the sound of the ram's horn

10am. And the siren sounded - cars stopped. People got out of their cars, standing at attention, hands at their sides or clasped behind their backs.

This same siren sounds every Shabbat to signal the beginning of our day of rest.

And today, this same siren signifies the eternal rest of so many of our people.

In ancient days, the ram's horn called people to prayer.

In modern days, youngsters learn how to blow the horn to bring in the new year, to help in repentance. If you've ever walked into a store that sells the rams' horns, Shofar, you immediately exit. The smell is atrocious. They were once attached to a live ram.

Birthright participants pack the shofar into the overhead compartment on their El-Al flight home - a souvenir of a life changing experience - a Judaism that sadly many will never visit again, quickly returning to their lives they left to come here for ten days.

When the flight lands, they'll rush off the plane to catch a connecting flight and the flight attendants will clear out the bins, collecting the lost and forgotten ram's horns...

This same horn, a siren today -
a souvenir,
a call to worship,
a call

to memory...

We sat in the courtyard as they lined up to read names. A laundry list of family, to the Nazis a list of animals no different than the grocery list hung on the refrigerator.

My classmates wife read the names of her Italian family who perished in the Holocaust and returned to her husband, to scoop up in her arms their new baby boy. The cycle continues and from death comes life...

Every year the sound of the ram's horn will cause us to stand still for just a moment and remember...

Back from the USSR

20 squat toilets, 37 bed bug bites, 20 pieces of chicken smothered in egg and mayonnaise, 7 bottles of Cognac and 43 statues of Lenin later, its safe to say that I'm back from the USSR. Time spent in southern Ukraine (Crimea) and St. Petersburg were no doubt memorable. Overloaded with final papers and celebrating various Israeli holidays, I'll do my best to give a delayed reflection on the trip because my brother told me I'm doing a poor job of blogging. In a few days, I will post about various Israeli national holidays. Notes of thanks for ending the blogging drought and serving as my mailing address all year can be sent to my brother whose address somehow comes up on my email account as "Coolest Man in US and A."

***

My time spent in Ukraine and Russia is best summed up by a severely disabled man we visited in a home for people with physical, emotional and mental disabilities. As the 39 year old man confined to a wheel chair began to cry, "Please don't forget about me. Tell everyone that there are still Jews here," the 28 year old Ukrainian Rabbi, Misha, gently placed his hand on the man's arm.

So - you should know. There are still thousands of Jews in Ukraine, small remnants of communities long forgotten; populations diminished by the Holocaust, Aliyah (the word used to describe moving) to Israel, or resettlement in Germany and the United States. Those with less resources or the desire to stay in their birthplaces remained. In recent years, the Ukrainian government has restored ownership of synagogues to local communities, Chabad has been a presence in the area for nearly 20 years and finally, Hillel and the Progressive Jewish community (sustained by American philanthropists) have begun to sprout roots in the Former Soviet Union. There are approximately 10 Progressive Rabbis working throughout Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia. Hillels are a vibrant community of youth, not restricted to the American university model, but reaching out to any young person who wants to learn more about her Jewish identity. However, due to a significant budget, Chabad has a monopoly on a great deal of Jewish life.

The communities we visited each had active Jewish lay leaders who were well versed in leading the Passover Seder and were committed to revitalizing their communities. Many had traveled to or lived in Israel and spoke Hebrew; most people we met were above the age of 75 or if they were young adults, only found out in the past few years that they are Jewish.

**
The voice of our translator droned on and we prepared to leave, disgusted by what we had seen. We eagerly took a letter from the man to place in the cracks of the Western Wall and shared our fresh bananas with his girlfriend. We didn't know what else to do. The squalor in which they lived was indescribable. Each had family who moved them to the facility at least twenty years prior and only came to visit once in every ten. They lived in filth, they were sleeping in filth, underfed, forgotten. Forgotten because he was Jewish? No. People with disabilities in the Former Soviet Union are a marginalized and forgotten community. The government gives them a small sum of money of which 75% goes to their institution. In this awful condition, the man still did everything in his power to read about Jewish life, history and culture. He dreamed about Israel and seemed to be an expert on Israeli politics. Overwhelmed, the man began to cry and then to sob.."Please tell them there are still Jews here...and when I die, bury me like a Jew."

So don't forget. Because we promised him we wouldn't.

Home is...

I'm back in the holiest of lands after a 10 day Midwest tour in the great states which I'm happy to report are still united. I fell seamlessly back into life in America and only noted a few major differences.
-People are generally nicer in Tennessee than in Israel.
-Similar to churches, Starbucks can be found on every street corner.
-Stores give you receipts and allow you to make exchanges and, gasp, even complete returns - a foreign idea in Israel.
-Anti-abortion signs escorted me along my drive from Tennessee to Indiana where it is unquestionable that "A family that prays together, stays together."

At the end of the day, I found myself comfortably catnapping in my parents new home in Knoxville, snuggly sleeping at Chez Adland (family friends in Indy), thrilled with my dorm room dozing in littlest Gubitz's IU dorm room and a splendid slumber in an elegant bridal suite in Cincinnati. Then again, I can sleep anywhere... But still nothing beats the 10 hour rematch with Jerusalem of Mold's own 40 year old mattress that I happily call "my bed." Well, really - its just half of my bed...but I digress.

It was interesting to re visit my life in the US - to see who is on my cell phone speed dial, to be back in Bloomington after three years, and to celebrate at a dear friend's wedding to another dear friend. Although less than one year has passed since I moved to Jerusalem, the ultimate re-entry to life in the US will prove to be a challenge. On this journey "home," I knew I'd be returning "Home" - back to Israel. That truth will not necessarily be reality when I depart from the holiest of lands for good at the end of May.

Over jet lag and back at school, I have quickly reentered my life in the holiest of lands - only to jet off once more on Thursday morning - this time to the Ukraine and Russia.

My guess is that as the states are still United and the holiest of lands is still holy, the Former Soviet Union will likely be neither Soviet nor a Union but formerly both of those.

At the end of the day, I know the following to be true.
Home is where you light your bed on fire.

Camels, Coffee, Kisses, Cold Showers, Quality Family Time

A devoted reader wrote to me today: DevotedReader: omg jen your blog is pathetic... update it! :)its been 45 days

DevotedReader: what if someone only keeps track of you on your blog and they think you got eaten by a camel or something...

In fact, I have not been eaten by a camel. I am alive and well, though I do wonder - has anyone ever been eaten by a camel or has anyone ever eaten camel? If so, please let me know what it tastes like.

In recent days - I've had a few Hebrew mishaps I'd like to share with you.

First - every day, I feel the dire need to quench my thirst for God's gift to the earth - coffee. However, if it is past 6pm - I need to drink decaffeinated coffee. Now we've been over this before in a previous post (which was refined and more enjoyable in an actual Israeli "publication") - but its impossible to get American style coffee in Israel. So the only option is really a Hafuch (meaning flipped) - which is basically a Latte. Anyways, the word for decaffeinated is "Natool."

I waved down a waitress at my local coffeeshop and said "Ani Rotzah Hafuch Chatool!"

"What? I don't understand what you want." She was perplexed.

Hafuch Chatool!? (Certainly my Hebrew isn't so impossible to understand, right!?)

As I wrote before - Natool is the word for decaffeinated. Chatool, however, is the word for cat.
When I ordered - I actually said "I would like a flipped cat."
******
Another moment which occurred at this same coffee shop:
Similar to entry ways at most restaurants in Jerusalem, the security guard at the door asked me if I had a weapon.

"How dare you talk to me like that!"

"No I will not give you a Neshika!"

The Hebrew word for gun is "Neshek." I thought he asked me for a "Neshika" - a kiss.

********
In other news, Jerusalem of Mold strikes again.

In the past two weeks - we've had the pleasure of calling our landlord everyday. First, our microwave broke. This shouldn't be so tragic but my roommate was frantic.

"Jen, I cannot live without a microwave. I can't cook anything without one." Roommate of Mold's cooking specialty is prewrapped and precooked pizza OR his piece-de-resistance - pasta, tomato sauce, frozen veggies, and hot dogs. Together. In one bite. Delicious!

The next day - our electrical wiring shorted an hour before Shabbat. The water heater refused to heat water and after one ice-cold shower, I phoned an electrician who raced to our home in a matter of minutes. So fast, in fact, that I answered the door still in a towel, dripping from the only-ice-in-Israel-coldest-shower-ever (see coffee posting to read about Israel and ice cubes). He requested that I put on some clothes and we got into a linguistic discussion over whether or not the water heater was "broken" or simply "not working." Luckily, "please fix it as soon as possible" translated completely to each language.

One minor glitch: Landlord I sometimes want to knock cold, owner of Jerusalem of Mold, decided he doesn't have an interest in fixing what the electrician found to be an outdated and dangerous electrical board. You might remember that we're not fond of anything that might catch on fire so we felt inclined to research the situation. We asked the electrician to read though our lease which is entirely in Hebrew and to which we admittedly signed our names with minimal knowledge of its contents. The man who fixes electric things noted that Landlord I sometimes want to knock cold is required to fix all things which break. In the meantime, the electrician jerry rigged the water heater to be on the same fuse as the coffee maker and refrigerator. We wondered if we might need to climb into the vegetable drawer for a warm shower and wash our hair in freshly brewed coffee. By Monday morning at 7am (after an early morning phone call - "Did I wake you? Yes its 6am!) we were graced with warm showers once more.
*****
And finally, my mom and sister were here this past week. It was a wonderful visit. I haven't seen my mom since June so there were long overdue hugs in order. My mom successfully broke the shower curtain rod and the roll out couch. To her defense each object was already half broken - and at least, unlike her sweet daugher (me) she didn't light them on fire. We had a delightful time hanging out in the Shuk, visiting family friends, shopping, eating, and relaxing at the Dead Sea with Leslie, her boyfriend and Ron's host-dad from his high school semester 10 years ago. Leslie and I felt like mini-celebrities when three bus loads of boys from Ramallah asked multiple times to be in pictures with us. We hope we are on the front page spread in the next issue of Ramallah Illustrated swimsuit edition.

For Purim - my mom dressed as "Soccer mom 2.0 New and Improved - Rabbi Mom" and I dressed up as one third of a traffic light with two close friends, and doubled as a fire fighter in order to put out my roommate - who dressed as - you guessed it, my bed on fire.

Back in the USSR!

After a long hiatus on my blog, I'm happy to report that all is well in the holiest of lands. First semester is a distant memory. I spent winter break traveling to Istanbul and Petra with great friends. The highlights of Turkey was visiting Starbucks four times and of course, searching for Constantinople. (Pictures and a video are included in those links.) Being let back into the Israel, which was a concern given an expired visa, was also a relief. Surprisingly, I didn't see much lunch meat in Istanbul. My Hebrew is improving and second semester classes are off and running - and my return to the states at the end of May is rapidly approaching. Life in Israel would not be complete without another season of holidays - next on the docket are Purim and Passover. Of particular interest, I will be traveling to Ukraine during Passover to lead the traditional Passover Seder.

I have to raise $2000 USD - to contribute to the overall costs of an $80,000 project. Every donation helps! To donate, click here: Former Soviet Union Pesach Project. Please make sure you specify "FSU Pesach Project Jen Gubitz".

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1991

Climbing into bed at 8pm, which for a 9 year old was a suitable bedtime but nearly two hours earlier than usual, the goal was to wake up at 11pm. Usually, I didn't fall asleep at all. The excitement was unbearable. Around 11:15pm, we would pile into our mini van and head to the airport - a 15 minute drive, which at the time felt like hours. I was probably still wearing my pajamas and definitely sporting my hot pink Chuck Taylor Converse high tops. My mom brought her guitar and we had balloons and bright colored signs which we had slaved over in Hebrew school. When they stepped off the plane and entered through the gate, we started singing "Heivenu Shalom Aleichem," dancing, hugging, and giving them food and gifts.

We ushered them off to their new apartment - a building inhabited primarily by immigrants settled by Catholic Charities and now suddenly, a slew of Russian Jews. We kids had one job: to play with their children. All of the parents helped them unpack their luggage and fed them after their long flight. I knew that this new family did not speak English and that at the very last minute, they were allowed to leave their home country, but wasn't quite aware of the situation in the USSR from which they had escaped.

By 2am, we were back in our beds, fast asleep. The next morning, I was usually permitted to sleep in and go to school a few hours late. The previous night was a distant memory - a clandestine event that seemed to take place only under the cover of darkness. I tried to imagine what it must have been like to be trapped somewhere and have only a moments notice to pack my bags and escape, but the only image I could conjure was of being sent to my bedroom for poor behavior - certainly not an accurate comparison.

2004
We stood on the banks of the Vltava River in Prague - fireworks, balloons, and beer cans littered the ground. Czechs really do know how to party and it was quite a day to celebrate. In less than 15 years, the Czech Republic bounced back from Communism and was granted membership to the European Union.

Only in college history classes and during this semester in Prague, did I became acquainted with the realities of Communist USSR, a divided Germany, and a locked down Czechoslovakia, among the many Communist Eastern European countries. Many remnants of this time still linger - restaurant menus show food portions in grams, various countries are finally building stable economies and joining the EU, and the elderly faces riding the tram are wrinkled by the bitter realities of Communism.

2008
When I was a kid, I thought it was hard to be Jewish in Indiana. If only I had known.
Not everyone got out of the Former Soviet Union when the doors opened to the West. Given that many Jews still live there, my school is running an exciting program - "Former Soviet Union Pesach Project." With two classmates and a local Progressive Rabbi, I will help lead Passover Seders in Simferopol, Yivpatoriya, and Sevastopol in the Crimean region of Ukraine, on the coast of the black sea. Yes, it sounds more like a spring break locale - but I assure you, we will be working hard. It would be wonderful if you could support the program.

I have to raise $2000 USD - to contribute to the overall costs of an $80,000 project. Every donation helps! To donate, click here: Former Soviet Union Pesach Project. Please make sure you specify "FSU Pesach Project Jen Gubitz".

Thank you so much for your support!