The Power of Returning

“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered” – Nelson Mandela, my South African homeboy.

I think of this phrase each time I return – to anywhere really. This time I was returning to Israel for the first time, meaning it was my second visit to the Land of Milk and Honey.

Last week, I went to Israel for the JDC JSC [Jewish Service Corps] Midyear seminar; all 25 fellows traveled from their placements (Buenos Aires, Haiti, Rwanda, etc.) and met in Jerusalem for 4-days of reflection, learning, and re-motivating for the last half of our placements – and all those things happened.

Before I go any further, you must know it’s absolutely abhorrent to believe it’s been 6 (or “midyear”) months since I’ve been in Estonia. Yeah, abhorrent, I said that. My next choice would have been heinous. I don’t even know what 6 months is supposed to feel like when jumping in and adapting to an entirely new country, new city, new working environment, new languages, new friends, etc. I will say, however, feeling-wise it seems as though I’ve been here for 6 years, work-wise, I’ve only just begun. Oh, 6 months, why don’t you come attached with a specific feeling?

Estonia still looks like this though —> 

Back to Israel: My first visit was with Birthright in 2010. I’m just gonna throw it out there: I had such high expectations (I now laugh at how high they were). Expectations to connect with the people, the land, my Judaism, and every last fiber of my being. Unrealistic much? Maybe this was the effect of 20+ years of “Israel Days” at camp, “Israel Weeks” at university, meeting sexy IDF soldiers, or repping the Israeli flag because that’s what everyone else did. I left Israel disconnected and disappointed, wondering why, if this country was the birthplace of Judaism and my people, did I not feel a part of it?

My return last week was my opportunity to feel something; expectations lowered, no over-thinking, no over-hoping or wishing that I get hit with a spark of spirit that subconsciously has me reciting Torah in perfect Hebrew as I walk through the Old City. I mean, who has that kind of vision anyway? (Answer: 20 year-old Jen)

Thurs, 28 Feb: I flew into Israel a few days before the seminar so I could run the Jerusalem Marathon (or 10k) with my friend and fellow JSC-er who lives in Jerusalem. I cab to meet my friend at the JDC-Israel office and we walk up the JLM hills to pick up our race packets at the Convention Center. (Pause)

Thought #1: I fly in by myself and meet my friend and fellow JSC fellow outside of the JDC-Israel Office.

Thought #2: In 2010, I had no idea what JDC was, and had it not been for JDC, I would have never met friend, which means I would have never run the Jerusalem Marathon or met friend outside of the JDC-Israel office. Man oh man, so much has changed since 2010.

Thought #3 and summation: I like the direction my life is going!

(Unpause)

We get our race packets in a sea of neon-colored booths: Saucony, Nike, Gatorade power gel, water bottles, nordic walking poles, t-shirts, t-shirts, and more t-shirts. Oh yeah, and the booths were in Hebrew.

Thought #1: Omg, I love tennis shoes.

Thought #2: Israel, you’re looking mighty good this trip.

We head back to a home-cooked and carb-filled dinner to prepare for the race in the morning.

The next scene you can find me fighting back tears as I run through the Old City with thousands of other runners, donkeys and goats on the mountain to my left, the sun beaming down us north-polers in desperate need of a tan, locals holding signs saying,“keep smiling, you’re almost done!”, and friend by my side up and down every bloody hill.

We finish the race together and gorge on hummus, pita, and pickles with other JSC-ers who ran and JSC-ers who came to cheer us on.

Hmmmm, I sigh, with my forming shin splints and broken hips, “I’m in Israel”.

I said this over and over again the rest of the week. I’m in Israel. And this time, I felt it.

That evening brought Shabbat dinner with other JSC-ers, bottles of wine open, and loud, tri-lingual conversations of our lives all over the world. “Yes, we’re the only white people in the village in Rwanda” or “Yes, I’ve never seen a non-white person in Estonia”. These exchanges were beautiful. 4 others speak Russian in the room, and I understand it … that would have never happened in 2010.

Sunday, 3 March: At last the seminar begins. The last time we were in the same room together was in August for orientation, and here we are, midyear, in Jerusalem. The symbolism off the charts.

We all sit in a large circle and smirk at one another, happy to be in the same room and in company of those who may be experiencing similar things and have a general shared sense of understanding the world in which we live.

4 days of introspection, reflection, reevaluating expectations, and setting new goals for ourselves. Each of us experiencing such vastly different things, but still able to connect and support one another. I often introspect introspection, and I can tell you the conversations that were taking place those 4 days in Jerusalem were nothing shy of brilliant. For some reason I choose to not analyze, the level of openness and comfort in vulnerability were things I had never seen in a group dynamic. Let’s be real, the process of moving to a new country and getting comfortable with new working environments definitely has some challenges.

I am a firm believer that being okay with feeling vulnerable leads to growth in directions we may not reach if we remain guarded and protected. Pride and control seem to be constants in that wall we love building. The vulnerability I witnessed in those 4 days led to empathy (not sympathy) and you could actually see that feeling of ‘alone’, in which many felt, slowly drifted away. The absence of alone brought new ideas and a support network to cheer-on those ideas. Just like that. 4 days.

Sidenote: If you’re interested in learning more about the power of vulnerability, I really recommend this TedTalk:

 

The fact that I was experiencing and witnessing these things in Jerusalem could not have been more meaningful to me. Powerful sessions in conference rooms during the day led to powerful conversations at dinner and bars at night. No matter how deeply we yearned to pound shots and get hammered together, we were too into learning about each other’s lives around the world to let any amount of alcohol drunken the conversations.

The end of my trip got me thinking about my connection to Israel. Everything I’ve learned or seen in the past have just been symbols of the state; the Hebrew language, IDF shirts, Israel flags, falafel, hummus, etc. For me, it takes positive, low-key experiences like running through Jerusalem, understanding how the city is spaced out, knowing where the local supermarket is, and drinking beers with friends who live here to feel connected. The second question is, why does it have to be more than that? Having these experiences fuels me with a desire to return and see my friends again, run the marathon in less time (get 4,000^th place instead of 6,000^th), or befriend those donkeys and goats I saw on the mountain. Getting a taste of real life in Israel and walking the streets with friends will get me back. Undoubtedly.

I haven’t said this to them yet, but I am so grateful to my friends and fellow JSC-ers for showing me the Jerusalem they know and love. Little did they know, but they were strengthening the connection to Israel that I’ve yearned for since I was little. There’s no question I will come back to further explore — I am finally connected. I wonder how Mandela’s quote will come into play the second time I return?

And then I went to Athens and Istanbul to get my tourist on! 1 day in each city meant walking 12 hours a day and LOVING EVERY MINUTE OF IT. Some photo’s below!

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Tomorrow I am off to “L’chaim”, or Estonia’s annual “Spring Camp”! I haven’t been to camp in 4 years, so yawl know how excited this girl is! J

To returning,

Jenstonia – campcounselorforever

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.