First Post in a While

Dear Loyal Readers (and you Not-So-Loyal Readers. It's OK, really),

I apologize for not writing in a while. At first, it was just the product of moving from my dorm room where I was really alone and kind of lonely and had a lot of time to write long blog entries, to a youth hostel where I have less time and privacy and more people to talk to. And then, even when I settled in a bit here at Vagabonds, things picked up, and each day that went by without a post meant more info to put in the next one. And then it got overwhelming, so I just didn't do it, etc., etc., etc. So there you go, a view into the inner workings of my brain.

Lots has changed since I last wrote, over a week ago. But I'm going to try to break this post into three separate posts. Post one will be written tonight, and maybe even post two. Post three will have to wait until tomorrow, when I have my camera cord with me, and I will post beautiful pictures of my 4.5 mile (solo!) hike up Cave Hill in North Belfast.

So thus begineth Post One -- the emotions and thoughts thus far, and looking into my near future in the Holy Land. In short the solo travel part of this blog (for observations on the political and academic, please stay tuned for Post Two).

I had less free time this week than I had the weeks before, because I actually had one or two interviews every day. In some ways, I'm happy for the change, for obvious reasons. On the other hand, I actually miss the loneliness a bit, much to my surprise. I've had less time to journal, less time to just walk around with headphones on. I'd finally gotten kind of used to just listening to the voice in my head. For the first time, maybe ever, I wasn't thinking about the future (next year at Yale, the year after, 10 years down the road), or being nostalgic about the past or fixated on missing people and places (an anywhere-but-here-ness that I get sometimes). I was just focused on the near future -- what interviews I needed to set up for next week, where I was eating dinner, etc. And for the first time, also maybe ever, I was experiencing just being me. Not me, in relation to other people. Just...me. As I am, without any cues from familiar situations or places or people. It's certainly a weird feeling -- to be completely alone, and feel that I am completely alone in the world. It's a feeling of complete independence that's not necessarily bad, just different. Not sure if this makes sense to other people besides me.

I don't know if any of you other rising seniors and college-age kids feel this way, but I guess I sort of felt that grownup-hood would come after a set point in my life. Maybe after I graduated college. Who knows, maybe after May 25, 2010 (my graduation date, fyi), POOF, I will feel like a grownup. Or maybe I'll be scared shitless. Probably something in between, or both. It never really occurred to me that being a grownup is a process. Ridiculous, I know; it's kind of obvious, after all. But grownups, to me, are still sort of foreign (no offense to the grownup readers of this blog), much older people who seem to have a lot of it figured out. And even if they don't have it figured completely out, they're not afraid of the dark, at least. They're responsible, or, in any case, expected to be responsible. It's not unreasonable to expect that they know how to cook full meals, not screw up plane tickets online, know what to do in an emergency, pay taxes, etc. They are still people that I need to pass my decisions by. Even in my best moments on this trip, when I've had a really good interview, and figured out the bus, eaten a healthy meal, made a new friend, made some intelligent comment, etc. and feel really good about myself, I do not feel like I have a lot of that basic stuff down. In fact, when I do feel really confident, I'm actually surprised that I pulled it off. I'm really, honestly, shocked that this trip is going as well as it is! But then again, maybe this is what being a grownup is. Or becoming a grownup, anyway. Totally weird, and I know I'm rambling a bit.

In any case, I've been doing a lot of thinking along these lines, some of which is unhelpful and freaking me out (especially the recurrent realization that I'm graduating in a year, and will have to say goodbye to Yale and all the wonderful people that I see every day. But I won't go off on that gush-fest now), and some of which is really interesting and provoking of more thought, and really, well...exciting. Because I have managed to pull this off. And if I can toot my own horn for a second, I'm pretty proud of myself. It certainly hasn't been perfect, but from conception to execution, I planned this trip and am living it, all on my own. Yay, me. That's been the most important thing I've realized about myself. That, and that in the end, I need other people. And how lucky I am to have wonderful people to need. In the worst moments of this trip, I get so much strength from that. Perhaps most of all from my other friends who are off on their own traveling as well, in Sierra Leone and Nicaragua and Benin and Italy and so many other exciting places. I am alone, but I am not alone.

At the risk of making this the longest post in the history of posts, I want to switch gears and talk about Israel for a second.

First off, I don't know how many of you heard about the two gay Israelis who were murdered in Tel Aviv last week. When I saw it pop up on the BBC, I didn't think too much of it, at first. As perhaps ridiculous as this sounds, considering what I'm trying to study, I tend to avoid violent news coming out of Israel, of any kind. It makes me too upset. But it turns out that this particular incident became a little more personal -- one of the two victims was my friend Aaron's cousin. Aaron is one of the people I talk a lot about Israel with, and though we don't always agree, we mostly do, and I always get a lot out of our conversations. We share frustrations about Israel, and discuss our respective love-hate relationships with it. We met in Arabic class, two Jews with a Palestinian teacher. He's actually been in Israel all summer, and is still there now, with his family. They still haven't said who they think committed this crime, but they have said that they don't think it's "nationalistic" in nature, as in, not Palestinian terrorism. And considering the opposition from the ultra-orthodox community to gay pride parades in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem (both which I attended in Israel two years ago), I think a lot of people (myself included) suspect that the person who did this is a Jew. And though there has since been huge outpouring of support across Israel, and even among Israeli politicians, this thought still sticks with me.

The most, the MOST hurtful and painful thing for me about Israel is that it is a country full of people who share my identity. Who, more than representing me, for better or worse, to the rest of the world, are supposed to believe in what I believe. They are the people who, when I celebrate Shabbat, I feel connected to. The most important part of their being, the very heart of who they are, is, in name, and supposedly, in value, the most important part of my being and the very heart of who I am. And for me, my Judaism is the thing that most informs my values of social justice, acceptance, peace. I just don't understand how a country so full of Jews can be so...not that, more often that I'd like. And here, I'm not just talking about what happened last week, but about everything I'm about to go study and immerse myself in once again. About that conflict that has dominated world politics for 60 years. I know I'll probably make some people reading this blog uncomfortable and upset by saying these things. But that's really, if I'm honest, what has made Israel so so difficult for me.

But. Here's what's changed in the last week. I emailed one of my wonderful rabbis at Slifka, Lauren, who has been someone I can go to when I feel especially distraught concerning these things.

She wrote back: "We have to continue to fill the world with love."

It's so completely obvious that she's right. It is so simple, so true, and no one could've said anything better to me.

I have a tendency to let my frustration and confusion about Israel collapse everything else. I don't really know the best way to say this without sounding like a self-help book, and there are lots of ways to embody that statement, but: all I can really do is take care of my own identity -- my Jewish identity is about love. A lot of the rest of my identity is too. And if I can just approach this whole thing from that perspective, maybe I'll feel better about this whole thing. And maybe, just maybe, things will actually get better. I have so much to feel love about.

If anything else, I need to approach my trip to Israel with an open mind, with optimism, instead of with the expectation of disaster and hatred and pain. Last time, the differences between my Jewishness and the perception I held of Israel shook my identity, really, to its core, and that was almost unbearably scary. It made me want to divorce myself from all the implications of Israel. This time, if I'm going to continue to define myself through my Judaism, I have to look at the implications. I have to make my difficult peace with Israel. I will not let my identity be shaken by it, but I need to fully engage it in dialogue. I will not let it represent me, but I will not run away from it either.

Don't get me wrong, this doesn't mean that I will stop being critical of Israel or its policies. This is not a political or an intellectual decision, really. It is an emotional decision, for my own well being. I don't know what it looks like, but, honestly, I don't think I would feel so strongly about Israel if it wasn't part of my identity. I'm confident this is a good goal, but who knows if I'll actually going to be able to do it.

The other interpretation of what Lauren wrote me, is of course, to just love. Period. Not relating to Israel, but in life. That definitely can't hurt, and I'm working on that, too.

It's pretty late, and I'm not really sure if any of this makes sense. If you ask some people (and those people know who they are), I'm never quite coherent about what's going on in my head, and certainly not about Israel. This is just a preview of what's to come. It's entirely possible this whole new approach will fall apart as soon as I step off the airplane. I sort of expect it to. But it's a good thing to come back to and remind myself of.

But until then, it's still a chilly 55 degrees in Belfast, and my bed is calling to me. Thanks for reading (if you got this far, you're a super champ). More tomorrow, can you believe it? Less rambling, more politics, more pictures.

Lots of love. I really mean it.
Sarah.