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March 06, 2008
Community
I was nervous, to be honest. Sure, I’d attended services before, but did I really feel comfortable raising my hand, identifying myself in front of a strange group? Its funny, but as the Rabbi scanned the audience for the first aliyah, the first blessing over the Torah, raising even a finger in the air seemed like the most laborious task in the world. They were looking for a Cohen or a Levite---the two ancient priestly classes of Judaism---and as one of the latter, they were looking for me. So in the patriarchal tradition of standing up and shouting, “Heenaynee,” or “here I am,” I stood up, identified myself, and joined the Rabbi to allow the service to continue.
After services ended that day, I was bombarded with lunch invitations left and right. Even the ones I turned down were insistent that they “had me” next. I was a little taken aback and confused, to be honest. Was this simple act, these few short words that I had chanted enough to break down cultural and linguistic borders? Was I suddenly able to ingratiate myself into their midst without even realizing it? Was I now a member of their community?
My whole life, community has been an integral part of my social interactions. From as early as I can remember, I was a member of the Temple Sholom community, where I solemnly served my role as the Rabbi’s son. Playing the part, acting the game, I always had a place there, even if it was well beyond the grasp of my personal choices.
I created niches for myself in numerous different places throughout my short existence, from High School to Camp, from the College Hillel to the College fraternity. These all were immensely important to me in different ways. I learned, I grew, I made mistakes, and all the while I was around friends, surrounded by familiarity and security and hope that tomorrow would be better, or despair that it wouldn’t. But I always knew where I was, and where I stood, and who I was. But here I am, sitting in Warsaw, wondering if I can create a community for myself here. What could this community look like? What could this community make me look like? What can I do for this community, and what can they do to me?
From the get go, as I have previously expressed in these pages, I have had a superb relationship with my fellow American students. Our eclectic natures could not be more varied, and yet, somewhere deep within that idiotic intuition to travel four thousand miles away to Poland lay some semblance of a community, some element of something to bind us, to raise us up, to be a part of.
My roommate Sean and I have become especially close in the last 6 weeks. The two of us did have similar upbringings, growing up in heavily Jewish upper middle class suburbs, although he is firm and steadfast in his Irish roots. A running enthusiast, he feels as if the day is wasted if he does not stretch his legs. Hating to be inside, needing to feel the wind against his face and the clearing of his head, he runs almost daily in an addictive like matter, entering intimidating palpitations if he doesn’t get outside. While he has certainly done some good for me by getting me outside once in a while, the greatest thing Sean has done for me is unwavering support. Through our mutual affinity for sarcasm and our similar senses of humor we have formed a sort of tag team, stepping up when the other is down, shielding when fallen, extending an arm to reach out of holes. We seem to have already grown accustomed as when we are in the need for a talk and when we are in need of silence, when we require companionship and when we need to be alone. The best thing I can say about Sean is that he is able to read my without asking.
Sean and I, due to our outgoing personalities, have become one of the more social rooms in our dorm. However, the most frequent occupant is without a doubt our lovable Texan, Elyse. It is important to know that Elyse might actually be the most genuine person in the world. She is brutally honest while also being an enthusiastic optimist, a powerful combination that makes her impossible not to love. Elyse had quite an interesting upbringing. For five years she lived in Nigeria with her family, as her parents had decided to start a hospital in the African Bush, an area where white men had scarcely traveled before. She has seen people killed before her eyes and has known hardship few people can imagine, and yet she continues to pass through life with a smile on her face. Before people get the wrong idea, Elyse is also in a very serious relationship with her boyfriend Dave, who happens to be a Lieutenant in the U.S. Air Force. Elyse firmly believes that they will be married possibly within the year, and knowing Elyse, I don’t doubt it. She has become an invaluable compliment to our newly formed triumvirate, slipping in to her surrogate sister/mother/friend role quite nicely, always having tissues at hand and always having a smile.
There is also Anna, my Michigan compadre. Anna is certainly not the quietest person I know, and has one of the strongest wills out of any person I know. She is willing to debate on any issue, at any time, and will never back down from a fight. Yet living in such close quarters I have also got to known a softer side of Anna, a caring side, a side that she shields save for those who she cares about. When she reveals it, it means all the more.
I could go on forever. David, a fellow Jew from New Jersey, who is quiet and reserved and yet, it seems, every time he does open his mouth he has something interesting to say, something useful to add, something powerful to note. There is Vira, the strong willed Ukranian who simply does not let the world push her, or her friends, around. There is Kasha, who loves to party, and Monika, who loves to see new things, both so very different yet both so willing to lend their parents’ Polish tongues in order to aid their non-lingual friends. There is Kayla, whose creativity and uniqueness may go unmatched for all time; Joseph, impeccably dressed and a believer in truth; Patrick, who once you realize he is joking, is one of the funniest people you may ever meet. Here I will stop, with apologies to all those I didn’t include, not for lack of being an individual or for lack of an impact on my life, but because my fingers are beginning to swell and I have much more to say.
As much as I have enjoyed the friends I’ve made through the program, it would be wrong to assume that I only hang out with Americans, that I seclude myself in an insular world and do not interact with any Poles. In fact, the opposite is true; the small nature of our American social circle has forced us to expand, and I have become friends with people unlike any I have ever known before.
There is Piotr, who might be one the most adorable human beings I have ever met in my life. Piotr is the kid who always gets teased by his group of friends. Jokes are made at his expense, but he takes it in stride. He always smiles, always does his own thing, always stays positive, and always seems to be looking at the world with the bright eyes of a newborn. Piotr is also extremely respectful of my Judaism, asking me questions about what Jews are like in Poland and truly listening to the answers, curious, eager. Piotr is one of those rare people whom you can see the goodness in their heart.
Izza may be the loudest girl I have ever met in my life. Already physically imposing at the towering height of 6 feet, she is the star of the Warsaw School of Economics Basketball team as well as the star of any room she enters. Unafraid of anything, she is willing to take on any comers. She has taken an especially affinity for Sean and I, popping in to our room to help us with Polish, talk about American politics, or admire how “adorable and cute” she finds Sean and I. Not in the sexual way, but rather in the “I’d like to adopt you and take you home with me” sort of way. Not un-similar to how I feel about Piotr.
There is one particularly interesting girl who lives on our hall who I feel it is necessary to note. Agnieska speaks next to no English. My roommate Sean and I speak minimal, at best, Polish. Yet almost daily Agnieska stops by our room for a chat, and while it takes us 15 minutes to figure out what it is the other is trying to say, there is something so exciting and exhilarating that occurs whenever we connect, whenever we can understand each other. It is almost like a representation of the universal human language, the ability for people to communicate without words and without borders.
While there are certainly more Polish students with whom I have developed a bond, it is important to know that they have, for the most part, been incredibly kind and welcoming to all of the American students. While many of them initially held misconceptions about who we are, together we have grown to reach a better mutual understanding a better mutual trust. Together we have made friends with someone whom we never may have thought possible, and we’ve done it gladly, we’ve done it willingly, we’ve done it well.
I would be remiss, however, if I did not discuss the Warsaw Jewish community. In recent years, my Judaism has waned. I no longer attend services every week, I no longer think about God on a daily basis. While I have kept kosher, that seemed to be almost the final straw of my Jewish upbringing. Yet since being in Warsaw, I have felt a religious resurgence, and the Jewish community is absolutely to credit for that.
The Chief Rabbi of Poland is a man named Rabbi Michael Schudrich. Rabbi Schudrich’s name sometimes receives a mixed reaction in the United States. Originally ordained by the Conservative movement, he later in life went to Yeshiva University to receive an Orthodox Rabbinical degree. When I asked him about this on our first meeting, he was forthright and honest. He felt compelled to try and lead a resurgence of Jewish life in Poland, to devote his time and energy to revive a community that, in his words, was dying but not dead. He wanted to see what he could do. But he felt that he could only accomplish this if he gained the respect and support from the whole community that he needed, and he felt that he could only do this as Orthodox.
I personally have found Rabbi Schudrich to be an ideal individual to lead this community. He is outgoing, personable, and extremely warm and friendly. He immediately welcomed me into his community, and was willing to help me with anything I needed. I also have found him one of the most beautiful prayer and Torah leaders I have ever heard, with a voice that resounds against the walls of the synagogues almost as a cry to those who once inhabited these walls, who once inhabited this country, a reminder that their memory is not lost, a reminder that they have not been erased.
While Rabbi Schudrich has been wonderful, my home away from home in Warsaw is undoubtedly at the Pawlaks. Maciek Pawlak is the assistant Rabbi at the Synagogue as well as the headmaster of the school. He and his wife Hadassah have been nicer to me than I could have imagined. Week after week they have welcomed me into their home for lunch, translating what I could not understand, offering to me whatever it is I could not find. Hadassah, who is one of the smartest women I have ever met, is currently getting her masters in psychology at Warsaw University. She always has something interesting to add, something of note to point out about the world, or about the community, or about Poland.
Maciek was born in Poland, and after meeting Hadassah in Israel and receiving his Rabbinic degree in the U.S., he decided to return, simply because it is home. He is kind hearted and righteous, in the greatest sense of the word, and also has a fascinating Rabbinic mind. He always tries to include me in the conversation, ask me about my thoughts, receive my point of view. He and Hadassah have kept me well fed, physically and spiritually. Together they are raising an absolutely wonderful daughter, Doreen, who will undoubtedly be smart, beautiful, and tri-lingual. I cannot express in words how grateful I have been for their kindness.
During my first Shabbat visit, I also met Yechiel Reisner, head of the Jewish genealogical institute. As I was fascinated with my ancestral history, I gave him a visit at his office. Yechiel then worked tirelessly, both when I was there and after I left, to try and give me some information that could lead me in a good direction, show me wherever it was that I needed to go. He has answered my questions without hesitation. Yet I know that he is doing the same for countless others, dozens of individuals looking for memories of something lost, looking for communities that can’t be found. For them, he may be their last hope. When I asked him what led him to such a career, he responded without hesitation: “My grandparents told good stories. And I listened.” His sense of and commitment to tradition are impressive and unwavering.
Last Friday night, I attended for the first time a “Chavurah” dinner in Warsaw. Chavurah is the Hebrew word for a group of friends, and that is exactly what this dinner was. A motley crew of young Warsavian Jews and young Israeli Jews and one American Jew, varying from the most secular to modern orthodox, sitting around, eating food, saying blessings and telling old Hassidic stories. The stories shifted to a conversation about life, about Judaism, and about identity, and I met some of the most interesting characters I have ever encountered.
There was Maciek, with a Jewish father, who did not find out about his roots until he was 13 and didn’t do anything about it until he was 18, when his twin brother started dating a Jewish girl. Maciek enjoys the traditional nature of Orthodox but, as a homosexual, is struggling to find his place in his community.
There was Moshe, in his mid-20’s, who is the spiritual leader of the chavurah. He pushed me to attempt to define who I was as a Jew without expecting an answer. He asked me questions that he wanted me to ask myself, that he is constantly asking himself, that every Jew should always be asking his or her self. What parts of Judaism mean something to me? What parts do not? What sort of Jew do I want to be? What sort of Jew do I not want to be?
There was Judyta, the organizer of the event, whose profession it is to organize Jewish cultural events in Poland specifically aimed at youth. Yet as insurmountable a task as it seems she faces it head on with chutzpah, trying to help those afraid of connecting and letting them connect, trying to be an olive branch of understanding for those who are having trouble understanding what being a Jew means. She is the first line of attack on bringing people back in, and she does a phenomenal job. She brought me in.
I’ve just given pages describing all the people I’ve met in Warsaw, all the people I know, all the people who are about of this world that is my current reality. Yet it was not until last Shabbat, when I was called to the Torah to give the blessing, when I was called for my Aliyah, did I understand what they meant, what it meant.
Last week, we read the Parsha, or section, of the Torah known as Va’yakhel. This word does not translate directly into English, but comes from the root of the word kahal, which means community. God commands Moses in this chapter to organize the people of Israel into a community, to have them create for themselves something that is greater than themselves. The people of Israel were to make their own support network, bring each other together, bring others close to them in an attempt to feel close.
This is what I have done in Poland. I have created for myself a community. And whether I am known as the funny little Jew, the crazy American, or the transplanted cousin, I feel at home in each of these places. In each of these places, I have created a niche that works, a niche that helps to define who I am. It is not the fact that I gave the blessing that made me a part of their community. It was the face that I stood up and volunteered, made myself known, rose my hand and say "heenaynee," that allowed me to make them a part of mine.
Posted by borovitz at March 6, 2008 01:56 PM