Everlasting Passing Days

On my way back home...

2007-05-01T16:50:00.000-07:00

My depression is starting to break. Three days ago I got up, looked in the mirror, and thought to myself that I looked nice. I hadn't thought that in months.

My anxiety is starting to break. Three days ago was also the first day in months that I woke up and didn't feel nervous about getting out of bed. I got up, and started my day.

The rollercoaster of emotions I've been feeling about my impending departure from Israel is starting to slow down. For quite a while, I was alternating between "I love Israel, please don't make me go" and "Israel is making me crazy, please let me leave." I have now settled into a general, mostly good-natured weariness with life in Jerusalem, and acceptance that it is time for me to go... at least for now. Last night I had dinner at the Rimon Cafe with Lauren and Chelsea. Our waitress broke a 100 shekel bill for Lauren. I asked her if I could also get change, and she said, "No." Didn't give an explanation. Didn't seem the least bit apologetic. Maybe there was a very good reason that she couldn't give me change. Maybe she had run out of change, or maybe she needed to rush into the kitchen or to another table. I have no idea. When I first moved here, I found that sort of incident amusing -- after all, when someone was rude to me in a public place for no apparent reason, I knew that I was really living in Israel! Lately, it seems less amusing. I'd like polite service from time to time.

After dinner, my friends and I went window shopping downtown. Some of the stores had attractive displays, but just as many were baffling. We spent a good five minutes analyzing a typical Israeli lingerie shop display window: animal print scarf draped over a shelf, wads of crumpled orange tissue paper stapled to the shelf and the walls, mannequins dressed in lacy tank tops but no bottoms, and the piece de resistance -- a black bra, also stapled to the wall, and upside down. Was the window dresser bored? In a silly mood, perhaps? Does (s)he hate his/her job or employers? Does this sort of display make Israelis want to shop for lingerie? I've seen similar displays in other shop windows. I've even seen upside down underwear at other places. I don't understand.

I won't mind being able to shop at Victoria's Secret again. They never staple their merchandise to the wall or display it upside down, and their sales assistants are helpful and usually friendly.

My professor of ancient Mesopotamian religion is very understanding of my circumstances. I met with him today, to discuss the topic of my final paper. This meant finding his office in the Archaeology Building, which was a minor adventure. The entrance to the building is somewhat hidden if one is coming from the direction of the bus depot (which I was), and the place has its own security. I would have been exactly on time, but the security guard spent exactly 2.5 minutes hitting on me, which put me in an interesting position. I couldn't simply blow him off, because it was up to him whether or not I was allowed into the building. Finally I got in, wandered down a hallway filled with carefully reassembled and partially reassembled archaeological discoveries (they were just lying around, on stands and shelves up and down the hallway) and into Wayne's office. We chatted for a few minutes and he commented that since I'm going back to the States for my M.A., I should forget worrying about grades and just have fun with my topic: Storytelling in Mesopotamia. Despite my lack of worry about grades, I still have to present my paper to the rest of my class. For a moment, the idea of a 15-20 minute presentation seemed overwhelming to me... and then I remembered that I taught high school all day, every day, just last year. And I had to try to impress them. Graduate students actually pay to sit and listen to boring speakers for hours on end (Wayne isn't boring at all, but a couple of my professors here have been less than exciting). Even if I'm terrible, they won't interrupt me. No one will throw anything, put on headphones, blow bubbles with a wand (happened in one of my tenth grade classes last year), ask to use the washroom, start a fight, ask to make a phone call, complain of hunger, or take a nap. What kind of world is graduate school, anyway?

I miss kids sometimes. I'm looking forward to teaching religious school next year.

Yay for Italian Shoemakers!

2007-04-23T20:18:00.000-07:00

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070421/od_uk_nm/oukoe_uk_pope_shoes_1

Italy is a small country, but it continually produces a great amount of goodwill. (Not so much politically, but Italian culture emphasizes doing what one can to be helpful.) Yay Italians.

Dragging

2007-04-16T04:50:00.000-07:00

This is one of the days depression is getting me down. I went to bed very late again last night, and then my phone (wrong number) woke me up around 9 this morning. I had trouble falling back to sleep. Now I'm up for the day, but my stomach hurts and my head feels foggy. I can't believe April is more than half over, and I don't know how I'm going to finish everything I need to do this week.

Now I'm off to the Bible Lands Museum to pick up a book that my professor gave to one of their employees to give to me.

I Suffer From Clinical Depression, And I Am In Good Company

2007-04-15T16:33:00.000-07:00

"This is a very bad book you're writing," I said to myself.
"I know," I said.
"You're afraid you'll kill yourself the way your mother did," I said.
"I know," I said.

-- Breakfast of Champions

Kurt Vonnegut passed away this week. He was eighty-four years old. I am sad that he is gone -- he was always a voice of conscience when America most needed a conscience -- but I'm also satisfied and relieved that he died of natural causes. He attempted suicide in 1984, but he survived the attempt and wrote more books despite an ongoing battle with depression.

Kilgore Trout, Vonnegut's literary alter-ego, was once presented with public restroom graffiti asking, "What is the meaning of life?" Trout's response: "To be the eyes and ears and conscience of the Creator of the Universe, you fool." Salon magazine points out that this is also a rather good summation of the job of a novelist.

In order to fulfill the purpose of life, one has to live. And Vonnegut did, for 84 years. I hope to do the same, for as long or even longer.

I have suffered from major depressive disorder since at least the age of fifteen. Depression has played a starring role in my life for so long that it has become a major factor in how I define -- or, if you prefer, label -- myself. I am a Jewish, woman, liberal, vegetarian, reader, writer, depressive. The depression shapes my view of the world, and my place in it... yet it's something that most people don't want to acknowledge or discuss with me.

Over the past few days, I have been thinking about the possibility of starting a new facebook group for people with depression. I belong to groups representing other facets of my personality, from my scuba diving hobby to my experience of being in a bike crash on campus. A couple of times I have typed the word "depression" into the facebook search box, just out of curiosity. There are a number of supportive-type groups for depressed people; most of them feature the same photograph, of a dejected-looking young man holding his head in his hands. This is not how I see myself as a depressed person. Despite the continual presence of symptoms in my life, I do not generally sit around with my head in my hands. I go to school, I travel, I see my friends when I'm having good days. On my bad days I sleep a lot. On my bad days, I'm WAY too tired and stressed out to sit around with my head in my hands, pondering my misfortunate existence as a victim of depression.

We live in a society that is obsessed with the dichotomy of EXTREME publicity and EXTREME privacy. People put up profiles on facebook and myspace for all the world to see, and spend their online time divided between keeping up with the minute details of their friends' lives and reading the latest cards on postsecret. I have mixed feelings about both of these activities. Facebook is fun and a good way to keep in touch with my diverse friends and acquaintances, but how much public information is too much? As for postsecret, it's an interesting window into human nature, but is it a bit sordid? I know people who are deeply obsessed with postsecret. Wouldn't getting all of these secrets out of our heads and into the open be healthier if we could do it without anonymously lurking on a website?

And as a reader and writer, who the hell am I to question such things? Is the public sharing of deeply intimate secrets somehow validated when an author prints his/her name on the first page of a document? Is fiction somehow more artful than a postcard to a website?

Yes, I sort of think so, but that is probably because I am a reader and writer of fiction. I'm biased, and I also happen to be an arrogant person.

I'm starting to birdwalk here, but my ultimate question is how to appropriately, publicly deal with the issue of clinical depression. I realize that I am preoccupied with depressive disorders because they apply to my own personal experiences, and that not everyone I meet will be as interested in depression as I am. Being depressed should not be my license to talk non-stop about clinical depression all day long. We all have problems, whether they come with diagnostic titles or not, and people shouldn't have to hear about mine any more than I should hear about theirs. Perhaps a facebook group would be one step over the line that marks inappropriate territory.

On the other hand, we all need to be more aware of each other's human experiences, and depression should not be the source of shame and embarrassment that it has been for many of us. We are not a bunch of emo kids holding our heads in our hands. As depressives, we are amongst the most accomplished people in the history of the world. That is why, if I were going to start my facebook group, I would call it: I Suffer From Clinical Depression And I Am In Good Company. Many of the figures most respected and admired by our society were/are fellow depressives.

Abraham Lincoln endured debilitating episodes of depression throughout his lifetime; back then, the disorder was known simply as "melancholia." Vincent van Gogh, Winston Churchill, and -- my personal favorite -- John Lennon were also members of the depression club.

According to one astonishing (but dubious, as no source was given) statistic I found online, 72% of people who make their living by writing suffer from clinical depression. Famous, depressed authors of the past include but are by no means limited to: Charles Dickens, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Mark Twain, Virginia Woolf, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, Sylvia Plath (whose fame is due largely to her deeply depressed writings), and of course Kurt Vonnegut.

Are we depressed because we write? Do we write because we are depressed? Either way, there seems to be a link between writing and depression, and maybe that's just how things are. I'm not saying that I want to go through life miserable, without seeking treatment or doing what I can to improve my situation, but I'm okay with my diagnosis. I don't really think of it as an illness anymore. It is a way my mind works, and it is often unpleasant but it also gives me an interesting perspective. Other depressed people have left legacies of creativity, art, imagination, and hope... and died in old age of natural causes. I can do the same.

There is a saying that people are their own worst enemies. That's how depression is for me. It's something I constantly fight, but at the same time it's part of who I am. It is my ongoing challenge.

On a completely unrelated note, I just celebrated the fourth anniversary of my conversion to Judaism. I have always appreciated that my conversion took place around the time of Pesach: I was once a stranger in the land of Egypt, but now I am free among my own people. Here's to life, and all of the strange twists with which we learn to live.

L'Chaim!

Kindness

2007-02-11T09:11:00.000-08:00

From the time I first began to consider X University and all through my application process, I e-mailed back and forth with a woman named Jo Ann who works in their Office of Graduate Services. Whenever I sent her questions, at any time even remotely close to U.S. business hours, I had a thorough reply within twenty minutes. She calmed my nerves, guided me in preparing my application, and was consistently cheerful and friendly even though she had never met me and even though I kept pestering her over minute details. She, as much as any of its other outstanding attributes, makes me feel confident that X University is the place for me. If I get this much personal attention and support before I've even been admitted to the school, what will it be like to study there? Jo Ann in the Graduate Services Office has made a stressful process much less difficult than it could have been, and brightened my life considerably. All through e-mail. I don't even know Jo Ann's last name.

A little bit of kindness can go a long way.

Two nights ago I went shopping on Ben Yehuda St. I wanted a lapis lazuli ring, and ducked into and out of a number of stores in search of one. The owner of one store seemed especially intent on making a sell. I have found that a lot of Israeli merchants try to guilt people into purchasing by claiming that business is bad, they'll give the very best price they can afford but they really need the money, etc. With this guy, though, all of that seemed to be true. There was an air of genuine desperation about him that made me sad, because he was really nice and polite. Instead of coming across as pushy, he seemed timid... like he wanted to encourage me to buy but was afraid of coming on too strong and scaring me away. Perhaps he was just a really good actor, but it seemed like the real thing to me. He didn't have any lapis rings, so I bought a bracelet. It's a beautiful piece of jewelry, and he did give me a really good price. I was embarrassed by how grateful he seemed that I bought something.

Did my buying one bracelet really do anything to help him? Should I not have bargained? If I hadn't bargained, would it have been wise of me to buy expensive jewelry since I'm on a student budget? What will happen to this guy if his store closes? Will it help if I buy jewelry for my family and friends at his store? It can't hurt. Besides, he really does have quality items and I want to buy some gifts anyway. Why not from him?

Is it fair that he feels he has to be so grateful for a (by the standards of our largely impoverished world) rich American student buying one of his bracelets at a more than reasonable price?

Was I really being kind? What more can I do? What more should I do?

I feel like my karma is out of balance, and not in my favor.

No Light Yet

2007-01-31T16:44:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a good day. My frustration with certain situations didn't disappear, but I felt like myself. I wasn't excessively sad, anxious, or distracted. I had some energy. I enjoyed dinner, conversation, and a movie with my friends. It was a good day.

Today was not a particularly good day. Applying to graduate programs is stressful, and for me this is the second time in a year... in fact, it has technically been less than a year since I finished the last round of applications. On top of the normal stress associated with graduate school applications is my depression, which makes me unable to cope well with difficult situations. Today I revised a personal statement, submitted an online form, and made an international call to ETS. By the time I finished all of that, I felt like I was on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

I am scared to be going through yet another episode of clinical depression.

I am scared that, even though staying where I am is not a viable option, I don't yet have anywhere else to go.

I am no longer merely frustrated by being alone and sick in a foreign country; I am angry.

I am angry that the the university is incompetent at providing the health services they claim to be able to provide. I am angry that my school is so disorganized. I am angry that no one in authority will give me clear or definite answers to my questions.

I am exhausted.

I don't know when this will end, or how it will end. I cannot see any light at the end of the tunnel yet.

Things I need in order to stay sane:

2007-01-28T04:20:00.000-08:00

1. Sleep
2. An acceptance letter
3. A medical professional I can trust
4. My friends
5. Adequate financial aid for next year (loans are fine -- I don't expect a full scholarship)

Turn and face the strange changes.

2007-01-25T17:14:00.000-08:00

I am so tired I can barely function, but sleep does not come easily despite the exhaustion. I have a whole list of stuff I need to accomplish, but I'm afraid that if I do any of it -- especially anything that requires communication with other human beings -- right now, I will mess it up and sound totally crazy. So I'm here, blogging, instead.

I'm changing locations. I'm not fighting it anymore. I just want a new place with familiar people, so I can get on with my life but not have to start completely over again. I hope it works out.

Interesting Trivia

2007-01-22T08:54:00.000-08:00

What do all of the people on the following list have in common?

Leonardo da Vinci, Charles Darwin, Benjamin Franklin, Henry David Thoreau, Thomas Edison, Albert Einstein, Mohandas K. Gandhi, Jane Goodall, Ravi Shankar, Bob Dylan, and all four Beatles

They were/are all vegetarians.

Your Day Breaks, Your Mind Aches

2007-01-19T04:49:00.000-08:00

She said,
"I know what it's like to be dead.
I know what it is to be sad."
And she's making me feel like I've never been born.

I said,
"Who put all those things in your head?
Things that make me feel that I'm mad.
And you're making me feel like I've never been born."

I've been listening to Revolver a lot this week.

When I wake up early in the morning,
Lift my head, I'm still yawning.
When I'm in the middle of a dream,
Stay in bed, float upstream...
Please don't wake me, no don't shake me.
Leave me where I am.
I'm only sleeping.

Survey

2007-01-06T13:58:00.000-08:00

NOW
Current mood: Listless
Current music: Buddy Holly
Current taste: Taste? I'm not eating or drinking anything at the moment.
Current hair: Tied back. I washed it tonight, and it's still damp.
Current clothes: Flannel pajamas, sweatshirt, sweatpants.
Current annoyance: Knowing that I have to get up early tomorrow.
Current smell: Pomegranate peach. That's the kind of shampoo I use.
Current thing I should be doing: Studying or going to bed. This survey is my winding down before bed activity.
Current windows open: None... it's too cold and rainy for open windows.
Current desktop picture: It's an underwater photograph of a lion fish.
Current favorite band: The Beatles are ALWAYS my favorite band.
Current book: Grendel, by John Gardner
Current cd in stereo: Uh... dunno.
Crush: I don't have the energy to have a crush on anyone right now.
Current favorite celeb: I'm not really that into celebrities. Except for the Beatles, of course. They are ALWAYS my favorites. (See above.)

GENERAL
what is your stereotype/style? Casual. Reserved most of the time, though I'm something of a hippie at heart and it occasionally shows. Simple and elegent when I dress up.

where do you like to shop for clothes? New York & Company is my favorite clothing store. I also like import shops, and I have a decent collection of rock 'n' roll shirts.

where do you get your shoes? I still buy my sneakers at ShopKo in the U.P. because they carry a non-leather brand that I really like. Most of my other shoes are from Younkers or J.C. Penney.

What's your favorite jewelry? My silver Magen David necklace, my Hebrew name ring. I actually just ordered myself a couple of special jewelry items that I believe are destined to become favorites.

do you own tight clothing? Sure, some. Nothing obscenely tight.

would you wear comoflauge pants? I do wear camouflage pants. They rock.

would you wear hott pink shoes? Nope.

do you own something from hot topic? No, but they have some decent rock 'n' roll clothing.

do you wear toe socks? Nope.

do you shop at aeropostale? I have one pair of pants from Aeropostale, and they're actually pretty cool.

LAST THING...

Bought: Greek sandwich from Aroma.

Ate & Drank: My sandwich from Aroma, followed by some cereal. The last thing I drank was water.

Read: The last book I finished was The Beatles by Hunter Davies. I truly am obsessed, you see.

Watched on TV: I don't have a t.v. here, but I frequently watch episodes of Friends online.

EITHER OR..

beer or cider: Cider. Non-alcoholic.

drinks or shots: I don't drink anymore, but I used to like both.

cats or dogs: I like both.

single or taken: Single, single, always single.

pen or pencil: Pencil, unless I'm journaling and then I like a fountain or roller-ball pen.

gloves or mittens: Mittens.

food or candy: Food, please.

cassette or cd: CD, but I do have a sort of nostalgic affection for cassettes.

coke or pepsi: Coke.

WHO DO YOU WANT TO...

kill: No one.

get really wasted with: Again, no one.

look like: I'm mostly content with looking like myself, but I guess I wouldn't be heartbroken to look like a young Lauren Bacall.

avoid: Creepy men. They seem to be everywhere around here.

WHAT IS..

Your bedroom like?: Pretty simple since I couldn't bring much stuff to Israel, but the nightstand contains books and a journal (plus a space heater and some other stuff), and there are posters of John Lennon and The Who on the wall, so it does feel like my own space.

Your favorite thing for breakfast?: Depending on my mood, I like chocolate chip pancakes with bananas OR an omelette with feta cheese, sundried tomatoes, and olives.

Your favorite restaurant?: Back in Michigan -- Villa Capri, Ferdinand's, El Azteco, Emil's, Bravo!, P.F. Chang's. Here in Jerusalem -- Foccacia Bar, Beit Ticho, Tmol Shilshom. I also like Aroma and Cafe Hillel for soup and sandwiches.

What's on your bedside table?: Space heater, glasses case, a small jewelry box with a frog carved on the top (one of my favorite items), alarm clock, hand lotion, lip gloss, perfume, books, journal, camera, and so forth.

What do you eat when you raid the fridge late at night?: It's quite rare that I wake up in the middle of the night. When I do, if I'm hungry, I usually make pancakes.

What is your biggest fear?: Right now I have a lot more than usual. Generally, I fear failure, loss of someone I love, painful and/or prolonged death, dying young.

Spontaneous or plain?: I'm spontaneous but responsible. Is that a legitimate answer?

Do you know how to play poker?: Not really, but the one time I played, I won. Beginner's luck?

What do you carry with you at all times?: When I leave the house, I generally take wallet, keys, and cell phone.

How do you drive? Slowly. I'm not the best driver in the world, but I've never gotten a ticket or caused an accident, so I guess I'm not terrible.

What do you miss most about being little? I like being an adult. That said, I miss Escanaba's old Carnegie Library (as the new one just isn't the same). I miss my granny. I miss wearing a bathing suit and not thinking twice about how I look in it. Sometimes I miss being blonde. (My hair didn't turn brunette until I was about eight or nine. It still has blonde highlights.)

Are you happy with your given name? Yes, very.

What color is your bedroom? White, like the rest of the apartment.

Have you ever been in a play? Sure, back in elementary school.

Do poor, homeless, or starving people sometimes annoy you? No, but seeing them makes me annoyed with myself and society for letting them be poor, homeless, or starving.

Do you consider yourself to be a nice person? Yes, I think I'm a nice person on the inside. Sometimes I'm kind of scrappy on the outside, though.

Watching the Wheels

2007-01-04T14:07:00.000-08:00

I'm going to try writing, even though my mind is kind of fuzzy right now. It was fuzzy this morning, and then it cleared for a while and I felt pretty lively, and now the fuzziness again.

I'm scared to be going through this again. And I'm afraid that even if I make it through, there won't be anyone or anything left for me when I reach the other side. The depression robs me of everything: the ability to concentrate on school, the energy to exercise and do things that will make me feel better, the ability to maintain relationships with other people, the focus needed to read or do anything else for enjoyment. I do have all sorts of ideas for writing. Sometimes I am able to actually write, and sometimes I'm too tired or too sad or too restless.

As always when I'm like this, I've been listening to the Beatles a lot and reading about them. They always make me feel a bit better. Part of this is probably that I can listen to their music while I'm on the bus or pacing around or lying in bed, so they can get through to me even when I'm not able to concentrate. But that's only a small part. The Beatles, especially John, influenced me from an early age and shaped the way I saw myself. Now they are familiar, and comfortable, and they remind me of who I am when I'm feeling normal.

The Beatles had always been known to me because my dad is a fan (though not nearly as much of a fanatic about it as I am), and so when I heard them on the radio I recognized them and paid attention. Eventually I had heard them on the radio enough to decide that I liked them, and bought my first Beatles cassette tape. Then I started reading about them (which was the logical next step, as I practically lived at the public library), and so it came about that at the age of eleven I had an extensive knowledge of marijuana, LSD, Indian mysticism, and the Summer of Love. (After my parents split, they were both pretty busy with new lives and more or less stopped paying attention to what I was reading.)

John Lennon came to seem like a kindred spirit. He, too, came from a troubled family in a blue-collar town where conformity was valued. He, too, was a misfit who defended himself with a sarcastic sense of humor that could sometimes turn nasty. He also liked to read and daydream. He was also insecure. As I got older, I began to understand and appreciate that he suffered bouts of depression and created messy situations for himself but kept starting over... again and again and again... and, like me, struggled with an urge to wallow in the past. (Working Class Hero is a prime example of this, but damn -- what a great song.)

Listening to John's music and reading his words makes me feel less alone. Today I listened to Working Class Hero, Instant Karma, and most of the songs from Double Fanstasy. They helped. My favorite, though, has always been Strawberry Fields Forever.

The Beatles, especially John, would probably find my Beatles obsession to be kind of silly. John always encouraged people to find their own way rather than imitating him... but with me it's not so much wanting to imitate as being relieved that someone else was there before me. John always struggled with his problems and his faults, but he made a positive impact on the world. He was, I think, happy in the years before his death. It took a while, but he managed to carve out a life for himself.

Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.
It's getting hard to be someone, but it all works out. It doesn't matter much to me.
Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields.
Nothing is real, and nothing to get hungabout.
Strawberry Fields forever.

No one I think is in my tree, I mean it must be high or low.
That is you can't, you know, tune in but it's all right. That is I think it's not too bad.
Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields.
Nothing is real, and nothing to get hungabout.
Strawberry Fields forever.

Research

2007-01-03T13:05:00.000-08:00

http://www.medschool.pitt.edu/studentaffairs/Depression.html

http://www.zoloft.com/zoloft/zoloft.portal?_nfpb=true&_pageLabel=mang_plan_depr

The Monty Python Test!

2006-12-05T14:10:00.000-08:00

My results:

One of the Pythons!

You've seen them all--the movies and the TV show. You probably would have gotten the questions I edited as well, but the test was getting lengthy. You've either got an excellent taste in comedy or you're VERY bored and are a good guesser. Thanks for taking my test (and if you've scored this high, maybe you should be giving me tips on how to make it better, heh).

My test tracked 1 variable: How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 99% on pythonesque

Want to test your Python knowledge? Go to:
The Monty Python Testhttp://www.okcupid.com/tests/take?testid=2046504257386100126

Notes

2006-11-09T13:11:00.000-08:00

Apparently, Justice Alito did not ask a single question during this week's abortion hearings. Now, we all know who appointed Alito and we can all guess which way he leans on the abortion issue, but he is still responsible for judging this crucial case. To Justice Alito, I say:

Come on, man, at least appear to be considering each side of the case. You sit on the Supreme Court, after all!

The Vatican has issued a statement criticizing Israel for allowing a controversial Pride rally to take place in Jerusalem this week. According to the Holy See, it is necessary to limit freedom of expression when it "offends the religious sentiments of believers," and the Pride "parade scheduled to take place in Jerusalem will prove offensive to the great majority of Jews, Muslims and Christians, given the sacred character of the city of Jerusalem." I don't understand how freedom of expression can exist at all if it is only allowed on the condition that it not offend anybody's religious sentiments. As a student of comparative religion, I can tell you that pretty much anything said by anyone will be offensive to some person's religious sentiments. Furthermore, I don't know how it can reasonably be assumed that the majority of Jerusalem residents feel offended by the Pride event. As someone who actually lives in Jerusalem right now, I would say that most people either support the rally or don't care either way, while a vocal minority are offended. The Vatican's statement was made even more interesting to me in that Yahoo! news placed it directly above a headline about a priest's sodomy conviction being overturned due to the statute of limitations. How -- HOW -- can the Vatican not feel just a little bit sheepish about attacking a rally that celebrates a group of people's identity and positive, consensual relationships with one another in a country far away and guided by a different set of religious values, when it is dealing with nonconsensual sexual activity involving minors in its own backyard? To the Vatican, I say:

I am generally opposed to using people's own beliefs and religious tenets against them. I find it to be distasteful. However, Catholicism was the religion of my childhood and I still feel an affinity for the Church (even when it frustrates me), so I feel as though it may be acceptable for me to remind you of a passage of scripture: Why do you see the speck in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, 'Brother, let me take the speck out of your eye,' when you yourself do not see the log that is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take out the speck that is in your brother's eye.' -- Luke 6

19 Palestinians died this week when their homes were hit due an IDF system malfunction. I don't know what should be done about this, and I don't know what to say to the mourners, the Palestinian Authority, or Israel. Words are my business, and I don't know what to say to them. If any of you want to talk to me about what happened in the Gaza, send me a message of some sort. I don't want to get into my views on this blog, because they will likely end up drawing fire from people (not because they are particularly controversial, but because any views on the issue are likely to draw fire -- and I am not eager for more crossfire of any sort).

To all of my fellow liberals who have been ranting angrily about tolerance, and to myself because I need to be reminded sometimes: Tolerance has to run both ways. It is easy for me to be tolerant of the Pride parade because I agree with its message. It is easy for me to be tolerant of abortion doctors and pro-choice lawyers because I am an adamant supporter of a woman's right to choose. It is much more difficult for me to tolerate people whom I view as being intolerant.

I certainly don't need to feel tolerant of the Supreme Court failing to thoroughly address a case, or of violent demonstrations by Ultra-Orthodox Jews. But I should tolerate that Justice Alito and millions of other Americans have political and social views differing from my own, and I should remember that pluralism is part of the Jewish world and show tolerance to my Orthodox neighbors (and they literally do live just down the street from me these days). I sometimes get so riled up defending Reform Judaism (which unfortunately needs to be defended frequently)
and going on about how it is not only a legitimate expression of Judaism but also vibrant, warm, tolerant, and generous, that I forget there might be anything positive about Orthodoxy. The Jewish people are ONE people and, as I wrote in one of my narratives when I applied to graduate schools in Israel, I -- liberal, feminist, Reform, Jew-by-choice -- am connected to them, and they are connected to me. Whether I like it or not. Whether they like it or not.

That's what tolerance is. You may not like something or someone, but you tolerate the situation or the person so long as it/he/she doesn't interfere with the law or anyone's individual rights. And hey -- I'm even for people attempting to change the law, so long as they do it in a non-violent, non-destructive manner.

Thank you for reading. *stepping down from soapbox*

I Thought You Knew You Were Beautiful And Fair

2006-10-23T23:41:00.000-07:00

I found a quotation from this poem on a friend's page, and immediately felt that it was necessary for me to locate the entire text and paste it into my blog. It was presented to us -- to my friends/classmates and me -- in tenth grade, and resonated to the extent that we are still quoting it now, along with most of the other literature we encountered that year. That was classic Mr. Fix. Now, remembering this poem seems like a good way to begin making sense of what I remember about him and his teaching.

Besides, this poem is always appropriate and important.

This Is a Poem to My Son Peter
by Peter Meinke

This is a poem to my son Peter
whom I have hurt a thousand times
whose large and vulnerable eyes
have glazed in pain at my ragings
thin wrists and fingers hung
boneless in despair, pale freckled back
bent in defeat, pillow soaked
by my failure to understand.
I have scarred through weakness
and impatience your frail confidence forever
because when I needed to strike
you were there to hurt and because
I thought you knew
you were beautiful and fair
your bright eyes and hair
but now I see that no one knows that
about himself, but must be told
and retold until it takes hold
because I think anything can be killed
after awhile, especially beauty
so I write this for life, for love, for
you, my oldest son Peter, age 10,
going on 11.

Take a look, it's in a book, a reading rainbow!

2006-10-20T17:04:00.000-07:00

I washed my dinner dishes instead of leaving them to sit in the sink overnight. I took a box of cheese blintzes out of the freezer and put them in the refrigerator so they will be defrosted in time for breakfast. Now I am waiting on the hot water heater so I can take a shower before finishing my book in bed.

Exciting, huh? My life since Camp George has been pretty quiet, except for the few days I spent traveling to Israel via Toronto and London. I have been reading a lot -- well, I suppose I should say even more than usual -- and am looking to broaden my literary horizons.

I'm waiting for an amazon.com package containing a biography of the Beatles that I haven't yet read (okay, so that one's not really broadening my horizons too much), a book on the history of myth and legend (also pretty standard for me), one on philosophy (this is where the broadening starts to come in), one on the biology of tidal life and finally, one on paleontology by none other than Jack Horner. Those last two are the ones that I really consider to be broadening my horizons, or rather... fostering an exploration of horizons that I abandoned a while back.

I used to love science, especially marine biology and paleontology. Now, it seems like I keep running into new articles and information on my childhood interests. I'm feeling like I need to gain an adult's insight into those fields, so... what better place to start than amazon.com?

I would also like to try more science fiction and fantasy. I feel like I'm missing out on a lot of good reading by neglecting that particular genre, but I'm not sure where to start. As I told Ben in an e-mail, the only titles I know are Ender's Game and Dune, and that's about as far as my knowledge of them goes: titles. I also have this feeling that Ender's Game and Dune probably have little or nothing to do with each other, and that sticking them next to each other in a sentence like I just did is probably laughable.

Oh well. I have to start learning from somewhere, right?

My semester (finally) starts on Sunday. I can hardly wait to start my classes. I hope my loan check arrives soon. My paycheck from Camp George paid for my plane tickets to get here, my time in Toronto and London, my first couple months' rent, basic household supplies, a few trips to the grocery store, and a few books to tide me over until amazon.com delivers. Now I am pretty much broke, as my "in case of emergency" savings was obliterated last year when I had to fix my car (twice) and purchase a new laptop to replace the one that crashed.

It's going to be expensive to apply to Ph.D. programs. I haven't even started my M.A. program yet, and I'm starting to feel anxious about my future Ph.D. It's crazy; I'm going to have to start sending out my applications a year from now, and I should probably re-take the GRE, and... it goes on and on. I think my teaching internship year -- full of minor financial emergencies, psychotic and/or incompetent supervisors, and unreasonable workload made me paranoid. I should try to get over that.

My shower water is probably hot by now. Here's hoping...

Insomnia

2006-10-18T22:43:00.000-07:00

Confession: After another sleepless night, I ate cookies for breakfast. And they were delicious.

I continued my re-reading of The Highest Tide (third time now) while I ate. The book is even better than the cookies were.

My guess is that stressing over this bout of insomnia is probably contributing to the problem. I've had insomnia before and it always subsides eventually. Most likely, the best thing I can do is try to relax and wait it out.

I think my general stress level is way too high right now. That probably isn't helping either.

I'm going to brush my teeth and then go back to bed with my book. Eventually, I will probably be able to doze for a while.

Morning

2006-10-17T21:31:00.000-07:00

Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird..

This is only one thing I remember. I don't know what to do with everything I remember. It feels like too much to write.

Mr. Fix

2006-09-29T07:25:00.000-07:00

I'm still too shocked and upset to write anything about him. For the meantime: http://www.dailypress.net/stories/articles.asp?articleID=4675

I can't get used to the idea that he's gone.

I'm Alive!

2006-09-24T01:28:00.000-07:00

Has it really been just over a week since I left Escanaba...?

Here's what I have been up to:

Toronto

Q: What happens when you put Camp George's Education Directors past and present in the same room with an educational objective and some office supplies?
A: They create a board game called Jews & Empires, complete with cards that say things like, "After several days of rebellion, you are hot and dusty. Visit the bath house."

Julie and I didn't spend all of our time planning lessons, though. On Saturday night we went to her synagogue for Selichot, and on Sunday we had dinner at Fresh (a thoroughly enjoyable vegetarian restaurant) with Avi and J-Ro. We spend Monday hanging out at her apartment, and that evening Dr. Paul drove me to the airport where I caught my flight to London.

London

I am just going to be straightforward and say that I am awfully proud of myself for figuring out how to navigate the tube and hopping all over London when I only had seven hours in the city. I visited the Abbey Road Studios and left a note on the whitewashed wall (a tradition for Beatles fans on pilgrimage). Then I crossed the street at the very same zebra crossing where the Abbey Road album cover was shot in 1969.

After Abbey Road, I headed to Westminster. Now, I have visited a lot of places and seen some amazing stuff, but only two sights have ever caused my jaw to actually drop: my first glimpse of the Dome of the Rock when my Birthright bus drove into Jerusalem, and the view when I exited the Westminster tube station and Big Ben was literally just a few feet in front of me. I wandered around taking pictures of the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey, aware that I was gawking like a tourist and not really caring. I ate a chocolate croissant and scouted out a souvenir for my brother. I wanted to go into the Abbey to see Poets' Corner, but alas -- it was closed for the day. So I got back on the tube and returned to Paddington Station, where I caught a train back to Heathrow so I could catch my flight to Tel Aviv...

Israel

My flight to Tel Aviv arrived ahead of schedule, and passport control/customs/baggage claim went very quickly because it was 5:00 a.m. and the airport wasn't at all crowded. Once I had collected my luggage (all of which arrived intact), I chilled in the arrivals area until about 7:00 and then got a sherut to Jerusalem. The driver was a maniac; we drove in the wrong lane, passed other vehicles on the right side, nearly ran over several people and animals, etc. The other passengers kept trying to talk to him in Hebrew, and I'm guessing that they were criticizing his driving skills because he kept yelling back at them and making rude gestures. (Rude gestures seem to be a local talent; men I pass on the street keep yelling at me in Hebrew and I can't understand a word they're saying, but their accompanying gestures need no translation.) We finally arrived at my apartment and I found the key exactly where my landlord had said she would leave it. It was good to be "home," but I felt strangely lost and empty. Each day here has been better than the last, and I think I'm going to have a great time once school starts and I settle into my life here, but it's a huge adjustment.

Making my move to a new country even more interesting is this holiday. I missed the last pre-holiday bus to Haifa (Rotem and her family had invited me to visit), so I decided to relax at home and fix up the apartment a bit. Hahahaha...

I attempted to do a load of laundry, only to discover that the washing machine doesn't work properly. It washed but failed to rinse, and leaked water all over the floor. That would have been enough excitement for the weekend (in my opinion), but then the electricity went out in half of my apartment. My guess is that a fuse blew, but I don't know how to check it -- much less fix it. To top things off, my telecard doesn't seem to be working and no place is open for me to buy a new one, so I can't call anyone. And finally, I am out of groceries because -- silly me -- I thought the city would only be closed down for one day, not two.

You can go ahead and laugh at me. Earlier this morning, I was laughing at myself. Now I'm too hungry to laugh. Man, what I would do for some cereal and fruit...

I think that's all I've got for now -- not that this post isn't long enough. Shanah tovah!

Farewell to the Midwest... and to the Crocodile Hunter

2006-09-15T00:05:00.000-07:00

It's 3:00 in the morning. I'm sitting in my old bedroom in Escanaba, surrounded by piles of stuff: stuff that is going into my carry-on, stuff that is going into my suitcases (if I can make it fit), stuff that is going into storage, stuff that is going into the garbage. I'm down to the last odds and ends that don't seem to belong anywhere, or are useful but not neccesitites, or that I just can't bring myself to throw away because I've had them since, oh, tenth grade.

I know that I need to finish up and get some rest before I leave, but it's hard to put away the midwest chapter of my life. Actually, it's more a volume than a chapter: 24 years of life in Michigan. Those of you who know me well are probably thinking, "But you hate the midwest." I don't, really. The midwest is part of me; I'm just not part of it. So... off I go to a place where I may find a niche for myself, or at least have a good, memorable time for a couple of years.

I still keep thinking about Steve Irwin -- partly because he died scuba diving (which is a hobby that I share), partly because stingrays have always been favorites of mine and I'm still stunned that he was killed by one, but mostly because I liked the guy and could relate to him. While growing up, I was considered a freak for a number of reasons, one of which was my affinity for animals that most other people considered creepy or gross. My bedroom walls were lined with cages of crickets, grasshoppers, caterpillars, toads, the occasional snake or turtle. Every summer, I wrecked at least three pairs of shoes trudging through swamp. When I was nine years old, my dad took me to the Smithsonian where a female entomologist let me handle live cockroaches -- and served as living proof that I was not the first girl in the world to think bugs were cool. She was awesome, but Steve Irwin was the only person I ever discovered who shared my view that bugs (and toads and snakes and stingrays and sharks) are not only cool but cute and lovable. I will miss his presence in the world, and I feel as though I have a responsibility to carry on his passion for wildlife and conservation. Apparently, I am not alone in this, as the entire world seems to be mourning the Crocodile Hunter.

I am frequently disgusted by the western world's obsession with celebrities (and their spouses, and their children, and their weight, and their personal problems). Somehow, it's comforting to me that people may buy gossip magazines about Tom Cruise and his ilk, but they still seem to reserve genuine affection for personalities like Steve Irwin, who become famous for their work and not their physical appearances or personal drama.

I'll step off the soapbox now, because I still have packing to do and I'm too tired to keep track of where this post is going anyway. My next entry will be from somewhere other than here... and that is exciting.

Jog Your Memory

2006-09-11T20:42:00.000-07:00

http://buzz.yahoo.com/buzzlog/34678/snapshots-from-september-11-2001

Too Funny...

2006-08-27T23:12:00.000-07:00

Part of getting ready for a new frontier is sorting through all of my old shit. Past frontiers, if you will.

Some of the stuff I'm finding is fantastic. This made me laugh out loud:

Horror Movie Marathon

Quotes:

"If the world could come together, we'd have horror movie marathons every night!" -Leo

"Are you afraid you are gonna choke on something?" -random lady at Skyline

"Are we not talking about gay sex?" -Ben

"A 3-way is a little bit like coke: first you cut off a line, then chop it into little pieces and then AURGHRERERULLLFDR ::wookie sound::" -Leo

Morals learned by the Horror marathon crew this weekend:

-Spiders can be wrangled

-Don't join any religious cult led by guys with weird goatees

-'ware the goat!!!

-If your hand is possessed, don't cut it off

-Make sure to walk around without emotions so the pod-people don't catch on

-It is debatedly inapproprate to make catcalls at 11-year-old girls

-If having sex with your boyfriend, take off your underwear first

-Bad girls go to hell

-Don't fall asleep

-Marijuana fixes everything but shrooms are bad

-"show us your tits"

-If going to create amateur horror you need at least:
3 topless scenes
1 impaling scene
1 car accident

-When switching bodies, take the larger of the two penises

-Always pose with a bottle of beer

-Death by skyline!

-The 13th month is Smarch

-The best reason to be on Rocky cast- 1/2 off beer at Studio 35

-Giant tub of popcorn at 2am for Leo = Bad

-Big Skillet has something really groovy for you

I bought my pajamas at the bargain store.

2006-08-26T23:06:00.000-07:00

I am almost done with my laundry from camp. I just put my sheets into the dryer, and my blanket into the washer. While sorting through my various clothing items, I realized that a lot of the stuff I purchased while in Canada is stuff I needed to get before going to Israel anyway. Like pajamas, for instance. I suppose it isn't chic to wear pajamas from Bargain! Bargain! Bargain! Bargain! (for those of you who haven't spent time in Parry Sound: yes, that really IS the name of the store), but I'm not a terribly chic person anyway so it doesn't really matter.

On another note entirely -- In the spring, before my graduate school plans were finalized, I attended a job fair with Erik. I asked him practice interview questions while he waited in line to interview with a number of school systems, and in return I asked that he accompany me to one booth: Guam Public Schools. At the time, he thought I was slightly crazy, but I pointed out that we were both young and single and might as well try to get the hell out of the midwest. (To his credit, he had already interviewed with Anchorage, Alaska). We both picked up application forms, and a few weeks later Erik mentioned to me that he was seriously thinking about sending his in. That was the last I had heard when I left for camp. Today I was talking with Heidi, who is a mutual friend of Erik's and mine, and she made an offhand comment about Erik in Guam. It turns out that he got the job and went! He's there now. I'm so excited to e-mail him and get all of the news.

Some of you know that I have a day-long layover in London on my way to Israel. Today I decided that if I'm only going to have twelve hours in the land of tea, crumpets, my university major, and my family heritage, the one thing I want to do is see a play. I went to the Globe Theatre's website, and it turns out that I could probably make it to a matinee of The Comedy of Errors. I'm going to double check my flight itinerary, and if the scheduling works out I will purchase my theatre ticket online before I leave! So exciting.

I think I'll read a bit before going to sleep. No music tonight, though. I'm kind of on an Alice Cooper kick these days, which is fine -- but not exactly the best stuff to play right before bed.

Laila tov.

Optometrist

2006-08-24T18:18:00.000-07:00

I went to the optometrist today and he dilated my eyes. The left eye must have received more of the drops than the right eye, because my right eye is back to normal while my left pupil is still enlarged.

I look like David Bowie.

Missing Camp

2006-08-24T17:51:00.000-07:00

I am back in the Land of No Jews, where I feel strange and uncomfortable. My anxieties about moving to Israel have passed. I'm ready to go right now; just get me out of Escanaba.

Leaving camp was a sad affair. I listened to Fleetwood Mac's Rumours while I packed, as it seemed like an appropriate soundtrack for the summer. (I'm just secondhand news, I'm just secondhand news...) All of my socks went into the garbage because they were DISGUSTING. I will have to buy new ones.

On the way from Toronto to Michigan, I kept thinking about that scene at the end of Almost Famous where the kid finally gets to go home and he immediately flops facedown on his bed. I'm exhausted.

It was an amazing summer. I worked in the best office, and taught the best group of girls. I ate too much junk food and got too little sleep. My hair is light from the sun and scraggly from lack of maintenance. I have insect bites on my face. I was involved in a golf cart accident. What other summer job provides all of those experiences, and more?

One of many small miracles that resulted from coming to Judaism a bit late in the game is my sense of getting a second chance at a happy childhood. I was able to celebrate holidays for the first time, find my way around a siddur, and pretty much see the world anew at age twenty. Just as exciting, I was able to attend overnight summer camp for the first time at age twenty-three.

One evening this summer I was at services in the Beit T'fillah and surrounded by the usual chaos: kids talking and poking each other, walkie talkies going off at random, etc. I watched everything around me and even threw my best "teacher" glare at a group of kids who were being inappropriate, and then I realized that I had been chanting the Amidah through all of it. I thought, "When did this get so easy?" I remember attending my first service and thinking I would never be able to recite the Mourner's Kaddish, it seemed so impossible to pronounce. Now I can recite almost the entire service from memory, without even concentrating.

I will do well in Israel. The move can't be any more difficult than other stuff I have been through, and the new (challenging) environment will force me to push myself beyond the levels of education and experience I have attained thus far. I have a saved e-mail that Brek sent me a few months back when I was feeling overwhelmed by life. He told me not to worry: "You know you are a tough nut."

I think he was right... but I'll continue to keep that e-mail on hand for the times I need a reminder.

First Entry

2006-08-15T15:24:00.000-07:00

Straight from the fear of loss I plunged into the fear of being lost.
I couldn't stay long enough between them
in the sweet little no man's land of everlasting
passing days. My hands are the hands of search and test,
hands of hope, hands of gloom,
always fumbling among papers on tables
or in drawers, in closets and in my clothes
which have seen their share of loss.
With hands that search for what is already lost, I caress your face,
and with hands afraid of loss I hold you close
and like a blind man feel my way around your eyes, your mouth,
wandering, wondering, wandering, wondering,
Because hands afraid of loss are the only hands for love.

Once I saw a violinist playing and I thought: Between
his right hand and his left -- only the violin,
but what a between, what music!

-- Yehuda Amichai, I Foretell the Days of Yore

New phase of my life, new blog. Welcome.