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

The Spirit of a Small Community

Sometimes I am taken by my current location

When the sky isn’t grey or white or “Baltic winter”, the sun’s rays do more than just bring Vitamin D and one less shiver

They shine upon buildings, on street signs, on knitted scarves protecting delicate faces

They nudge my feet to catch my head

They tell my heart to sew deeper

 They remind me

I am in the FSU, I am in Europe

I see preserved Soviet Stars and “õ ä ö ü” (oohhaooauuuu)

“Hah”, I giggle very acceptingly, I’ll never speak Estonian

 I feel trams swiftly moving beneath my over-socked feet

And cars gliding through brown slush on what’s left of the street

  

I pass cafes on every corner, some European-ly intricate, some Soviet-ly not

Free WiFi stamped on each window, 4 Euro for this cappuccino

“Aitah” I say as I walk out the door

But “aitah” they won’t say when they look at the floor

The mush from the street

Leaves the tile not so neat

But I learned long ago that verses nature…

Man can’t compete

 

I put my hands back in leather

Assured my cappuccino helps bear the weather

 

I look up, astonished, furry hood obscuring the view

Re-reminding myself, HEY, you live here too!

 

Then I get to go to a vibrant corner in the center of town, where passionate people work hard, and community is found.

The spirit immeasurable, the fight noteworthy

All for the purpose of keeping our small tribe enduring

 

Shared responsibility, Jewish Peoplehood, revival

All the things I yearned to feel

After many stories of survival

 

The spirit of a small community

Pure and true

Gives the feeling of togetherness

Me and You

 

Maybe just maybe

This shekel goes here, and that one there

Euro makes few, but they don’t just make do

They make history

They make future

“From Survival to Revival”

 

The spirit of a small community

Tallinn, Estonia

I wanted to try something a little different, and I’m almost positive rhyming is fun for everyone. Woops, that’s my last one I promise. This is my poetic attempt at casually taking you through everything I see, hear, and feel. I left smells out for no specific reason. So quit sniffing. The bigger part of this is “the spirit of the small, Jewish community”; it’s quite difficult for me to use words to portray the beautiful energy that exists here, but the main thing I wanted to leave you with is that with so little, they make so much. And they fight so hard to ensure the future generations are able to receive some things we may overlook or deem as “normal” in our upbringing. I am constantly surprised by the spirit and might of the leaders and involved members of the community, and I owe them so much for continuously re-lighting my Jewish fire and peeking my curiosity to explore further.

“But the people on the street, out on buses or on feet, we all got the same blood flow” – Amos Lee

packets of mayonnaise – a post of continued ‘firsts’

“Excuse me, do you speak English?”  I rip off my headphones, smile and say, “you bet!” The next question he asked could not been worded any better.

“um, do they have mayo here?”.

I chuckle. Hardy -har.  We’re in the middle of a small market – not the one closest to the harbor where you can expect an international demographic. I ask, “Where are you from, sir?”

“Kansas”

You’re kidding me. Of course my eyes produce happy tears almost instantaneously. I point to my KU hat and we shake hands.

“Before we get to talking about how awesome the Midwest is, lettuce find you your mayo” I say. (find the pun)

I propose going to Hesburger, the Euro version of McDonald’s, and asking for packets of mayo. Problem solved and we continue our chat over shopping baskets, through the pickled-cucumber/salsa/Thai noodle and soy sauce aisle. Turns out he’s from Bonner Springs, Missouri and just got to Tallinn from traveling Northward through the Baltic States. I had to jet out quickly, but I walked away shaking my head at another serendipitous moment. How does it happen? Alright so maybe I’d rather not question it and let it continue happening.

So yeah, that just happened. Anyway…

Hi everyone! How have you been? Good? I’ve missed you this week.

I write this post contently ending my third (that’s right) week in Estonia. Some pretty cool moments need be highlighted:

I had my first “girl’s night” on Monday. Pasta and tomato sauce made, bottle(s) of red wine drunk, MadTV YouTube videos watched, and boys were intermittently talked about when we weren’t saying how much we didn’t need them. So by omission, and according to my calculations, men were 99.9% of the evening. Such a girl’s night.

I had my first emergency hospital visit on Tuesday. Fret not, I’m totally fine. And because I’m not a hypochondriac and do not like medical attention, I’m not going into the details. My mom pretty much found the silver lining with, “well, now you know where the hospital is!” In addition, I now have a handful of nurses who know “American Jenya”, an awesome doctor, friends willing to take me there at 2:00am, and I know how to say blood pressure and uterus in Russian. See, everything is fine so don’t be worried or look at me with those concerned eyebrows. Thank you. (I wrote a private post about it so if you want it, just ask!)

I had my first pancake on Friday. Are you thinking, “What? Your family deprived you of pancakes when you were a kid? How awful”? No no, this isn’t so. These pancakes are special and mine contained smoked chicken and feta cheese. My friend’s contained smoked trout and some other cheese. My mom microwaved plenty of mini-pancakes growing up, don’t worry. Check this out: www.kompressorpub.ee

I played my first game of Cobra on Saturday. I hope you read the word “game”, because I didn’t play with a cobra on Saturday night. That would have been cool though. Cobra is a game developed by John Zorn, and is a type of musical improv game played to make beautiful, or not so beautiful, music. My Russian tutor invited me to a game of Cobra with her friends; her husband is a Saxophonist and has a studio in “Radio City” – an area in Tallinn where some awesome music is made. I walk into a studio full of instruments; piano, keyboard, drums, bongo, triangle, speakers, and about 20 instruments I’ve never seen in my life. I’m with 15 Russian-speaking individuals, most of which are getting a PhD in “Russian Philology”. Not philosophy, but philology. I’ll give you the honor of breaking up the Greek roots to make a field of study.

These were really cool people. We literally jammed out and made our own music for a solid 5-hours. All of those years drumming in school on desks with my hand and pencil really translated well to drumsticks and cardboard boxes. I think I may have gotten a record deal last night, although I’m not sure.

We left around 3am and it finally happened. I’m totally okay with it, but it really happened, guys. It finally got cold.

Thankfully I had my newest friends around me showing me how to behave in these types of situations. We don’t tense up; we don’t clench our jaw so much to where our teeth shatter. We don’t bounce around like we’re on a pogo stick. We relax, we breathe, and when that doesn’t work, we drink vodka.

Some manly-men walked me back to my apartment to ensure I got back safely. Note: All guys do that. American men, I am generalizing, so read up: You walk the ladies back to their doors and you don’t have any other intentions just because you engaged in this “noble” act.

A wintry Baltic breeze has finally squeezed its’ way through Tallinn, and I’m thinking about wearing gloves. Only thinking.

Next weekend entails “Yachad”, a weekend convention for all Estonian Jews. It will be in “Parnu”, the main beach city located in Southwest Estonia. About 500 Estonian’s will be attending and I’m having a hard time containing my excitement. I cannot wait to meet new people, talk Judaism, dance, and get closer with the people I will have known for 4 weeks.

The “newness” of being in a new country has yet to wear off, but I choose not to let it. I try to keep things fresh as much as possible; even walk the same route and focus on a different building or different tree I hadn’t noticed before. May sound cheesy, but I really don’t want to get “used” to being here. I usually wake up every morning and remind myself where I am:

 “My name is Jennifer, I live in Europe, I live in Eastern Europe, I live in Northern Europe, I live in a Baltic State, I live in Estonia, I live in Tallinn. Don’t get used to it and remind yourself often this year will never recycle itself and it must be embraced fully”.

That’s my usual speech and I’m sticking to it.

Cheers to YOU,

Jenstonia – “thank you for this gift” as my Birthright group and I said upon landing in Israel.

“Remember this feeling”

I say to myself often.

The days go by so quickly; down-time has yet to make an appearance in my two weeks here. Except now, of course – though I could be typing this at a pub and “raising the roof” with my left hand for all you know. These 14 days have been so full of novelties – people, places, food, music, bad words in Russian. I haven’t had a day that’s “mundane” or routine, and I prefer it this way. So thank you, roller-coaster of life.

Remember this feeling.

I say to myself as I watch my day twist in directions I could have never expected.

You know when you’re walking up the stairs in the Jewish Community Center of Estonia and you hear a choir of Minnesotan accents? Yeah, me neither. But it happened. I was running up the stairs through smells of Matzah ball soup and sounds of Israeli music from the Jewish Day School when  American accents pierced my ears. I sang, deeply with perplexity, “Americannnnnnnnnnsssss?”. Three Jewish Americans/American Jews from Minnesota had been touring the Baltic States and made it a point to visit the Jewish Community of Estonia on their travels. We talked for hours – they asked questions about the Community and I heard myself telling them details I never had in my brain two weeks ago. So the good news is I’ve learned a few things, and the bad news is I’m not sure if all of these “details” were 100% correct. Hehe.

Remember this feeling.

I said to myself as I walked away from the United States Embassy after voting for my second presidential election.

Picture the iconic American Eagle on an iconic Soviet building – iconic Soviet star included. I’m not just trying to test your imagination skills; you have to picture it because I wasn’t allowed to take a photograph of it. I’m sorry I just didn’t feel like getting kicked out of the country after I engaged in dutiful citizenry behaviors. While walking to the Embassy, my mind drifted to 4 short years ago – my first presidential election. 18 years old, 2 months into college at The University of Kansas; I woke up at 6:00am, so proud to vote for my first time. I remember the walk vividly. A beautiful fall morning in Kansas; crisp air, yellow trees, walking in my converse around potholes to an elementary school to put political efficacy into action. And now, 22 years old, 2 weeks into my fellowship in Estonia; I woke up not at 6:00am, but so proud to vote for my second time. Beautiful fall afternoon, rain pushing the yellow leaves to fall prematurely, walking in my converse around potholes to the US Embassy of Estonia to put political efficacy into action.

Remember this feeling.

I said to myself as I sat in a Sukkah underneath the stars in Estonia, listening to Israeli music and looking at familiar faces.

Familiar faces. They were strangers two weeks ago. I could barely understand their English two weeks ago. Nothing in this image is foreign anymore. Every stimuli is now comfortably familiar, and the Sukkah and Israeli music brought depth to what I was seeing and hearing – a sense of community, of shared understanding. We may not speak the same language or be from the same country, but we can hold hands and dance to Israeli music, say the prayer over the Lulav, and smile at one another because our Judaism forever links us together.

Remember this feeling.

I said to myself as I held the hands of Estonian youth.

“Jenya, would you like to play too?” I heard while sneaking my fingers into the middle of the challah. “I would love to play”, I said and my hands were tightly grabbed and we formed a circle to play a traditional Russian game.

 

Remember this feeling.

I said to myself as I danced to “Oh Mickey you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind” at a grunge bar in the Old Town with new friends.

Joey (the fellow based in Riga, Lativa) came in town this weekend. I’ve been talking with him since June and I finally got to see him in real time, throw my arms around him when he got off the bus, and get to know the incredible person that he is. We planned a sukkot program for the teens together – which was an awesome learning experience for me to be able to work directly with someone who’s been in the field for a year already. After we programmed, we found ourselves dancing at the above grunge bar in the Old Town with now mutual friends. 2 weeks ago my life looked very different. Ohhhh Mickey, you’re so fine.

Remember this feeling.

I said to myself as I made a deli around the corner my go-to cheap eat dining establishment. The best wraps you’ve ever had in your life. I’m talking a grilled wrap, a plethora of veggies, banana peppers, a kick butt spicy sauce, and (drum roll please)… little pieces of cantaloupe. YES. THEY. DID. Mixed fruits and veggies in a grilled wrap with jalapeno sauce. Yes. They. Did.

Remember this feeling as you wish I would stop saying ‘remember this feeling’. And guess what? The tortures over!

Thanks for reading, friends!

Spakoinai nochee (good night),

Jenstonia – don’t forget it. 

Chronic Jewish Guilt and Memories

Side-notes: While I’d like to post often, and with significance, it’s not hard for something meaningful to happen everyday that allows my perception of this place to unravel. I’m trying my best not to formulate any concrete opinions any time soon. Please know that when and if I say “they” or comment about a particular “people”, it is a total generalization. And I don’t really like generalizations. My apologies if anything comes off as offensive. 

If you know me, you know that a tree or cool cloud in the sky could make me happy for a week. If you know me, you know that it doesn’t take much to leave me in awe – my mouth dropped during my entire run though Kadriorg Park (see below) this morning, and it wasn’t because I was short of breath. If you know me, you know I don’t do well with options and I often feel guilty for receiving things – whether it’s free or $1.50.

I had my first meeting with my supervisor on Sunday; we talked about the community – its’ history, economics, politics and how past movements, specifically Russification, have effected everyday Estonian Jewish and secular life. I could go into detail, but basically I’d just be giving you a history lesson and telling you how much I enjoy learning about outside regimes and their effects on society.

What hit me the most was a story he told about his father as a kid in Bulgaria: He told me that when his dad used to go to synagogue, they would write down his name when he entered the building. His name was given to his school, and they often pulled him out and asked, “Why did you go to synagogue? Why do you feel you need this? You’re a good student, and we like you at this school, so please do us a favor and don’t go.”

Names of Estonian Jews lost in WW2 ‘Judenfrei’

Tears welled up in my eyes. Can you imagine? Being pulled out of school and being questioned about why you attended synagogue over the weekend. Can you imagine? He further explained “the lost generation”, a generation of Jews who lived under Soviet oppression, where religion became “a bad thing”, leaving Jews completely disconnected to their religion. The lost generation sits between an older generation who remembers Jewish traditions and a younger generation who goes to Jewish Day School and is active in the community. The older making sure the younger is involved, carrying forth their memories of Judaism. The middle, “lost” generation, don’t have these memories at all.

My stomach in knots, feeling something I’ve felt often, but not this intense. Beyond the desire to go back in time and change the past, I knew this feeling.  

This is where Jewish Guilt (JG) comes in, and it never ceases to make an appearance in my life. As a kid growing up in Plano, Texas, I knew Plano wasn’t “normal”. Something like, “little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky tacky, and they all look just the same…” to quote the Weeds theme song. And these boxes are starter mansions, and this ticky tacky is made from gold. Plano is one of the wealthiest and safest suburbs in America; it’s safe to assume my JG was born here, and in a sick way, I always yearned for struggle. I knew life wasn’t supposed to be as easy as it was in Plano.  I went to school safely, shul safely, and never had any problems being Jewish for the most part.

My memories are not only good, but they EXIST.

Just a short 20-years ago under Soviet rule, life was much worse here. I think almost anyone (generalization) will attest to that. While you’ll be able to see some physical effects of the Soviet expansion in architecture, the mental and emotional effects are a bit more subtle, but I can feel them. “Anything is better than before”, I keep hearing from locals.  Their refreshing modesty tells me they’re thankful for their independence – they have their Estonia back.

Soviet stars on upper corners (look closely)

While I knew life could be worse in Plano as a kid, kids in Estonia had no idea life could be better. I think, for the most part, this is why I connect here. I’m in a space where people aren’t constantly yearning for more, for bigger, for better. They seem (a novel opinion) to be content, stable, and strong. And very grateful.

My time at work:

• Friday was my first visit to the JCC, and it started with the president shaking my hand and saying, “I like you” in Russian. Totally mutual, of course. I’d say it was a great first start.
• Sunday was spent meeting some of the “madrichim”, or youth leaders, of the Jewish Community. First impression: very cool, funky, hip young adults. They seemed happy to be there (not forced in any way), and I felt they had a strong connection and responsibility to their Jewish community.
• Today was my first “real day”, and while some things got lost in Russian translation from 2 to 5pm, I know it started with high-fives from the youth leaders and left with new phone numbers and new FB friends.The people that make up this community make my heart sing. And if I’m not mistaken, I am to do what makes my heart sing – and boy, is it singing 🙂

I know I’m very much so in a “novel” phase, but I have walked throughout this city for hours upon hours, and I can’t stop throwing my hands up in air and saying, “OMG! Are you kidding me?” Do I really live in this extraordinary city? Did I really receive this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to live outside the states for a year? In Eastern Europe?  And these people, oh these people. They are special. I can’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful with a dash of JG.

On a lighter note: I got a soccer ball;  I can feel the tram running beneath me in my apartment and I love it; I start Russian lessons this weekend!

Spasiba (Russian), aitah (Estonian), thank you (English) for reading!

Much love,

Jenstonia – grateful, in awe, and a bit guilty