me. Giving up his life, giving up a paycheck, simply to be here with me and help me acclimate; I don't know what I did to deserve such a gift. I've said it before, and I'll keep saying it until the day I die. It meant the world to me, and I am so glad we got to share that time.
But while he was here, I had the biggest reminder of the life I loved in Berkeley sitting right next to me every day. I looked at him and thought of Cheeseboard, the apartment on Bonita, the Marin Headlands, and the green rolling hills of the East Bay. I thought of us falling in love all throughout California during the summer of 2003. And with every passing day, in the back of my mind I knew that he would one day be gone; that I'd be alone here in a foreign land, forced to redefine myself as an individual: as Just Jac. I dreaded that day for months, yet when it finally came and went I felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders. And though I miss him terribly, I feel good knowing that I can do this year on my own.
All these realizations have been compounded by the fact that I'm approaching the Yamim Nora'im, my favorite time of year. Jerusalem is preparing itself for this sacred time. Fall has started and the weather, while still hot, is shifting towards cool. People are readying themselves physically, emotionally, and spiritually. You just can't help but think of where you are, and where you're going, at a time like right now.
So here I am in Jerusalem, having this peculiar epiphany. I will continue to ride this wave, and hopefully blog about it as well. Until then, I wish you all a wonderful week.
Todah Rabah,
Jaclyn
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Back on track!
Shalom Chaverim.
The lack of blogging the past two weeks has left me with pains in my fingers and in my soul. I've been so busy, so incredibly pressed for time, that this is really the first day I've been able to blog since our return from Istanbul. It feels good to finally sit down and blog it all out. And, it's fitting that Shabbat, my day of rest, is also my day for re-connecting with home and my feelings. But, it's also a day for working: on school, on homework, on the things I've needed to do but haven't had time for. It's a day to confront that which I've neglected. Shabbat is a complicated day, but this is a complicated place, so it goes with the territory.
In the heat of the moment, it was difficult to find the right words to express my immense sadness over Adam's departure. It was truly one of the hardest, most gut-wrenching experiences of my life to say goodbye to him. I'm feeling stronger now, and know in my heart these nine months apart will help us grow as individuals and as a couple. I'm so grateful to the creators of Skype for enabling me to chat with Adam while staring at his beautiful face, as this was something we lacked while I was studying in Spain in 2005. But I miss his warmth, and his physical presence in my life. I look forward to the day when I can just hold him again, and know it will come. I miss him dearly.
School starting was a huge kick in the ass, and I felt totally overwhelmed the first week. I have nine classes... NINE! But I'm starting to get the hang of it and feel more secure in my lack of knowledge. Most of these professors are incredible, and I feel so blessed to be learning from them. Sometimes I feel totally out of my league, and sometimes I want to stand up and cheer over some intellectual breakthrough. But mostly, this material fascinates and enchants me. As we get deeper into the year, I'll have more specific and concrete things to say.
This past week we traveled up north to the Galillee and Golan Heights for a school trip. It was great, and done well, and organized properly. It was on this trip that I had my first "Aha!" moment about Israel. I finally started to get it; how and why this tremendous connection between the people and the land exists here. I finally started to crack the surface; to understand why this is seen as the Jewish homeland, and why there is such an immense fight over keeping it for the Jews. People making Aliyah also started to make more sense to me, as we met with many people who encapsulate the "New Jew" philosophy. I'm still formulating my opinions about it all, and perhaps a later blog post is in order to fully encapsulate my understanding. But either way, I am really starting to get it. And I'm happy that the getting it is occuring.
Last night I attended services at Kol Ha Neshama, a Progressive congregation here in Jerusalem. It was the first service I've attended here in J'lem, outside of the HUC campus synagogue, that reminded me of home. Almost everything was in Hebrew, but the physical space, the set up, the prayer melodies, and the rabbi's way of running things, were all reminiscent of California synagogues. I enjoyed myself, but didn't feel entirely connected. Still, it was a spiritual breakthrough in what I've come to recognize as a somewhat frustrating prayer experience here in Jerusalem.
What I've ascertained is this: in my former life, my Jewish practice was a choice. I chose where to pray, where to get involved, and what community to belong to. I was lucky to have a relatively decent buffet of choices in San Francisco, and I fell in love with Emanu-El's congregation. I chose my choice, and I chose well. Here in Jeusalem, I feel that my Jewish practice is less of a choice. It's encouraged, and sort of forced upon us, to pray at specific places on certain dates. (Last night was set up through the school and the synagogue, and all my classmates were required to attend) I have yet to find a place that I'd go out of my way to pray at, or a rabbi who I truly connect to besides the ones who work at HUC. It's just a very different environment here, and a different way of doing things.
I also think my initial experiences at the Western Wall had a psychological affect on my perception of prayer here in Israel. The fact that the wall felt so segregated, anti-feminist, and closed off to anyone non-Orthodox, coupled with its status as the holiest site in the world for Jews, probably set me off in some way. Feeling one hundred percent secure in my affiliation with Reform Judaism, I find it hard to connect to God in a place so clearly dominated by an Orthodox mindset.
My hope is to get past all this, because even as I write it and think it, I see it as trivial. Prayer comes from the heart and soul, and that's where my prayer has always come from. I think I've just been very lucky that the physical spaces and communities I've prayed in have been open, welcoming, and beautiful. But now I'm on unfamiliar, tense ground, praying in vastly different spaces. My prayer compass is out of whack, but I think it will get back on track. I want to learn to get past the external, and think I have the ability to do so here in Israel. Time will tell.
For now, I'm looking ahead to the Chagim. Rosh Hashanah begins in a little less than two weeks, and I could not possibly be more excited to celebrate it here in Jerusalem. I've always dreamed of being here during the High Holidays, and am so excited to experience the power and awesomeness of it all. I don't exactly know what to expect, but know that I'm praying with HUC in a beautiful physical space overlooking the Old City. I think it will be incredibly powerful and definitely interesting! I'm also really excited that my mother is coming in just a few short weeks. The thought of getting a Jill Fromer bear hug excites me to no end!
So Shabbat Shalom from Jerusalem. Take care of yourselves, have an excellent weekend, and know that I am thinking of all of you from many miles away.
Lots of love,
Jaclyn
The lack of blogging the past two weeks has left me with pains in my fingers and in my soul. I've been so busy, so incredibly pressed for time, that this is really the first day I've been able to blog since our return from Istanbul. It feels good to finally sit down and blog it all out. And, it's fitting that Shabbat, my day of rest, is also my day for re-connecting with home and my feelings. But, it's also a day for working: on school, on homework, on the things I've needed to do but haven't had time for. It's a day to confront that which I've neglected. Shabbat is a complicated day, but this is a complicated place, so it goes with the territory.
In the heat of the moment, it was difficult to find the right words to express my immense sadness over Adam's departure. It was truly one of the hardest, most gut-wrenching experiences of my life to say goodbye to him. I'm feeling stronger now, and know in my heart these nine months apart will help us grow as individuals and as a couple. I'm so grateful to the creators of Skype for enabling me to chat with Adam while staring at his beautiful face, as this was something we lacked while I was studying in Spain in 2005. But I miss his warmth, and his physical presence in my life. I look forward to the day when I can just hold him again, and know it will come. I miss him dearly.
School starting was a huge kick in the ass, and I felt totally overwhelmed the first week. I have nine classes... NINE! But I'm starting to get the hang of it and feel more secure in my lack of knowledge. Most of these professors are incredible, and I feel so blessed to be learning from them. Sometimes I feel totally out of my league, and sometimes I want to stand up and cheer over some intellectual breakthrough. But mostly, this material fascinates and enchants me. As we get deeper into the year, I'll have more specific and concrete things to say.
This past week we traveled up north to the Galillee and Golan Heights for a school trip. It was great, and done well, and organized properly. It was on this trip that I had my first "Aha!" moment about Israel. I finally started to get it; how and why this tremendous connection between the people and the land exists here. I finally started to crack the surface; to understand why this is seen as the Jewish homeland, and why there is such an immense fight over keeping it for the Jews. People making Aliyah also started to make more sense to me, as we met with many people who encapsulate the "New Jew" philosophy. I'm still formulating my opinions about it all, and perhaps a later blog post is in order to fully encapsulate my understanding. But either way, I am really starting to get it. And I'm happy that the getting it is occuring.
Last night I attended services at Kol Ha Neshama, a Progressive congregation here in Jerusalem. It was the first service I've attended here in J'lem, outside of the HUC campus synagogue, that reminded me of home. Almost everything was in Hebrew, but the physical space, the set up, the prayer melodies, and the rabbi's way of running things, were all reminiscent of California synagogues. I enjoyed myself, but didn't feel entirely connected. Still, it was a spiritual breakthrough in what I've come to recognize as a somewhat frustrating prayer experience here in Jerusalem.
What I've ascertained is this: in my former life, my Jewish practice was a choice. I chose where to pray, where to get involved, and what community to belong to. I was lucky to have a relatively decent buffet of choices in San Francisco, and I fell in love with Emanu-El's congregation. I chose my choice, and I chose well. Here in Jeusalem, I feel that my Jewish practice is less of a choice. It's encouraged, and sort of forced upon us, to pray at specific places on certain dates. (Last night was set up through the school and the synagogue, and all my classmates were required to attend) I have yet to find a place that I'd go out of my way to pray at, or a rabbi who I truly connect to besides the ones who work at HUC. It's just a very different environment here, and a different way of doing things.
I also think my initial experiences at the Western Wall had a psychological affect on my perception of prayer here in Israel. The fact that the wall felt so segregated, anti-feminist, and closed off to anyone non-Orthodox, coupled with its status as the holiest site in the world for Jews, probably set me off in some way. Feeling one hundred percent secure in my affiliation with Reform Judaism, I find it hard to connect to God in a place so clearly dominated by an Orthodox mindset.
My hope is to get past all this, because even as I write it and think it, I see it as trivial. Prayer comes from the heart and soul, and that's where my prayer has always come from. I think I've just been very lucky that the physical spaces and communities I've prayed in have been open, welcoming, and beautiful. But now I'm on unfamiliar, tense ground, praying in vastly different spaces. My prayer compass is out of whack, but I think it will get back on track. I want to learn to get past the external, and think I have the ability to do so here in Israel. Time will tell.
For now, I'm looking ahead to the Chagim. Rosh Hashanah begins in a little less than two weeks, and I could not possibly be more excited to celebrate it here in Jerusalem. I've always dreamed of being here during the High Holidays, and am so excited to experience the power and awesomeness of it all. I don't exactly know what to expect, but know that I'm praying with HUC in a beautiful physical space overlooking the Old City. I think it will be incredibly powerful and definitely interesting! I'm also really excited that my mother is coming in just a few short weeks. The thought of getting a Jill Fromer bear hug excites me to no end!
So Shabbat Shalom from Jerusalem. Take care of yourselves, have an excellent weekend, and know that I am thinking of all of you from many miles away.
Lots of love,
Jaclyn
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Istanbul (not Constantinople)
Istanbul is truly one of the most amazing, fascinating, interesting, and beautiful cities I have ever been fortunate enough to visit. Adam and I just returned from five days in the city formerly known as Constantinople, and it was a truly wonderful journey. So wonderful, in fact, that I am currently downloading almost 500 pictures from our trip onto my computer.
When we first decided to spend our hard-earned shekels up north in Turkey, we were shocked by the reactions we received from friends and family. "Are you sure you want to go?" they pleaded. "Istanbul is NOT safe." "It's a Muslim country, guys. You'll stick out like sore thumbs." Best of all, a member of Adam's family who we love dearly suggested he shave his head, for fear that his treasured Jew Fro would get us mugged, kidnapped, or worse.
Perhaps Adam and I have both shed some paranoid skin since arriving in Israel (which, let's not forget, is still on the United States Travel Advisory watch list) or maybe we just ignored everyone's negative comments. Somehow our desire to explore the world won out over the tremendous fear imposed upon us. Baruch Hashem to that.
Istanbul is a beautiful, modern, bustling city. Turks are unbelievably kind and gracious. About 95% of the people we saw wore tank tops and jeans; very few women wore full burkas. Walking through the city streets, you really sense how alike we all are. Their human needs are our human needs: live life, enjoy the company of friends, celebrate holidays, provide for our families, and love one another. Adam and I never once felt unsafe, or in danger, or even uncomfortable. All the hype about terrorism and political unrest? Phooey. We didn't catch a single whiff of it.
From these five days, we garnered an understanding of a culture totally different from our own. We saw how Istanbullus live, and it fascinated us. We ate how Istanbullus eat, and it filled our hungry tummies. (And upset them a little, to be fair) We marveled at the vast number of sights to see in Istanbul, from the soaring minarets of the many mosques to the expansive grounds of their two gorgeous palaces. We saw religious sites, historical sites, and sites so awesome we could barely believe our sight.
We even celebrated Ramadan as Istanbullus do! (Minus the fasting) It began the evening we got there, and lasts until the end of the month. On Tuesday after sundown, we went to a Ramadan festival in the Old City. Suffice to say, it was awesome. Thousands of people and dozens of booths selling food, candy, ice cream, tchotckes, etc. The vibe was so positive. It was just so fun to partake in, and it shed light on a different side of human interaction we might not have seen at another time of year.
Perhaps the most fantastic part of being in Istanbul was simply driving around in the taxi cabs, and on the double-decker tour bus. Each time we entered a moving vehicle, the radio was blasting uniquely Turkish music. And it was just fascinating, exotic, and all-around stirring music to listen to. Our vision and perception of the city came with a soundtrack, and we loved it.
All in all, it was a simply marvelous experience. I could not get enough. I'm sad to be back, but eager to start the school year this Sunday. It's shocking to me that our fall semester, and our core rabbinic classes, are finally starting. It's exciting to be at the threshold of something new, knowing it will be compelling and soul-stirring. I can't wait!
Now for some pictures:
Welcome to Istanbul! This is the view from Galata Tower, situated on the Golden Horn side of the city. Behold the Bosphorus river, which divides European Istanbul from Asian Istanbul. Istanbul is the only city in the world which straddles two continents.
Adam nearly flies above the Blue Mosque, also known as Sultan Ahmed Mosque, in the Old City. The "Blue" factor pertains to the tiles inside, which, strangely, are not all blue.
The Blue Mosque at night, during the Ramadan Festival in the Old City. In Turkish, Ramadan is spelled "Ramazan." We're pretty sure the sign says: "This is a mosque, and it is Ramazan."
Inside the Blue Mosque. Notice my ultra-chic head covering.
In the Old City, after our tour of the Blue Mosque. Behind us is Haghia Sophia, undoubtedly my favorite site in Istanbul. It was built to be a church in 537 by Justinian, converted to a mosque several hundred years later, and it's now a museum. It was so massive, so impressive, and so amazing to behold.
Inside Haghia Sophia... but the picture really doesn't do the place justice.
Another incredible sight: the Basilica Cistern, also built during the time of Justinian. (6th century) It stored and distributed water to ancient Istanbullus. It was absolutely stunning, and our walking tour had a beautifully creepy soundtrack playing throughout. Kind of like the "Are You Afraid of the Dark" opening credits song.
The view from our hotel window at sunset.
At the Ramazan Festival with our travel buddies Leah and Adena (from HUC) Sadly, this was the only picture I got of the four of us!
At the entrance to Topkapi Palace, the primary residence of the Ottoman Sultans. This place was massive, and unlike other European castles/palaces, this one had a distinctly Oriental feel to it. And the Harem, where the Sultan's thousands of wives, concubines, and sometimes illegitimate children lived, was awesome.
Just a super beautiful color combination of tiles in the Harem.
To close out our trip, we attended a performance of Sufi music and dance held at the train station. The men dancing above are known as whirling dirvishes. They whirl to get closer to God. Again, another fascinating sight to behold. One man in particular had the calmest, most peaceful look on his face as he spun. He was in it.
When we first decided to spend our hard-earned shekels up north in Turkey, we were shocked by the reactions we received from friends and family. "Are you sure you want to go?" they pleaded. "Istanbul is NOT safe." "It's a Muslim country, guys. You'll stick out like sore thumbs." Best of all, a member of Adam's family who we love dearly suggested he shave his head, for fear that his treasured Jew Fro would get us mugged, kidnapped, or worse.
Perhaps Adam and I have both shed some paranoid skin since arriving in Israel (which, let's not forget, is still on the United States Travel Advisory watch list) or maybe we just ignored everyone's negative comments. Somehow our desire to explore the world won out over the tremendous fear imposed upon us. Baruch Hashem to that.
Istanbul is a beautiful, modern, bustling city. Turks are unbelievably kind and gracious. About 95% of the people we saw wore tank tops and jeans; very few women wore full burkas. Walking through the city streets, you really sense how alike we all are. Their human needs are our human needs: live life, enjoy the company of friends, celebrate holidays, provide for our families, and love one another. Adam and I never once felt unsafe, or in danger, or even uncomfortable. All the hype about terrorism and political unrest? Phooey. We didn't catch a single whiff of it.
From these five days, we garnered an understanding of a culture totally different from our own. We saw how Istanbullus live, and it fascinated us. We ate how Istanbullus eat, and it filled our hungry tummies. (And upset them a little, to be fair) We marveled at the vast number of sights to see in Istanbul, from the soaring minarets of the many mosques to the expansive grounds of their two gorgeous palaces. We saw religious sites, historical sites, and sites so awesome we could barely believe our sight.
We even celebrated Ramadan as Istanbullus do! (Minus the fasting) It began the evening we got there, and lasts until the end of the month. On Tuesday after sundown, we went to a Ramadan festival in the Old City. Suffice to say, it was awesome. Thousands of people and dozens of booths selling food, candy, ice cream, tchotckes, etc. The vibe was so positive. It was just so fun to partake in, and it shed light on a different side of human interaction we might not have seen at another time of year.
Perhaps the most fantastic part of being in Istanbul was simply driving around in the taxi cabs, and on the double-decker tour bus. Each time we entered a moving vehicle, the radio was blasting uniquely Turkish music. And it was just fascinating, exotic, and all-around stirring music to listen to. Our vision and perception of the city came with a soundtrack, and we loved it.
All in all, it was a simply marvelous experience. I could not get enough. I'm sad to be back, but eager to start the school year this Sunday. It's shocking to me that our fall semester, and our core rabbinic classes, are finally starting. It's exciting to be at the threshold of something new, knowing it will be compelling and soul-stirring. I can't wait!
Now for some pictures:
Welcome to Istanbul! This is the view from Galata Tower, situated on the Golden Horn side of the city. Behold the Bosphorus river, which divides European Istanbul from Asian Istanbul. Istanbul is the only city in the world which straddles two continents.
Adam nearly flies above the Blue Mosque, also known as Sultan Ahmed Mosque, in the Old City. The "Blue" factor pertains to the tiles inside, which, strangely, are not all blue.
The Blue Mosque at night, during the Ramadan Festival in the Old City. In Turkish, Ramadan is spelled "Ramazan." We're pretty sure the sign says: "This is a mosque, and it is Ramazan."
Inside the Blue Mosque. Notice my ultra-chic head covering.
In the Old City, after our tour of the Blue Mosque. Behind us is Haghia Sophia, undoubtedly my favorite site in Istanbul. It was built to be a church in 537 by Justinian, converted to a mosque several hundred years later, and it's now a museum. It was so massive, so impressive, and so amazing to behold.
Inside Haghia Sophia... but the picture really doesn't do the place justice.
Another incredible sight: the Basilica Cistern, also built during the time of Justinian. (6th century) It stored and distributed water to ancient Istanbullus. It was absolutely stunning, and our walking tour had a beautifully creepy soundtrack playing throughout. Kind of like the "Are You Afraid of the Dark" opening credits song.
The view from our hotel window at sunset.
At the Ramazan Festival with our travel buddies Leah and Adena (from HUC) Sadly, this was the only picture I got of the four of us!
At the entrance to Topkapi Palace, the primary residence of the Ottoman Sultans. This place was massive, and unlike other European castles/palaces, this one had a distinctly Oriental feel to it. And the Harem, where the Sultan's thousands of wives, concubines, and sometimes illegitimate children lived, was awesome.
Just a super beautiful color combination of tiles in the Harem.
To close out our trip, we attended a performance of Sufi music and dance held at the train station. The men dancing above are known as whirling dirvishes. They whirl to get closer to God. Again, another fascinating sight to behold. One man in particular had the calmest, most peaceful look on his face as he spun. He was in it.I hope these pictures give at least a small glimpse into the city that is Istanbul. It is a spectacular place not just to visit, but to really and truly experience.
Until next time!
-Jaclyn
Until next time!
-Jaclyn
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