Blue Bear.

Ever since August 10th, 2007, I have had my little blue bear by my side. He has protected me from the terrors and fears the arrive in the nighttime, listened to and taken my worries from me, and traveled across the world from camp to Poland.

I got blue bear, also know as Grammy Honey Bear, during my last visit to my grandmother before she passed. I held her hand as she lied impossibly still, sleeping her way to peace, unknown to me in a coma. As an eight year old standing no more than four feet tall, staring eye level to this frightening, vulnerable being that I knew was my grandmother was, to say the least, unsettling. Anyways, I swallowed away my fear and stood little next to her, breathing in the same air she did. I grabbed her big, oversized induced hand and squeezed it, not feeling anything back. I took a deep breath, and leaned in close to her, whispering into her ear "i love you and miss you." Those were the last words I said to Grammy Honey.

I am not sure what was so special about my little blue bear. I guess he stood out from the rest of the stuffed animals for many reasons. His perfectly tied bow tied, now torn and frayed, with polka dots all in a line, reminded me of Grandma's perfect black hair that she swore wasn't a wig. Maybe it was his overly sweetness; his perfectly stitched white little eyes and triangle brown nose. He was almost as sweet as Grammy Honey's supply of Orange Peach Mango Juice. Whatever it was, I needed him. And he needed me.

As I gave him his first snuggle at the counter of the hospital gift shop, a breath of mine went straight into his little stuffing heart, and with it the soul of my Grandmother. That night I hugged that little bear so hard that I swear his non existent nerves could feel me. He comforted me as I fell asleep while, unknown to me, the same time my grandmother was floating up from her hospital bed.

I am not sure where Blue Bear went. My roommates swore that they saw me place him into my suitcase before we left the Kibbutz, but when I opened it he was no longer there. My mom thinks it could have been her angel, walking off to go to live in Israel, making aliyah. I think she knows I am ready to take life on alone; i am ready to move on, heal, and begin my life once again. Although I am sad to lose my little blue bear, and my direct connection to my grandmother, I am excited for her new journey.

The Negev

I would have never thought that the Negev would be such an important place for me. Being disconnected from both time and electronics allowed me to hear and listen to myself in a way I never have before. I took a moment during a rest time on a summit of of the mountains and say on the edge if the cliff. I plugged my ears and focused on an eagle until it was just me and the bird and I imagined the freedom it must feel flying over endless stretches of sand and hills. 

We took a ten minute walk alone on a trail in silence and for one of the first times in my life there was complete silence inside of me, only sounds from nature around me and the crunch crunch of my footsteps. 

At the end of the whole Negev adventure I looked down at the feat me and my best friends have acheived and not concerning our sweat, stench, and filthiiness, we felt unstoppable. 

I am not really sure how to describe the feeling that breathing in the same air as those thousands and thousands of years ago did; touching the same ground that snakes use as a runway to prey, and the sight of endless sandy mountains gives you. I suppose I could describe it as unreal. But there is something even more than that. Maybe it is holy. 

Goodbye, Israel

My reading at our final Bar Mitzvah ceremony after Masada: 

I came into the Israel trip with self-aspirations to come out with a sense of who I am as a person. I don't know how I expected for this to happen seeing as we barely had time to breath between activities, but I knew there was something waiting for me ahead. I would like to share a quote by Nelson Mandela:

There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death again and again before we reach the mountaintop of our desires. 

Us as jewish people in a world filled with prejudice have without a doubt faced far more than our fair share of walks through the valley of the shadow of death. I don't really understand why the Jews hold this difficult fate, but I think it makes us who we are.  If we would have had an easy walk to freedom, with no oppression or discrimination, would we be at all what we are today? Also, if Israel is the desire we have reached on the heights of this mountain, why is there still so much to learn and achieve?

I thought that this trip would be my easy walk to freedom. I thought that I would go to Poland and feel an overwhelming sense of understanding of why something like the Holocaust would happen. I thought that I would come to Israel and find myself and figure out my spirituality. I think that god forces man to walk through death and death again to only reach an imperfect desire in order to save us. I dont really know who I am. I know who and what I want to be in the world and what it will take to get there. And at the same time I acknowledge that there will only be more challenges once I do achieve my goals. 

Coming on this trip I now understand that there will always be struggles in life and I may not be content with their resolution, but no matter what, forever, I will always have myself, my faith and the jewish people, and god. And I think the key to figuring out who I am is never letting myself forget that those three are a part of me. 

Missiles, Bombs, and Love

With a seemingly endless flow of missiles coming from the South and more threats from the North, one might expect a group of twenty-eight teenagers to be besides themselves. Although we have had our fair share of panic attacks and tears over the probable ending of us leaving early, we haven't let that stopped us from feeling safe and loved in Israel.

I personally feel the safest I have ever felt in my life. I wake up to birds chirping and dogs barking with little kids chasing after them. Everywhere we go we are met with smiles and shaloms and love because we are considered part of the great big Jew fam. 

The amazing thing about this country is that all the people are here for a similar reason: safety from religious prosecution and the freedom to find and express themselves spiritually, religiously, and any other way they please! We went to a service last Shabbat and you could feel love radiating off of every prayer, no fear in the voice, as expected with all that was going on. After we went to Havdallah with a bunch of Orthodox women and a middle aged woman in a fully covering outfit got down on the ground breakdancing. As a teenager living in America I can honestly say I have never seen anyone go harder than those Israeli women. Peace flows through their veins. 

So, although we may have to end with some loose ends, or not finish to a full completion, there is no doubt that our group is going to enjoy themselves and feel as safe as we can in this country. 

Hugs and Snugs from Israel!

Hugs from the Earth

I woke up from my two hour long nap on the bus to look out of the dirty window to an unreal view of immense mountains of sand and a desert with wierd kangaroos and cute abnormal beaver rat animals. I thought at first I was seeing things from the 113 degrees of heat but the beauty was pure and real. Outside the opposite window was the Dead Sea, the lowest point on earth, and the mountains of Jordan past it. 

We took a relatively short hike up to beautiful fresh water springs and enjoyed every break from the heat and hot sun. It is so amazing how the climate can vary so much in one place! It felt like I was in a gorgeous South American jungle lake while in reality I was in the very hot Judean Desert. 

After hiking back down to earth we had a short bus ride to the famous and mysterious Dead Sea. Besides the horrible pain that the Dead Sea caused to everyone's unmentionables, it was an amazing experience. We looked like a pack of wild five year olds, rolling in the mud and throwing it at eachother.  I could even feel the love from the earth in the water, holding you up as a little thank you for coming as close as we physically can to its center. 

Peace From Israel

Last night we arrived into Tel Aviv at 3:00 in the morning and although I could barely open my eyes from exhaustion, I felt the safest I have ever been. We arrived at our Jeruselum hotel shortly after and were greeted by gorgeous views of the old city, hebrew, and smiles. 

Micah is a special place for me because I can be sitting alone on a bench doing absolutly nothing and be completly tranquil. I feel the same way in the middle of a bustling street in Jeruselum. 

The beauty is endless and it fills your soul reminded you of why you are here, searching for peace within yourself and exploring your religious beliefs. The trees are so beautiful when i first arrived I had to check if they were real. The endless sandstone architecture is like a big warm hug from the desert. And the sounds of hebrew and prayer brings a thousand smiles and waves of love. 

Yesterday I had the amazing opportunity to have Shabbat next to the Western Wall. I never imagined that this could have felt so special, doing the same service I have done at Micah for 3 years, but it felt like I belonged. Praying in a place where billions have before you causes a feeling of safety. That you and your religion are all praying together, protecting you, at this holy site. When I went to slip the prayer into the wall I took a moment to look around me, to see how special this was. Not a drop of hate. Everyone was there for the same reason and no one thought of ever interrupting another's peace. I looked up the most significant piece of religious history and I felt like I was being heard, watched, and listened to by above. 

The Gates of Hell

Today I stood in the place where millions unknowingly arrived to the site of their demise. Personally, I connect through analogies and imagination so I did the following: I picked a beautiful purple flower and pressed it in my journal. I not only did this to preserve a memory, but to force myself to remember although that this was a place of death, first this was a place of life. This horrible place is a place for the living to be reminded to never have to open up another memorial museum for a mass genocide cite.

One of the most awestrucking and horrifying details about the camps that hit me was all of the ravens circling above the rows of cement and brick buildings. In the novella, The Ancient Mariner an old man shoots an Albatross to end its freedom; I can now connect to his hatred of the bird. I imagine how much the prisoners must have hated those birds because of their pure freedom. They non-stop caw at everything and soar in the sky and eat bugs to fill their stomachs that never go hungry. I can picture someone standing there looking up at them and wishing to die so that they can become one and join them; so that they can have their position of power: untouchable and angelic over a satanic world. 

In my discoveries and learnings in one of the buildings I saw the famous exhibit of all of the shoes; all of the colorful, hand-woven leather shoes throw into a pile without a care for the stories behind them. I could see in my mind a bright eyes beautiful little girl stepping off the train after her horrendous seven day journey being told she had to go to the showers. She is told she has to remove and leave her shoes behind; the shoes that her mother bought her for her birthday, her beautiful and special shoes that represent her, the only thing that sets her apart from the darkness around her. Of course none of this would matter in a half an hour for she would no longer exist, a lost number in a pile of millions. 

One of the last many powerful moments I felt was an exhibit show casing the drawings of children in the camps. The were put onto walls and their voices were playing in the background noise. I saw two drawings that stood out to me from the rest. There was a little king and a little queen with tears coming down their faces. I can see a little girl or boy who will never get to know a childhood drawing their hopes and dreams. That a king or powerful man would feel for them, cry for them. Feel something. Perhaps they are the king, or hope to be, and they are crying for all those who needed empathy, and for all of those that they lost. Sadly we will never know. 

I tried to touch every pole, every rail, every dusty corner so that I could feel the blood and tears of all those who are gone. Although I cannot heal or feel their sorrows, I do hear their cries. 

How does it feel to be a man feeling powerless to a cawing bird in the sky?