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