The Potter and the Clay

I went running yesterday, which I hardly do anymore, and as I moved my legs forward and up, I realized that  I'm not as hopeless as I think I am.

Let me explain: I've roller-coasted up and down various levels of physical athleticism...meaning, I am not an athlete, nor do I intend to be, but I love to move. When I get stressed out or when I am in school (the two of which are synonymous) I pour all my energy into worrying and simply have none left to spend on exercise.

Sound familiar?

It seems so simple now when you say it like that...

Anyway, I finally went running yesterday, because I got fed up with worrying. So I stepped outside, took a breath and bolted, though more like an old dog than a jack-rabbit.

Now, before you start asking yourself about the most recently advertised health benefits of long-distance running versus apparent risks, or the newest work-out fad, let me just say that I do not run for "fitness" in the glitzy athletic club shiny medal high end sneaker sense of the world...I run, at least, I know I must run, for spiritual solidity. 

How does this work? Good question. Maybe it's not so much a spiritual thing as it is a unifying in which my body and my spirit think and work together to achieve one common goal: simply moving faster, going higher, breathing longer.

And then I started thinking. I was amazed that, even after months of not running, I could still do so! This seems obvious in retrospect, because of course if I can walk, I can run. But when you don't do something long enough, you can quite easily forget that you have any potential at all. 

As I realized that my legs hadn't given up on me, that my muscles are still buried somewhere deep in my flesh, I thought about the Potter and the clay: "Will the pot say to the potter, you did not make me?" No. Will the pot wiggle and squirm and try to reinvent itself every time it notices and fixates upon a crack or a chink? If that pot is me, then yes, it certainly will. This is how I started out yesterday when I decided to run. I thought I would wipe my slate totally clean and begin "new," as if I could erase twenty two years of living just by putting one foot in front of the other. 

So I put one foot in front of the other...and another, and another, and another, and then I wasn't running from anything, or running towards anything, or erasing or embracing anything at all. I was just caught in a space in the air, with my feet somehow down on the earth.

Thoughts on a Friday

Lately I've been thinking a lot about women; not simply women in relation to men, but women as women with agency, uniqueness and life. The gender studies department at my (very liberal) tiny college would be proud..

I watched an incredible movie the other day that sparked this new obsession, called Adoption, and filmed in Hungary. It centers on one forty-three year old worker's desire for a child: a beautiful outpouring of our human capacity for love and nurturing affection. I was touched and inspired by her strength, her perseverance  her ability to always maintain her composure and never shy away from her own deep desires. Yet the counterbalance of this woman's sophisticated character is Anna, a seventeen year old foster child who is difficult, moody, and obviously hurt...she is abandoned.  In my own freakish dreams about motherhood, I can't help but to blur the lines between infants and adolescents. In other words, I think about children only as babies and not as beings who grow up and become independent. Disclaimer: I know I'm much too young to be thinking about this, but if you think about it, the first time most girls play with the idea of motherhood is in their own childhoods. I was driving home this afternoon and saw a mother, holding a toddler, holding a baby doll. Three generations in one fell swoop. I half expected the doll to have a smaller doll to hold. 

I remember having a great talk with my mom, quite recently, about all the wonderful things she did to ensure healthy, smart, active babies, while pregnant and while we were young. Things like home births, homeopathy, Waldorf-style education, blueberry picking, et cetera et cetera. :) I'm very grateful for that! Truly, I think my parents did a top notch job of developing my little self. I just think somewhere along the line things went askew. I think LIFE happened, and they weren't prepared for it because there's only so much you can read and prep for before you throw yourself into the water and pray to God you can swim. 

How much can you ever prepare for life? Isn't that part of the adventure? Is it selfish to throw caution to the wind? Or is it liberating? 

I think both. But slowly growing, I am beginning to see the value in responsibility. Granted, I have virtually NO responsibilities right now, so it's very easy to say that, but even things as simple as making sure I get home in enough time to sleep and eat so that I don't CRASH and feel miserable for the next five days is a very underrated yet very important accomplishment! It's easy to overlook that; especially when you're in a foreign country, or you are having fun with someone and don't want to come down. But we all eventually do and have to practice landing with even footing. 

I'm still working on that.

I found this quote on a wonderful blog that I follow (from the book Care of the Soul by Thomas Moore--not the Irish one--apparently there are two poets named Moore):

If we were to observe the soul in the family by honoring its stories and by not running away from its shadow, then we might not feel so inescapably determined by family influences…. 

Honoring its stories...what a grand idea! Every family is a microcosm of joy and pain and indelibly unique experiences, so how can we not celebrate them? Even the memories we hate are part of us. Just like bruises and scars, we wear them on our hearts, in our eyes, on the tips of our fingers, on the breaths from our noses and lips. We wear our families, for better and for worse. I suppose escapism then can only take a person so far, because we cannot ever escape our own skins!!

We assume we are ineluctably who we are because of the family in which we grew up. What if we thought of the family less as the determining influence by which we are formed and more the raw material from which we can make a life.

Raw material. Eyes, nose mouth, lips, tongue, teeth, throat, heart, guts, lungs, body and bones and brain and speech and ears to hear and eyes to see and hands to hold. Hands to hold. Babies to make, books to carry, bread to bake. Shall the clay pot deny the hands that fashioned it and say "you did not make me?"

How can we fashion ourselves without first molding to the warm touch of the Potter who made us?

Two extraordinary women. (From St. Silouhan's Chapel at the Toronto Mission in Canada)

My Grannablog: Three Notes On The Staff.

My Grannablog: Three Notes On The Staff.: February 9, 2013. Just a few minutes ago, I looked out the front door to see what kind of day it might be. The Saturday Ad paper had been ...

Lovely Grannapost from a few days ago!!! Know the song "Two Birds" by Regina Spektor? Grannamae, look this up on youtube. It's as if you both had the same thought...

Another Important Announcement--Please Read!!

Hello my dear friends and family!!

I would like to share some joy with you. It may have taken me six months on the other side of the world to figure this out, but I know this now and shall never forget it: I am loved. I love that feeling. I am blessed with so many dear, brilliant friends and a (huge) family that is both multifarious and unique and I wouldn't have it any other way. 

I have begun classes again in Ewing, New Jersey and couldn't really come up with anything profound or exciting to blog about spending most of my time in Ewing, as beautiful as the campus is and as interesting as my classes are (Soviet Russia, anyone?!). BUT I HAVE SOMETHING VERY EXCITING TO TELL YOU, because I need your help!!!!!!!

Shortly after returning from Israel, I realized that the wanderlust was not going away. I also realized that I wanted to give back (or, I guess, give forward) to a community who could use a helping hand (or ten) and give thanks to God for all the gifts he's given me. Enter, Real Break. 

Real Break is this fantastic program, sponsored by the OCF, that gathers college-age kids (I say kids because, let's face it, that's what we are) in small teams and sends them to different places around this world to work with a community in need. This year trips include Constantinople (I was tempted, but I think my stomach would have killed me if I attempted another twelve hour flight this soon!), Honduras, Guatemala, Mexico, New Orleans, LA, and Toronto. Click on the words "Real Break" to go to their website and see testimonies about their past projects. Click on "OCF" to learn more about what OCF--Orthodox Christian Fellowship--is. I've always wanted to do this, because everything I've heard has been fantastic, but I've always been too scared to. 

But I'm not anymore! It's incredible what throwing yourself into seemingly crazy circumstances can do for your self esteem. God is good, and we--Christian, Jew, atheist, Budhist--are all called to do good for our fellow man, because we are all brothers. In the words of my BGU counselor Sarah, "you don't want someone who means well, you want someone who does well."

This Spring Break, I will attempt to "do well." But here's the caviot: these trips are sponsored by the OCF, but it is up to the students to raise the funds to travel to these places, eat, sleep, and work. This is why I am asking for your help! I am raising money to fly to Toronto, Canada from March 9 through March 16. I will be sleeping, eating, praying and working with St. John the Compassionate Mission. Click the link to learn more about everything this home does to serve its community. It's so incredible!!

In order for me to participate, I must raise $800  by the end of March. The minimum amount for me to raise is $785, and there is no maximum amount, because however much I raise past the minimum amount will go directly to OCF and to St. John Mission to help sustain their community. 

This is really a fantastic cause!! And it's really not about me at all. I am merely a vehicle through which your generosity and care will go to loving people in Toronto, in a public housing project, who really need our help.  Isn't that what this is all about???

I ask you to please consider donating to my trip. Donations are tax-deductible and God-approved. :) (Sorry for the bad joke, but hey, you know my father...)

Because this trip is through OCF, I can't do a GoFundMe page, but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't contribute! The easiest way to donate is to send donations (preferably in check form) directly to me, and from there I tally them and send it all to the OCF offices, where they do all the important stuff. Please leave a comment on this blog with your email address and I will email you my mailing address! And if you'd like I have a formal letter and donation form that I'd be happy to send :)

I urge to contribute. I'm not a money-oriented person at all, but I know when it's important, and it's important now. I hope you agree! I'm so blessed to have you all in my life and I know your love and support will follow me wherever I go.

God bless,

Mel

First Thoughts State-Side

Readjusting was not something I had considered. I became so busy in Israel, with studies and papers and travel, that I postponed my flight ten extra days so I could squeeze in two more trips and squeeze out three more papers. I succeeded, by the skin of my teeth, and to the detriment of my eyes, straining over the computer screen for hours on end. And then I packed up my belongings, hopped on a bus, a train, and then a plane; I slept, and then I was in Newark, New Jersey.

There's still so much to be said about Israel. I want to work on a collection of short stories from my time there and do something to organize my pictures. Maybe I'll mount some of my favorites on my wall. I also plan on framing a map of Israel for my room. I'm reminded of the musical theatre phase I went through in high school when I mounted Wicked posters all over my room.

But this feels different. Israel is not a fantasy but a reality, something that I experienced and learned from and brought so much back from in my heart. When I look at the map of this tiny country now, I understand it. Understanding a map is such a satisfying feeling to me; I can read all the lines and symbols and know that there's something incredible waiting for me in the real lines and squiggles of this place.

But I know I need to preserve this and not let it go from my mind; I'm not a scrap-booking person, but I will come up with something.

The initial culture shock, which first occurred on the plane (or rather, in the airport amid hoards of American birthright groups) was not so terrible. I had spoken English the majority of my time in Israel, so I was used to conversing in my native tongue. But getting off the plane was weird. First of all, there were lines for everything, and someone always told me exactly where to go. I didn't have to figure it out for myself, or follow someone who looked self-assured, or push my way to the front of a line or interrupt or shout at someone to find an answer to a question. I was greeted with "good morning" and "thank you" multiple times before I even left customs.

The next weird event was the train station in the airport; not only were the signs in English, but the announcements of the stops were also in English! Even worse, I can now hear people's phone conversations and know exactly what they are saying--this is oddly violating, like I'm eavesdropping on something private that I should not be hearing.

People open the door for me here, and expect me to go through. I find this oddly insulting now. I also realize that I tend to not look at people in the eye when I talk to them (strangers, that is). I feel rude, impatient, and self-absorbed.

I also just got back from a really tense country. I realize now that life is not like this everywhere. I'm sure I knew this before, but it's something I forced myself to forget for the sake of keeping up with the rhythm and energy of Israel and the Middle-East. It's not a relaxing place.

Yet strangely, I feel so much more relaxed. I feel much more self-assured, though I am trying hard to not let this new-found sureness  translate into self-involvement, because I'm not that special, and my trip is peanuts in the bigger picture. But to me, it is so special. I find that I can't communicate this sentiment to people over here.

So far, I've noticed two things: one, that my family or friends expect me to forget all about Israel and jump back into "real life" and two, that my family or friends expects me to WOW them with my gigantic details of my (really ordinary) escapades. So, I don't know how to balance these two expectations. I also feel torn between the two: one minute I want to gush and talk about everything I did and saw and smelled in Israel, and the next I feel like I don't want to be that annoying person who says, "oh, when I was in Israel [or insert random foreign country here]. But, I get annoyed when people try to compare their abroad experiences to mine, because then I feel angry and selfish and get very protective over my Israel experience: "it's not [insert random foreign country here], it's Israel. 

But what does that mean??

This is a question I have attempted to answer through the course of this blog. I don't like answering questions nearly as much as I like asking them.

Ha Golan, or The Golan Heights: one of my favorite hiking trips.

Christmas in Bethlehem

My laundry is still in the washing machine, so I can't take a shower, and even if I did, I would have no clean, dry clothes with which to dress so that I could leave the house and go work on a paper...

SO, I will blog! It's been a while since I've done this. I just moved out of the dorms yesterday (woooohoooo! They were not nice.) and am staying at a friend's apartment in a different neighborhood close to campus (she's away in Turkey. Cool, huh?!) For the FIRST time since I've been in Israel, I woke up this morning with the very real sensation that I am living in another country. I look out of the bedroom window and I see uniform concrete buildings in the background; smaller, flat roofed concrete houses are in the foreground along with some blue construction tarps, a few small cars, garbage dumps in the parking lot, a few palm trees and one giant tree, whose variety escapes me. There's also a few electrical towers, TONS of sand, and a big, big, blue sky enveloping everything.  This, my friends, is Be'er Sheva in a nutshell. And it's been my home for almost half a year now.

There's no way I can write a blog post about "my time in Israel"; it's way too dense for that. Instead, I want to share my Christmas experience, which I believe was the best Christmas I've had. And it's strange, because this is the first Christmas I spent away from my family. You would think it would be extremely difficult. But being in the Holy Land helped, as did sharing my Christmas with my friends. I'll recap:

I decided to go to Jerusalem. This wasn't as hyped up as it sounds. I think Jerusalem gets really crowded on Easter (obviously) but it was pretty empty on Monday afternoon, December 24, when I arrived via bus. First thing I did was go to the Old City with my friend Kurt, to see if we could get tickets to a Christmas service that night at the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer. Did I mention that the service was in German?

This was the first interesting thing I did. I had originally planned to attend a "unitarian" service of sorts at some big church somewhere near the Old City, because it had the subtitle "multilingual," which to me equaled English! No Orthodox services were held on the 25th, because every Orthodox church in Israel is Old Calendar, so there would be no "Thy Nativity, Oh Christ our God..." for me. BUT wait until I tell you the rest.

Kurt and I weren't sure if we would be let into Church of the Redeemer. They had stopped giving tickets and we were told that if we came back in a few hours we might be able to find some standing room in the back. Okay, no harm done. We both wanted to be at  service. Kurt told me that in Germany he sometimes goes to four services on Christmas day, just to hear the carols. Cool, huh?

So, we had a few hours to spare in Jerusalem. What does one do in the Old City for a few hours? Pray and shop and go up on the roofs of old buildings. Seriously. We went to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (erected by Sts. Constantine and Helen in the 300s) and--it was so quiet! The last time I had been to the Church, it was Saturday, in the middle of the day, and it was miserably crowded. But because it was the evening, and on a Monday, there was scarcely anyone inside. So what did I do? I walked quickly toward the tomb to go inside and venerate the stone. I made it, but not before an angry monk started shouting at me to keep moving. Needless to say it was not the spiritual experience one expects when venerating such sacred objects, but I knew that, because last time at the Church I felt similarly...like a stuffed sardine waiting to be healed! But then when I feel like this I always think of Zachaeus and how he climbed a tree just to see Jesus above the crowds. Where's a good, sturdy tree when you need one?

Anyway, after a bit of shopping (that's another perk of not being home for Christmas--you have so much more time to buy presents!) we ended up at a bar with some friends, toasting on Christmas Eve. This was also strange for me. I'm used to fasting and (trying to) nap on Christmas Eve...but we gathered at a table around an outdoor heater, I drank hot mulled wine (!!!) and somehow, it felt good.

After this, Kurt and I went back to the Church to see about getting into the service. Did I mention that Kurt is German? He totally played the "we're both from the same country" card and got us inside, but there were plenty of open pews even after the service started.

About the service: the program was in German, English, Hebrew, and Arabic. This was singularly incredible. From the entrance to the building, we descended a set of stairs, passed an open courtyard, and crossed through a doorway into a massive white chapel with high vaulted ceilings, dimly lit and incredibly beautiful. Candles lined the rows of pews, a Christmas tree was set up on stage, and a beautiful creche scene was off to the side, pictured at left (it's blurry, I apologize..)



Then the service began with an angelic choir singing very familiar Christmas carols! The choir and congregation sang in German, but I happily joined in in English. At one point during one carol, we ALL sang the same thing: Glooooooooooooria! In Excelcius Deo.
See, not only did I learn Hebrew, but I speak German now too :)

It was a beautiful service; the shortest Christmas service I had ever been to, and there was a lot of sitting, but it was lovely and restful. In retrospect, I'm glad we sat for so long, because here's what we did next:

Ever wondered how long it takes one to walk from Jerusalem to Bethlehem? No? That's okay, I'll tell you anyway: two and a half hours, plus stops for singing.

Yep! Me, Kurt, Krystoff, and Paul joined a group of about 100 from the service on a midnight walk to the place of His birth...I really can't believe this. I will try to describe the experience without sounding like a Hallmark card or the 700 club, but please forgive me if I cheese out a bit....

It was cold and the walk was long. I felt neither of these sensations. I was warm and giddy. Really giddy. It was CHRISTMAS! I had never felt so excited in my whole life. Everything about this day felt special, unlike all the rest of the days, which it is.

The walk itself is not a beautiful one, and we were honked at several times by onlookers thinking all sorts of crazy things (I was surprised how used to this I felt...I remembered the Boston days of traipsing through the street at 2 am with giant candles...thanks Mama and Papa for raising me crazy, it came in handy.) And then this happened (picture at left). See that giant concrete wall in the center of the picture? Enlarge the photo. It's a giant concrete wall, with a security tower in the middle, and it passes through the middle of the street.
It's "THE WALL!" About five years ago, the Israeli government decided to build this wall dividing Israeli Jerusalem from Palestinian Bethlehem. So what do pilgrims do? This: (picture at right) Sing Christmas carols in the Checkpoint.


Never thought I'd say that sentence.



Once we passed through the checkpoint, we were in Bethlehem, and then we did this:

Watching this video again makes me inexplicably sad--sadder, I think, then I felt when I was there. I was too overwhelmed to understand what I was feeling then, because our walk continued away from the tumultuous wall and into Manger Square, where everything was warm and fuzzy again.

Decorations in Manger Square

The GIANT Christmas tree, the first real tree I saw in Israel.

The best is till yet to come, though I apologize that this post is turning out to be so long. We went into the Church of the Nativity, mostly to get warm, but ended up staying there for quiet some time (it was about 3 am at this point...). I walked down into the Grotto where the star is placed over the spot of his birth. It looks like this, pictured at right.

When I climbed down into the grotto, I was astonished (though thinking back on it, it makes sense) to see SO many people down there, even at 3 am! There was a Catholic service being conducted, and people were gathered around this humble little star, kneeling and praying. I was in awe. I couldn't really move and just stared at this star, picturing a tiny little baby curled up and sleeping inside. What Kings and Shepherds felt that day, here I was  standing in their footprints.

It was surreal. Remembering it now, I feel very funny inside...that's all I can say. I probably shouldn't try and describe it because I can't.

But needless to say, this was the best Christmas of my life. No family, no presents, no warm Christmas morning, but WHAT a day I had!

Wishing you all a peaceful and blessed 2013.

With love,
Melanie :)

Picture Highlights So Far, Again!!

 A trip to the Communist Museum (Prague, Czech Republic)

Hungarian Sweeties :) (Budapest, Hungary)

The Parliament Building overlooking the Danube (Budapest, Hungary)

Full Moon #3 of my time abroad. It rose over Budapest as I waited outside St. Mathius Church to hear Requiem (I did, and it was beautiful. Budapest, Hungary)

Carthusians conquer the Golan (Israel)

Ein Gedi mountains (Israel)

A feast of pork goulash!!!! (Czech Republic)

15th Century Castle, the significance of which slipped my mind because it's so darn BEAUTIFUL. (Czech Republic)

Prague!!!! I'm in Love. (Czech Republic)

Traditional Hungarian flat bread, cooked in a warm oven (Hungary)

Tour boat on the Danube (Czech Republic)

View from St. Charles' Bridge (Czech Republic.)

As I sipped red wine, my future husband serenaded me with a beautiful rendition of Zhivago. I'm in love. (Budapest, Hungary)

PRAGUE! Can you smell it? (Czech Republic)

Budapest (Hungary)

Long, LONG overdue pictures :) Europe and such!!!!