Vilna, Warsaw, Wroclaw, and Cyprus

Well, after quite the harrowing journey, we made it to Vilna. And the journey we went on once we arrived was worth every ounce of stress and frustration to get there. 

We began the trip learning about Yiddish culture in Vilna before the war. Because my name is Yiddish, I feel a special connection to the language. I was named for all my ancestors from Eastern Europe who spoke Yiddish so getting to learn about it in the place where many of my ancestors once lived was really special. We met a scholar of Yiddish who gave us some freebies and I got a book of megillat Esther in Yiddish. I may not ever be able to read it but I am very happy to have it. 

We visited a statue of and the grave of the Vilna Gaon and talked about whether intellect or spirituality guide our Jewish practice. I loved getting the opportunity to bring Jewish history into our present lives as spiritual leaders. 

The next day we focused our studies on the Holocaust in Vilna. We stood on the spot where the Ghetto wall once stood and read poetry written inside its walls.

Toys (A. Sutzkever)

My daughter, you must care for your toys, 

Poor things, they're even smaller than you.

 Every night, when the fire goes to sleep, 

Cover them with the stars of the tree.

Let the golden pony graze
The cloudy sweetness of the field.
Lace up the little boy's boots 

When the sea-eagle blows cold. 

Tie a straw hat on your doll
And put a bell in her hand.
For not one of them has a mother,
And so they cry out to God.
Love them, your little princesses¬
I remember a cursed night
When there were dolls left in all seven streets
Of the city.
And not one child. 

There was not a dry eye in the group. 

After our time in Vilna, we traveled on our minibus (as I listened to the new Taylor Swift album!!) to Zhezmir. Zhezmir was a shtetl once rich with Jewish life. Now, only a synagogue remains as the remnant of what once was. One of the residents of the town has made it his life’s work to take care of the synagogue. And because we are emerging clergy, we didn’t just treat this space as a museum. We were in a synagogue - so we davened Shacharit. I felt immense sadness alongside such joy and pride at the opportunity to bring prayer back into that space. The wooden walls and the cold air lifted our voices and made the prayer feel even more urgent. It was one of the most meaningful praying experiences I have ever had. 

And then we continued to Kovno, Lithuania. As many of you may have seen in my dad’s Facebook post, Kovno is an important place in our family history. My dad’s mom’s mom’s mom was born in Kovno. She left Lithuania in the late 19th century to begin a life in the United States. And there I was, five generations later, standing in the synagogue in Kovno where she once prayed. One of my classmates who is a cantorial student stood on the Bima and sang the song Chai by Ofra Haza. 

“׳’חי חי חי כן אני עוד חי. עם ישראל חי. זה השיר שסבא שר אתמול לאבא והיום אני. אני עוד חי’ 

 

“I’m still alive, alive, alive. The Nation of Israel is alive. This is the song that grandpa sang yesterday to dad. And today it’s me”

To sing this song in the synagogue where my ancestors once sang was meaningful beyond words. Something that kept coming up for me during my time in Lithuania and Poland is how grateful I am that my family got out of Eastern Europe before the Holocaust. They all got out, and they all met each other, and because of that I am here today. I couldn’t get this one lyric from the Matilda musical (lol) out of my head “every life is unbelievably unlikely. The chances of existence are so infinitely small.” Kovno, Lithuania is as good a spot as any to have an existential crisis. Well, this was less of a crisis and more of a reaffirmation of my purpose. 

Judaism is a magical thing that allows us to connect to the past, present and future - l’dor v’dor, from generation to generation. Judaism is a long, long relay race. And now the baton has been handed to me. And I will carry it with pride and joy. And I will pass it on to future generations - showing them how it can be used to wipe out hatred, bring more love, and build a better world. 

After Kovno we boarded the bus for Warsaw. Shabbat came in as we crossed into Poland. So we stopped at a gas station and bought a bottle of wine. On the bus we made kiddush and sang a shockingly gorgeous and ruach-filled kabbalat Shabbat service. I’m calling it “Shabbat on wheels.” 

                                                   (this is me trying to push the cork into our wine with a pencil)

Saturday morning in Warsaw, Levi and I led a Shacharit service in a hotel room. It was a new challenge but we made it work. I gave a short dvar torah in place of a Torah service that I’ve included here: 

In our Torah this week, God lays out the rituals and requirements for cleansing oneself in the face of impurity. But we don’t just hear about impurity of the self. 

כנגע נראה לי בבית 

A plague is in my house 

We learn here not just about impurity of person but also impurity of place. And it feels appropriate to be reading this this week, a week when we have been to so many impure places. We are searching for meaning in places plagued by destruction, death, and pure evil. 

The Torah tells us that there are some plagued houses that just need to be destroyed. It needs to be destroyed and what remains needs to be taken outside the city never to be used again as a dwelling place. But I’m less interested in the houses fated with total destruction. I’m interested in the houses that have the potential to be pure. 

Once the priest sees that the house is free of the plague, he performs a ritual, a sacrifice. He marks time and space to free the house of its impurity. But he doesn’t just sacrifice one bird. He sacrifices one, and he lets the other fly free. Only then is the house finally clean. 

When we’ve arrived at these holy unholy plagued sights, how have we marked the space? How have we, through song and prayer, through pouring sand from the beaches of Tel Aviv, re sanctified space? 

וְשִׁלַּח אֶת-הַצִּפֹּר הַחַיָּה, אֶל-מִחוּץ לָעִיר--אֶל-פְּנֵי הַשָּׂדֶה; וְכִפֶּר עַל-הַבַּיִת, וְטָהֵר.

Then he shall let the living bird loose outside the city in the open field, and make atonement for the house, and it shall be clean

In every synagogue we’ve visited, every sight of mass murder, every ghetto wall, we have brought some holiness into some of the most unholy of places. We live , we sing, we pray. We are the living bird. When we leave this place, go out into the sadeh, we must take the pain with us. But we can be at peace knowing that through our Jewish practice, our holy language, and the power of song, we have left this land a little bit holier. 

On Saturday we also visited the Polin museum and toured Ghetto-related sights in Warsaw. It was intense beyond words. That night, we had our last dinner together as a group. We got to reflect on everything we had seen and been together as a group, which was very necessary. 

And then on Sunday (after a bit more time touring around Warsaw), my friend and classmate Will and I journeyed to Wroclaw to begin the Pesach Project. The Pesach Project is an HUC tradition that sends first year students to FSU communities to lead Seder. It used to take place in Ukraine but since the war it has been relocated to Poland. Will and I did not know what to expect but we were excited to lead our first Seder. 

Our first day, one of the board members gave us a tour of the synagogue. It was gorgeous. Abraham Geiger (the founding father of reform Judaism) was once the rabbi there, back when Wroclaw was part of Germany rather than Poland. As two future reform clergy, Will and I felt like we were standing in the footsteps of a giant. The synagogue also ended up with many Jewish artifacts that used to be held in Nazi-created “Jewish museums.” We got to see medieval manuscripts in prime condition. And it was nice to see that they ended up back in the hands of the Jewish people. 

Will and I led a beautiful seder, but we basically led a seder for ourselves with forty people watching (and one woman recording the whole thing on her iphone). The loss of Jewish knowledge and culture due to both the Nazis and the soviets was more palpable than I have ever seen it. The silence in the room when we got to the chorus of Dayenu made me question if the renewal of Jewish life in Eastern Europe is even possible. But despite this sadness, we met many wonderful people who were so happy to have us there, bringing song and Jewish joy back into the space. 

After Wroclaw, I spent a day in Krakow where I visited a friend who is currently working at the JCC there. She toured me around the community center and all hope was restored. The Jewish renewal happening in Krakow is magical. And the same is happening in Warsaw. The smaller cities and towns might just need a little more time (and maybe a full time rabbi). I had a wonderful dinner with two of my classmates who did their Pesach project in Gdansk. It was so fun to swap stories about our different seder experiences. 

I stayed the night at the Krakow airport so that the next morning I could catch my early flight to Cyprus. I woke up at 5am, got on the shuttle and found myself in the Krakow airport staring at the departures screen. And my flight was not there. I pulled up my reservation only to learn that my flight was out of the Katowice airport, not the Krakow airport. Oy! Of course at the end of this insane week and a half I would end up at the wrong airport. I took a deep breath, remembered that worse things have happened to the Jews in this country, and found a flight out of Gdansk. After a six hour train ride, I finally ended up at the Gdansk airport and on my new flight to Cyprus.

Let’s just say my beach weekend in Cyprus was very much needed. And now I sit on the balcony of my hotel in Paphos, watching the sunset over the sea, and thinking about everything I have done and been through in the past two weeks. Tomorrow I head back to Jerusalem for my last three weeks. I cannot believe how quickly this semester has gone by and how much I have grown and changed since January.

Thank you all for being with me on this journey. 

Sammy Spider's First Siren

Well it’s been a hell of a week and a bit. 

When I decided to come back to Israel in January, I weighed many scenarios, including a regional war with Iran getting involved. I decided that was wildly unlikely and that if it happened, the iron dome would protect me. Which it did! Thank god. But man was the attack from Iran inconvenient. 

On Thursday when news came that an attack from Iran would be coming in the next 24-48 hours, I got nervous. Everywhere I walked I kept an eye out for where I would run in case sirens went off. It was stressful to live on the edge like that at all times. I had the option to be in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem when said attack would happen and I was sure that Jerusalem would be safer so I stayed in my apartment. I cannot believe I was wrong on that one. 

Because of Passover, our spring break started on Thursday. So the plan was to get on a plane Sunday morning at 5am for Vilna with many of my classmates. We would travel around Vilna and then Warsaw and then separate to lead Seders around Poland. With the prospect of an attack from Iran, I was reassured to know that I already had a flight booked to get out. I guess the idea of air space closing had not crossed my mind. 

Saturday night, I went to the protest for elections and to free the hostages. I was nervous about being at a large gathering when sirens might go off so I left pretty soon after I arrived. And then, since I had to leave for the airport at 1:30am, I fell asleep around 10pm. Shortly after I fell asleep, Iranian drones were launched and on their way to Israeli airspace. While asleep, I received many texts from my wonderful, worried parents and my teacher leading the trip who alerted us that Israeli airspace was closed and our flight would be cancelled. I half woke up to see these texts, couldn’t be bothered, and immediately fell back asleep. Apparently half asleep Shayna only cares about getting back to being fully asleep. And then at 2am I woke up to a loud boom and the windows in my apartment shaking. The way my body responded reminded me of waking up to an earthquake in California. I walked out to the living room of my apartment to find my roommates calm and collected. And then the siren went off. My roommates were in Israel on October 7th and throughout the war so they knew what to do, which was beyond helpful for panicky Shayna who had never heard a siren before. Since we don’t have a bomb shelter or a protected staircase, my roommates closed all of our blinds and told me to stand in the most inner part of the apartment.  I sat on the floor, shaking. We turned on the news, I called my parents, and tried to keep calm. I imagined writing a children’s book called “Sammy Spider’s First Siren” and that made me smile and kept me distracted. 

After fifteen minutes, my roommates said it was safe to go back to our rooms and that they were going to try to get some sleep. I couldn’t imagine going back to sleep after that. But I got into bed and watched CNN on my computer. Next thing I knew, it was the morning and I woke up to the director of our program checking in on all of us to make sure we were okay. Thank God, I was. 

And then it was time to figure out what to do about our missed flight to Lithuania. About five of my classmates (a third of the trip) had already left for Vilna the day before. So the trip was on and now it was up to us to get ourselves there. Some of my friends decided to cancel and stay in Israel for break, totally understandable. But I really wanted to go on the trip and even more so, really wanted to get out of Israel. So I called a cab to Ben Gurion Airport. The streets were quiet and the roads were empty. 

And then I had the most Israeli experience ever at the airport. As soon as I walked in, I ran into friends from the Bay Area who were also trying to get a flight. We took a selfie (of course) and sent it to my parents. 

And then I went to the line to try to get tickets on an airline called Israir (yes it’s as bad as it sounds). And it was not a line but a giant blob of people yelling at the one agent. Sunday was also the first day of spring break for Israeli schools so a lot of peoples’ flights were cancelled and a lot of people were trying to get out. As I stood in the blob, I noticed that the families around me were also trying to get to Warsaw. We started talking to each other about our plans and how terrible the airline is, which led one of them to make a WhatsApp group with all the people trying to get to Warsaw on this Israir flight. Where else in the world would that happen?? When I finally got to the front of the blob, the agent put me on the waitlist for the flight. And by waitlist I mean he wrote my name and phone number on the back of an old boarding pass. At this point I was fairly confident I would not be getting on that flight. 

So I got on the train to Tel Aviv to be with my cousins who had graciously invited me to stay with them. And they had takeout from my favorite Tel Aviv restaurant waiting for me when I arrived! I took a very long nap at their apartment and then met up with my roommate who had also decided to spend the day in Tel Aviv. And in Tel Aviv everything was so normal. You would have no idea Iran had attacked the night before. We sat at a cafe and I scoured the internet for flights to Eastern Europe. I was most definitely (like my dad) a travel agent in a past life. I booked a flight for two days from then and then went with my roommate to the beach to watch the sunset. The calm after the storm was unreal. 

At dinner, my wonderful friend Levi (who was also a travel agent in a past life) called to tell me that he had found a way to get to Vilna the next day. We got our friend Danielle on board and booked our flights. Our teacher assured us to book the flight whatever it cost, that the Jewish people would help us pay for it :). 

And so the next day, I met Levi and Danielle at Ben Gurion, where it was much calmer than the day before. We checked in and went through security with ease. I cannot explain the joy we felt sitting on that plane as it took off and left Israeli airspace. 

And then we landed in Larnaca, Cyprus. From Cyprus we flew to Vienna, where we sprinted to catch our next flight. From Vienna we flew to Warsaw. And then Levi rented a car and drove us the six hours to our apartments and classmates waiting for us in Vilna. 

It was perhaps the most insane travel journey I have ever been on. But it was worth it to get to this journey in Eastern Europe. And it wasn’t so bad with such good friends by my side. When we arrived in Vilna around 3 in the morning, we were absolutely ready for a night of sleep. 

And then the real pilgrimage began… 

Esther's Moment and Mine

 "או מי יודע עם לאת כזאת הגעת למלכות"

"And who knows, maybe you have risen to royalty for just such a moment" (Esther 4:14). 

As many of you have seen by now, this week an article came out in the JTA about my experience in rabbinical school. This was not a story I wanted to share. So much of me wanted to leave it in the past, move on to bigger and better things, surrender to the belief that the school and the conservative movement are not mine to make better. I never wanted to be in this position. I didn’t want to have a story of harassment and institutional misuse of power, let alone share it with the world. 

This week, we celebrate Purim. I have never been Purim’s biggest fan. I don’t like to drink, I don’t like dressing up, and chapter 9 of the megillah ruins the rest of it for me. 

But something is different this year. 

After Esther becomes queen, she learns of Haman’s plan to kill all the Jews of Shushan and the king’s complicity in it. So she goes to her cousin, Mordechai, who tells her she cannot stay silent. He tells her that she must speak her truth.  או מי יודע עם לאת כזאת הגעת למלכות  And who knows, maybe you have risen to royalty for just such a crisis, he says to her. 

Like Esther, I didn’t want to be the one to speak truth to the king. But luckily, like Esther I had my Mordechai, a wonderful group of individuals who had suffered similar fate at Ziegler. They have supported and strengthened me every step of the way. And they helped me decide that it was time, that I have risen to this position for a reason, and that it was time to speak my truth. 

For three days before Esther went to the king to tell him she’s a Jew, she fasted. Every year before Purim, Jews also fast the fast of Esther. It is a wonderful, divine coincidence that the article where I spoke my truth came out the same day as Esther’s fast. This year, for the first time, I chose to fast in honor of Esther’s bravery and in service of my own. 

And when the fast ended, I walked outside to get dinner and it started pouring rain. As I began to cry, I took out my phone and put on one of my favorite Taylor Swift songs, Clean. 

Rain came pouring down

When I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe

And at that moment I knew, surely I have risen to royalty for this moment. 

Spirituality retreat, Women of the Wall, and breaking in order to repair

Welcome back. It’s been a while since I’ve written. And luckily that’s because my dad took over the job while he was here. Thanks Dad! If you haven’t yet, go check out his Facebook. You’ll get an even better play by play. 

 

On Friday afternoon, post half-marathon, I said goodbye for now to my Dad and our wonderful week together and headed to Tantur for an HUC spirituality retreat. Our teachers opened the weekend by establishing the pain and trauma that Israelis and Palestinians are going through right now. They said it might seem wrong to go to a beautiful place for the weekend and work on our spiritual selves. They hoped that the weekend wouldn’t cause us to completely forget the war but that it would lower the volume of it for just a little bit. We can’t do the work of carrying our communities through crisis if we are not also taking care of ourselves and our spiritual needs. And the weekend retreat was a beautiful and much-needed respite from the intensity of Jerusalem. We prayed and we chanted and we did Yoga and we learned and we worked to remind ourselves why we are doing what we’re doing. I am always appreciative of moments to remember my goal of using Judaism to bring people together, support and strengthen those suffering, and bring more joy into people’s lives and the world. 

On Monday morning, back in Jerusalem, it was an obvious choice that I would go to the Kotel and welcome the new month of Adar II with Women of the Wall. When I arrived to Kotel security, the line (or blob, it’s Israel they don’t know how to line up) was huge. As always happens when Women of the Wall comes to the Western Wall to pray, security goes through each bag very thoroughly to make sure no woman is trying to bring in a Torah. So, I waited in the blob with many women in long skirts, holding siddurim and books of psalms. I did my best to shove to the front. I’m learning how to get around in this country and shoving is often the answer. I heard an older woman turn to one of the American girls studying in seminary and say something along the lines of “I can’t believe the reformim are doing this to us every month. We can’t get into our holy place because they want to make a fool of themselves with their crazy, fake Judaism. They want women to read from the Torah!” I had heard statements like this other times I had been to Women of the Wall, and more generally from religious Jews in Israel. Let’s just say I tell cab drivers that I am studying education at Hebrew University. As a non-confrontational person, I usually would ignore comments like this older woman’s who I stood with in line for the Kotel. But I couldn’t stand these 18-year-old American girls learning about reform Jews in this way. So, I turned to them and told them women are allowed to read Torah. (That’s not even just a reform thing! Talmud says women can read Torah in the presence of other women). The older woman, clearly overhearing me, turned around and declared that it was illegal to bring in a Torah to the women’s side of the Kotel. To which I declared that it was completely legal. The supreme court had just passed a law that declared it illegal for security to even look in women’s bags for Torahs. (Sadly, it didn’t yet change anything on the ground). Well now this woman and I were getting into it. I ended up declaring to her that I was a rabbi (close enough) to which she said, “you don’t look like a rabbi where is your kippa and tallis?” To which I said, “in my bag because I am waiting until I have police protection to put them on.” To which she said “you can be a rabbi this month for Purim but it’s just a costume” to which I said “well I’m a rabbi all year long” to which she said “well then it’s Purim for you all year long” to which I said “how wonderful! Purim all year long.” And by that point I had made it through the blob and entered the Kotel plaza. I call that a win! Davening with the women was amazing as always. And bestie from line came over to our prayer circle at one point and yelled that the two women holding the “bring them home” sign are not allowed to have their backs to the Kotel. I was pretty proud of myself that all she had left to yell about was backs facing the Kotel. As we walked out, the leaders of Women of the Wall held signs that said, “some people are looking for Sinwar in Gaza, others are looking for Torahs in women’s bags.” 

 

And in case it doesn’t seem like it, yes, I do go to class. This is just about midterm so when not bickering with religious women about reform Judaism, I am studying. Two quizzes and a presentation are out of the way, now onto a paper about medieval Jewry. Oh the joys of rabbinical school. 

 

In Hebrew class I presented on a Talmudic story in which a woman named Yalta is told she cannot be blessed by wine because she is already blessed by man’s seed. In a fit of anger she smashes 400 vessels of wine into pieces. Relatable content. In the book we read which reocunts Talmudic stories, the title of the chapter on Yalta is לשבור כדי לתקן “to break in order to repair.” Me being my educator self, I decided that I would have my classmates smash vessels as part of the experience. So, Monday afternoon I went looking for small flower pots that could be smashed in service of education. I had often walked by a place called Reuven’s Nursery on my way to Kol Haneshama, one of Jerusalem’s reform congregations. So, I decided I would go there on my mission to find smash-worthy vessels. As I entered the gate of the open space I assumed would be filled with plants, I found an empty lot with chickens roaming around and an old man sitting on a plastic chair in the middle of a whole lot of nothing. With some pain, he stood up and made his way over to me. “How can I help you” he asked in Hebrew with a strong accent I couldn’t place. “I’m looking for flowerpots” I said and pointed to the few remaining plants in pots I saw on my left. At this point he could tell I was American, and he switched into English. “Everything in my nursery was destroyed” he said. And he pointed to a pile of broken pottery. “That’s exactly what I need!” I said excitedly “Take as much as you want” he said, “and then come sit next to me and I’ll tell you my story.” So, I dug through the pile of pottery and found a few pieces that were perfect for my presentation. 

 

And then I sat next to him, in my own plastic chair, in a place that felt so far away from Jerusalem. I felt like I was sitting in a shtetl in Poland. And then Reuven told me his story. He is 87 years old. From Persia. In 1948 he lived in Jerusalem with his family. He was 11 years old, and his brother was sent to fight in the war for independence. When his brother died fighting, his family was told to move into a house abandoned by Arabs on the outskirts of what was Jerusalem at the time. His family set up their life on this land and began a nursery. In 1967 the Vatican showed up and claimed ownership of the land. They sold much of it, but he kept his home and his nursery. And then the Israel Land Administration showed up and said he had no right to be there. They brought in bulldozers and destroyed the nursery he had built in 1948. This was why his pottery sat in piles of shatters. He sits every day on his plastic chair, protecting the land he knows belongs to him. Sadly, he has been arrested on multiple occasions. He cried as he shared with me that his wife had passed away two weeks ago. At this point I had to leave. He told me to come visit whenever I wanted and that he would have me over for Shabbat. 

 

There is so much in this story. It is awful and magical and gut-wrenching and guilt-producing and sad and scary. I cannot believe the Israeli Land Administration is telling him to leave this land given to him in ’48, that he has lived on for 76 years. But then again, he did move onto land that did not belong to him. But he was 11! And the residents had already fled. There is so much injustice in this story. And I don’t know what is right. But I’m grateful to have met such a special man, in this crazy, holy city of Jerusalem. 

 

On Wednesday, for our Israel Seminar class we traveled to several Arab towns in the center of the country to hear from Palestinian Citizens of Israel. It was challenging and beautiful and hopeful to hear from Palestinians who are working to make positive change in their own communities and beyond. Every place we went to they said “normally we would welcome you with cookies and fruit and coffee. We are so sorry you came during Ramadan.” I couldn’t believe everyone we met with spent their day of fasting speaking with us. We toured a place called Moona that encourages young people to work in the high-tech industry. The young woman leading our tour introduced herself. “I was born in Gaza” she said “we moved to Jaffa when I was seven. A lot of my family is still there.” My eyes welled up with tears looking at this beautiful woman, who works every day to bring Jewish and Palestinian people together and spent her day touring Jewish Americans around her organization, who has to imagine the fate of her family in Gaza during this awful time. “We continue praying for peace” we said to her as we left Moona. 

At lunch I learned that Itay Chen, a 19-year-old soldier presumed to be a hostage had actually been killed on October 7th and his body had been taken into Gaza. Just two weeks ago, I sat in a singing circle in the hostage tent with his parents. I had just heard them tell us about Itay, about the birthday party they held for him at the Kotel putting notes in the wall praying for his return. They held onto hope for so long. And now he is gone. 

 

For our last meeting, we met with a civics teacher: an unbelievable Palestinian citizen who teaches the Israeli government’s civics curriculum to Arab high school students half the day and Jewish students the other half of the day. She told us about the racist statements her Jewish students say to her and how her Arab students complain every day that they don’t see themselves in the Israeli curriculum. How can we sing the Hatikvah, read the Declaration of Independence, or learn how to be good citizens of Israel when we are stopped on the street and in shopping malls because Israelis think we’re terrorists. How can we be loyal to a country that is not loyal to us? What stood out to me most about this teacher’s talk with us was when she said, “I don’t care about land, I care about people.” And with that simple sentence, she summed up everything I believe about the Israeli Palestinian conflict. And then I thought back to Reuven and his nursery. How can we choose people over land when the people are so tied to the land? When some people had to leave their land and some people stayed? How can we choose people over land when this land means so much to so many people? As always, I am left with more questions than answers. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Shayna 

Swimming with Nazis

Today we will take a much-needed break from our regularly scheduled programming. Over the weekend I had the incredible opportunity to travel to Budapest to learn about the Jewish community there. I am part of a fellowship through JDC that aims to teach and emphasize the value of global Jewish responsibility to emerging clergy. Each year the fellows participate in a Shabbaton to learn from and engage with a particular community. And this year we got to visit Budapest. 

At the ungodly hour of 2:30am my roommate and I left our apartment for the airport. Ben Gurion was shockingly crowded at 3am. I guess even if there aren’t that many people who want to come into the country there are a lot who want to leave. At least for a little while. 

Stepping off the plane in Hungary was shockingly refreshing. I felt a weight lifted off me that I’ve been carrying for the month since I arrived in Israel. I didn’t realize how intense it is to walk past the families of the hostages tent everyday until I went a day without it. I know how important it is to keep them on our minds but I really needed a break from thinking about the horrors. And hopefully my resolve will be strengthened because of it. 

On our first day in Budapest we spent the day at the Jewish Community Center. It was previously a project of the JDC but it has now become independent. Amazing!! Our wonderful tour guide gave us an overview of Jewish life in Hungary and how JDC works to support it. I was shocked to learn there are 100,000 Jews in Hungary today. We learned about the Jewish religious and cultural events that take place at the JCC. We were told we would watch a choir performance which turned out to be 30 or so elderly Hungarian ladies singing Jewish songs in Hungarian. It was adorable and also felt like a fever dream (this was still the same day we had woken up at 2am in Jerusalem so we were all losing it). After a lovely dinner at a Jewish restaurant called Spinoza, we were ready for bed. 

On Friday we visited Mozaik Hub, a JDC project that funds grassroots Jewish organizations in Budapest. We learned about projects ranging from a Jewish gift shop (called Judapest where I made many purchases) to Holocaust memory projects to interfaith work to an app that shows all the Jewish events in the city. It got me thinking how we can replicate this kind of work and cooperation in the North American Jewish community. Next we met with two young adults from Szarvas, a Jewish summer camp in Hungary for young Jews from all over Eastern and Central Europe. As a camp person, this was my favorite part. Just like in the States, this camp has led so many young people to become active members in their Jewish communities. Most of these campers’ grandparents were Holocaust survivors and most of their parents lived under communism. For these kids, being a Szarvas is a once in three generations opportunity to explore their Jewish identity and proudly bring it into the world. That evening we joined the reform Jewish community for Shabbat services at the JCC. It’s nice to know that wherever you are in the world, the Jews will be singing Debbie Friedman. 

On Thursday the person in charge of security for JDC had given us a security briefing. He let us know that on Saturday there would be a far right rally on the Buda side of the river in commemoration of an event that had happened at the castle during World War II. I didn’t totally understand the story but I’m sure you can easily find it on the internet. The security guy told us to tuck our Jewish star necklaces under our shirts and make sure we didn’t have anything outwardly Jewish on us. Turns out it’s a neo-Nazi march. So on Saturday we actively avoided the Buda side of the river and went instead to the thermal baths on the Pest side. We were living our best lives soaking in the minerals when we saw a man covered in tattoos. One read “holy racial war” and another: a giant 88 across his back. (Since H is the eighth letter in the alphabet 88 is hh which stands for hail Hitler). Goyish gemmatria my friend called it. I looked around us and thought about who else in the pool might be a Nazi. “Spot the Nazi” I called it. Because my natural way to deal with scary and heavy things is humor my friends and I renamed ourselves the least Jewish names we could think of: Vlad, Kyle, Greta, and Chip. And instead of Israel we came from a land called Vladistan and practiced a religion called Vlahadut. It doesn’t really seem funny now but we laughed A LOT at those pools. We swam with the Nazis and not just any Nazis, the slacker Nazis! Instead of marching around the castle they decided to take a dip in the thermal baths. 

We were thrilled to return to the hotel, put our Jewish stars back on and join the young adult Jewish community of Budapest for Havdallah. They welcomed us into their community with such openness and gratitude. We ended the trip with a visit to the ruin bar, where the Jewish ghetto once was. Sitting with five other future clergy, drinking wine on the site of a former ghetto, after having spent the day swimming with Nazis, was a moment there will never be words to describe.

When we returned to Israel this afternoon I was simultaneously thrilled and upset to wait in line for passport control. The airport felt full again. There are people coming to Israel. And I was so lucky to be one of them. Despite the heaviness and the intensity and the seemingly never-ending amount of schoolwork, it’s good to be home.