Thoughts on Being a Parent

So much has happened in the last year. I cannot get into everything. Shortly after my last post, I gave birth to a daughter, and it's just been a whirlwind year. My relationship with Emet has grown so much, and we have learned much about the world and each other.
I wrote a private journal entry last year about going to High Holiday services with a newborn. I couldn't stay in services for long because it was time for the baby to eat again. And I wasn't even able to go to shul on Yom Kippur because of a rough night and total exhaustion.
This year, I thought maybe it would be easier to go to services, but it was actually harder. I tried to read a bit to make up for not being able to be in services, but of course, the baby needs my constant attention while Emet works (for the synagogue).
Adina Kastner, in a recent article in Times of Israel, said, "Personally, I have never felt further from Hashem than I do right now. My break from davening and learning because of my busy life as a working mother has hurt my relationship with God...I want to find the strong closeness I had back in high school, when I punctually attended teen minyan every Shabbat. I can think of no better place to get reacquainted with the Almighty than at shul."
I completely agree and feel the exact same. When I was at Pardes, I was learning every day, connecting every day, davening almost every day, and participating in all the rituals I could. I felt incredibly close to HaShem. Since returning to the US over three years ago, I struggle to feel that same connection. Emet and I were part of a lively community in Denver, and we just haven't found the same ruach in services here as we had in Israel. It's hard to have Shabbat with a baby. We can't prepare ahead of time and then dinners are often quick so we can start her bedtime routine. We don't go to Kabbalat Shabbat services because she's down by 7. We sometimes go through the service on our own, but it just isn't the same.
I recently met with a StrengthsFinder coach, and one of the things we discussed was finding time to do something that engages my strengths. Learning is one of those. Since having a child, it's been hard to find time to engage in Judaism adequately. I am taking a step to carving out time to learn this year, and I hope I won't be disappointed.
We have talked about other ways that we could connect to HaShem and Judaism, too. We are planning to erect a sukkah with hopes of inviting people to join us for meals. I realized this year that we can't depend on others to jumpstart our connection. It is on us.

For any observant parents out there - how do you do it? How do observant families manage? How do you daven at all with a young child who requires constant attention? Babysitting is not always an option. Does the parent responsible for caring for the children even go to synagogue? How do you prepare for Shabbat and holidays? Please leave a comment below and tell me your secrets!

G'mar Chatimah Tovah. May you all have a sweet New Year.

LGBT Task Force and Anti-Israel Sentiment

I cannot begin to tell you how outraged I am at the actions of the LGBT Task Force to cancel a reception that would include two representatives from the Jerusalem Open House, co-sponsored by A Wider Bridge, citing "safety and security concerns," but really because of pressure from the left, who are anti-Israel.

How can groups who so openly reject discrimination ignore the issues that GLBT Israelis, Israeli Arabs, and Palestinians face to be themselves in Israel?

Israeli society is not as black and white as the left makes it out to be. Yes, there are problems, but would the same group refuse an organization from Iran, Syria, or China who support GLBTQ individuals on the basis that they disagree with politics of those countries? Why focus on Israel?

I am deeply disappointed to hear this news, especially after living in Israel, learning much about social justice there, and being a queer Jew myself.

Just like the US, the society is incredibly complex, and there are representatives in the government that disagree on the way Israel should run. Is that any reason to cancel a reception?

The Deputy Executive Director of the National LGBTQ Task Force gave this statement concerning the reception's cancellation:

“We cancelled the event as we were concerned about the possibility of this reception becoming intensely divisive rather than a casual and fun social event,” he said.

Too many people are emotionally involved when it comes to Israel, and I get that, but can we not simply have a reception and hear from someone about work that addresses the GLBTQ community in Israel? Does the entire discussion of Israel have to move off the table because some people are full of hate?

Last year, I spoke about how in queer communities, I feel too Jewish, and in Jewish communities, I feel too queer. This is a situation where I feel like I must reject my alignment with the queer community (or the LGBTQ Task Force) because they are saying I can't be passionate about Israel and Israeli society AND be queer at the same time. This is what this feels like to me.

Tu B'Av: How Emet and I Met, Thanks (but No Thanks) to Birthright

Today is Tu B'Av, the "Jewish Valentine's Day." According to the Jewish tradition, today marks the beginning of the grape harvest, which leads to wine, which leads to...Just kidding. But today is Tu B'Av and it does mark the beginning of the grape harvest. In modern times, it has become a symbol of love.

You'll see a number of articles about Birthright and bringing together Jewish couples who eventually got married. In some ways, Emet and I have a similar story, but in many ways we do not.

Both of us went on Birthright, about 8 years apart. Birthright significantly impacted our relationship with Judaism and with Israel. For Emet, she knew that she was going to return to Israel someday. For me, I wanted to become more knowledgeable about Judaism but I thought I didn't want to return to Israel.

Fast forward to 2012, the year both of us came to Israel, separately. Emet came with her mom, who had a lifelong dream to come to Israel, and I made the trip to study and begin a volunteer program in social justice. After Emet returned from her trip to the US, she knew she was coming back, and in early 2013, she began studying Hebrew. Only three months later, we met in Jerusalem.

Like Birthright couples, Israel is the means by which we were able to meet, but unlike Birthright, we had to seek for each other, and it was no easy feat. Who would have thought that you could meet your bashert at this one gathering for queer women in Jerusalem in May 2013? Who would have thought that I was in love and knew that Emet was the one only two weeks after having met her? Ask my friend Savyonne, I couldn't eat or sleep for two weeks! Who would have thought that after one year and three months from that night in Jerusalem, Emet and I would be getting married and solidifying our lives together?

Our first year has had its stresses, but it's been an amazing first year (and some). We've moved to Denver into our own apartment and are moving forward in building a life together. I can't be more grateful and thankful to those who encouraged me to return to Israel and open myself up to new opportunities and experiences. And I can't be more grateful that I met Emet, my bashert.

Happy Tu B'Av!

Change Your Name, Change Your Destiny

A Post by Emet

Changing my name wasn’t such a big deal.

One of the first things I did in Israel was to change my name.

No one really knew me by my previous name. As they say in the States, if you start living by a name, then basically that is considered to be a name change. Of course if you want all the potential “rights” that come with changing your name, such as having your IDs and credit cards match what you say your name is, then you have to go through official channels. In Israel, from the beginning, my name was already what it was, so when people don’t know you by anything else, and there’s no one there to contradict that or call you anything else, it sticks. For the record, the process of changing your name in Israel is REALLY easy. You just go down to the proper government office, fill out an application, wait for your number to be called, and the clerk stamps a few things, types a few things, and then you’re good to go. No problems.

In the United States it’s not so easy to change your name.

Why? It seems as though they are worried about fraud. So, you have to start out first by going to your local superior courthouse. You have to fill out many forms in a very particular way with a certain amount of copies. Then you have to pay a lot of money. If you’re low or no income, then you can apply to have the court feeds waived, but that doesn’t exempt you from the completely strange and antiquated system of publishing your old name and requested new name along with your court-date in a local paper for a month. Yes, that’s right, you actually need to appear in front of a judge to explain yourself. You’re completely stuck with whatever fees you have to pay to this random paper to do something that no one pays attention to. Jess and I hunted for a local paper, calling a few to find out who had the cheapest rates, and it was still over $100 in fees! Does anyone even read these random, small circulation print papers anymore? I have to say it was pretty bizarre. Then, the paper provides you with a certified affidavit that they published an announcement of a change in name for a month in their little podunk paper that you have to bring to the courthouse.

Finally my court-date arrived. I had all the paperwork and had made up my mind there was no reason to be nervous, even though I had to go in front of a judge. Even when you’re innocent of anything, somehow having to stand in front of that guy makes you feel guilty. Jess and I hoped somehow they would call up the day before and say, “Aw, don’t worry, everything seems good with you. No need to come in. We’ll just stamp the papers for you.” But no such luck.

So we arrived to the courthouse early. We sat outside the courtroom until the bailiff let us in. I was thinking it was going to be some kind of small private event, but nooooo. As we waited, more and more lawyers kept buzzing around the hallway. I prayed that they would go elsewhere, but that didn’t happen. They were all waiting to get into the same courtroom as me. I thought, “What the hell! I reserved the damn thing for my trial at 8:30. What are these fools thinking they get to do? They’re going to try to cut me in line!” I was hoping the judge would be a meanie and put the kibosh on that. There was another observant Jew there, also changing his name and probably thinking along similar lines as us. As we sat there, the lawyers got weirder and creepier. One man-lawyer started cajoling a lady-lawyer about making some sort of settlement. You couldn’t help but feel bad for her the way he was pressuring her. It was so awkward. We were right there so you couldn’t help but listen. In the meantime, there was like this little club starting where they all seemed to know each other and were patting each other on the back and talking about their weekends and children. Finally, the bailiff lets us in to the courtroom and I’m thinking, “I hope the judge makes these shmucks wait around.” But, there was all this procedural stuff first. The judge seemed very nice although I didn’t really like all the lawyers listening. When the judge called my case number, I had to approach the podium where the lawyers had addresses the judge.He said that everything was in order. I might have said Sir one time instead of your honor, but then stamp stamp stamp and he sent me on my way!

All in all, it really wasn’t too bad of an experience. I think I thought it would be much worse than it was. But then I thought it was going to be even less of a big deal than it was, and I started to feel like it was.

I didn’t alter my birth name lightly. I felt the loss of my old name (even though hard as they try, well some of them try anyway, it’s hard for them to get it right). I grieved it, although part of it will always be a piece of me. There’s no denying or changing that, and I’m completely ok with it.

Why did I change my name?

I knew that when I was going to Israel not only did I want a fresh start, but I wanted to have a Hebrew name, one where I could be easily absorbed into Israeli culture. I knew that wasn’t possible with some English name. I spent months looking for something that would fit. I wanted something that would keep the same initials. I wanted something simple that would fit me. I wanted something meaningful. I also thought it would be nice if it was gender neutral (before realizing that nothing in Hebrew is gender neutral) or a unisex name, which it seemed like there were plenty of those in Hebrew. I didn’t find anything as many websites and baby naming books that I looked at. Finally I just started searching in Google Translate for values that I felt were important for me. Being “true” is one of them. That’s when I found Emet, or for those Ashkenazi Jews out there, Emes. But at the time, I didn’t know anything about Ashkenazi accents, and I didn’t know that words ending in Taf are feminine. I just knew that I liked the name in English. It could be unisex, or even more masculine, and it had a meaning I identified with. I didn’t know at that time that changing your name or adding a name had such significant in Jewish culture.

When I arrived in Israel, the reactions to my name were very strong. It’s not a word people use for a name. But I also didn’t know the religious significance of the name at the time either. I struggled with people’s reactions. Instead of integrating me into society, I was sticking out like a sore thumb. I thought about changing it again. But for whatever reason, Baruch Hashem, I was there, and I chose what I chose knowing what little I knew then. So I think it had a reason, and I chose to leave it that way. How could I ever change it when I hear my bashert say my name? Baruch Hashem, it’s a very strong and powerful name.

May I do my best to live up to it.

War in Israel

In November 2012, I was in the south when Operation Pillar of Defense took place (see here and here for my discussion on those events).  In fact, the ceasefire and a bus bombing both happened on my birthday. I was pretty shaken, mainly by the siren rather than the rockets. I know what it's like to be on edge and constantly wonder - should I take a shower or put earplugs in at night to try to sleep some? I know the sound of the Iron Dome shooting rockets out of the sky and feeling the vibration of that explosion in the walls and floor. When we had drills throughout the country after that time (when I was in Beersheva, in the Israel Museum, at Pardes), I hated it. I could feel the anxiety coming back. Not out of fear for my life but because the sound of the siren is so jarring and terrifying. It's not something that we hear everyday or should hear everyday.

But I also know that after my trip to Sderot last fall that my experience is just a blip. I didn't grow up hearing the sirens. In Gedera, we had one minute to get to a shelter. In Sderot, it's 15 seconds or less. In Gedera, we had a mamat (safe room) in our apartment, unlike our friends and neighbors who didn't since their buildings were built in the 1970s and hadn't been updated.

People have been posting videos of what it's like to hear the siren and go to the safe room and also what happens when you are outside and the sirens go off - pictures of people crouching between cars and highway separators, under the concrete bus stops, and even next to a bush because that's the closest thing that might protect you.

I don't need to watch the videos. Some people want others to know what it's like, but I don't need to. The thought of watching the video, or rather the thought of hearing the siren is enough to make my heart beat a little faster.

I don't need any of those reminders to feel it, to understand it, to empathize.

I also know that the news of this side doing this or this side doing that isn't helpful, and yet I read the news anyway. I know what it was like for life to just go on as before, with reminders of sirens every now and then, "oh right, there are rockets in the south" and "oh, right, we aren't going anywhere."

I'm disappointed and critical. I'm disillusioned and cynical. Where will this lead? Back to the same place we were at before.

I keep thinking - what if this was here, in the US? If rebel drug lords in Mexico were shooting rockets at California, Arizona, New Mexico, would the US just stand by? Would the UN say, oh no, the US should be punished for their oppression of civilians caught in the middle. When the criminals use civilians as human shields, how can you play fair? There is no fairness in war. Everyone suffers. I know that Gazans have fewer resources on the whole, fewer bomb shelters, and fewer other safety measures, and yet the ones shooting the rockets really don't care if it lands in Gaza or in Israel. Those shooting the rockets don't care about life.

Another operation, another war. Nothing is going to change. I was hopeful when we visited the West Bank and spoke with activists working with the Bedouins and the Palestinians and also when I visited the kibbutz at the Gaza border and had the opportunity to hear from a Palestinian peace activist living in Gaza. Small change will help, but not enough. We need big sweeping changes and people need to forgive. Otherwise we won't move forward.

As we head into Shabbat today, I hope you will think about the conflict and pray for peace, as I do everyday.

Shabbat shalom.