Ana Yehudia. Je suis Juif. I am a Jew.

The moon is bright and the sea is lit. There are so many stars in the sky. They are all my background as I finally say out loud in front of many, “Ana Yehudia. Je suis Juif. I am a Jew.” The response from one of the Tunisian students upon my proclamation is, “I respect you”.

Earlier in the day before all of the participants and myself went to the beach for a late-night party, I realized that I forgot the feeling of being in the minority and only noticed my purpose as a teacher and a friend of the Tunisian students. From playing Hoe Down by Aaron Copland in orchestra with the kids and teaching niguns to the three girls who play Arab violin to coaching three delightful students in Dvorak’s Terzetto and then learning traditional Tunisian songs from them, there were only melodies, rhythms, harmonies, and a few yeee-hawws.

Slowly that day, my truth came out. In the morning, one of my students studying Arab violin asked which language the name of the piece I was teaching her came from. In telling her what Nigun meant and its origin, she merely smiled with open brown eyes. Then in the afternoon, one of the hotel personnel asked me what the markings on my necklace meant. After explaining, nothing happened though I felt a tension, perhaps a personal fear that only I could feel. Finally at night on the beach of Hammamet, I said out loud the truth of my background, which actually included my connection to Israel. After speaking, I felt free. Was there even anything to fear in the first place?

With my secret off my shoulders, words flew out of my mouth about my past experience two summers ago interning with the Jerusalem Music Center and participating as a counselor for their music festival for young Israeli musicians. I spoke of how much they still meant to me and related it to the similar feelings I felt for the young Tunisian musicians. As well, it was incredibly easy to find similarities between the two groups of musicians. In the end, maybe we are all just kids in a big sandbox still learning how to get along.

Upon mention of the young Israeli musicians and my wish that they and the young Tunisian musicians could meet some day, there was an undoubted sincere desire on the part of the young Tunisian musicians to do so. Each group of students would learn and teach differing aspects of musicianship that could only create a more fulfilled, experienced, and well-rounded musician.

Maybe some day, we can all bring our instruments along with us into the big sandbox and let the shadow of the wind spread our wavelengths across all nations.

Petter-Patter-Petter-Patter-Snap-Snap-Snap-Boom-Boom-Boom.

Today, all 60 Tunisian musicians arrived at the hotel like the whirl of a thunderstorm and, thus, the fun has really just begun. As I passed by the beginning trickle of students in the hotel lobby, a smile ran on my face as their inquisitive looks reminded me of my past students at the Jerusalem Music Center’s Young Israel Philharmonic Orchestra’s summer festival. Maybe these young Tunisian musicians and my past young Israeli musicians won’t be so different after all.

The first activity of the day is trying to get everybody from students and music teachers to put on nametags. Easier said than done. The students arrived with attentive moms and dads, excited friends from previous years, and the new concept of putting the sticky nametag on one’s shirt!

From there, we went straight to Fiddle Class. As my friend and co-teacher Joel ran the Fiddle Class, consisting of 11 violinists, one cellist, and one violist, with quite ease, I oversaw the level of the students. Between the performance in Fiddle Class and then auditions later in the afternoon, we realized that three of the students actually played Arab violin. The big question then became: who can teach Arab violin? If anything, the Tunisian students should be teaching us Arab violin!

When presented the challenge of taking on the three Arab violin students, I realized that I possibly had a few more tricks up my sleeve than originally imagined. There was a time in my life when I played niguns, terkishers, and Rumanian dances. In fact, I played in a klezmer band in middle school. With a soulful mix of Western and Eastern influences, nothing could be of a better teaching choice.

As the day continued, I slowly began to feel a connection with the Tunisian students. During Improvisation Class where the kids learned how to create a thunderstorm with nearly their voices and bodies (hence the title of this post), I enjoyed recording the experience on iMovie and taking pictures on Photobooth with a few of the young pianists. My closest interaction was with a violinist who also plays the piano. We will call him Saheb, which means friend in Tunisian Arabic. After class was over and most cleared out of the room, Saheb remained jamming at the piano. A desire to join him took me over to my instrument, and without any question in his voice, we began to make music. In my opinion, this boy is quite a “pro” compared to my early adventures in improvisation, but we still made a pretty good team.

Later in the evening while practicing my viola, I was approached by Saheb, who was curious for more instruction. I decided that J.S. Bach’s Unaccompanied Solo Violin Partita #3- Preludio would be a great, enjoyable challenge for him. He decided that an Arabic song based off of Frère Jacques would be a great, enjoyable challenge for me. The lesson turned out to be excellent for the both of us as we taught each other our craft. All I know is that I better practice before my next lesson!

Habibi, Habibi, Habibi!! Laaahh-Leeehhh-Lahhh!!

That is the nasal singing of our cab driver in Hammamet, Tunisia while on the way back to the hotel from the medina, or market place, in the center of the city. No, the radio is not blaring in the background or an incredibly loud cell phone ringing. There is only the sound of the wind drawn in from the open taxicab windows, the sound of the engine, and the sound of HIS voice. Actually that is not quite true, as his infectious character convinces us within the cab to join him in song, though we have no idea what we’re singing. Through the combination of OUR voices, there is fusion and multiple identities. Hamdallah (Praise G-d)!

I am currently a participant in the Cultures in Harmony project Tunisia- Finding our Voice Together, as a violist, teacher, and cultural ambassador from America. Along my side are seven wonderful musicians from all over the world: a cellist, a violinist, a violist, a pianist, a guitarist, a kanun player, and an oud player.

Cultures in Harmony believes in the goodness of people and music. Of course, this combination leads to greatness. Our purpose as musicians (the majority from America) is to run a weeklong music festival for young Tunisian musicians with the hope of learning from each other musically and culturally, as well as making music together. The students arrive tomorrow and all preparations are in order from name-games, auditions, and the first fiddle class of the week.

Several of the seven musicians are returnees to this program. I do not fall under that category and in fact fit snuggly into my own little category. I am a Jew and have roots in the State of Israel and Eastern Europe. Let’s just say that this “cultural trip” laced with musical harmonies and Arabic rhythms has given, upon discovery, quite a few family and community members bulging eyes and a dropped bottom lip. Even before leaving America, I realized that not only would I be a foreigner in Tunisia, but I could feel out of place because of my background. I remember joking with my friends that I would probably be the only Jew for miles. Despite these worries, it only took one day in Tunisia for their echoing concerns to feel a great distance away. In all honesty, I do feel welcomed here.

Still, I can imagine my community cautiously warning, “Well we don’t see you parading around as a Jew, but don’t you get any ideas about doing that either!” True, when I have spoken of Israel or Jewish customs so far, there is less volume in my voice than normal. Maybe I won’t go around telling the kind personnel at the hotel that the Shouk (Sook/market place) in Jerusalem is more authentic than their medina (though it was still lovely!). Nonetheless, I will continue to wear my necklace which proclaims my Jewish identity because I refuse to let anybody make me hide from my identity, whether my own people suggest it or an outside public forces it.

On the other hand though, younger people tend to be more inquisitive. Will my kids (as of tomorrow, all the young Tunisian musicians will become my kids) notice it quicker and want answers? If we become good friends as I hope, will they change their mind about me once they discover my identity? Or will the music we make overpower all of these situations, even though I will most likely be the first Jew to cross their path. As each day continues, only more answers to these questions will arrive. I believe we can find our voices together, despite lack of common tongue and distant echoes.

Une chanson du Coeur (One song from the Heart)

Une chanson du Coeur. One song from the heart. That's all it takes to change a mindset and create a new melody of possibilities.

My two and a half hour flight home from the University of Miami was not its ordinary experience. In fact, I had a quite unordinary experience that I will never let go. While on the plane, I made friends with a sweet 10 year old girl named Molenncina and her father Monnaie.

Upon analyzing Molenncina sitting to my left and Monnaie sitting to my right, everything would seem quite normal. Molenncina is sporting pink shoes and a cute, fashionable hat, while Monnaie is dressed in jeans and a simple blue shirt. If one happened to look closer though, a modestly noticeable, oddly shaped scar nudges Molenncina's right cheek, while several yellow envelopes with the title, "Legal Documents" sit comfortably on Monnaie's lap. As you must be wondering what the backstory of this situation must be, I did as well and decided to search for answers.

Warm smiles appeared with my offer of minty gum, so it was time to engage in conversation. After a few tries consisting of, "What's your name?" and "Where are you from?", I realize that the French I learned while studying abroad in Paris was about to pay off as Molenncina and Monnaie are Haitian. The first thought that comes to my mind is whether this small family was affected by the disastrous earthquake that ruined Haiti this past January. Could it be that at one time, there were more members than just a father and daughter? Could it be that a father and daughter were all that survived?

I timidly asked the father of his situation with his daughter, afraid of opening barely healed wounds. I learned from Monnaie that not only were they both in the earthquake, but sweet Molenncina received injuries to the head from the natural disaster. Unabashedly, Monnaie instructs his daughter to remove her hat and shows me a bump on the back of her head and points to the injury on her face. Molenncina gives me a look of dismay and yet acceptance. Monnaie tells me that they had spent time at a hospital in Miami since Molenncina felt unwell from her injuries. The only sound able to leave my mouth is, "Oh..", as I rewind in my mind to earlier that day as I sat in the airport terminal carelessly watching those boarding the plane first, including a smaller person in a wheeler chair. Wasn't that person also wearing a hat?

Unsure of what step to take next as hopelessness and communication barriers seem to overcome the scene, I resort to a medium of strength and communication: music. As I open my laptop and ask Molenncina what type of music she likes, she requests Creole music, which I am then embarrassed to admit that, of course, this is the one type of "world music" that I do not own. As I begin to list different well-known American artists of international fame, she shows no recognition of any of them (not even Beyonce or Rihana!). At the Clinton Global Initiative University conference that I attended a few weeks before, many discussions centered around the power and utilization of the Internet through social media, such as Facebook and YouTube, to foster societal change. To those of the Western world, this form of action is applicable, yet we wrongly assume that these freedoms and privileges are available to everybody. For Molenncina, this freedom and privilege is still dormant. She was not even quite sure how to use the laptop. Yes, this was globalization at its best. None the less, globalization could not stop us from returning to the very basics of the human voice. Molenncina sang to me about a Papillon (butterfly). No auto-tune, click-track, or mics were necessary. There was only the hum of airplane and Molenncina's soulful voice.

While still trying to figure out how to bridge barriers through an "unfamiliar technological tool" known as the laptop, Molenncina seems uncomfortable, which I assume is fatigue. With her father sound asleep, I am unexpectedly her sole guardian. After a few tries to understand why she seemed uncomfortable, the answer becomes apparent. She needs to use the restroom. As she gets ready to leave her seat and asks me to go with her, I realize that I must help her walk. Up we both went holding each others' hands down the aisle as I spoke to her softly, "It's okay girl, I got you. It's okay girl". The other children on the plane of most likely generic lives stare at the scene. We reach the plane bathroom, I close the door slightly, and give Molenncina her privacy. Once finished, we washed our hands together, Molenncina with water and soap that I showed her how to use and myself with motions and air.

Returning to our seats after more stares from the flight audience, an idea finally forms that could bridge both worlds through the instruction of positive globalization. It was time to take pictures and make a short video together with the beloved Apple application, Photo Booth. Molenncina catches on quickly to the process of taking a picture through the laptop camera, so the fun kicks off. Smiles, Shinny teeth, tongues, pouts, and squinted eyes take over. With a few photos past us, it was time to try making a video.

At first, I am not sure whether Molenncina understands what we're doing, yet once the connection is made, she turns into a hit singer producing her debut music video. All giggles, we get into the music together. Nobody on the plane seems to mind our rambunctious behavior, including her father who is still sound asleep, unaware of the innocent humor he is providing to our video. After completing the video, we watched it over again, her hand holding mine.

The plane eventually landed and it was time to say bye. After an exchange of e-mails, my obvious lack of knowledge of how to brake a wheelchair (don't worry, nobody was hurt in the process), one more bathroom run in the airport- which again attracted an audience especially since she decided to scratch the wheelchair and hold my hands instead, we said, "au revoir et bisous!". Walking away, I already missed them both. The next morning, I receive a call from an unknown Miami number, which turns out to be Molenncina's social worker asking if I could send the pictures and the short video of Molenncina and myself to her so that she could e-mail it to their family in Haiti. As well, the social worker told me their full story:

Monnaie was a math professor in Haiti. Molenncina had lived as a healthy child in Haiti. The earthquake came along and almost killed Molenncina, known as a "miracle child" for surviving her injuries. Now Monnaie and Molenncina were being relocated to Portland, Oregon to start a new life that was not necessarily chosen by either. At that point, they did not have a TV, radio, or Internet in their new home.

My savta (grandmother) always says, "Only health and happiness matter". Though Molenncina is still on her way to recovery and there might not be any guarantee that she will be able to care for herself on her own someday, she has the courage to seize upon what makes her happy. She is a 10 year old child who accepts her circumstances, yet is unwilling to accept a minutiae role in life. She will sing, she will perform, she will laugh, and she will make friends. As well, she will demand to walk on her own without the wheelchair in front of an audience, unafraid of their pitying thoughts or the decision to ask another for assistance.

Here's our video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eafYnHRxwYw .

From Insecurities to Purpose

A path has thickened. Over the past six months, I have experienced unbelievable events bringing me closer to my purpose. Unfortunately, these events will unfold in one blog post and not in the moment of their time. From now on though, I will publish at least once a month.

The moment of change occurred last September 24, 2009 with the event, "Let's Bridge the Divide with Kobi (Israeli Peace Activist) and Aziz (Palestinian Peace Activist)".

As a co-founder of theUniversity of Miami student group, Jews and Muslims (JAM), and current Co-Chair, the opportunity to take the first big leap of my organization had arrived. Though JAM was founded one year and a half earlier, my peers and I slowly, yet devotedly built a framework for a public launch of such an "usual" student group. With around five events per semester and an ever growing following, it was time to test the response and sustainability of JAM within the university community. As well, it would be the first time discussing the Israeli/Palestinian conflict.

With one month until the proposed event, I scrambled to different university departments to fundraise for the event. Despite lacking the funding to fly both men to the university originally, I told everybody, "We're bringing them some how". After the installation of a persistent strategy (and persistent stress) which was nicknamed, "I'm tired of pulling teeth", the funds were raised and the event was on! In the end, Kobi and Aziz spoke in front of a modest 50 person audience about their upbringings, the dilemmas they faced with the roles they played in the conflict, and then their eventual choice to pursue non-violent means of struggle and peace building.

Not only was this event a huge success amongst the Jewish and Muslim student communities at UM, but it gave me the confidence to examine even greater opportunities through JAM. Those who told me that I couldn't make change were just plain wrong.

As one event leads to another, we held 12 events that fall semester 2009, donated money to the Israeli/Israeli-Arab Kindergarten, Ein Bustan, were accepted to the Clinton Global Initiative University, and co-sponsored many times with university affiliations and outside institutions. I even made a YouTube video, which I am most proud of the audio: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C7aHmloG-2w .

Known for out excellent programming and relentless efforts towards bridging the divide, JAM pursued even greater heights in the spring semester of 2010. From Abraham's Tent: A Forum on Discrimination to the extremely successful Sounds of Faith- University of Miami, we have been flooded with positive responses. In fact, I believe that this semester we will be holding over 12 events.

I feel at this point, there is no turning back. In past entries, I questioned the validity of my position as an activist. Many viewed me as naive or over-achieving. Perfection is not what I ask; understanding is what I preach. In addition, if becoming that activist, would there be a balance between that life and my life as a musician. Could I do both? Could I find a way to combine the two? After Sounds of Faith-UM, in which I performed Kol Nidrei with all my heart, I know that there is room for both in my life. Even more importantly, I know that there is room in my life to do both well.

Part II: The Foreigner in Paris

It is almost Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. I remember this time very well last year. As a foreigner in Paris who just spent three lovely months in an electrifying city of religions, I felt so alone.

The transition from living in Jerusalem to studying abroad in Paris was not easy. When I look at my past entries at that time or even my more personal entries of my life then, my uneasiness was unmistakable. Not only had I just lived a dream in Israel challenging what I thought was possible and impossible, but the normality in my life was also lost (including leaving the violin to play the viola). With Paris in my future, I could not compute the changes to be had. Was I ready for the whirlwind of change? Could I adapt easily? Would I accept the European lifestyle? The funniest question in my mind now that I think about it was: Am I even able to dress better than the seven year old Parisian boys?

Paris, the city of lights, the city of love. I fell into it all, willingly and unwillingly.

In a familiar, yet new city, I tried to mix my normal college activities at the University of Miami with Paris. I desperately searched for a Jewish community to be a part of (also a result of spending time in Israel) and found Kehilat Gesher, auditioned for the Sorbonne Orchestra, signed up for chamber music at a local conservatory, sought out gigs and performed in the metro, and found salsa dancing classes. I told myself that I would not become one of those study abroad students who forgot that school existed. As my friends always joke, "Shoshi can't survive without her schedule."

Though all was well, by early October with over two months left in my study abroad experience, all I could think of was America. To be more specific, my mind was in New York City. While my mind wandered the free streets of NYC that I had roamed before my big adventure, plans for the next semester back at UM and the next summer's plans were evolving. The upcoming 2008 Presidential Election did not make it any easier to focus on where I lived either, though I swear Obama was plastered all over Paris since the French love Obama as much as Americans.

The impression might be that I wanted to leave Paris, but truthfully that was my last wish. The act of leaving my country for 7 months with plans of my own for my life had to continue its course. I tried to soak in every moment from shopping for vegetables at my favorite street market where I joked with the Arab sellers with my minimal Arabic and snacking on baguettes from quaint boulangeries to passing by Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower on my way to school almost every day. My mind was naturally following what seemed normal: planning, planning, planning. Unfortunately for my mind, a person altered my life putting my thoughts back in Paris with me until he left for Israel, where my thoughts continually took trips there to be with him. The planning that I involved my time with that contributed to my journey came to a halt.

The last two months of my time in Paris, I lived the European life. Though busy, my schedule was far from the scribblings that usually sit on every day of the week. All slowed down and the times that I returned to Israel to visit him, my days were even longer. Each time I left Israel, I could not believe that I had left again; I could not believe that I had left him again. I embraced Paris for what it meant to me and for what it had given me, from insight, culture, family, friends, a home, and him. Never before had I allowed an outside factor steer my life so strongly and truthfully, my control felt minimal.

Forging my pathway to intern in Israel and study abroad in Paris was all in my hands, until this. I learned, by experience, that nothing is always in your hands. No matter how you live your life, no matter how you reach out to people, no matter how much you compromise, the end result will not always be yours. Despite all, everything happens for a reason.

It is the high holidays once again and though I am in Miami, my mind wanders away to the city of lights and the city of love: Paris.

Part I: The Foreigner in Israel

In order to fully comprehend my seven months abroad, I have decided to break my experience down into four parts: The Foreigner in Israel, The Foreigner in Paris, The Foreigner in America, Three Homes of One. After a few months of contemplating, I believe each episode in my time abroad successfully flows into one another creating a connected series of events that has left an undeniable impression on my growth as an individual.

The first piece to the puzzle in comprehending my experience as the 'foreigner' fits in the Land of Israel.  During the three months I lived and interned in Israel (to be more exact, Jerusalem), I was among my own people and treated with absolute compassion. Even so, I was still a 'foreigner' in my handling of situations and overall thought process. To put it simply, Israel is a complex state.

The most appetizing way to view the breakdown of Israel's general population is to imagine Salat Aravi/Salat Israeli (Arab Salad/Israeli Salad). Though each small salad dish has a right to belong on the dinner table, the components within the salad that affect its visual display and most importantly, taste, are extremely different (my cousin Uri, the chef, would love the reference). When separating the State upon religious affiliation, you will find Jews, Shias Muslims, Lubavitchers, Chabadniks, Catholics, Sunni Muslims, Protestants of all kinds, Greek, Russian, Armenian, and Ethiopian Orthodox, Ba'hai, etc. Most of these religions can be broken down even further into smaller sects or states of religiosity. For G-d's sakes, we are talking about any form of religious devotion that dates itself back to Abraham! We should also not forget those who do not follow religion.

Just as the general population can be broken down by religious devotions, it can also be broken down into an individual's origin. For starters, Jews from all over the world have relocated in Israel within the past 150 years in response to differing forms of religious persecution present in most countries and a desire to fulfill religious means. In one location, a passerby could easily come across Jews from Russia, Iraq, Morocco, Ethiopia, France, England, Colombia, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Turkey, Syria, America, Argentina, Ukraine, etc. An experienced passerby might even be able to hear the differences in the pronunciation of their Hebrew speaking.  Of course, this trend of different ancestries also applies to Muslims and Christians who live in Israel too. From those who hold their ancestry in Palestine and the Philippines to those granted asylum in Israel in response to the conflict in Sudan and to those same Darfurians who were granted the status of 'illegal immigrants'. We should not forget that a population is also divided upon socio-economic lines, age, gender, etc. As my lovely Doda (Aunt) Esti menacingly jokes, "This country is for the birds". 

In the end, how can one government even hope to please and establish progress in a nation composed of every grain of sand? How did this shape me as a 'foreigner' in Israel? I became one of them as well; a grain of sand in the most colorful and yet, inhospitable of deserts. In saying this, it is not the people who are hostile in principle, but rather their desire to live in the Land of Israel drives a certain hostile behavior. Deceit and fear are widespread, as untrustworthiness and greed sit around the corner. For many, sharing land, ideas, and religious freedom bears no priority in their existence with others. Even before Israel's existence and within its making, these characteristics were not whispers. Read Benny Morris's book, Righteous Victims, and you will understand what I mean.

Despite this reality, we forget the one beautiful aspect to it all. The soil of a desert has the capability to create a lushness of great stature when irrigated correctly. If each person, or grain of sand, irrigated his or her love of 'the Land' towards a peaceful existence, our desert would bloom as if it was always spring with the dew shining in the morning light. Kudos to Mr./Mrs./Ms. unknown,

" Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart. "

My three month stay in Israel proved its cause once the time arrived for me to start my study abroad experience in Paris, France. I was weary of the troubles I discovered in 'the Land', such as the lack of credibility, the half-truths spread to American youth by Taglit, the actions of 'unforgiveable' people such as Samir Kuntar, the unconceivable stubbornness of the religious, and lack of sanity at times. In face of this uneasy feeling that continued with my exiting of the country, I still missed Israel and found that I catered my actions in Paris in ways that related back to Israel. From my obsessive hobby of listening to Israeli radio throughout the day to my persistent search for a synagogue in Paris of my liking, I reached out to those, Jews and Arabs alike, who reminded me of my Israeli home. Those stories though are left for the next episode.