Is Merely Singing About Freedom Enough?

"What comes first? The chicken or the egg?"

Many wise men and women throughout the ages have asked this very question repeatedly. In the last Heartbeat rehearsal before performing in the concert "Simply Sing פשוט שרים ببساطة التغنية" focusing on Jewish and Arab music in Jerusalem, a similar question arose, ignited by the song Freedom by Richie Havens (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fA51wyl-9IE).

Is singing about freedom enough to give breath to the ideals of equality and justice? Or is singing about freedom not enough without discussing what freedom in a society truly constitutes.

This discussion transformed our rehearsal. I listened as the various high school students, Israelis and Palestinians, gave their input. One said that he was not comfortable singing about freedom without a joint understanding of what the word freedom really meant. Two others were mostly quiet, choosing their words carefully. Finally the main guitarist expressed that singing about freedom meant the freedom of self in thought and action. At the end of their 10 minute discussion, freedom ruled. The band agreed to perform the song Freedom upon the condition of taking the discussion further as a group to fully explore the meaning of freedom.

At the concert "Simply Sing פשוט שרים ببساطة التغنية" the next day, Heartbeat performed a rendition of Enta Omri by the famous Egyptian artist, Umm Kalthoum who initiated the Golden Age of Arab music, and a cover of Freedom by Richie Havens in front of a 70 person clapping and singing audience. The performance was a success and at least for that evening, Jerusalem tasted a state of peace under the stars.

What We Can Learn From the Syrian People Part II

Pre-Commentary: Current Day Reflection April 2011

My decision to finally complete this chapter in my “blog-life” comes at a moment of change in history. It is hard to read the following entry and not keep in consideration the current revolutions-evolutions of peaceful-clamorous, unsatisfied millions in the Middle East, including in Syria. As I reread some of my points from last January, I can’t help but wonder if they still hold true. It is hard to tell. As New York Times columnist, Thomas Friedman, pointed out in an Op-Ed recently, the current unrest in Syria is further complicated by the lack of a homogeneous population. Sectarian societies with religious and/or tribal factions tend to unravel even more within times of conflict, leading to the survival mentality of “me or them”. As I am not an expert nor do I have family in Syria (though a few wonderful Syrian friends), I do not feel comfortable changing my previous thoughts in light of current events in Syria. Not only do the reports of the unrest vary from newspaper to newspaper depending on the accounts at what some might call “protests” and what others might call “peace marches”, but as well, each newspaper holds a different slant. Conflicts, fought with physical force in the form of forthright interactions and reactions, posses an intangible dimension in the intellectual sphere of battling ideologies and vocabularies of language. Though what is currently occurring in Syria in comparison to my dated experience in Syria can be viewed as two very different environments and perhaps societies, both contain elements of this intellectual sphere originating from the individuals and sources that influence our thoughts. You, the reader, must keep this in mind while reading the entry below.

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January 2011

What do you think of when you hear the words: The Arab Republic of Syria? If I asked myself this question a mere three weeks ago, my response would resonate along the lines of, “police state”, “extreme”, “unfriendly”, and “repressive”. When the chance arrived to visit Syria with a George Mason University course through the Institute of Conflict Analysis and Resolution (ICAR) several months ago, I grabbed the opportunity, despite my uncertainty and the surrounding questioning commentary by my peers and community. As the time to leave for Syria crept closer with the passing of 2010, my uncertainty grew stronger as the questions from my community became more adamant. What in the world was I doing going to Syria (especially in light of my family background and religious beliefs as a Jew), a country that I could only describe in negative terms?

It was not until arriving in Syria that I realized this adventure’s purpose, besides studying conflict resolution theories and practice. I was there to learn about the Syrian people from actual citizens of Syria and reflect upon my practice with them. Why do we still accept learning about a country from outsiders and not the actual citizens? Similarly with religion, shouldn’t we learn from those who practice, and not necessarily from those who preach, or at least from those who practice what they preach?

Though what I learned from the Syrian people is more than what can be described in a blog post, here is an attempt to squeeze everything into 5 lessons.

1. Get LOST!

This is the exact phrasing the First Lady of Syria, Asma Assad, used when explaining how to approach Syrian society as a visitor. Instead of merely basing one’s knowledge of Syria on scholarly books or newspaper articles, go out exploring and meet the everyday Syrian man and woman. Learn about Syria from the very people who do not need to use Cliffnotes to explain the dynamics of Syrian society. As well, First Lady Assad pointed out that in participating in this little adventure, Syria blooms into a very colorful garden. There are fashionable women wearing jeans, men wearing jalabyias, teenage girls who wear hott pink hijabs and lots of makeup, boys who are Christian with their Muslim friends, fathers going to work and then to pray, mothers in the Sook with several children by her side or maybe just one child in her arms, etc. Syria, at least in Damascus, is very diverse with religious and secular populations of a plethora of religions, including Judaism. This portrayal of Syrian society is never used in American discourse and was in fact, my first exposure to it.

2. Live beyond Tolerance

There was a lot of talk in meetings with various Syrian officials about “living beyond tolerance”, since tolerance is the most minute form of acceptance. For example, you tolerate your little brother’s annoying friends by closing the door to your room. You tolerate the cilantro in your salad, though you disdain cilantro, by pushing as much of it to the side of the plate as you can. You tolerate the gossiping girls sitting behind you in class by moving to the front of the classroom because you need to graduate. These are all examples of tolerance. Sorry if the word does not seem too pretty or admirable to you any more.

"Living beyond tolerance" is taking into account that even if you are of different religions or of different origins, you are still Syrian and part of a great Syrian nation. "I am Turkman, but I am Syrian", "I am a Muslim woman, but I am Syrian", "I am of Kurdistan, but I am Syrian". This sentence format is used frequently and seems to be what many Syrians believe full heartedly. No matter the divisions and the fissures, we are all Syrian above everything else.

3. There’s the Good News and the Bad News

This just might be the most important lesson of all. We should celebrate what is “good” and not deny what is “bad”. This slogan repeatedly entered conversations held between us, the Americans, with our counterparts, the Syrians. It takes courage for a people to admit that there is room for improvement in their development and that there is some “bad news”. So many nations fear that elaborating on the “bad news” of a situation is a sign of weakness. The ability to realize and communicate problems within one’s society is the ability to tell the truth and look towards becoming a better society not in the ambiguous future, but in fact, tomorrow. There are several countries in the world that could benefit by adopting this outlook more often.

Taking this into consideration, my time in Syria was not all “good news”. Most of the time, I was fairly quiet about being a Jew and as well could not say in public the name: State of Israel. Though the other participants on the course and myself came up with plenty of amusing nom de plums, such as Disneyland, Ireland, and Nebraska, I personally disliked the forced name change for the land I consider to be a homeland. Truthfully, the connection of the State of Israel to Judaism made being a Jew in Syria more difficult, rather than the other way around. Yet for better or for worse, the two, the State of Israel and Judaism, are interconnected entities bound closer and closer every day. When exploring the Old City of Damascus with friends and stumbling upon a metal sheath about the length of a large door matt with a Star of David on it on the dirty alleyway floor, I tripped, gasped, and stared with disbelief as the feet of every day Old City Syrians walked across it, faces business usual. The Star of David can symbolize both Judaism and the State of Israel, making it very difficult to even establish any room for doubt. Every time I passed by the metal sheath, I was furious and refused to step on it. In fact, I secretly wanted to steal it and hide it, yet I realized there was no good hiding spot, I could endanger myself with such an action, and that nobody would probably even notice that it was gone anyway except for me.

4. Hospitality is Everything

As an outsider who is not Arab, it is interesting to learn how Arabs of different Middle Eastern countries view one another. In a way, it is like understanding how Ashkenazi Jews and Sephardic Jews perceive each other. I learned that not only do the Syrian people set the trend in fashion in the Arab world and in their TV dramas, but as well Syrians are considered the most hospitable of all Arabs (and if this is not true in your opinion, don’t take it up with me!). All of our Syrian partners, the hotel staff at Al Pasha, and every day Syrians we met in the street were incredibly kind and generous. After demonizing a people so much or even just their politicians, it is easy to forget that they have hearts just like you and me.

The last full day in Syria was a free day to explore the city for one last time and then to conclude with final reflections. I decided to take my viola with me on this particular adventure to see if anything out of the unusual would occur. Just like an element of foreshadowing in a novel, it took only a few blocks for my friends and I to be approached by none other than Murad, a short Kurdish-Syrian with kind black eyes. He had noticed my instrument case on my back and caught our attention to show us newspaper clippings of him performing his instruments, of which he performed many from several ouds to wind instruments. After show-in-tell, he invited us to his abode for tea and music. Though we only met Murad around two minutes before, we went with it and followed him down the winding alleyways of the oldest city that has always remained populated throughout time. Before reaching his place though, he decided to introduce us to every Kurdish-Syrian restaurant owner he knew in order to show off the beauty of the ancient Arabesque styled compounds turned restaurants.

Upon reaching his home, it became obvious that Murad lived a very modest life filled with music and invited international guests who joined him and his lifestyle for a few hours. While putting up the tea, my friends and I fiddled with his instruments, which he had laid in front of us. After several hours of tea, chatting, making music together, and attempting to take photos and capture video footage, we left Murad with many thanks and smiles on our faces of an unbelievable afternoon in the Old City of Damascus.

5. Offer Your Hand in Peace

In my first full day in Syria, I found peace. My good friend, Alyssa Mische, and myself ventured out into the Old City of Damascus on our own looking for some mischief, a.k.a. two young blonde women exploring a city they don’t know in a foreign country. After starting off on the right track and then somehow venturing down a few alleyways because they looked pretty, we ended up at the square in front of one of the entrances to the grand Umayyad Mosque. While starring in awe at such a beautiful site and taking into account all of the various throngs of people surrounding the mosque area, a group of young boys playfully approached us, as the obvious foreigners and easy targets. The bravest of the group then attempts to communicate with me, yet what could we really express to each other without a common language. Then all of a sudden, he outstretches his arm towards me for a handshake and says in Arabic and then in English, “Salam.. Peace”. With a feeling of importance, I outstretch my arm and we shake hands in agreement as I respond back, “Salam”. In that moment, we made peace with each other.

Though peace seems unattainable, you can never guess when that outstretched arm might come your way. It is easy to say that there is “no partner for peace” and only commend yourself for the efforts you have made. In assuming that there is no attainable peace partner, you probably will not see the opportunity for peace when it presents itself. Moreover, making peace is not just creating a new reality for the masses, but also admitting a change in yourself that originates from the inner depths of your deepest thoughts and darkest held secrets. The decision to enter such a place can be attributed to many experiences or realizations, though clearly it includes the denunciation of a level of selfishness.

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As we watch the current events in Syria unfold from afar, unsure of what is reported in honesty or which actions are based in selflessness, we can only hope that a nation of such wonderful people that have so much to offer to the world can find their place of inner peace.

In Route to Damascus, Syria (January 2011) Part I

When one is traveling to a new and far land, research is necessary. Naturally, one seeks to gain an understanding of the foreign place’s customs and how to relate to them, as well historical background in relation to interactions with neighboring countries and overall status as a global actor. It is a prerequisite to lift off. As a Jew with one parent born in Israel and for that matter, a whole gathering of Israeli family members, I need more than a “prerequisite” to visit the country I am currently in route to: The Arab Republic of Syria.

Of course you must wonder how somebody with my background should end up in such a place. Throughout my prerequisite travel, I have in fact repeatedly been asked the same question, which only makes me wonder, "What in the world am I doing?" On paper I am participating in a George Mason University course called Syria in Practice and Reflection through the Institute of Conflict Analysis and Resolution (ICAR). Focusing on the work of Dr. Marc Gopin and his successes in establishing long-term relations with members of Syrian society, this course discusses the theory of citizen diplomacy and its practice within a police state. How can one challenge the status quo when eyes are always tacitly watching and ears are always yearning for more to inform on? How can one foster the relationships crucial to societal change if one partner is a visitor and the other partner is a resident who could face consequences from his or her closed society by the formation of a partnership with an outsider. These questions multiply easily, which is confusing, frustrating, and frightening. This is where you can find me right now. I am confused, frustrated (granted tired from the almost 24 hour traveling spree), and I am nervously on the frightened side.

I knew this was coming before setting foot on a plane. My slight nervousness began several weeks ago and has persisted, growing heavier as the day to leave approached. Of course my parents, who were being good, concerned Jewish parents, did not ease this process. What worries me most of all though is that I am not sure which actions are harmful to my safety verses which actions are simply permissible. There are of course obvious actions that would be harmful. My concern is not the black and white, but the gray. For example, I was told that I should not reveal my Jewish identity and hide all evidence of it. Keeping my identity a secret could be a matter of safety and protection from harm, yet hiding who I am is also harmful to me emotionally and mentally as a human being. My identity, a fabric of ideas, experiences, and familial history, is my everyday existence.

Not only admitting an inner respect for my identity, my name provides many indicators of my background. Shoshana, a Hebrew name meaning Rose in English, and even beyond that, an Israeli name! What if, upon introducing myself, a Syrian citizen asks me what my name means or its origin? What am I to say? To avoid the situation, what if I introduce myself with the English translation, Rose. A simple fix one can deduct, but Rose is not my real name in everyday life or written on my passport. In addition, I was told a few weeks ago by a New York City Buddhist cab driver that I looked like a Jew. Does that count as a harmful characteristic? Will the Syrians be able to recognize, upon my looks of semi-curly blonde hair and dark blue eyes, that I am a Jew? If we continued, we could analyze whether my main e-mail address that I was planning on not using because of the many references to my background, will become a threat since I find that I must check it daily anyway. Or how about the new e-mail address that I told my loved ones to reach me with? What if somebody slips up, unknowingly, and writes something that could put me in harm’s way? How about Skype chat or video chat? What about my necklace that I always wear, portraying Hebrew letters on two tablets next to the little chamsah my Tunisian students purchased for me as a gift this past summer. Will I need to hide the Hebrew tablets in my shirt or on the backside of my neck, because I refuse to take it off? It is a Catch 22. My strong willed nature might put myself in harm's way, and yet on the other hand, I am held hostage by the fear of revealing my identity and yet of being forced to hide my identity.

On my first flight I was told by the passenger in my aisle, “YOU, going to Syria? But you are a Jew!” While waiting at the London Heathrow gate for my second and final flight to Damascus, I found myself whispering my identity to my new classmates. I was even given a little scribbled note on the back of a train ticket scrap from an American businessman stating:

"Do Enjoy ur trip. Careful who you Reveal to. 1 in 3 men in Syria work For Secret police. Your group will be watched. Phones are not secure. Nor is email. Don’t be afraid."

Again, how could I not be afraid receiving this informative note WWII style? Finally once on the second plane and entering the same whispered conversations with a British passenger in my aisle, he praised my efforts and said that what I was doing was proper in order to learn about the other side. I nodded my head and said, “I know, I know”, perhaps like a dummy. Experience is the best teacher and in citizen diplomacy watching from afar is not enough. There is only one question left in mind now. For those who have faith to venture into the world of the "other side" to expand understanding and foster relationships, when does the cost become too high?

Allimiin, Allimiin, Allimiin, Allimiin!!!

The Tunisian students have just ended their final concert and stand on stage leaning against each other singing, “Allimiin, Allimiin, Allimiin!” while family members snap pictures. As the festival comes to a close, there is joy of accomplishment, as well as great sadness of leaving new and old friends and, of course, teachers too. The most frequent questions asked of me within the last 24 hours consisted of, “Do you enjoy Tunisia”, and “Will you come back next summer?” Some phrased the latter in the form of question and statement, “Promise me you will come back next summer?” These questions were asked of all of the American teachers, from Lilian Belknap the violist and Robin Ryczek the cellist to Joel Schut the violinist and Kimball Gallagher the pianist. I am not sure how the others answered this tough question, but I simply answered, “Inchallah”- or G-d willing.

After 10 days in Tunisia, all I can think of is the wonderful nature of the Tunisian people and how the outside world has much to learn. To answer a few of the questions I have received about my trip to Tunisia:

1. 1. Yes, there are buildings in Tunisia.

2. 2. Yes, there is Internet, even WiFi in Tunisia.

3. 3. Yes, Tunisians watch the Mondial (the World Cup).

4. 4. Yes, there are Jews in Tunisia.

5. 5. Yes, there is a synagogue in Tunis, the capital of Tunisia.

Now to point out a reoccurring comment that I received upon return: You came back alive! Yes, I returned alive, and extremely joyful with enumerable memories of my Tunisian students and their families. I returned to America unscathed and still Shoshana Gottesman, with maybe a few Tunisian rhythms added to my blood from the ride.

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.

From Here to There to Everywhere: A Well Awaited Return.

Yes, it has been quite a while.

You might be wondering, "Where has that girl been?!"

Well yes, let me tell you. That girl has been from here to there to everywhere in what is considered to be 'life'. No, my lack of blog devotion the past six months is not due from laziness, lack of inspiration, or lack of time. I have simply lacked in understanding.

From putting forth all of my energies in Spring 2008 to create and organize my internship in Israel (which in the end turned into two internships with the Jerusalem Music Center and The Hand in Hand Israeli Arab Schools) and landing an acceptable study abroad program that would let me sneak by without a student visa (which put me in lovely Paris, France studying at the Sorbonne), to actually leaving America and my normal lifestyle in May 2008 for seven months to be the foreigner, and then to returning to America in late December 2008 to a new instrument, a new choice of major, and new family and personal situations, and then to finally reaching this point in July 2009 when the whirlwind finally came together again.

Yes, my statement of being "here to there to everywhere" holds its truth, as well as the record for the longest sentence I have ever written in my life. Good luck saying all of that in one breath. Now the real enlightening question is not why or what, but rather how; how to untangle such a mess of memories, thoughts, words, and letters. Shall we?

The Power of the Human Voice

After attending the Poverty Conference that occurred last weekend at UM, I have to say that I'm shocked. No, it is not a shock that poverty exists throughout the world or that I live a privileged life. What shocks me is that even my President, who I view with the highest of esteems, did not include the issue of poverty as one of his major focuses (and for that matter, none of the other presidential candidates did either). My question is: WHY! Is it because those who are in poverty do not usually get the vote out? Or because they do not contribute to society like expected to? In my opinion, this is a horrible reality that we must face as the wealthiest nation, especially during the economic disparity of our times. And if anything, the numbers of hard-working Americans living in poverty is increasing with our current situation. Another issue that worries me is that I have never once really considered the issue of poverty in the Middle East, an area which I focus on frequently concerning the subjects of religion, politics, community, etc.

This entire subject makes me think of the 'human voice'. Let's revert to a few weeks ago when I lost my voice. Around three weeks ago, I unfortunately became ill and developed the worst case of laryngitis that I have ever experienced. I was unable to speak for four days straight. Though communicating through writing, hand motions, and mouthing of words was possible, it was not very feasible. I have never felt so incapable before in my life. Not only that, I began to miss the sound of my own voice, a one of a kind combination of differing sound wavelengths that ultimately represent me. I was afraid to walk back and forth from the music school at nighttime, because if anything were to happen to me, I would be unable to scream for help. I had no voice.

The first phrase that I began trying to say around the fourth day was, "Hi, my name is Shoshi and I have a voice". I practiced saying it over and over again in the morning when I woke up and in the evening before I went to bed. Though the color of sound that emitted from my vocal chords still did not sound exactly like mine, the grateful emotions that ran throughout my body from finally being able to say my name and that I possessed a voice were indescribable.

I perceive that those who live in poverty must feel the same way as one who physically looses his or her voice. You are excluded from the normalcy of society, communicating with others your problems is incredibly difficult, the reason you might be forced to remain in poverty could be related to outside factors that are to a certain degree uncontrollable until healed or diagnosed, you are doubly afraid during the nighttime since nobody will be able to hear you scream when trouble lurks around the corner, and lastly, you miss hearing your name spoken with purpose and dignity.

There must be more that we can do. Nobody should ever be left without a voice. In fact, every person should have the ability to sing.

Thoughts on War Between Israel and Gaza

I wish we could all be human again. After all, our hearts are all the same with the same desires. How could we forget and become so cold? All of us on every side has turned cold. We must warm each other with the hope of the future, because no matter what, I believe people are good at heart.

Is anybody listening!??!!?

The Importance of Life as a Jew with the Men of Sayeret Maglan

Day 154 Abroad: The Morning of My 21st Birthday

As I briskly travel the empty streets of Paris, France to my local metro station at the fresh hour of 7:30 a.m., the sky’s water-colored morning light of patterned reds and oranges slips a snug smile on my face. Today is my 21st birthday and I cannot help but be thankful for another year of life as a Jew, especially as the only granddaughter of Holocaust survivors. It would be selfish of me though to shape the day’s uniqueness solely upon my birthday, as truthfully, this day has a further purpose. In another arrondissement, the still youthful, demobilized Israeli Defense Force platoon of Maglan is stirring with the rising sun. These men will be spending the entire day in the magical fantasy world where ‘dreams come true’ of Disneyland Resort Paris. How do I fit into this odd occurrence of subjects and events? I welcome you to join me in my journey abroad, for this memoir can only form coherently through our conjoining travels.

Though a foreigner in Israel for three months, I was most definitely not a stranger. Life in the Holy Land, where I spent the majority of time residing in Jerusalem, was cozy as a Jew possessing a huge Israeli family and a love for the people of the land. For most Israelis, there is nothing unique about the constant encirclement of Jews in their lives (in fact it might even get on their nerves). For a Jew from the Diaspora though, immersing oneself in Israeli society is almost overwhelming, yet in the most positive of senses. It is simply wonderful to fathom so many Jews existing in one place.

Leaving Israel in late August to study abroad in Paris was not as natural. The transition from an atmosphere with such a blatant openness towards self-identity to an environment whose citizens much rather keep personal effects at bay shook my very core and altered my personnel necessities. I needed to find a Jewish congregation to surround myself with and to hear Hebrew; I needed to sport my Star-of-David necklaces and favorite Chamsah earrings; I needed all of my French teachers and peers to understand exactly why it was obligatory for me to situate my classes around the Friday night and High Holiday services schedule. With pride and boldness, I would simply state in French, “Je suis juif”, which translates to, “I am a Jew”.

Day 152 Abroad: Meeting the Men of Maglan

After persistent research, I finally discover a Jewish community in Paris that suites my every imaginable wish. The French-Anglophone Jewish Congregation of Kehilat Gesher, to “bridge the gap”, is an intimate community attended by loving and caring families and individuals of all harmonies. The unprecedented kindness and gigantic prospects for the well-being of the Jewish community of Paris and world Jewry radiates through the congregation’s every outreach program and prayer. To say the least, I am immediately ‘adopted’ by Kehilat Gesher’s diverse family and become one of their own, as if I never belonged anywhere else.

It is a Friday evening in Paris and the wind sighs a wintery breath on nearly undressed trees. I quickly cut street corners as my legs race methodically to Friday night services. With blaring iPod earpieces, confident dark blue eyes, and a sauntering soft scarf curving around my neck, my nervousness is tactically hidden. This commencing Shabbat, I am to meet the 14 men of Maglan, who are attending a special workshop program sponsored by Kehilat Gesher’s ‘Tikkun Olam’ committee. Besides providing an opportunity to explore Paris, the workshop mainly focuses on the platoon’s service in the IDF and what becomes of life after the army. One of the more lighthearted aspects to the program is the scheduled day in the fun-filled world of Disneyland Resort Paris, where I, as the foreigner, will be joining them as a representative from the Kehilat Gesher community. This day also happens to be my 21st birthday.

Many questions race through my mind whilst I travel to the modest headquarters of Kehilat Gesher. “Will they view me as a stranger or as a foreigner like themselves?” “Will they genuinely celebrate my 21st birthday?” “Will they view me as the little sister who always seems to tag along or as a 21 year old who deserves respect?” The two most significant questions are unfortunately the most persistent. “How will these men, who have experienced the darker side of life as IDF soldiers from the Second Lebanon War, find their innocent, imaginative selves in the land of Mickey Mouse and Company?” “How can I express to them that it is ok, with barely 21 years of sheltered life as a figure of experience?” As I cut my last street corner, I can already see in the dim-light of the sweet evening a group of men in the distance with lit cigarette buds; I know it is them.

Swiftly passing by the group of men by the door who, at this point, cease to converse, I try to become invisible in order to observe my ‘new friends’. As I sit myself down in the back of the congregation and watch the men stroll to available seats, each one is already acquiring a specially assigned name in my mind (which is not to be confused with the fact that I had already memorized their real names during my French classes that week). I begin to study their comradeship, the way the Siddur sits in their hands, the sounds of their deep voices in song, and their posture during various prayers of importance. Some subconsciously tap their feet to the cascades in melody. Two seem to be resting on each other rather contently. A few clap to the beat every now and then. I vibrantly sing and pay more attention to my Hebrew pronunciation, for I secretly hope that they might hear me and realize that I am an impassioned Jew in a foreign country, too.

With the conclusion of services, a collective buzz of Hebrew vibrates throughout the room and proceeds to the Kiddush. I meditatively watch the expressions on the Israelis’ faces while they interact amongst themselves and with those of the Kehilat Gesher community. There is an abundance of laughter, joking, and playfulness, alongside maturity, seriousness, and deference. They have experienced a part of life that I will never be able to fully comprehend and yet, they appear to be perfectly normal Jewish boys. Their resilience is so brilliant. After an enjoyable Kiddush and a few awkward introductions, I say good-bye to the men of Maglan for the time being, until our plans to meet for breakfast and our trip to Disneyland Paris in two days to come on my 21st birthday.

Day 154 Abroad: A Full Circle Return to the Morning of My 21st Birthday

As my metro car descends underground in journey to have breakfast with the men of Maglan, I confidently believe that this perfect dawn at 7:35 a.m. is an intimate sign. It foretells of an unforgettable birthday shared with those from the land that I utterly miss. And despite not being able to spend my 21st birthday with my loved ones back home, I will be surrounded by those who understand the importance of life as a Jew. Who could ask for a better present than that?

Conclusion: Shoshana spent her entire 21st birthday with the men of Maglan at the Disneyland Resort Paris and enjoyed every second of it, from receiving multiple serenades of the ‘Happy Birthday’ song in Hebrew and joining ‘the Magician’, ‘the Guide’, ‘the French Beret’, ‘the Photographer’, and ‘the Hopeful Husband’ on almost every rollercoaster ride, despite her ability to develop motion sickness easily. Luckily, the one with ‘the Warm Brown Eyes’ sat next to her on every dropping, twisting, and twirling ride, so the motion sickness was quite mild in the end anyway.

Election Night in Paris Part II

And with a final calm resting upon our fate as people of the world, we rediscover a forgotten energy of the most natural form.

An individual of the greatest stature has instilled in us, once again, this euphoria of life as human beings: hope

And with this HOPE, a new world for us all finally springs to life...

Election Night and PB&J in Paris

Peanut-Butter and Jelly sandwiches are my comfort food. I just ate two of them and dropped raspberry jelly just about everywhere. Today/Tonight is the United States presidential election 2008. I am nervous and fidgety. After two years of waiting, the world will finally receive an answer.

The Song of My Thoughts from the 08’ Election to Other Subjects

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

I’ve Left the Middle East to Study Abroad in Europe

'The half way point of my international adventure has arrived. It is my first week in Paris, France, yet my mind still thinks in Hebrew.

Leaving Israel was uncomfortable. Everything about 'the land' is so bitter-sweet for me, especially after becoming a part of Israeli society in almost every way. I traveled from the north to the south, interned at the Jerusalem Music Center and the Hand in Hand Schools, visited as many holy and historical sites as possible, spoke in Hebrew, played the violin and viola, tackled the job of being a counselor for 95 Israeli high school musicians, and lived life in an Israeli way. It is my homeland as much as anybody's and I am tired of others denying that right to Muslims, Christians, Bahia, and those like myself. I have not lost hope, as I do believe in institutions such as Hand in Hand and will continue to intern for them throughout the year, yet I am a bit more blue about the situation. Though Israel is six hours away from me now, the experiences I gained from my summer in Israel feel as close as yesterday.

Now I am in the land of past kings and queens, heavenly cheese and wine, waltzing FRENCH language, and one hell of a history. Even saying the introductory French phrase, "J'mapelle Shoshana", places an unforeseen delight of Francophone friction in my palate. Did I mention that it is practically the extent of my French studies?'

~Me (August 30, 2008)

Yes, that was me already over one month ago. Though it might not be visible in my comfy blogging style, it is only fair for me to describe my fear of leaving, all of a sudden, everything I knew for a different lifestyle that I was not sure how to organize (and without organization, I usually sink pretty quickly). In Israel, I had my family, my friends, my internships, and my belief of purpose in 'the land' as a Jew. But in Paris France, Jewish life is practically invisible, everybody dresses for the street runway, the language is NOT Hebrew or English, the Euro is very expensive, and all I could think to myself was, "Why am I here?". Being who I am though, I put myself 'in check' and knew that I must organize my life in Paris in order to make understanding of the grand picture. This is now what I am here to describe to you in this entry, my life in the New York of Europe: Paris, France.

Though study abroad is usually identified as a semester with fewer responsibilities and most likely semi-studious ambitions, I have not followed that trend quite to the tee. Though I am skipping my two hour, Monday through Friday, Sorbonne French class right now for reasons that will be explained later, as well as to enjoy probably one of the last bright sunny afternoons in this northern country, I have scheduled myself in basically every night of the week. The following is what I mean (and keep in mind that I live in the south side of Paris by Glaciere Metro in the 13^th arrondissement).

• Monday Night: Chamber music coaching at a Musique Conservatoire in the 7^th arrondissement by Invalides, the Eiffel Tower, and the Assemblee National.
• Tuesday Night: Salsa dancing class in the 20th arrondissement all the way on the east side of town.
• Wednesday Night: Rehearsal for chamber music at the conservatoire.
• Thursday Night: Sorbonne Orchestra rehearsal in the 17th arrondissement on the IV campus.
• Friday Night: Friday night Shabbat service with the lovely congregation, Kehilat Gesher, on the north-western side of town.
  

During the day, I am either practicing in my studio with a balcony and rambunctiously noisy elementary, middle, and high school in my backyard, attending my Communication Theory class at the American University of Paris, attending my two hour Sorbonne French class by Saint-Michel Metro across the street from the elegant Notre Dame, using the metro and exploring the city, buying fruit and veggies while exercising my Arabic at a local market, being a self-employed violinist in metro stations, reading, buying baguettes and croissants, studying for the my French and Communication classes on the second floors of different Starbucks in the city (as it is gratitude-free- to do so without purchase), and looking at all of the menus posted on the windows of interesting restaurants that I really cannot afford. On the weekends, I have fewer activities set in stone. On Saturday morning, I have a three hour Sorbonne Orchestra rehearsal, sometimes trips to the countryside with my study abroad company, doing laundry, listening to jazz and an Israeli radio station on the internet, sleeping, visiting the sites, chatting it up with my family and friends using my Skype subscription, etc.

I should also mention that my mind is also very busy too, yet not in France; it is busy in America. Continuously, it divulges into my possibilities for courses next semester at UM, what activities to participate in when finally home, what to perform on my junior recital, how to change my major to a Bachelor of Arts in Music from Violin Performance, whether and how to make the official switch to viola-or not, what type of internships and music festivals are of interest for next summer, and what the fuck to do if Barak Obama is not elected as President of the United States (do not fret, I already sent in my absentee ballot weeks ago with my vote of 'yes we can!').

As usual, things are coming together with their normal bumps along the way.

I finally had my first violin lesson today with a specialist in sophrology (the study of the harmony of consciousness) and the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto is coming along surprisingly well for learning it on my own so far. Though positive and uplifting, there is much to work on with the violin from what I learned in my lesson to the actual piece of repertoire.

My great Israeli uncle Chaim passed away two days ago and I have no choice but to mourn alone. He survived the Holocaust, married my grandmother's (savta) twin sister, and created a wonderful life for himself and his growing family. I know he had been suffering as of late and that it is probably better for him to be happy somewhere else. I will still miss him though and I hope that my family recovers from such a loss.

I am finally forming my thesis for my ten page communication theory paper, which is due on Friday as a two-three paged paper and French is coming along nicely too, even though my midterm yesterday was semi-unsettling. I also received in class yesterday my first French poem that I have to recite by memory tomorrow in class. It is so French and goes like this:

Tu dis que tu aimes les oiseaux (You say that you love the birds)

Tu les mets en cage. (you put it into a cage.)

Tu dis que tu aimes les fleurs (You say that you love the flowers)

Tu les coupes. (you vase it.)

Tu dis que tu aimes les passions (You say that you love the fish)

Tu les manges. (you eat it.)

Quand tu dis que tu m'aimes (When you say that you love)

J'ai peur. (I have fear.)

In the end, the events of this hard week are the reasons why I ended up skipping French class today and instead sleeping, writing this entry, and practicing for rehearsal. No, this is not the normal study abroad experience. I have too many responsibilities to go out every night and get wasted or travel every weekend to another European country. I am experiencing a REAL life here and not merely a college student's. With a few skipped classes, a few weekends away, a few drunken dinners with friends, a few Jewish holidays, a few family visits, a few sophrology violin lessons, and one intense use of the metro system, I am discovering every part of this multifaceted city known as Paris.

By the way, now my mind thinks in Hebrew and French at the same time!

Full Circle of the Second Lebanon War

It's hard to imagine that as a foreigner, I have experienced the full circle of the cause and outcome of the Second Lebanon War. As I sit at my window at work and listen to the church bells from the Old City ring, calmness is the last thing on my mind. I’m angry. In fact, I’m furious and want to pull my own hair out and scream. Why? Because of Samir Kuntar… because of Ehud Goldwasser… because of Eldad Regev… because of Gilad Shalit…. Because of Hezbollah…. Because of the IDF…… Because of the Lebanese and Israelis who perished in the Second Lebanon War. What a horrible waste of good life.

Even more so, how can people celebrate the achievements of murderers? Is the brutal killing of a 4 year old enjoyable? Sure maybe your 4 year old brutally died in the Second Lebanon War when the IDF stupidly missed their target, but does that mean you should rejoice in another innocent child’s death? What about the suffering of the Goldwasser and Regev family who today received the bones of their sons? Why keep them in the dark for so long about the fate of their children when you knew the truth? Is that good diplomacy? Is that how an Islamist group possing as a political figure should act? Should that be the action of a religiously pious group?

I was supposed to spend time in Israel the summer before college, but instead the Second Lebanon War began on July 16, 2006 with the abduction of IDF soldiers Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev, and I feared too much for my safety. Instead, I ended up in Budapest and Vienna. There, I began to search for answers to the disaster known as Israel and the Middle East. From watching wailing Lebanese and Israeli mothers on BBC and a pro-Lebanon/pro-Palestinian rally in the middle of Vienna’s Stephansplatz to hearing Tony Blair’s hopeful speech of the entrance of a new age and visiting Vienna’s depleted Jewish neighborhood from WWII, I told myself that there had to be another way other than war and animosity in the Middle East. In order to personally combat the situation, I became determined to face the fear that most likely every Jew adopts someway or another: the fear of Muslims and the Islamic faith. How does one do this? One simply loosens the reins of his or her fear and becomes friends with it through learning and respect.

The next summer, I returned to my original plan of visiting Israel for one month and left the US on the exact date of the war's one year anniversary. I was still unsure about my safety in such a place. Sometimes, I would have slight panics while on really crowded buses or in really crowded places. There even came a situation in a resturant where I found a lonely, open bag left behind by its mysterious owner on the only available table. Nervously, I peered into the bag, knowing that in that crowded resturant, in that busy time of day, in that perfect location, it all could be over and I would not have the slightest chance of life. Baruch Hashem/Hamdallah, it was a false alarm and only a lonely, left behind bag missing its forgetful owner.

As for the Second Lebanon War, the wounds for both combatents were still rough and scabby. The war had been finished already for almost a year, but where were the Goldwasser and Regev boys? Alive?? Dead?? What could possibly be their fates?? Hezbollah did not wish to elaborate on such simple details as the sign of life and Israel did not wish to admit to a blotched war, so the scab stayed unhealed and began to take on the form of a scar.

Another year passed as it became 2008. I, for the first time in my life, gained Muslim friends at school and what a wonderful thing it was! Even though most of my family members feared (and still do) for me, my fear was pleasently in a deep sleep. I returned to Israel this time for the entire summer and began my internship at the Jerusalem Music Center, which I'm still participating in. By that point, I believed to have found my balance inbetween the conflicting sides and the ability to be rational about all situations.

Throughout Israel, the patience of Israeli citizens had noticablly grown thin concerning the whereabouts of Goldwasser and Regev (and Gilad Shalit) and their hopeful return home. I noticed this thinness on city banners demanding their return, in the uninspiring news, and even on socialite headquarters, Facebook! There were negotiations here and there and suspicions everywhere. Finally on July 16, 2008, after exactly two years of painstaking round-abouts, the prisioner swap was decided, the truth of the soldiers was known, and the scar permanent with an additional touch of morbidly etched purfling.

Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev were merely remains left in two solomnly shiny black coffins and Samir Kuntar, the do-er of unforgivable acts, and his buddies free to celebrate with Hezbollah in Lebanon. Especially the living Samir Kuntar, the do-er of unforgivable acts... the brutal killer of an innocent father and helpless 4 year old daughter and family destroyer. What a horrible waste of good life.

The full circle of the Second Lebanon War and I, the understanding Jewish foreigner and mediator who experienced its bending contours can barely come to terms with it. None-the-less, I still hope with determined actions and thoughts, because I believe people are good at heart.