So, I'm writing again...

When I pick up a pen and scratch it across the page, I ask myself, "and what lies shall I tell today?" Often, I don't mean to tell the lie. It just happens by mistake, like I tripped over a word and landed on another one. Somehow, that mistaken word looks better on the page, tastes better when it rolls off the tongue, feels good when I get back up and stand on it as though it were the sturdy, solid, undeniably real truth. Pretty soon, I'm weaving one hell of a tale, tripping over little white truths and landing on something much softer and dreamier, like clouds. And then that's what I'm standing on: clouds. Just thin, substanceless wisps of air, and I'm running through them, making it all up as I go. The scene has changed, and it's not on the boring ground anymore, but actually floating around up in the sky! Imagine, a whole world made up of beautiful fluffs of clouds, and a falling idiot of a woman, plunging through each one.

People say, "Doesn't she know she's falling? Doesn't she know she's going to hit the ground and shatter into a million pieces? What a mess it's going to be! Who does she expect to clean it up?"

And when I plummet the last inches of space between where I was and where I was running off to, when I hit the sturdy ground that never went anywhere while I was losing myself in the clouds, I blackout, and then wake up confused. "Oh, that's right!" I say. "I fell from the sky."

Now, that's a story to tell. So I go on telling such an interesting lie, that I forget that I tripped like a foolish klutz and ended up where I was never supposed to be in the first place.

But sometimes I'm a bit more grounded. I scribble for a bit until I say, "I don't like this one." I'm tempted to rip it from the notebook, crumple it up, and play basketball with the waste bin. Never wrote it. Never thought those things. I stake no claim to those words.

Now, don't go digging through my trash just to call me a liar. Even I don't want to see what I've been throwing away in there. Some people's trash is dirtier than others. Mine is garbage--a filthy sounding word if there ever was one: garbage. "Fuck" sounds positively flowery and sweet by comparison.

A bad poem or story tossed away is a sad thing, I know. It's like hating one of your children. You can't even try to fix it, to undo the damage you've carelessly inflicted upon it before it turned into this obscene mess. Where did it even start to go wrong? What was the first mistake? It's not that way in the beginning, after all. At least, it didn't look like it was going to turn out this way. Each fetus of a poem or creative story looks just like the next; a clumsy bundle of words thrown together into something resembling coherent thought, strung loosely together with the next, which is supposed to express some frustrated emotion, begging to be expressed, or some intense, burning moment that you've experienced that you want to paint into a perfect portrait, which will capture it with authenticity. But it comes out all wrong. Now it's just some trite love poem for someone you're longing for, that only manages to look like a desperate call for his affection once again; "Look, I wrote a poem about us! Can I come over again tonight? Please?" It looks obsessive, when you meant it to be passionate. It looks pathetic, when you wanted it to look bold and striking. It mocks you, and embarrasses your attempts to express that still frustrated emotion, begging for release.

If I could just tell at the beginning how it's going to come out, when it's an unidentifiable blob, perhaps it wouldn't seem so cruel when I throw it away and absolutely deny that it ever happened. Because, what kind of mother throws her babies into the garbage?

It's just that, sometimes, the things I create, the fruits of my labors, just don't come out like a baby is supposed to. Sometimes it's a hideous beast, and I hate looking at it, wondering how such a thing managed to inherit every piece of me that I don't want to show--a chimera of my deepest, darkest flaws.

Sometimes a mother just can't look her own child in the eye. It's better this way, tossed aside, like I don't care about it at all. It's alright. I'll start over. I'll make another one into a portrait that I can bring myself to look at.

It was the best of times, and it was the worst of times...

As my year in Israel begins to draw to a close, I have noticed my mood shifting. This year has been an emotional roller coaster of extreme ups and downs. The ups have consisted of feeling really alive and ecstatically happy, as evidenced by the rare photos of me genuinely smiling, from beneath a layer of mud at the Dead Sea, standing in front of scenic vistas from the Golan, and positively frolicking all over the Hebrew U. campus.

Yay, mud!

Yay, a canyon!

Yay, Einstein!

The lows have consisted of many tearful Skype calls back home over a series of financial crises, drastically shifting plans, excruciating loneliness, sudden terror over what I'm doing with my life, and loss of relationships back in the States due to situations that I have no control over.

I took no pictures of myself in this state, but this is fairly accurate...only with more tears and hair ripping.

But the ups and downs have more or less evened out recently and have been replaced by day to day life. It's positively amazing, when I stop and think about it; my day to day life is in Israel. In Jerusalem. I live across from Shimon Peres, and walk by Bibi's place and the ever-present protesters camped outside of the well-guarded gates, almost daily. I purchase things in Hebrew, calculate shekels to dollars in my head, push my way onto the bus (hey, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em), and regularly alternate between hanging out at some of the holiest places on earth, and sitting in hip cafes and dive bars with young Israelis trying to stake out a piece of the city that can be every bit as cool and modern as Tel Aviv. I go shul hopping, and have decided that I will drink things at non-kosher places, but since there's such a variety of kosher restaurants, I'll eat only at the kosher ones. To think that I'll be back in Medford Oregon, one of the least Jewish places ever, in just two months seems absurd. It seems almost as absurd as living in Jerusalem as a Jew who has been Jewish for less than a year, in a country I had never been to before, on my own.

I don't want to go. My mood isn't sad and I'm not in danger of plummeting to into the depths of the darkest places in my psyche over it. Obviously, I'm not grinning like an idiot and dancing over it either. I'm blue when I stop and think about it, and I'm in a rather pleasant, sunny mood when I'm just going about my business. I am both aware that my days are numbered here, and also aware that now is the time to make the absolute most of them. That means not dwelling on the inevitable heartache that will hit me when I'm boarding my flight back to the States, leaving what has come to truly feel like home behind me. It will be good to see family and friends and I'll be absolutely delighted over the fact that I can buy cheddar cheese by the brick from the grocery stores and have the ability to make freshly brewed drip coffee in my kitchen. I'm anticipating inadvertently pissing people off by being too brusque and pushy, and I know I'm going to have to watch my driving etiquette rather closely; Israelis like to drive as aggressively as they like to push into a line and go shopping for groceries. They also compulsively honk their horns, almost as though it's an involuntary action, and they are perfectly fine with laying on the horn for a full 30 seconds before they are satisfied that their displeasure with the driver in front of them has been noted.

But apart from the things that I do miss about the States other than my family (Mexican food, cheese a-plenty, and late night diners with free refills on the non-instant coffee), I can think of no other reason to return to the States for good. I am almost certain that I will be returning to Jerusalem in the fall, and am looking for different options that will allow me to be here for another full year. And then? Who knows?

I am a fairly level-headed person (despite having occasional, irrational anxiety attacks--I'm medicated for it, don't worry), I don't view life through rose-tinted glasses, and my natural propensity to worry excessively keeps me from being too impulsive. I know that if I make aliyah, that it won't be like being a Pardes student, surrounded by mostly Americans and a few token Europeans. I know that I will probably struggle to make a living here, and that I could make more money in the States in almost anything that I decide to do. I know that it would mean living in the Middle East, and while Israel isn't in dire straits right now over any conflict, that could easily change on a dime, as it has numerous times in the past (And no, I haven't forgotten about the current mess with Iran. I just think that the media, especially the foreign media, has overblown how much of a threat the situation actually is). And at age 26 with less than a year of Jewishness under my belt, I may very well be quite ingrained in my Americaness in ways that will never match my Israeliness, almost guaranteeing that I'll always be a bit of a stranger in a strangeland; thankfully, due to Israel's diversity, I wouldn't be alone in my strangeness.

Still, I have little to lose, and returning to the States if it doesn't work out is always an option. If nothing else, it would make for one hell of a story for me to (hopefully) write about. It's probably a bit nutty to dive into such a drastically different lifestyle than I had before my conversion and the commencement of my love affair with this insane country, but I don't know what else to do but run with it. A few years ago, I would have never imagined that I would be where I am today, both physically and otherwise. I'm still in some sort of awkward adolescent stage in relation to God, my spirituality and religiosity, but I know that will pass and probably evolve and change throughout my life; puberty eventually ends...thank God. My Hebrew could use a lot of work, and despite having a couple of Israeli friends, I have yet to break out of my Anglo bubble. All the more reason to live here another year, I say. The details can be sorted out later. I don't usually live in the moment, and am consciously putting forth the effort to do so right now. I have lived by deadlines for too long, thinking about what needs to be done in the near and distant future, and as a result, I've squandered some important time here. That squandered time should serve as a lesson and an example of how I used to live. These next two months are precious, and I'm determined to take them as they come and savor each one. Otherwise, it's back to the extreme lows, with lots of tears, screams and ripped hair. And that certainly is something that I can gladly leave in the past, where it rightfully belongs.

Prognosis: Grim

I had a discussion last week with a former Pardes student named Jessica who works with an agency here that helps converts obtain citizenship and equal religious rights in Israel. I had been referred to her in order to gain a better understanding of what my rights are as far as being a recognized Jew, and it looks like I'm in for one hell of an uphill battle. During the conversation she told me that she "converted from Judaism, to Judaism, to Judaism." What she meant is that she grew up Jewish, but because her mother had converted to Reform Judaism, she herself was not considered Jewish by Orthodox standards. As some of you (all two of my readers) may know, Jewish custom rather arbitrarily holds that in order for a person to be "naturally" Jewish, the mother has to be Jewish--the Jewish status of the father is irrelevant. This particular young lady converted to Orthodox in the U.S. after she started to become more observant in college and thought she might like to make aliyah...and then had another Orthodox conversion in Israel. The Orthodox here, as I've been consistently bitching about in this barely read blog so far, of course only consider Orthodox conversions legitimate, but that's not all--as far as American Orthodox conversions go, only a handful of American rabbis live up to the Israeli Orthodox standards, and therefore, only a handful of American Orthodox rabbis are perceived as legitimate enough to perform conversions that will give you the status of "Jewish" with all the trimmings: the ability to officially marry a Jew in Israel, your children considered legally Jewish, and when you die, being laid to rest in a Jewish cemetery. So for Jessica, she had to go through two of the strictest brands of Jewish conversion before she obtained full recognition, and had she been raised Jewish to begin with. The  Rabbinute here are apparently some of the most paranoid people to walk the earth. It's one thing to be thorough. It's another thing to wash your underwear three times before you wear them again, just to make absolutely sure. That's what obsessive compulsive people do.

The more I think about this, research it and discuss it with people who have dealt with Orthodox conversion through the Rabbinute, the more I turn from being understanding of why they want to be careful about conversions and granting automatic right of return citizenship us, to being completely and utterly frustrated with what seems to boil down to an antiquated, out of touch, ultra-Orthodox entity with little connection to or understanding of the real issues that Jews face today regarding our identity, and turning Judaism into an elite club. It cheapens Judaism and they don't have any idea what converts go through to step into our Jewish skin, or what kind of trauma they are asking us to inflict upon ourselves by denying the validity of our conversions in favor of an insanely strict version of one, one which, ironically, many converts only adopt during the conversion process in order to jump through the hoops, and then drop as soon as it's over. After all, we too are in control of our own Jewish destiny and levels of observance. They aren't making people more frum. They are making people angry. They aren't asking people to truthfully take the mitzvot upon themselves. They are asking people to lie about who they are and what they think Judaism is.

Another issue however threatens my Right of Return status. In order to make aliyah, a convert is expected to stay in their Jewish communities where they converted for at least ten months. The idea is to keep foreign workers, refugees or otherwise insincere people from converting only to get themselves free citizenship in another country. This bureaucratic nightmare awaiting me is also understandable to an extent; Israel does not want to hand out free citizenship to everyone like it's candy anymore than the Rabbinute wants to become a conversion factory that doesn't take a potential convert's sincerity seriously enough. And in both cases, it can take ages and ages to get your case looked at as a unique one; no, I'm not a Thai sex trafficker. I sincerely believe my home is here, and my dedication to Judaism and Israel is strong and it won't be going anywhere very soon.

I've had several peers attempt to comfort me by reminding me that I can be just as Jewish in the U.S. as I can in Israel, but that's not the point. That's not enough. When you convert you join the Jewish people. Not the American Jewish people, but the Jewish people as a whole. As a nation. As Am Israel. This place is supposed to be my home with its doors always open to me, just like every Jew in the world. Saying I can be Jewish in the U.S. and that my legal status in the only Jewish country on the face of the earth is not so important, is like saying, "Sure, you can vote in the election. But we won't put vote towards the final tally, okay?" or, "Sure, you can join our baseball team! You're just not allowed to go onto the field. Is that cool with you?"

Besides, while I'm not making any definite decisions right now, I WANT to live in Israel. I DON'T WANT to go back to the States. I think of the mere two months I have left here and it makes me incredibly depressed. Like I'm counting down the days until my best friend will move away from me, and who knows when we'll meet again. Like I'm about to walk away from someone I'm madly in love with to go back to an ex that I'd rather not see.

Don't get me wrong...I'm not trying to rag on America. That's not the point. I do love my country, and there are things that I miss about it sometimes. In my heart of hearts, I'll always be an American, and I'll be keeping my citizenship anyway. But I have been looking for a place to settle for a long time, a place to call home. Yes, there's home back in Medford with my family, but being Jewish complicates it considerably. There are barely any Jews there, and hardly what I'd call a thriving Jewish community. Going back to Portland is like taking a giant step backwards. Right now, I have little tying me to the U.S.--no job, no significant other, no school, no really tight social group. So this would be the best time in my life to make aliyah. I can always decide to come back if it doesn't work out. I know it sounds insane probably to a lot of people who believe that we are teetering on the brink of war with Iran, but what can I say? Israel has issues, but I love her. I don't want to walk away from he when the going gets tough. I want to be with her.

Well, I am nothing if not persistent. I bitch and whine a lot. I'm neurotic and obnoxiously pessimistic. I expect the worse, and take every setback as evidence of my failures. I kick myself constantly, and I'm angry at myself more often than any healthy person should be. But I still don't give up if I want something badly enough. If it means something to me, then it means everything, and I don't stop until I get it. If I can survive my own negative, bullshit attitude and come as far as I have over the years and still find myself reaching my goal, then I can survive the Rabbinute. I may go home crying and whining, but I'll keep coming back until they are so annoyed, they'll have to take notice of me and say, "Okay, fine! You're Jewish, now go away!" But since I'll also be taking on the Israeli government to make sure I can obtain aliyah status in the first place, I'll have to be doubly obnoxious. It'll be like trying to slay a two headed dragon. Let's hope I don't become incinerated in the process.