January Reflections

During Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, I traveled to the Western Wall bearing a letter to G-d. As I descended the worn steps, the golden sun reflected on the balustrade with surprising ferocity. The euphony of the muezzin's call for prayer met my ears as I saw ultra-Orthodox men descend the steps in somber processions. On the women's side of the mechitza, I found myself isolated in a sea of penitent Jews, seeking G-d's forgiveness for the year's transgressions. In search of the unattainable, I expressed my deepest desire in my letter. Curiously, the message could not be more concise: I requested that G-d save my family, my people, and the State of Israel.

That I was placing such importance on a custom as trivial as putting a piece of paper in a stone wall reflects the nature of my stay in Israel and my relationship with Judaism. On the one hand, my upbringing defies categorization: traditional albeit irreligious, I am the epitome of a hypocritical interaction between religiosity and modernity. On the other hand, rather than embracing my idiosyncratic relationship with Judaism, I chose to participate in a program that would routinely remove me from my comfort zone. In an attempt to embrace more stringent Jewish practices, I attended countless Shabbat services, Torah study sessions, and group lectures. After flirtatiously approaching a religious awakening, I have instead veered in the direction of deep spiritual discomfort.

During years of struggling with familial problems, my belief in G-d has vacillated between blunt skepticism and tentative embracement. Although some are blessed with unwavering belief, I struggle constantly to keep my few religious tenets afloat. To the myopic observer, Israel seems an ideal setting for one to acquire a more thorough understanding of G-d. Instead, the conflicts engulfing the region only serve to clarify the severe problems with organized religion. Jerusalem, a deceptive utopia for the pious, hides beneath its golden mountains virulent hatred for the unknown. Let alone the current conflict between Muslims and Jews, I need only to look within my religion to find the effects of bigotry and intolerance. My secularity, Zionism, and gender relegate me to a position of inferiority within my own religion which impedes me from finding a niche within Judaism.

As I reach a pivotal point in the year, I find myself reflecting upon the purpose and ramifications of my stay in Israel. Although the purpose of my spending a year in Israel was to enrich myself religiously, I have yet to establish a concrete belief system. Even the vocabulary I use to describe this experience is inadequate. "Trip" sounds temporary and unremarkable, "vacation" is simply fallacious, and "sabbatical" denies the work I've dedicated to this country. It seems impossible that I have approached the midpoint in my trip but have yet to discover what it means to me.