The End-Stonia.

Where am I? Where have I been? Where am I going? These questions keep smacking me in the face when I look up, open my eyes, and shake my head in total disbelief that I am where I am…and where I’ve been is in the past.

I was in Estonia 3 weeks ago. I was crying my not-so-tiny heart out on my friend’s shoulders in Latvia on August 23^rd. I was in Dallas with my mom, my family, and friends not even 2 weeks ago. And here I am, September 15^th, a week and half into living in New York, one week of work under my belt, and gearing up to leave for Washington D.C. for my first work-related trip tomorrow.

Where am I?

At a Starbucks in the Upper West Side.

But really: In some sort of whirlwind. That’s’ for sure. The thing is… I know who I am and what I’m doing more than ever…those two align seamlessly. And yet, the people surrounding me make it all feel like home. So when I look up at the tiny Spanish bodegas on my street corner in Brooklyn, or hear Russian whiz past me as I stroll through Central Park…it just all feels right. Like it was meant to be. Or rather, I made it be.

And I’ve gathered that I am where I am – not because of where I’ve been, but what I’ve done with where I’ve been, what I’ve seen, what I’ve felt.

I refuse to speak of Estonia in the past-tense, I’m not quite ready to let Estonia go back there. I’m holding onto it, trying to keep the memories active and buzzing – the people within arms-length. Or Skype-reach. I can’t, yet, dig deep into the year and all that it has meant to me – I want to sum it up and say “it’s meant everything”, but it filled certain holes, specific places that needed filling. Places that have made me more me. I am more me.

I feel good.

My heart literally tightens at the thought of the beautiful, giving, and fantastically special people in the Baltics. Thinking of them can turn a 45-minute subway ride into 5-minutes. And yes, hearing Russian in public spaces could not give me more joy than a CLIF bar and a vanilla latte. That’s big joy.

Getting messages from my kids saying, “We miss you”, “We love you”, “Our meeting was not the same without you” – Yeah, that kills me. These kids who are across the ocean, touching Russia, a ferry-ride from Finland, these kids think of me? They have to know how much I think of them – holding back my love for them was never an issue.

And these thoughts, these images hit me differently. Most times I’m sad knowing they’re so far away…other times, I’m just so happy and grateful we keep in touch with one another. And that I was able to experience the magical year I wanted so badly – so badly. And I got it. I made it mine, and here I am.

At a Starbucks in the Upper West Side.

One week of work under my belt. Not just any ordinary week of work; meaningful work. Work that intertwines with what I believe in right now, and what I wish to see in the world – with people who care, with people who are on the exact same page as me. That makes me feel good.

I’m on some sort of cloud. Not sure if it’s cloud-nine; but it’s a cloud a little higher than the Brooklyn bridge – I can see Estonia, I can see Brooklyn, I can see Manhattan. Dallas, you’re there too. My co-worker shared a “Jewish saying”, that sometimes your head can be where you are, but your soul might be slowly trailing behind, taking its’ time to catch up with your body. I believe that. It’s happening. Currently. Like, right now.

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My soul is taking its’ time, and I’m not going to push it to go any faster.

Oh, but I have so many good stories of my first week in Brooklyn and Manhattan! I think, what I’ll do, is create another blog by the name of…

www.brookjenyc.wordpress.com

Where I start a fresh chapter/page/blog roll, accounting my stories of living in a place that is unlike any other place I’ve lived in – I’m talking way more culture shock than Kansas AND Estonia combined. This should be good. This should be interesting.

 Thank you SO much for following me on JENSTONIA the past year! Your readership, commentary, and presence has meant so much to me – and it will continue to as I navigate my next journey in Brooklyn and Manhattan.

Love to all,

Jenstonia – forever Jenstonia

Hashtag #Pesach

Before I get into it, I’d like to take a second to recognize just how cool Estonia is

Listen to this Estonian band:

 

Tallinn Music Week: 4 – 6 April / 233 artists from 20 countries / http://www.tallinnmusicweek.ee <– Check out that lineup!

E-estonia: How did a small, post-Soviet nation transform itself into a global leader in e-solutions? Learn more here: http://e-estonia.com/

And well, there’s me of course:

It’s above freezing today, so naturally I’m sitting on a rooftop in Old Town..

 

 

Now do me a favor if you have Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook: I’ll use Instagram for this ‘exercise’  – I want you to search the hashtag “Pesach” or “Passover” or “Chag Sameach”

Take a minute or two to check out the photographs posted under the aforementioned #hashtags. These are Seder tables from all over the world. I’ll repeat, ALL OVER THE WORLD.

Here I go: Freely celebrating this holiday that commemorates an enslaved time nearly 3,300 years ago. Not only freely celebrating, but showing the entire world through photos, hashtags, and Facebook posts that Jewish people around the world are not ashamed. No, no, not ashamed.

Times like these reaffirm my total adoration for the power of Social Media (especially when it combines my favorite holiday).

20 years ago on the “Eastern Bloc”, where Soviet Expansion suppressed all forms of religion, matzah would not be a 12 year-olds Facebook cover photo. 10 years ago, no chance in hell would a group of teenagers feel comfortable with opening the door for Elijah in the middle of the city center – in a building built under Stalin, on a street that used to be called “Hitler highway”. But that happened last night. Celebrating freedom from suppression, from humiliation, from utter disdain and hatred – the meaning of Passover had never felt more real to me than it did this year (5773).

Growing up, my friends here didn’t celebrate Pesach at home –a reality that was reiterated to me at the Seder table on Tuesday night. “I was a Soviet kid” I was told, something I tend to forget as we live “normal”, day-to-day lives in Estonia.

I look back and see myself in public school (in Texas, mind you), proudly wearing my Star of David and bringing matzah to lunch. I was one of the three Jewish kids in elementary school, and by day 2 of Pesach I had my non-Jewish friends begging me for matzah. That was in 1996.

The teens that I work with in Estonia were born in the year 1996. The Soviet Union retreated in 1991. The Estonian Jewish Center was centralized and rebuilt in 1992. The only synagogue in Tallinn was built in 2007.

I have no idea how Pesach was celebrated between 1992 and 2012, but in 2013 (5773) I attended 3 Seder’s in Estonia – that’s 3 more than I expected to attend. The first night I went to the only synagogue located in Tallinn’s City Center; that evening, the synagogue hosted two Seders – one for Russian speakers and one for English speakers. I went to the Russian one.

I figured if I wanted comfort in an English Seder, I could go home to Texas – and I certainly wasn’t doing that. I sat near my friends and the other 20-something year olds as well as the President of the Synagogue and his wife. In no time, the President, his wife, and I spoke the language of wine and ensured our glasses were full before the Haggada told us to fill. I spoke my broken Russian, they spoke their broken English, and we sang the songs in Hebrew we both knew. I couldn’t help but smile the entire Seder knowing all too well that this is the experience I wanted. I wanted this. This is partly what I signed up for, and this is what I’m getting.

Russian Hagada with my name written in Russian letters

I’m in a county where taking pride in Judaism was unheard of not so long ago; and here I was, sitting at the Seder table celebrating my most loved Jewish holiday in the only synagogue in Tallinn. 60 other people around the room unafraid to be in the city center bitter-herbing their matzah and dipping their potatoes in salt water. Not only that, but I was speaking their language and connecting – something I don’t think I could have done 6 months ago. “Krasivaya devushka” the President’s wife would say to me as we “L’chaimed” to another glass – she was calling me beautiful. She whispered to my friends in Russian, “She looks like such a Jewish girl!” I giggled while my friends pointed at my overly-blushed face and said, “eta ocheen pravda!” or “that’s very true!” and proud of it.

I was so grateful for her warmth at my first Seder in Estonia. She gave me a comfort I didn’t think I missed while celebrating a holiday that’s usually so family-oriented for me.

The next night I went to a friend and colleague’s house for round two of Seder’ing. All in our mid-20’s and early 30’s, some pregnant, some recently married, some soon-to-be married, and some happily single (that’s me!). The Seder totally improvised; YouTube clips from ‘The Prince of Egypt’ and Louis Armstrong’s “Let my people go” displayed from the 3D flat screen TV. Angry Birds played between meals. The best part: As we went through the Haggadah, we played popcorn around the table and read aloud text in Estonian, Russian, Hebrew, English, Latvian, and Bulgarian.

All 12 of us spent 20-minutes searching for the Afikomen even after our search area options were narrowed to 2 rooms. A humbling experience. And as the night progressed, iPhones and Galaxy 3’s came out and photos projected of possible bachelors for the happily single; “No, no, next, next, not happening, meh, not bad, hook me up!” I think I was still wearing my 3D glasses throughout the selection process.

Oh, and then the strangest thing occurred! While engaging in a community Facebook’ing session, someone at the Seder table said, “I know some girl from Dallas”. I jokingly replied, “Yeah, I probably know her and the other 7 million people that live in that city!” But yeah, it happened, you guessed it. The dude pulled up a picture of someone I know very well. WHAT ARE THE ODDS? “We met in Spain at some bar”, he said. I questioned, “Did you tell her you were Estonian because I’m about to use Facebook like never before”. At 2:00am on the second night of Pesach in Estonia, I was talking to my friend in Dallas confirming she knew my friend in Estonia. “And I think to myself, what a wonderful world…”

This is why I love Pesach. The improvisation leads to more improvisation. I might add, whoever developed the Seder service, the visuals, and the grub really gave us stuff to work with. The Seder table holds so many multifunctional props that make going beyond the Haggadah and improvising so unbelievably appealing. This is what I’m all about though: Having positive experiences. It might be super reform, left, or not traditional of me, but it keeps me wanting more.

On Saturday night, I held a Seder at my apartment for teen leaders to celebrate a job well-done their first time being counselors at Estonia’s Spring Camp “L’haim 2013”. Remember when I mentioned them jumping up to greet Elijah at the door? It did happen, and here are some photos from the night!

Before Pesach, I was in Pedase, Estonia (about 60km from Tallinn) for Spring Camp. More like winter camp really, as the snow was very, very present. Like too present. One week full of dancing, singing, cool programs, no sleep, and carb-fueled camp style meals. Except unlike camp in Missouri, USA, they had tea for breakfast. Which was funny and cute to me, and once again proved I was not in Missouri or the United States of America.

Someone once asked me where I am truly myself. My answer to them was “camp”. The image of running around with blue paint all over my face, wearing two different pairs of shoes, and screaming a camp cheer with 50 kids around me is where I am so myself it hurts. So when I was able to do this once again at Estonia’s Spring Camp, you can imagine how ME I felt.

Co-counselors and staff would ask, “Jen, what do you think of camp in Estonia?” My response, “I love camp!” You might have tea for breakfast, sing the Birkat (blessing after the meal) a little differently, but to see kids jumping around to songs in Hebrew, coming up with their own cheers, getting dressed for Shabbat and feeling more connected than ever…camp is camp and camp is GOOD!

I’ve had a magical past 2 weeks here in Estonia, and am looking forward to much more. Please, just tickle my fancy one more time and check out those hashtags, Instagram photos, and Facebook posts. If you’re not into Jewish holidays or find it hard to wrap you head around how 3,300 years ago connects with modern times, don’t wrap your head around it. Know that it is a remarkably beautiful thing that anyone with a smart phone, a Facebook or Twitter account, feels empowered and SAFE enough to share their traditions with the rest of the world. Oh, and the best part is that people “like” it.

To #connecting,

Jenstonia – #Diyeinu

New: Year, Residence, and Gym Memberships

Here I sit in a cozy bistro named “Bonaparte”, which can only shed some light on how unRussian-esque (this is a word) Estonia is. I know I fell asleep in every AP European History class in high school, but I’m pretty sure Napoleon Bonaparte invaded Russia in the 19^th century. In any case, no, I’m still not in Russia. I’m totally in Estonia; in fact, I would prefer if you called me Miss Jenstonia, RE (Resident of Estonia). Yep, you read that correctly, I am officially of resident status – but I’ll get to that a bit later.

HAPPY 2013, EVERYONE! I hope you all were able to celebrate the New Year in a wholesome manner- Lord knows I didn’t. Just kidding. Kind of. No but really, wishing you all a happy, healthy and most inspiring 2013! Stick to your resolutions, but when they start making you unhappy, stick-less, then stick again. Rinse. Repeat.

NYEstonia:

My New Year’s celebration began at 9:00pm on the 31^st and ended 10:30pm on the 1^st. The following things occurred: starters eaten at 10pm, Putin spoke at Midnight, sprinklers lit, fireworks shot in adjacent field – legally, walked in 2 feet of ice water to get to the Old Town, screamed Happy New Year in British accent with champagne bottle in hand for an hour, and made it back by 2am for the main course: salmon and thinly sliced roast potatoes. Mmm mmm. Johnnie Walker and I became the best of friends by 7am, and then I traded him for a little napski (Russian nap) on the couch until noon tea time. I stayed at my friends the whole day and we ate leftovers while movie marathoning our hearts out. I only left the couch once.

These may seem like such trivial details, but there’s something that struck me after the New Years haze faded: PEOPLE.

I get nauseas thinking about the glamorous, over-privileged New Year’s parties that exist throughout the world. The ones that cost a fortune and are too posh to really enjoy. When attire and handbag selection are top priorities. I know I’m being tough and judgmental, but not once did we discuss attire or logistics beforehand. Just be there at 9:00pm and expect to have a good time with good people. Wait, hold up, you didn’t know I had absolutely zero interest in talking about my New Years outfit a month in advance? Too cruel?

But really I had the best time. I never heard a whiny complaint or anything remotely negative. Though my socks were soaking wet from swimming into Old Town, nothing else mattered but being fully present with all those around us. We just giggled in unison as sparklers were lit and champagne glasses clinked. Estonia crew + some Latvians, you are truly a breath of fresh air for a Dallas Jewish girl who’s never cared about anything material except for descent running shoes and cappuccino. Thank you.

Community

Speaking of people, at 11:30pm on January 1^st, I had two American teenagers swing by and stay with me in Tallinn. They were representing BBYO, an international teen-led Jewish movement I was super involved with in high school. In 2 days I showed them my city, the Tallinn I fell in love with from day 1. They were shocked, just like I was, at how truly special the Jewish community is here. When describing the Estonian community, the local Rabbi said, “Because it [the community] is so small, people talk to each other, not about each other”.

 

This resonated hugely in my head. It was so true. As you know, I come from a major U.S. city and most of the information (good or bad) you hear about people is from other people.  Dallas is quite spread out on a geographic level, and you can see that this affects (positively and negatively) the community dynamics. I’m not saying that this is good or bad, I can only tell you how it felt to a middle-class Jewish girl from the ‘burbs. My culture was soccer, sports, art, curly hair club, Hebrew school, Sunday school, BBYO, Camp Sabra, etc. Nothing too Dallas-specific, hence why I don’t think I ever found love or deep appreciation for the city (or state of Texas rather). Except for Tex Mex.

I came from a city with at least 8 synagogues, which rightly so functioned like businesses and competed against one another. Reform vs. Conservative, Orthodox vs. Ultra Orthodox. I never saw integration, I never fully understood community. But I yearned for it. Ask my mother how many soccer, basketball, volleyball, track, art, local Synagogue, and BBYO meetings she took me to until I was 16. My teams were my subcommunities of the greater Dallas community. Finding community in 45,000 Jews in the greater Dallas area was, and still is, a struggle.

After 4 years in Lawrence, Kansas (population 200,000; Jewish students: 2,000), and 4 months in Estonia (population 1,000,000; Jewish: 2,000), I know Community and I know Culture – with capital C’s. Granted this strictly entails the Jewish Community, but now l know what it means to not only to be a part of, but to love and appreciate one. I am someone who needs to understand a concept in its’ most simple form in order to genuinely love (or dislike) something; I cannot be bothered by “things”, by rubbish, by unnecessary words or falsities. KU Hillel and the Estonian Jewish Community gave me this.

After this brief moment of reflection with the local Rabbi, the 2 American teens and I continued touring Tallinn. We surfed the cobble stones from Lower Old Town to Upper, learning Hanseatic history and fantastical myths of Medieval Tallinn from a local Community member. After a few hours one of the teens pointed out to me how often I physically point out to something that is my so-called “favorite”. Oh, what can I say, I love it all – except for the outrageous Euro/Scandinavian price inflation and black-iced roads… and DBI [death by icicle] copywrite JB.

Residence

It was during their visit when I found out Estonia accepted me as a resident. The next morning I rushed over to the Immigration Department to swoop up my ID card. Completely awestruck at the fact I had a personal identification number, and even more awestruck at my strategically posed Soviet “smile”.  Uhhhh Darwin, is this supposed to happen? Natural ex-Soviet adaptation?

Gym Memberships

I decided I would celebrate my residence with a gym membership; after my first gym session, I found that this was a real sign of settlement. The fact that I have a gym in Estonia. I wonder what symbolized settlement to early homo sapiens? Perhaps breeding or tool creation?

At any rate, I am no longer a tourist, a visitor, or someone just passing through. I am really a part of the Jewish community, I am really a resident, I am really someone who has a gym membership (non-binding contract, thank you). I have a freaking gym membership. I AM SO IN!

What’s next? A library card?

2013 y’all!

Jenstonia – Proud RE [Resident of Estonia] and Gym Member. 

View from Gym

I don’t shop. I don’t cook.

And shopping at the market in order to cook fuels me with more anxiety than belaying naked from Mt. Kilimanjaro.

I know I looked completely stoic and unbothered on the outside, but on the inside my organs were feverishly dancing. I wore my long, winter coat (with fur around the hood), mall-walking shoes, and my hair tied back to prevent myself from ripping it the f**k out. In my ears was Disney music “in the circleeee, the circle of life…” – the carefree, innocuous melody helps calm my nausea as I lethargically float through the market aisles.

 

You think I’m being overdramatic, don’t you? Good! Because I also think this is completely absurd. But there’s good news, so read on.

The Menu:

The 5 Day Prep:

I started on Sunday. In advance to help subside the stress. The method of attack was to find ingredients most familiar to me and most universal in physical features and Latin roots. On Sunday I purchased pineapples (how could they really be confused with another piece of produce?) and vodka.

I also allowed myself to take advantage of my time at the market and walk through the aisles with ZERO pressure to cross ingredients off my list. This was merely a desensitizing (and learning) opportunity.

And in no time:  tears came trickling down my face, steam blew out of my ears, and I clenched my jaw so tight my teeth shattered. No, just kidding, my teeth are still intact. These emotions are completely normal for me in markets in the states (even the ones I’m most familiar with – this includes Whole Foods), so with the addition of the Estonian language that includes about… -8 (negative 8) Latin Roots, you can imagine how this challenged my antiperspirant.

Thankfully I was rewarded immediately after with my favorite meal (penne pasta + 10kg of parmesan cheese) and a showing of The Lion King in 3D at a friend’s. Talk about positive reinforcement, B.F. Skinner.

Tough day, I know.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday:

Yep, they all happened. In that order.

The good news, however: By Thursday, I totally made the market my Witch. Except replace the ‘W’ with a ‘B’. Keep the ‘B’ a capital one.

I also now know the following ingredients are rare and difficult to find here:

• celery
• graham crackers
• egg noodles
• candy corn
• white marshmallows that aren’t in the shape of Angry Bird’s or Daisies
• cranberries
• disposable cooking pans

One can say I got “creative” in the kitchen. Never will One say that about me again, methinks.

If you cut toffee into triangles it can do a candy-corn’s job; serve as the nose to truffle+waffle baby turkey’s. Duh.

If you can’t find disposable cooking pans because you only have 3 oven-safe dishes in your apartment, you can use the top to your Pyrex dishes. They’re shallower, of course, but they do the trick.

When in doubt, buy a nice block of cheese, kalamata olives, nuts, and some decent bread. If all the other food fails, they will save Thanksgiving (or any other celebration involving food). Don’t forget the booze.

Thanksgiving Day:

Thanksgiving is my absolute favorite day of the year. Wings down. It’s one of the few times I enjoy being in Dallas – as terrible as that sounds. Eek, don’t hate me Dallas folk.

At home, Thanksgiving begins at 6:00am on the last Thursday of November and doesn’t end until the weekend is over. Slices of tradition permeate the entire day on Thursday. The first piece is the Turkey Trot Run in Downtown Dallas (my dad and I would get there first thing in the morning to get the same parking spot every year), the next piece is going to my old neighborhood to play touch football with friends and family, onward to watch (and smell) mom finish cooking, and leaving home for multiple feasts with multiple groups. The final feast involving liter’s of pineapple vodka, friends I’ve known since I was in diapers, and acting like I’m interested in The Cowboy’s game. And still, year after year, I don’t know the rules of football or my blood alcohol content.

I had never missed a Thanksgiving in Dallas until this year. Before I left for Estonia I was determined to offset my potential Thanksgiving separation anxiety with a day full of amusement ; amusement in the form of cooking more than eggs, pasta, oatmeal, and placing cheese symmetrically on a plate.

And this is how it turned out:

Nobody got sick.

The turkey was a bit dry, but dry turkey calls for fresh cranberry sauce – and that’s exactly what it got.

And we ate the pineapple infused with vodka.

And we watched the Thanksgiving episode of Friends with Brad Pitt. In Russian. (Even though they wanted English).

And we did all the things I would normally do minus a few minor exceptions, but most importantly, I am so happy I had people to share my favorite holiday with. Good friends.

“Well, how do you feel?” a friend asked after everyone left my flat stuffed and energy-less. I slammed my body onto the couch; limbs sprawled in every cardinal direction – desperately wanting someone to put me into maternity pants.

“Shocked”, I replied starry-eyed and confused.

“You should be proud of yourself” he said, also being a 2-month victim of my minimal cooking abilities.

Before this week, I had trouble confidently cracking an egg yet alone dry brining and roasting a Turkey. I have grown (in more ways than one) from this experience, but not enough to continue this cooking spree. After all, I am my mother’s daughter and my aunt’s niece; neither of which cook, so I am obligated to continue this tradition regardless of what holiday changes my ways.

Santa is coming to town:

And we all know that once Thanksgiving is over, Christmas begins! Hip hip hooray!

I watched Elf, I went to the Xmas market in the Old Town, I drank warm, spiced wine (Glogg) with friends, played Scrabble in Estonian and multiple games of Janga, and I skipped around town and listened to Mariah Carey’s Christmas album. I love Christmas. And guess what?

THE HIGH IS NEGATIVE 5 ON FRIDAY. IT’S SUPPOSED TO SNOW TOMORROW!

‘Tis the season to be jolly,

Jenstonia – fa la la la la, la la la laaaaaaaaa

P.S. I also successfully delivered a sweet spudnik.

p where u shower – it’s juss different.

Has anyone ever told you, “don’t shower where you pee?”

If you said “yes”, then I want to meet the person who told you that because I’m pretty sure I made it up. (I just called you a liar in a very passive way)

But on the realz: if anyone has ever told you that, they couldn’t be more wrong.

I know from personal experience. I literally shower where I pee; like almost on top of my toilet.

the toilet is in there.

No seriously. I do. And there’s good news.

The good news is I’m constantly cleaning my toilet.

The other day I was squeezing and hitting the conditioner bottle against my palm and the conditioner slipped out into the toilet bowl. Plop. Consider yourself conditioned, T.Bowl.

The bad news is…well, there is no bad news. It’s juss different!

You would think my brain would have created the muscle memory to put down the toilet seat before I showered, but everything about my toilet/shower situation is far from natural. Men would love living here because I would most likely yell at them for putting the toilet seat down – for fear of losing cleaning opportunity. “How many times do I have to tell you, keep the toilet seat up…damnit”!

Like music to your ears, yeah? Speaking of, MUSIC BREAK:

This is my song of the month. You can hear me screaming it if you’re at least in continental Europe.

Do you want me to keep up the potty talk? Cause I can. Or you can just message me privately and we can keep this topic going. Totally cool with it.

Let’s move on.

I’ve been in a relationship with CNN this week (it’s official, yayyy). And if my calendar is correct, I think it’s going to last another week.

On a non-political, completely serious note: I would just like to wish all those struggling under Sandy’s aftermath a smooth and speedy recovery. My heart goes out to all of those affected by the storm, and I promise we won’t forget about you as America enters election week. Hoping you receive more media coverage than this fluffy campaign.

Withering Weather:

It was +7 today! Yes, exclamation point included. That converts to about 37 degrees Fahrenheit. What I’ve come to realize is that as the temperature drops, the more mind I lose; an indirect relationship, is it? I get excited, genuinely excited, when I see anything above -1 degrees Celsius.

Anything above 0 and you don’t have to wear gloves or an extra set of ears when jogging around town. And if you follow the sun and avoid tall buildings, you may even be able to lose your knee-high wool socks for above-ankle wool socks. The joy.

see: awkward, sunlight and no ear muffs

Ice: you actually can jog on. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Do people think you’re absolutely ludicrous? Sure, but if you stay on main roads, you might even find slush that looks like a coca cola slushy. Just watch out for pipes that excrete water…chances are the water is not a shiny puddle, but a layer of slippery ice. Weeeeeeeeee

Dimming Daylight:

We fell back an hour last week. It gets dark around 4:30pm. Next month it will be 3:30pm. With darkness comes yawning, wiping the sleep out of your eyes, and thoughts of warm dinner, couches, and CNN. I’m not someone who’s typically affected by minor environmental changes, but you actually cannot control the fact that your body thinks it’s almost bed time in the middle of the day. This will undeniably take some time and doubling up on cappuccino.

Chospitality (Hospitality):

As old as the oldest Jew, Abraham. I had a great conversation with the teens about what it means to be Jewishly hospitable, or hospitably Jewish. Hence why I say “chospitality”; or really “hachnasat orchim”. It’s a mitzvah, you know?

When a guest comes, you give them water to wash their feet and attend to their animals. You smile and seem “happy” throughout the meal, no matter what’s pressing you. The laws go on and on, and there’s no doubt that we can translate the ancient ones to modern times.

The last one got me thinking. “Smile and seem happy”; turning off your brain and being fully present. Can you?

In 2010, while beginning my trip to Israel, the tour guide provided us with this quote, “you are where your thoughts are.” Ironically, this stopped my thinking. She was right. How could I possibly drink this trip dry if my thoughts were at home with mom, on a bike ride with dad, or sitting in next semester’s classes?

I see turning your brain off as an art, a skill. It’s a muscle that has to be trained – and I fully believe it’s vital to a healthy human life. We are filled with so much stimulation and added stress every day, and the ability to shut it down will not only bring mental health, but physical and emotional health.

I solemnly swear, when you come into my house, my attention is on you. When you come into my Facebook messenger, my attention is on you. Skype, viber, phone call, it’s on you or else I’m not answering and I’ll tell you otherwise. Chospitality in 2012.

Day trippa, yeah:

I traveled 185.4 km to Tartu, Estonia on Thursday. A few of us from Tallinn went to join the Jewish Community of Tartu to formally “open” their calendar year. Remember how I told you it gets dark by 4:30? Unfortunately I wasn’t able to see the city by daylight, but the academic buildings, alcoholic drinking parks, and abundance of “kohvik baars” (coffee bars) were enough to fill my university culture void.

Tartu has a wild history. It’s Estonia’s second largest city and an intellectual hub to a “T”.Tartu University is one of the leading scientific schools in “semiotics”, the study of signs and sign processes. If you like metaphors and analogies, this is your dream field of study.

There used to be a synagogue. It was actually home to the majority of Estonia’s Jews until WW2. See synagogue below:

Tartu also gave me a dose of common Estonian eats: TONGUE. I took a photo of it, but I could not find the tongue to eat it – and I like trying crazy food! Though after having a mostly meat-free, paleo diet for the past month and a half, my mind couldn’t fathom the idea of putting tongue on my tongue…and digesting it. Gulp. 😛

More Tartu info here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tartu

Other cool (or freezing) things:

The Rabbi calls me Thursday morning. “Jen, boker tov (good morning), mah shlomech (how are you)? You’ve been in Estonia over a month now yes? You must come to Shabbat dinner tomorrow night. See you then, bye!”

So I went to my first Shabbat dinner at the Rabbi’s house. Talk about CHospitality! Jameson on the table, and 15 others around it. 10 of which were beautiful kids who looked almost identical (brothers and sisters of course). The 2 beside me were… AMERICAN. They moved to Finland 2 weeks ago and were in town visiting Tallinn for the weekend. It was a great night of shared culture; we talked about languages in 3 different languages, traveling, living internationally, and much more.

The best part: each time I heard Russian I found comfort. I actually asked the kids to speak in Russian instead of Hebrew, a language I’m much more familiar with. “Bevakashsa, medaber b’Russki” (Hebrew: Please, speak in Russian).

And today I went on a great jog through Old Town to the very top of the Old Town mountain. I made a pit stop to the oldest apteek (apothecary) in Estonia, est. 1400’s. See below:

I ended my jog catching the sunrise just next to the salmon pink Estonian Parliament building. Then, of course, indulging in the infamous CHEESE (JUUSTU) WRAP:

Now back to watching the same election highlights loop on CNN. ROCK CHALK!

Cheese please,

Jenstonia – shower where you pee.