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...