Em In Israel: Adventures and Conflicts

So I'm checking back in after taking a short break from blogging. Two days ago we went to Ben Yehuda Street in Jerusalem city for some general exploring and shopping. To be honest, I thought it'd be more exciting, but it really just reminded me of the Jewish Sector of Los Angeles (but with more Hebrew). However, I did some fabulous falafel and walked around with friends, but then we got on a bus and went back to the Kibbutz.

Yesterday, we woke up bright and early to go on a hike through the remains of an ancient city and go on an archaeological dig. We dug through a cave and found bones, door handles, coins, and pieces of pottery... We discovered pieces of our history from 3,000 years ago. We also sat inside a burial chamber and crawled through underground tunnels that the Jews built to escape the Romans during the Bar Kochva revolt (1,881 years ago). Although the sights were gorgeous, and I knew how important they were in terms of the history of my people, for a decent part of our trip I felt nauseous from the bus and my foot injuries were killing me from the hiking. So, it wasn't as fun as it could've been, but incredible nonetheless.

When we returned from the trip, we took some free time to get dressed up (modestly), and hopped back on the bus toward the Old City, where we went to pray at the Kotel, the Western Wall. For those who don't know, the Western Wall is the last standing remain of the original Jewish temple (destroyed in about the year 70). This artifact is seen as the holiest place in all of Judaism. First, the whole group went to the egalitarian part of the wall, where we prayed together as Reform Jews and NFTYites always do, and it felt amazing. I could not only feel the energy of the people I was praying with, but when I put my hand on the Wall, I swear I could feel all of the generations of my people who had shared in this life-changing, spiritual, G-dly revelation... then we went to the other part of the Wall. Jokingly known as the "Classic Kotel", the other part is segregated for men and women. Here, I could not pray. I was one of only two participants who did not go down to the separated sections; instead I stood back and watched, crying.

I saw the segregation and I thought, from a Jewish and from a feminist point of view, that that was not Judaism. Judaism is the first chapter of the Torah that states "Man and woman, G-d created them... Together, G-d created them", and the second chapter that states "and they will be b'tzelem elohim, created in the image of G-d". Judaism is the very common Jewish law that says that every living being has an equal piece of G-d living within their soul, that none is lesser for we are all truly divine... and yet I looked as Orthodox Jews, the people who believe that they are closest to G-d for obeying all of G-d's commandments, shoved women into a tiny section of the Wall, where they were not singing, not dancing, not expressing their faith, while the men stood at a significantly larger portion, doing all of the things that women were not supposed to do... but this alone did not make me cry. I began to weep when I turned to my friend and said, "No matter which side I go to, I'm on the wrong side... I don't identify with one gender; there is no place for me here".

In Reform Judaism, all genders are welcomed in the community, but here, at this "Holiest of Holy" sight, I felt no connection to my G-d. I felt no spirituality, and I saw no beauty; I only felt pain. I have been blessed until now, in that I have always been accepted for my authentic self in my communities and in my family, and I have never felt real rejection or true heartbreak. I experienced both of these things last night. I felt lost, and again I turned to my friend and I asked her, "When the world spits you out, you turn to religion... when your religion spits you out, where do you go?"... So where do I go? I go back to my Reform community, to my friends and family who love and accept me, but still I cannot shake that feeling. The feeling of knowing that while I see Orthodox Jews as my equals, as human beings with sparks of G-d within them, they do not see me in that way. To them, the people who share my faith and pray to the same G-d as I do, I am less than, and I am irrelevant...

Besides my personal feelings, the hardest part of this experience was seeing all of the children. I have often heard that my generation will be the one to change the world, and yet I see so many children behaving with just as much bigotry and inequality at their parents, and my heart hurts for them. They have no idea that there is a whole world of exploration and identity outside of Old Jerusalem. I wish there was something I could do, not to break their faiths, but to broaden their minds to new opportunities and points of view that they don't even know are out there. All I want is to educate these children on what happens outside the world of ancient tradition, then let them choose for themselves, as opposed to conditioning them to be so closed-minded from birth.

So you see, here's the conflict. I am a Jew. 100%. When people ask me what I do, how I live my life, I say "I am Jewish" before anything else. So, of course, the Land of Israel and the Kotel are incredibly important to me. They tell the story of my people who fought for my right to be alive and practicing Judaism. But that being said, I'm conflicted because these place contradict so much of what I believe in, and even who I am as a queer person, as a feminist, and as a modernist. So my struggle and my conflict is not with an Orthodox person telling me who to be, it is with myself. Two equally relevant parts of my identity are clashing, and I'm not quite sure how to handle it.

On a much more pleasant note, today I songlead the first Shabbat here at Kibbutz Tzuba, and despite my lack of preparation I felt very confident. My classmates were getting into the service and singing with me, and I received many congratulations afterward. One boy, who I haven't really connected with yet, told me that it was the first service where he wasn't looking at his watch and waiting for it to end, but that he actually felt connected to Judaism for the first time... as a songleader and an aspiring rabbi, these words meant more to me than I can possibly express. So, tonight I'm leading havdallah with another one of the EIE participants, and I am sincerely hoping that my new family and I can all have an equally meaningful experience as the one we shared this morning.