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For the past three weeks, I've been quietly battling what can only be described as a paranoid person's worst nightmare. 

As I mentioned in a previous blog post, I've been having some trouble with my legs and feet as of late. About three weeks ago, I spent the better portion of a week exercising far too much, and too strenuously. (See everyone? Exercise kills.) And following that week, my ankles and my feet and my shins just started bothering me. They were sore, but also in pain, and they felt funky. It was hard to walk around. And it was vague and unspecific. Was something sprained? Was it an infection? Was I falling apart at the seams? It was all very unclear. 

And then this past weekend, it got really bad. Really hard to walk. Lots of pain. Lots of freaking out. And nothing really made sense. Nothing except the story of the Brazilian supermodel that scared the living shit out of me three months ago. It seemed to be hitting too close to home.  

After eight and a half months of living in this country, with just eleven weeks left until my return to the states, I thought the finish line was in sight. I thought I had just about made it through. And, I thought that I'd done pretty well with the paranoia. But then this thing started, and I found myself back at square one. And by square one, I mean my first day of seventh grade at Windward, when I literally had a panic attack in the administration office and cried to the school counselor for two hours about missing my elementary school. (It was then we discovered my slight lack of coping skills) 

The thing is, I'd never really thought about what it would be like to not have use of my legs and feet. I complain so much about the whopping size of those suckers, and joke so often about how difficult it is to find shoes. But my body-paranoia usually centers on the loss of my eyesight, or hearing, or losing a finger. It never crossed my mind that something horrible might happen to the very foundation of my body; the very things that I so often wish were different, or smaller, or at least more manageable in shoe stores. 

For the past two weeks I've walked/hobbled around this fair city, taking cabs from place to place, experiencing what it's like to be somewhat disabled. I've learned that Jerusalem is absolutely one of the worst places in the world to be handicapped. There is almost no way someone seriously injured or wheelchair-bound could live here. Aside from the ubiquitous hills, there's a huge lack of elevators, slippery Jerusalem stone everywhere, narrow sidewalks, and horrible drivers that will run you down if you take more than three seconds crossing an intersection. It's kind of appalling. 

I must admit, as scared as I am to receive the results of yesterday's blood test post-Purim, I'm looking forward to getting some sort of resolution. And as scary as this has been, and as much as I've withdrawn from loud, crazy, laugh-y spotlight-hogging Jaclyn, I am somewhat grateful for having this little, horribly scary experience. 

Today in T'filah I felt myself praying with greater intensity than I can remember in recent memory. I felt myself connecting with the prayers about our bodies and souls, speaking and chanting the words with greater fervor. And, though I did not stand during the Amidah, I attempted to release my tension and breathe into the sacred words. In a way I guess I was petitioning God to help make me better, but also thanking God for giving me a body that works most of the time. I think moments like this can either make you totally angry and disconnected (which, to be fair, happened during Kabbalat Shabbat services on Friday) or they can make you think deeper about what you do have, and what you're fortunate for, and how disappointing it would be if you didn't have that anymore. 

So, on that note I leave you. Tomorrow is Purim, and we have two days off from school! (The second day is, in all seriousness, is supposed to be for getting over a hangover) Though I'm not particularly in the costume-party-make-a-fool-of-yourself mood, I do look forward to laughing a little bit and not taking myself, or my peers and faculty, so seriously. 

Until next time,

Jaclyn

Slumpdog Millionaire

It's been a weird past few weeks here in Israel. The majority of my class, including me, has completely checked out of this year. We're ready to go home. Been there, done that. We're over it. Finito. גומרים. Nothing more to see here, folks. Peace Out, Yerushalayim. 

And yet, I know there's more to come, unfinished business, and more adventures to be had. I don't want to accept it, because that means the 81 days before I fly back to California are actually real. The fantasy of going home tomorrow is delusional, but it attempts to assuage the general malaise I've been feeling. 

The weather has been awful recently, too. We had a disconcertingly mild winter. One where not a single Israeli could get through a conversation without complaining of the Galilee drying up. And now, for the past few weeks, it has rained nonstop, (presenting us with a mild little flood in the apartment) and it's been freezing and bitter. No one could be in a good mood with that shit raging outside. 

I've been dealing with a weird host of health woes recently, too. Last week, it seemed as though representatives from various parts of my body decided to hold a meeting in my liver and say, "okay... let's really freak her out." Random disconnected things - but most prominently some really annoying leg soreness and pain - started happening to me last week. Though I've come a long way with my paranoia and anxiety, let's just say I wasn't the easiest patient at the medical center to deal with. Not being able to walk properly was really scary. I'm doing better, but you know what? Being sick sucks. And being sick in a foreign country really sucks. 

The February 10th election is still unresolved. Israel doesn't have a Prime Minister yet, or a Coalition in the government. And every day, when I click onto "Haaretz" and "JPost," I'm greeted with the same parade of messages: Bibi meets with Tzipi, Peres meets with Bibi, Lieberman is wackadoodle, NO coalition reached. It's hard to take the whole thing seriously when it seems like nothing is moving forward, or ever does. 

However, Israel doesn't seem like a foreign entity to me anymore, and hasn't for awhile. I'm so accustomed to this way of life, to the way people treat each other, to the problems in this society, to the way people carry themselves, and to the daily rigmarole of Jerusalem, that it's become engrained in my way of living. It's not a surprise anymore. Nothing in this country throws me. I just get it. I don't like it, but I get it. That's something that comes with living abroad for eight months. 

I'm in a slump. I know it. I've been going going going for eight months straight, with some serious ups and downs, and now I'm just pooped out. Eight months is a long time to be in a country that isn't yours; in a program that demands every inch of your soul every day of your life. I'm a bit suffocated here in Jerusalem. It's the intensity of the program coupled with the intensity of this city. Gam v'gam. 

Anyway, because I like this blog to have a positive spin, and don't want to come off like some big Negative Nancypants, I will say that there's much to look forward to. Next week is Purim, and HUC has a ton planned. Then in two weeks I'm meeting Adam in Paris (hooray!) and then immediately after heading down to the Negev with school. I love the Negev, but haven't spent any time there on this particular trip. So I'm excited. Then there's Pesach, and the parents will be here, and then the end of school. It's hard to believe, but it's happening. 

So perhaps the weather will lift, and perhaps my legs will be back to normal again, and perhaps I'll remember to see the silver lining in all these adventures, and perhaps I'll be reminded of what I'm doing here in the next few days. Until then, I'm just a lonely Slump-dog. Sitting in a chair. Of a Millionaire. 

-Jaclyn

The Day the Music Died

There are a handful of dates during the past twenty five years which I remember vividly. 

I remember the Friday afternoon in October 1989 when my father, dressed in a brown plaid shirt, ran into Ms. Volterra's kindergarten classroom and notified my class that "Mom's having the baby!" Several hours later, my brother Andrew was born. 

I remember the late summer day not even one year later when my parents sat me down on the porch in our backyard. They told me mom was very sick and needed to have an operation to make her better. I remember how grave their faces were, how worried they seemed. And at the same time, the weather was beautiful and the kids next door were laughing and playing in their yard. At the time I thought I completely understood the situation, and did not like it at all. 

I remember the Northridge Earthquake: January 17, 1994. The only casualty in our house was a ceramic picture frame that fell to the carpeted floor in my room. I stepped on it, and it smashed to bits. I remember the four of us huddled in our foyer for hours, waiting out the aftershocks and glued to our handheld radio. Later that morning, my father called his family back east to tell them we were okay; we were informed his father, my grandfather Sol, had died in his sleep in Florida. 

And so began a seemingly never-ending period of illness and death in my family. After Grandpa Sol came his wife Sylvia, followed by their son Harvey. It seemed like we were constantly in New York and/or Florida for years; an endless succession of black Lincoln towncars and deli meat trays. I remember the funerals, I remember the eulogies, I remember the cemetaries. 

I remember my Bat Mitzvah: February 8, 1997. I remember the feeling that the storm had finally passed in my family. I remember the excitement, the thrill of being on the bimah, the respect I had for my parsha, Mishpatim (the laws). I remember fully engaging in the process and feeling that it was a part of me. And above all else, I remember realizing that this was something I could get used to; something I could love and do for the rest of my life. 

The years in between 1997 and 2007 are both vivid and fuzzy. I remember middle and high school; how adolescence wasn't entirely kind to me. I remember the highs, the lows, and the mediocrity. But the one constant in that entire time period was the love I had for Judaism, and Jewish music, and the idea that I could one day take that and make a living at it. I wanted to be a leader in the Jewish community, and felt I had found the right role. 

Two years ago this week, I received the letter that completely changed my idea of who I was, and how I would spend the rest of my life. After ten years of working toward one specific goal, everything came to a sudden halt. 

I remember the thin little envelope addressed to me, sent from the very school which I now attend, sitting in the mailbox at our apartment in Berkeley. I remember opening that letter with Adam by my side, reading the first two lines, and feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of me, that there was absolute no oxygen whatsoever in our living room, and that the floor had crumbled inward like that scene in "The Goonies" when Andy plays the bone-piano to get to the waterslides. I remember slumping forward, feeling dizzy, and angry, and shocked, and totally freaked out. 

In the hours and days and weeks and months which followed February 24, 2007 came a tremendous succession of moments. Moments of excrutiating embarrassment, moments of tremendous frustration and anger. Moments of clarity and hope. Moments where I looked and felt like a lost soul; knowing in my heart that the root of this whole thing was something I could not avoid, and had to confront. I knew I had to re-align myself with myself. I had to search my soul. I had to let go of the rigidly defined vision of who I was going to be. And so, I did. 

Exactly thirteen months later, on March 24, 2008, I received a different letter from the school which I now attend. It congratulated me, and welcomed me, and celebrated my accomplishments. The letter informed me that yes, it believed in me and what I could possibly do for the Jewish people. This time around, the air sucked out of me for in a different way. I ran to the phone and couldn't feel my legs. The smile stuck on my face wouldn't go away for hours, or days. After eleven years and two very different experiences, I had finally found the right letter. 

I've been living in Jerusalem almost eight months now. I'm fully immersed in a program that I love, learning things that have opened my eyes and my soul in a multitude of ways. I feel that I have found my place, my passion, and a role that I cannot wait to step into. 

Not a day goes by I don't think of the process I went through, or how grateful I am that it happened; how fortunate I feel to be here. Not a day goes by when I don't think to myself how much that entire process kind of sucked, yet was kind of awesome. Watching your past flash before your eyes, thinking about it in great detail (whether through a blog, or through talking, or through dreams) always makes me contemplative. The day I was rejected from Cantorial school was a watershed moment in my life, up there with the most major moments that will never, ever escape my memory. 

I have three months to go in this program, and they're going to fly by fast. I've already got the itch; a major, major itch to come back home. Some may even say I've checked out of the year already. And... well, they may be right. 

But what matters is that I'm here for the long haul; I'm here to come out of this alive and swinging. I'm here - so I can come back there - filled with stories and souvenirs of my experiences, so I can regail all of you with hours upon hours of can-you-believe-that-happened-isms. I'm here so I can come back there with a deepened understanding of who I am. I'm here because my school allowed me to be here, because they said "hey Jaclyn, we think you're pretty great." I'm here because I want to be here, because it's where "here" should be.

With much love,

Jaclyn

Gratefully,

Jaclyn

A Quarter of a Century

Oh dear. It seems I've turned twenty five! 

Birthday bouquet delivery from my wonderful בן זוג

This past Saturday was indeed my twenty-fifth birthday. And it was an international occasion! February 7th was celebrated all over the world: in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, and all different corners of the US! Facebook and Gmail served as the great uniters; I felt the love from so many, and from so many different places. It really made the celebration complete. 

I had the most incredible, love-filled weekend with my girlfriends. Eight of us headed down to Tel Aviv for some fabulous weather, great food, culture, and quality time. Though it was kind of hard to be separated from Adam and my family, I had a really fantastic time with the women who have become my support system and confidants here in Israel. We explored, we ate, we drank, we were merry. It was grand. 

The reality of turning a quarter of a century hasn't entirely hit me yet. I feel like ever since my 22nd birthday, they've just kept rolling in, one after another. But twenty five sounds old, and kind of surreal. I haven't settled into it just yet. However, I believe many wonderful things will happen this year, some of them planned and some not! I feel good about this upcoming year of my life; I feel happy and excited to be exactly where I think I should be, fulfilling a dream and following an incredible path. And I really do feel so very loved and supported, and that makes all the difference.

Our little getaway was awesome. The greatest thing about getting out of Jerusalem for a weekend is... well, getting out of Jerusalem! Tel Aviv is so liberating; it's open and free, bustling and beautiful. The minute you get down the hill, the tension just seems to lift from your body. It's awesome. There's so much going on in the city, even though most of it shuts down for Shabbat. It's a real place, and a real representation of Israeli culture and society. I love going there. I love being there. And mostly, I love going and being there with good people. 

Here are some highlights from our little vacay: 

W/RVT on ha'sheirut to T.A. 

(we're big on abbreviations) 

Israel's national election is this Tuesday, the 10th. The country has been inundated by political campaign propaganda. Above is a picture of Benjamin Netanyahu, former Prime Minister of Israel and head of the Likud Party. We once worked out together at the David Citadel gym. 

This is Tzipi Livni. We like Tzipi. Especially Lisa, who tried to kiss her. 

This is the American Embassy. It was directly across the street from our hotel, which would have been convienient in case I (Has v'halilah!) lost my passport. 

Friday night we had a fantastic dinner in a beautiful place called Nana, in a beautiful neighborhood called Neve Tzedek; kind of like the SoHo of Tel Aviv. (and previously unexplored by yours truly) 

We saw a modern ballet production set to "Carmina Burana" at the famous Suzanne Dallal Center in Neve Tzedek. It was fabulous! 

Saturday began with a long, leisurely brunch on the Namal, the Tel Aviv port.

Post-brunch Mimosa-hazed cuddling at Gilly's on the Namal

(with Leah, Lisa, Leslie, and Lauren... I only associate with L's)

Back to Jerusalem for an intimate gathering at 37 Ramban 

(with Mer and Lisa) 

Jimmy and I sniff the Adam-sent flowers

With Benjy and Leah, a pair of favorites 

With Jillian, RVT, and Rachel M at the 37 Ramban m'sibah. 

So there you have it. A birthday in a blogpost. I hope you enjoyed the pictorals; I certainly enjoyed making the memories. 

For now, take good care. Have a great week. Catch you on the flip side. 

With love, 

the Birthday Girl

Father Fro Was Here

My father, the shmear-o

Shalom. 

The past week or so has been a total blur. I was completely jet lagged and out of it for the first couple days... wait, scratch that. I'm still jet lagged. 

It was a weird transition going from LA to Jerusalem, from freedom to school. And I can't quite say my head is completely back in class mode. But overall, it feels good to be back where most of my clothes are; it feels good to be back in the neighborhood where I've created a life. And it feels good to be back in the thick of things at school, despite the fact that I could use another month or two off from classes. 

The highlight of the past week was definitely having my father here. He arrived Friday morning from a business trip in Switzerland, and stayed through last night. Yesterday I gave my one and only D'var Torah (mini-sermon) of the year, on Parshat Beshallach. So it meant the world to have him here to hear it. I wish the rest of the family could have been there, too. Regardless, I had a great time with dad, and was sad to see him go. He and mom return at Pesach for two weeks. 

The d'var was well-received, people were very supportive and really liked it. I was proud. It went well. Once I get my act together and take out all the "pause here" and "deep breath" marks, I'll post it on the blog. For now, enjoy a few pics me and Dad. 

Enjoying a hot cup of Sangria ... not exactly Israeli, but truly reminiscent of our Father-Daughter trip to Mallorca, Spain

In Jerusalem, with the David Citadel behind us 

With Lauren, Lisa, and Leslie at Darna, a Moroccan mis'ada

in the heart of Jlem. 

At the Eretz Yisrael Museum in Tel Aviv

Until next time, 

J.Fro in J.Lem