Today and last night has been one of those days. I couldn't really sleep because I couldn't get comfortable, and today I came to the library four hours early to do work but the air vent is blowing on me and I can't concentrate! I'm going to have to move after I finish this post. I'm a tormented soul, I truly am.
I had a very nice Shabbat this week, mostly because I did everything I like: I went to Yakar on Friday night with Ariella and her friends, I got invited to her friends' family's apartment for dinner, I sang at the tisch, I read CITR, I slept for about 12 hours, I ate lunch, I went on a run with Sender to a work out park and we talked about everything under the sun, I made frosting with Gabe, I ate frosting with Gabe Asaf and Nadav, and then Shabbat was over and I was very happy with my weekend.
Saturday was Shara's 19th birthday, so of course there were many festivities to plan. Tali told Shara that Becca and I were going on a double date with Garrett and Meir, respectively (just for clarity purposes), which was funny because she didn't tell me or Meir that so we both almost blew it, separately. Anyway, Shara thought she was just going to a small dinner at her favorite restaurant, Caffit, with a few friends, and then meeting up with everyone at Crack Square later. Little did she know!! We brought about 25 people to the restaurant and took over the whole upstairs. Shara was SO SURPRISED!!! She cried. It was incredible.
After dinner, which was chaotic but delicious, we went out to the bar scene. It was mostly like every other night out, except people kind of got drunker and looked prettier.
Yesterday I got out of bed at 1, after going to bed 12 hours earlier. Glorious. I went to Art History and we took a tour of the art at Hebrew U, some of which is quite beautiful and some of which the curator had to display because of the rich/influential people who donated it. I appreciated the tour very much though, because it did not only enhance my knowledge of the art here, it gave me a better understanding of the overall purpose of art and merits of different artistic languages. I was talking to my teacher, whom I like and respect quite a bit, while we were walking from one statue to another. I remarked that the haze outside made the view from the balconies look like a painting and she said, "very good, Jordana," as if I was answering a question in class. I like her a lot, she's just kind of socially awkward.
There is a group of Nativers going to Poland in a few weeks, and they have meetings every once in a while to prepare for their trip. I'm not part of this group, but last night they invited a survivor to come speak, and I decided to take advantage of the situation and go for a lil listen. I think it is extra important for people to listen to survivors speak now because they will all be gone in a matter of years and these living resources really can't be replaced. It's so easy to watch a film or read a book and say, well it's only a movie, or it's only fiction, but when someone is telling you details from their own lives and staring you in the face-you can't deny that. And it was such a small group that he was able to actually make eye contact all the time, and it was very powerful.
He really made an impression on me because unlike many survivors, it was clear that he had not lost his faith in God, despite living in the Warsaw Ghetto, going to ten different concentration camps and his entire family perishing in Treblinka. At the end, he gave us a blessing that his mother had given him before she died: "May you find favor in the eyes of God, in the eyes of your friends, and in the eyes of your enemies." He really survived because he was able to find favor in the eyes of his enemies, since he worked as a propaganda artist for the Nazis. He drew wedding cards, birthday cards, and "garbage" for them too, and he made friends with one of them who kept him alive through 1943, basically. His art saved him in that way, which is really powerful, and the whole time he spoke very fondly of righteous gentiles. The thing that struck me the most was when Razie asked him if there was ever a time when he thought he couldn't continue. He said that the human will to live is so strong, especially in young people, that he never entertained that question, and "you do what you have to do." He looked at us and said, "the best years of my life were spent in the Ghetto and in concentration camps." He was our age, and he wasn't thinking about going on dates or school or anything, he was just trying to survive. I can't imagine. Now he has three grandchildren that have all been members of the Israeli Defense Forces, and it is his greatest pride. It means so much to him that Jews have their own land and they can defend themselves.
After he spoke, I went to Beit Midrash for the last time!! It was a sad moment. Also, there was miscommunication in an email about when it started so there was very poor turnout, but that was okay because Seffi and I got Yonina almost all to ourselves. We talked about Purim, Pesach, Sukkot, Shabbat, and a little bit of miscellaneous stuff. The most interesting part to me, besides learning about all the different seder traditions, was learning about a particular situation that came up in real life almost 9 years ago. Yonina was working as an EMT in New York City on September 11th, and her unit (or whatever) was called in to work on Shabbat. It says directly in the Talmud (in Yoma) that if debris falls and there is doubt as to whether there is a person under it or not, you can dig him out on any day of the year. If you find him dead, then you leave him until after Shabbat is over, but if he is alive, you can bring him out. It was crazy how relative it all was to a current event. We stayed very late talking about different things, and it was fun. I am so glad that I decided to make Beit Midrash a part of my weekly routine in Jerusalem!
That basically brings me back to today. I am still uncomfortable but too lazy to move. There's moisture accumulating in my socks under my synthetic boots and the zipper on them is cutting into my jeans.
I have to get back to Freud and Talmud, now, but before I go-dreaming about pouring olive oil represents your sexual desires for your mother. Watch out for that.
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