"I don't care. Sorry, I just don't care!"
My best friend turned towards me, laughing, and asked, "Who are you, and what have you done with Rachel?"
You see, I always care. I care too much, in fact. I'm an ESFJ, in Myers-Briggs speak. I am always the hostess: I cook too much food, and I make you take home leftovers. I'm a fabulous Jewish mother-in-training. I claim to find good in even the nastiest of people; I get upset when everyone isn't able to get along and sing songs around the metaphorical campfire. I'm a social justice nerd, one of those freaks who actually believes that she can change the world. If nothing else, I care.
But, senioritis has officially kicked in. I have 3 weeks left. I am 4 assignments away from graduation. I only have 3 more Shabboses left at Hillel. I have 10 classes between me, and my cap and gown -- and I intend to make them count. I am going to pass all of my classes, so I officially don't care about trivial homework. I am leaving the cliques of this undergraduate community behind, so I truly don't have the patience for tangled red tape anymore. If a program doesn't succeed, or a class is boring, it's honestly no skin off my back.
Because -- actually -- I care very much about making these last moments count. I refuse to spend them fretting over event planning, he-said-she-said nonsense, or grades that won't matter 10 months from now. I care about cherishing this time with my friends. I care about carving these moments into my brain, so I'll have something great to tell my grandchildren someday. I care about making this second count. I care about my loved ones, about my friendships, and my dreams for the future. I care about the good times I've had, not the drama of days gone by; I care about the places we're going, not the mistakes we've made. I care about girls night out, and dinner in with friends, and sitting in the fountain at Washington Square Park. I care. I just don't have time to care unless it counts right now.
twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. so throw off the bowlines. sail away from the safe harbor. catch the trade winds in your sails. explore. dream. discover. --unknown
and, of course, care.
Showing posts with label college. Show all posts
Showing posts with label college. Show all posts
April 19, 2010
April 1, 2010
Whose line is it, anyway?
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts...
I went to see As You Like It with N last night. I'd read the play back in high school; I remembered that it was funny, and that it was a love story. I'd forgotten its complexities, and I'd never really experienced its humanity. (There is, as my Comedies professor often chides my classmates and me, a difference between reading a play and seeing one.)
It was more than a love story - at least, it far exceeded the sappy and somewhat predictable norm of today's romantic comedies. Sitting in the audience, I was watching people change. These characters were falling in love, of course, but they were deepening family ties, establishing friendships, and figuring out their personal identities along the way. The characters matured on stage; they grew up and lived happily ever after in five whirlwind acts.
As Jaques presented her famous monologue about the cycles of life, I couldn't help but wonder - what act of life am I in? And am I ever going to get a script?
In other news, the tree outside my window is blooming. I love springtime in New York.
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts...
I went to see As You Like It with N last night. I'd read the play back in high school; I remembered that it was funny, and that it was a love story. I'd forgotten its complexities, and I'd never really experienced its humanity. (There is, as my Comedies professor often chides my classmates and me, a difference between reading a play and seeing one.)
It was more than a love story - at least, it far exceeded the sappy and somewhat predictable norm of today's romantic comedies. Sitting in the audience, I was watching people change. These characters were falling in love, of course, but they were deepening family ties, establishing friendships, and figuring out their personal identities along the way. The characters matured on stage; they grew up and lived happily ever after in five whirlwind acts.
As Jaques presented her famous monologue about the cycles of life, I couldn't help but wonder - what act of life am I in? And am I ever going to get a script?
In other news, the tree outside my window is blooming. I love springtime in New York.
March 3, 2010
Trusting your gut
After a long, snowy winter, I heard the ice cream truck boo-bee-dee-boop its way down the block the other day -- and I instinctively scrambled for quarters. I didn't end up getting my Firecracker pop, but I knew exactly what to do.
I made pesto sauce from scratch yesterday, based on a whole lot of guessing and praying, and that turned out well, too. I'm starting to realize that I have enough of my mother in me to be able to cook instinctively. Should I add more olive oil? Probably. Will a little cream cheese brighten up that sauce? You betcha. I know what to do, even if I have trouble trusting my inner Betty Crocker at times.
Some things, I think, are just automatic: cookies need milk; kites gotta have breezes; don't wear white after Labor Day. My best friends and I went to a showtunes-only piano bar in the West Village this past weekend; I know that when I'm with them, there's a 95% chance I'll laugh so hard that my beverage'll shoot out of my nostrils. (This is, apparently, genetic in my family. Thanks to my aunt for passing on this darling propensity to snort liquids out of my nose. Totally chic.) Before you eat birthday cake, you blow out the candles. Before babies can walk, they have to learn to crawl. I've heard that you never forget how to ride a bicycle once you've learned, either. Some things...some things you just know.
I should have known, then, that senioritis would come knocking at my door. I'm not being an extraordinary procrastinator - I just can't sleep very well lately. My brain is whirring through thoughts and ideas and dreams at a hundred-bajillion miles per hour. There's too many banquets, and projects, and parties to look forward to! Spring is coming, and with it comes the end of my year-long thesis project and the conclusion of four years of workworkwork. Daffodils will be blooming soon, and I'll have heard about graduate school and decided on my summer plans and settled into a post-coed life.
I've been working towards these next few weeks for the past four years. I'm almost a legitimate participant in the real world. But I'm not all that nervous - though my five-year plan is fuzzy, I'm weirdly at peace. Somehow, I think I'll know what to do when the time comes.
I made pesto sauce from scratch yesterday, based on a whole lot of guessing and praying, and that turned out well, too. I'm starting to realize that I have enough of my mother in me to be able to cook instinctively. Should I add more olive oil? Probably. Will a little cream cheese brighten up that sauce? You betcha. I know what to do, even if I have trouble trusting my inner Betty Crocker at times.
Some things, I think, are just automatic: cookies need milk; kites gotta have breezes; don't wear white after Labor Day. My best friends and I went to a showtunes-only piano bar in the West Village this past weekend; I know that when I'm with them, there's a 95% chance I'll laugh so hard that my beverage'll shoot out of my nostrils. (This is, apparently, genetic in my family. Thanks to my aunt for passing on this darling propensity to snort liquids out of my nose. Totally chic.) Before you eat birthday cake, you blow out the candles. Before babies can walk, they have to learn to crawl. I've heard that you never forget how to ride a bicycle once you've learned, either. Some things...some things you just know.
I should have known, then, that senioritis would come knocking at my door. I'm not being an extraordinary procrastinator - I just can't sleep very well lately. My brain is whirring through thoughts and ideas and dreams at a hundred-bajillion miles per hour. There's too many banquets, and projects, and parties to look forward to! Spring is coming, and with it comes the end of my year-long thesis project and the conclusion of four years of workworkwork. Daffodils will be blooming soon, and I'll have heard about graduate school and decided on my summer plans and settled into a post-coed life.
I've been working towards these next few weeks for the past four years. I'm almost a legitimate participant in the real world. But I'm not all that nervous - though my five-year plan is fuzzy, I'm weirdly at peace. Somehow, I think I'll know what to do when the time comes.
February 7, 2010
Long time, no type
I usually don't make official New Year's resolutions. Despite my penchant for to-do lists, I've always tried to live, love, and laugh with gusto every day - as opposed to being gung-ho for only the first two inspired weeks of each year.
Still, I promised myself that I'd make a few changes in 2010, as I began my last semester of college. I resolved to take more pictures and to write on my blog more often. (Will I ever be 21 in New York again? Nope. Better make sure I remember these moments, then.)
It's February 7th: I have no new photos on my Canon, and this is my first blog post of the new year. Womp, womp, womp.
But maybe - since I don't normally do this whole resolution shpiel - I can amend the rules? I loathe messing up; being late, spilling things, and disappointing people are all on the things-that-make-my-stomach-lurch list, and slacking on my resolutions is no exception. In the interest of avoiding stomach ulcers, and in the hopes of capturing the magic of my last 4 months as a co-ed, I'm calling for a do-over. Did I swing and miss? You bet. But I'm granting myself another metaphorical at-bat.
After all, January was pretty jam-packed with awesomeness. I love all of my classes, and I may actually complete my senior thesis (or, BLT, aka a Big Long Thing) on time and with some panache. I've celebrated good friends' birthdays, and I've gone on some ridiculously tasty food adventures in my neighborhood: Mercadito and Podunk are my current obsessions, albeit their guacamole and scones (respectively) are total opposites. I led the BC's campaign to help the people of Haiti, as if I needed another reminder of how incredible the Jewish community is. I've learned and laughed and loved a lot already.
Now I just have to remember to capture it all, to say cheese and to write witty banter, so that I can remember all of my silly young hi-jinks someday.
Still, I promised myself that I'd make a few changes in 2010, as I began my last semester of college. I resolved to take more pictures and to write on my blog more often. (Will I ever be 21 in New York again? Nope. Better make sure I remember these moments, then.)
It's February 7th: I have no new photos on my Canon, and this is my first blog post of the new year. Womp, womp, womp.
But maybe - since I don't normally do this whole resolution shpiel - I can amend the rules? I loathe messing up; being late, spilling things, and disappointing people are all on the things-that-make-my-stomach-lurch list, and slacking on my resolutions is no exception. In the interest of avoiding stomach ulcers, and in the hopes of capturing the magic of my last 4 months as a co-ed, I'm calling for a do-over. Did I swing and miss? You bet. But I'm granting myself another metaphorical at-bat.
After all, January was pretty jam-packed with awesomeness. I love all of my classes, and I may actually complete my senior thesis (or, BLT, aka a Big Long Thing) on time and with some panache. I've celebrated good friends' birthdays, and I've gone on some ridiculously tasty food adventures in my neighborhood: Mercadito and Podunk are my current obsessions, albeit their guacamole and scones (respectively) are total opposites. I led the BC's campaign to help the people of Haiti, as if I needed another reminder of how incredible the Jewish community is. I've learned and laughed and loved a lot already.
Now I just have to remember to capture it all, to say cheese and to write witty banter, so that I can remember all of my silly young hi-jinks someday.
December 31, 2009
A New World
In less than two hours, it'll be 2010.
My Blackberry keeps buzzing with people's memories of where they were ten years ago; most of my friends' Facebook statuses are some variation of "Ten years ago, I was in middle school. Where did the time go? Holy crap."* What does that even mean, "Where did the time go?" Even if time could stand still, would we really want it to?
Ten years ago, I was 11 years old. I'm pretty sure that I spent New Year's Eve watching the ball drop in my pjs, cuddled up on the sofa - some things, apparently, never change. I was in 6th grade then; I loved ballet class, hated that I wasn't allowed to have a boyfriend, and desperately wanted to fit in. I had these ridiculous pants with a tiger's face silk-screened across the crotch, which I adored and wore at least once a month (probably didn't help to boost my coolness factor). I still liked math class then, since I hadn't met that beast otherwise known as geometry. I still told people that I wanted to be a pediatric cardiologist when I was 11...I didn't decide that journalism was a better choice (less blood involved, theoretically) until 7th grade. I liked roller skating, *NSYNC, and going to Creanies for a banana split with Mom when I got good grades. I went to bed by 10pm. I was a little girl still.
In the editor's letter of Glamour this month, readers were asked to think about when they were ten years old. What would we tell that young girl? Would she be proud of us? Well, I hope the girl that I was a decade ago would like the Rachel of 2010. I guess I'm finally "cool" now: I live in a studio in New York, I'm about to graduate college, I no longer have braces, and I am, in fact, allowed to have a boyfriend. I think my younger self would be proud of my dedication to community service, and she'd expect nothing less than my absolute devotion to Jewish student life on campus. She'd go nuts when she saw my armoire full of sparkly, shiny dresses. Most of all, though, the Rachel that I was ten years ago would be proudest of the woman that I am now, I think, because I'm happy. I have friends that make me laugh, parents that never seem to stop giving and caring and teaching, and a city that never ceases to amaze and amuse me.
So, here's to next year. Here's to more living, laughing, and loving. Here's to a decade of job-finding, reporting, and change; here's to another ten years of exploring my city. Here's to the weddings (And babies? Oh Lord.) that the next decade will bring, and here's to growing up without growing old. Here's to being happy. I hope time does anything but stand still.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
*(Mine, for the record, says "Rachel Slaff is ready for a new year, a new perspective, a new decade, a new journey...let's go, 2010.")
My Blackberry keeps buzzing with people's memories of where they were ten years ago; most of my friends' Facebook statuses are some variation of "Ten years ago, I was in middle school. Where did the time go? Holy crap."* What does that even mean, "Where did the time go?" Even if time could stand still, would we really want it to?
Ten years ago, I was 11 years old. I'm pretty sure that I spent New Year's Eve watching the ball drop in my pjs, cuddled up on the sofa - some things, apparently, never change. I was in 6th grade then; I loved ballet class, hated that I wasn't allowed to have a boyfriend, and desperately wanted to fit in. I had these ridiculous pants with a tiger's face silk-screened across the crotch, which I adored and wore at least once a month (probably didn't help to boost my coolness factor). I still liked math class then, since I hadn't met that beast otherwise known as geometry. I still told people that I wanted to be a pediatric cardiologist when I was 11...I didn't decide that journalism was a better choice (less blood involved, theoretically) until 7th grade. I liked roller skating, *NSYNC, and going to Creanies for a banana split with Mom when I got good grades. I went to bed by 10pm. I was a little girl still.
In the editor's letter of Glamour this month, readers were asked to think about when they were ten years old. What would we tell that young girl? Would she be proud of us? Well, I hope the girl that I was a decade ago would like the Rachel of 2010. I guess I'm finally "cool" now: I live in a studio in New York, I'm about to graduate college, I no longer have braces, and I am, in fact, allowed to have a boyfriend. I think my younger self would be proud of my dedication to community service, and she'd expect nothing less than my absolute devotion to Jewish student life on campus. She'd go nuts when she saw my armoire full of sparkly, shiny dresses. Most of all, though, the Rachel that I was ten years ago would be proudest of the woman that I am now, I think, because I'm happy. I have friends that make me laugh, parents that never seem to stop giving and caring and teaching, and a city that never ceases to amaze and amuse me.
So, here's to next year. Here's to more living, laughing, and loving. Here's to a decade of job-finding, reporting, and change; here's to another ten years of exploring my city. Here's to the weddings (And babies? Oh Lord.) that the next decade will bring, and here's to growing up without growing old. Here's to being happy. I hope time does anything but stand still.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
*(Mine, for the record, says "Rachel Slaff is ready for a new year, a new perspective, a new decade, a new journey...let's go, 2010.")
November 19, 2009
Shake it out, baby
I had my semi-annual holy-crap-I-have-so-much-work-to-do freakout today. Poor Mom made the mistake of asking how I was...and the waterworks commenced.
But I had homework to do. I have four different things due on Tuesday. I don't have time to be upset. I needed to get all the worries out and move on.
So I danced. I busted a move. I turned my iPod speakers way up and jumped around my apartment like a crazy person. (My apologies to the folks in apartment 2D for that herd of elephants that you heard above you around 11:00pm.)
Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy... (I swear I'm not a Delta Nu: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Coemj2qdWMw) Aaaand I'm back in the game.
But I had homework to do. I have four different things due on Tuesday. I don't have time to be upset. I needed to get all the worries out and move on.
So I danced. I busted a move. I turned my iPod speakers way up and jumped around my apartment like a crazy person. (My apologies to the folks in apartment 2D for that herd of elephants that you heard above you around 11:00pm.)
Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy... (I swear I'm not a Delta Nu: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Coemj2qdWMw) Aaaand I'm back in the game.
October 9, 2009
Seasons of love
I was almost home yesterday when I looked down and realized that the sidewalk was strewn with leaves. Weren't those still on trees the day before? When did it become autumn?
For that matter, when did I become a grown-up? I walked out of a rough meeting in the journalism department yesterday and somehow felt sure that my mom would be sitting in her red car waiting for me across the street - but then I realized that I haven't been in high school for four years. Mom still talks me down when I'm upset, of course, and Dad still helps me see things clearly (how does he always do that?). But I'm a not a little girl anymore. I have to solve my own problems. Actually, I've been so busy lately that I have to decide which problems are worth solving.
So, on my way home, I crunched through leaves and realized that I don't have time to be upset. I don't have the time to be anyone but myself, to do anything beyond what gives me glee, or to share my life with anyone but the people that make me happy. (Homework doesn't count, here - I read a book on the history of the color blue last week. Seriously, 200 pages on a color. It was ridiculous.) I looked up at the trees on 12th Street and realized that they'd changed colors without a fuss - no upset or tantrum, just a subtle shift from green to gold. They were different, sure, but they were still beautiful.
I went to rehearsal with my friends instead of pouting last night. We laughed and ate fake chicken nuggets (holla, Red Bamboo) and sang, and I decided to face whatever is in front of me without fear.
I have no idea what my future will be like. But I do know this: I'll be the best Rachel Liane that I can be. I'll be goofy, and sweet, and a little edgy; I'll write with wit and live with intention; I'll cherish sunshine and friendship. Seasons change. Leaves fall. I have no idea exactly when I grew up; no one hands you a manual and says, "Welcome to adulthood." (Wouldn't it be great if you got one of those car navigation ladies in your brain when you turned 21? "Turn left here." "In 2.3 miles, you should ask that guy out." "Pay your bills." That'd be swell.) Life, though, has granted me enough friendship and love to make it through.
For that matter, when did I become a grown-up? I walked out of a rough meeting in the journalism department yesterday and somehow felt sure that my mom would be sitting in her red car waiting for me across the street - but then I realized that I haven't been in high school for four years. Mom still talks me down when I'm upset, of course, and Dad still helps me see things clearly (how does he always do that?). But I'm a not a little girl anymore. I have to solve my own problems. Actually, I've been so busy lately that I have to decide which problems are worth solving.
So, on my way home, I crunched through leaves and realized that I don't have time to be upset. I don't have the time to be anyone but myself, to do anything beyond what gives me glee, or to share my life with anyone but the people that make me happy. (Homework doesn't count, here - I read a book on the history of the color blue last week. Seriously, 200 pages on a color. It was ridiculous.) I looked up at the trees on 12th Street and realized that they'd changed colors without a fuss - no upset or tantrum, just a subtle shift from green to gold. They were different, sure, but they were still beautiful.
I went to rehearsal with my friends instead of pouting last night. We laughed and ate fake chicken nuggets (holla, Red Bamboo) and sang, and I decided to face whatever is in front of me without fear.
I have no idea what my future will be like. But I do know this: I'll be the best Rachel Liane that I can be. I'll be goofy, and sweet, and a little edgy; I'll write with wit and live with intention; I'll cherish sunshine and friendship. Seasons change. Leaves fall. I have no idea exactly when I grew up; no one hands you a manual and says, "Welcome to adulthood." (Wouldn't it be great if you got one of those car navigation ladies in your brain when you turned 21? "Turn left here." "In 2.3 miles, you should ask that guy out." "Pay your bills." That'd be swell.) Life, though, has granted me enough friendship and love to make it through.
August 24, 2009
Miracles and Mangos
Inside the label of my Honest Tea Orange Mango "thirst quencher," 30 minutes after I correctly solved 3 GRE math practice questions:
"Anyone who doesn't believe in miracles is not a realist." - David Ben-Gurion
Wonders never cease.
"Anyone who doesn't believe in miracles is not a realist." - David Ben-Gurion
Wonders never cease.
August 11, 2009
I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane
When I told Dad that I was going on a trip to Kazakhstan, he was surprised -- until I said it was a service project. Social action is simply what I do: delivering Meals on Wheels in middle school, leading Interact in high school, volunteering at the HUC Soup Kitchen with Kesher, leading the social action component of Project FEED. I ran for Hillel president because I believe that we are all responsible for one another, because I feel obligated to give back.
I didn't think (as odd as it might sound) that this trip to Kazakhstan would be any different. It was volunteering, it was Jewish, it was peer-led -- of course I was going and of course I would have a great time.
I was excited to see new places and meet new people. I was terrified to try to keep kosher in Central Asia. I was thrilled to get the chance to do what I've always loved. But, community service is nothing new for me, so it didn't dawn on me that this trip would be anything out of the ordinary, beyond my bizarre destination.
I didn't expect my outlook to change. I've helped the elderly in the US so often -- I didn't realize that helping the elderly in Kazakhstan would affirm my commitment to doing what I can for others as never before. Volunteering used to be my norm, but now I know that my actions can be a way to reach, to strive, to go beyond what is expected. Scrubbing walls, smiling, and delivering meals took on a deeper meaning for me in Kazakhstan. I didn't just feel warm and fuzzy because I'd helped someone; I felt energized as I realized my own blessings. I felt truly connected to something holy as I realized how alike we all are. I felt as if I finally understood why it is better to give than to receive.
I went halfway around the world to discover that joy and humanity can be found anywhere. I spent 32 hours on airplanes to remember how much value one moment can have. I left what I've always known to revive the purpose of what I've been doing all along.
As Borat would say, I like.
I didn't think (as odd as it might sound) that this trip to Kazakhstan would be any different. It was volunteering, it was Jewish, it was peer-led -- of course I was going and of course I would have a great time.
I was excited to see new places and meet new people. I was terrified to try to keep kosher in Central Asia. I was thrilled to get the chance to do what I've always loved. But, community service is nothing new for me, so it didn't dawn on me that this trip would be anything out of the ordinary, beyond my bizarre destination.
I didn't expect my outlook to change. I've helped the elderly in the US so often -- I didn't realize that helping the elderly in Kazakhstan would affirm my commitment to doing what I can for others as never before. Volunteering used to be my norm, but now I know that my actions can be a way to reach, to strive, to go beyond what is expected. Scrubbing walls, smiling, and delivering meals took on a deeper meaning for me in Kazakhstan. I didn't just feel warm and fuzzy because I'd helped someone; I felt energized as I realized my own blessings. I felt truly connected to something holy as I realized how alike we all are. I felt as if I finally understood why it is better to give than to receive.
I went halfway around the world to discover that joy and humanity can be found anywhere. I spent 32 hours on airplanes to remember how much value one moment can have. I left what I've always known to revive the purpose of what I've been doing all along.
As Borat would say, I like.
August 4, 2009
30 Hours Later
I flew over the Atlantic Ocean and continental Europe. I walked through Kiev, ate at a strange diner dedicated to Depeche Mode, and saw how much America's community service has influenced the Ukraine. I ate apple crepes and read magazines. I suffered through 30 hours of transit. I was excited to get to Kazakhstan.
Then we went to Babi Yar.
Our tour guide, an active member of Kiev's Hillel, told us matter-of-factly how Kiev's Jews were brutally murdered in the spot where we stood 70 years ago. There are cyprus trees now, and evergreens, where my people were killed. I wanted to cry, but the pain was so raw that I couldn't: we walked to the edge of the ravine where Jews, just like us, were lined up and shot, and James asked in bewilderment, "Wait, there are bodies down there?"
We said Yizkor and Kaddish and read poetry mourning the loss of so many beautiful lives. I closed my eyes and crossed my arms tight as I recited the Aramaic words quietly; the sun was shining, and I desperately wanted to ignore the beauty of the spot, so that I could properly remember those lost at Babi Yar. It seemed profane for the breeze to blow, for birds to chirp, for life to carry on unaffected where such evil had happened.
James said our prayers made him feel better, that they were our way of telling the Nazis and their Final Solution to fuck off: Here we are, praying and living and thriving; here we are, despite what you thought this massacre would achieve.
But I wasn't comforted. Our prayers seemed like one drop in a giant, empty bucket. When we reached the end of the pathway leading to the ravine, a young Ukrainian woman walked by on the sidewalk, chatting on her cell phone, totally unaware. How often, I wondered in horror, have I walked by an atrocity unknowingly? How often have I stood idly by? Is our best effort not enough?
Today, in Almaty, the head of the JDC in Kazakhstan was asked what the biggest challenges are for the Kazakhstani Jewish community. I expected him to say reintroducing lost culture, or a lack of money, or anti-Semitism.
"The youth," he immediately replied. It's extremely difficult, he explained, to find young Jews who are willing to get involved and to take action to shape their community.
I sucked in my breath sharply, and the rest of his words blurred together in my ears as I sat in shock. Are you kidding me??? I flew halfway around the world to help this community, to gain inspiration, to be reminded of the blessings of being an American Jew. I was sure that the NYU community -- despite its inability to get liberal Jews in the door, its red tape, its shaky pluralism and solid cliques -- was superior to what I would find in Kazakhstan. But now I've been told that Jews in Central Asia have the same major problem that we do in NYC. We are no better. We cannot help them solve their problems.
I'm embarrassed. I'm angry and sad and confused and frustrated and exhausted. Apparently, the only leg up that we American Jews have on Kazakhstanis is that our toilets can handle flushing TP.
Our generation of Jews, and those that will follow, are in so much more trouble than I thought - no matter the country, economic standing, political dogma, or religious practice, we cannot seem to organize. My peers, worldwide, seem to have trouble giving a damn. Not enough of us are willing to step up to the plate, to take a risk, to make a difference.
Going to sleep off my disappointment and hoping that tomorrow's volunteering will change my mind. There's so much to be done - and 20 stupid Americans crazy enough to come to Kazakhstan can't do it alone.
Yeish tikvah?
Then we went to Babi Yar.
Our tour guide, an active member of Kiev's Hillel, told us matter-of-factly how Kiev's Jews were brutally murdered in the spot where we stood 70 years ago. There are cyprus trees now, and evergreens, where my people were killed. I wanted to cry, but the pain was so raw that I couldn't: we walked to the edge of the ravine where Jews, just like us, were lined up and shot, and James asked in bewilderment, "Wait, there are bodies down there?"
We said Yizkor and Kaddish and read poetry mourning the loss of so many beautiful lives. I closed my eyes and crossed my arms tight as I recited the Aramaic words quietly; the sun was shining, and I desperately wanted to ignore the beauty of the spot, so that I could properly remember those lost at Babi Yar. It seemed profane for the breeze to blow, for birds to chirp, for life to carry on unaffected where such evil had happened.
James said our prayers made him feel better, that they were our way of telling the Nazis and their Final Solution to fuck off: Here we are, praying and living and thriving; here we are, despite what you thought this massacre would achieve.
But I wasn't comforted. Our prayers seemed like one drop in a giant, empty bucket. When we reached the end of the pathway leading to the ravine, a young Ukrainian woman walked by on the sidewalk, chatting on her cell phone, totally unaware. How often, I wondered in horror, have I walked by an atrocity unknowingly? How often have I stood idly by? Is our best effort not enough?
Today, in Almaty, the head of the JDC in Kazakhstan was asked what the biggest challenges are for the Kazakhstani Jewish community. I expected him to say reintroducing lost culture, or a lack of money, or anti-Semitism.
"The youth," he immediately replied. It's extremely difficult, he explained, to find young Jews who are willing to get involved and to take action to shape their community.
I sucked in my breath sharply, and the rest of his words blurred together in my ears as I sat in shock. Are you kidding me??? I flew halfway around the world to help this community, to gain inspiration, to be reminded of the blessings of being an American Jew. I was sure that the NYU community -- despite its inability to get liberal Jews in the door, its red tape, its shaky pluralism and solid cliques -- was superior to what I would find in Kazakhstan. But now I've been told that Jews in Central Asia have the same major problem that we do in NYC. We are no better. We cannot help them solve their problems.
I'm embarrassed. I'm angry and sad and confused and frustrated and exhausted. Apparently, the only leg up that we American Jews have on Kazakhstanis is that our toilets can handle flushing TP.
Our generation of Jews, and those that will follow, are in so much more trouble than I thought - no matter the country, economic standing, political dogma, or religious practice, we cannot seem to organize. My peers, worldwide, seem to have trouble giving a damn. Not enough of us are willing to step up to the plate, to take a risk, to make a difference.
Going to sleep off my disappointment and hoping that tomorrow's volunteering will change my mind. There's so much to be done - and 20 stupid Americans crazy enough to come to Kazakhstan can't do it alone.
Yeish tikvah?
May 31, 2009
Some Jews live in tents, and some live in pagodas...
...and some Jews pay rent, cause the city's not free! Oh, Jewish folk songs...
Just got home from the Salute to Israel parade, also known as the sea of blue and white that flooded Fifth Avenue today. There were babies in strollers with Israeli flag bibs, Hebrew schools, synagogues, youth groups, and a truly impressive amount of college students. NYU had easily 30 people marching this afternoon to represent our Hillel (even if we didn't have matching tee shirts, whoops), alongside at least 10 other colleges; I was so incredibly proud.
We waved Israeli flags, cheered with an uncharacteristic amount of school spirit whenever it was announced that we were from NYU, and walked together in the sunshine. I have not felt as awed and blessed and excited by my Judaism since I was in Israel...it is moments like this afternoon that cement my need to be in New York, to be in this huge, crazy, vibrant community, to joyfully lead a Jewish life as fully as I can.
There were ultra-Orthodox Jews protesting the parade, too. They're there every year, with their signs and their black hats, protesting the existence of a Jewish state because the messiah hasn't arrived yet.
To most people, their presence is upsetting: one group of girls from NYU cheered and clapped and chanted "Am Yisrael Chai" even louder than usual as we walked by the protesters' spot in the shade at the south end of Central Park.
But I don't mind the protesters. In fact, I was oddly glad that they were there...whatever our reasons, the parade had brought all of the Jews in the area together. We disagree about so much (too much, sometimes, I think), but, regardless of our personal beliefs or points of view, we're all Jews. So, sure, there was tension today as we passed each other at the parade, but at least we were all in the same place for (more or less) the same cause.
Of course, it'd be nicer if we could all get along...but, then, if everyone was the same, our world would be ridiculously boring.
Amsterdam, Disney Land, Tel Aviv,
Oh, they're miles apart
But when we light the candles on Sabbath eve,
We share in the prayer in each one of our hearts
Just got home from the Salute to Israel parade, also known as the sea of blue and white that flooded Fifth Avenue today. There were babies in strollers with Israeli flag bibs, Hebrew schools, synagogues, youth groups, and a truly impressive amount of college students. NYU had easily 30 people marching this afternoon to represent our Hillel (even if we didn't have matching tee shirts, whoops), alongside at least 10 other colleges; I was so incredibly proud.
We waved Israeli flags, cheered with an uncharacteristic amount of school spirit whenever it was announced that we were from NYU, and walked together in the sunshine. I have not felt as awed and blessed and excited by my Judaism since I was in Israel...it is moments like this afternoon that cement my need to be in New York, to be in this huge, crazy, vibrant community, to joyfully lead a Jewish life as fully as I can.
There were ultra-Orthodox Jews protesting the parade, too. They're there every year, with their signs and their black hats, protesting the existence of a Jewish state because the messiah hasn't arrived yet.
To most people, their presence is upsetting: one group of girls from NYU cheered and clapped and chanted "Am Yisrael Chai" even louder than usual as we walked by the protesters' spot in the shade at the south end of Central Park.
But I don't mind the protesters. In fact, I was oddly glad that they were there...whatever our reasons, the parade had brought all of the Jews in the area together. We disagree about so much (too much, sometimes, I think), but, regardless of our personal beliefs or points of view, we're all Jews. So, sure, there was tension today as we passed each other at the parade, but at least we were all in the same place for (more or less) the same cause.
Of course, it'd be nicer if we could all get along...but, then, if everyone was the same, our world would be ridiculously boring.
Amsterdam, Disney Land, Tel Aviv,
Oh, they're miles apart
But when we light the candles on Sabbath eve,
We share in the prayer in each one of our hearts
May 8, 2009
Firsts and lasts
It's been raining all week; Mom always says good things happen on rainy days.
I'm almost a senior in college (only 2 more finals until it's official!), I start an amazing editorial internship in a few short weeks, and I've been blessed with a year full of life lessons, ups and downs, and lots of love. But that's not what the rain's been making me think about this week...the future is exciting, and the past year has been great, but I'm unable to look at things so concretely lately. Instead, I just keep wondering if the rain is washing away the old, cleansing our figurative slates or palettes or faces or whatever it is that you'd like to be symbolically refreshed. It's as if the rain is preparing us for something new, waking us up for whatever's about to happen. So many of my friends are graduating and moving on, and I can just feel my circle growing up, whether we like it or not.
This sounds so much more somber than I intended; I don't mean to say that we're all leaving or turning a new page too abruptly. I just have this feeling in my gut, an odd mix of excitement, joy, too much dessert, and contentment. I keep getting this lump in my throat, this knot in my chest, as I wander down the city streets...it's like I can feel the change coming. It's very close to that happy-bittersweet sensation you get when you hug family members who live far away, or when you watch a very small child learn something that you normally take for granted.
Something is going to happen, and it's thrilling and confusing and nerve-wracking and exhilarating all in one breath...or maybe it's just the humidity.
I'm almost a senior in college (only 2 more finals until it's official!), I start an amazing editorial internship in a few short weeks, and I've been blessed with a year full of life lessons, ups and downs, and lots of love. But that's not what the rain's been making me think about this week...the future is exciting, and the past year has been great, but I'm unable to look at things so concretely lately. Instead, I just keep wondering if the rain is washing away the old, cleansing our figurative slates or palettes or faces or whatever it is that you'd like to be symbolically refreshed. It's as if the rain is preparing us for something new, waking us up for whatever's about to happen. So many of my friends are graduating and moving on, and I can just feel my circle growing up, whether we like it or not.
This sounds so much more somber than I intended; I don't mean to say that we're all leaving or turning a new page too abruptly. I just have this feeling in my gut, an odd mix of excitement, joy, too much dessert, and contentment. I keep getting this lump in my throat, this knot in my chest, as I wander down the city streets...it's like I can feel the change coming. It's very close to that happy-bittersweet sensation you get when you hug family members who live far away, or when you watch a very small child learn something that you normally take for granted.
Something is going to happen, and it's thrilling and confusing and nerve-wracking and exhilarating all in one breath...or maybe it's just the humidity.
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