To Latvia we go

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Around Latvia we go

After more than half a year here it was definitely time to venture outside of Riga to
see what else this lovely country has to offer. I've been to other towns in Latvia but have only really seen them from the insides of a bus or a conference room. I wanted to go exploring and exploring I did.

My Latvian friend took my boyfriend and I for a nice little road trip. We started in her seaside town, Jurmala, which is best known as the rich Russian summer vacation spot. From there we drove about 2 hours to Ventspils. Ventspils is another seaside town with an old castle, a port, and amazing playgrounds. We had a traditional Latvian meal of meat, potatoes, pickles, and beer (mostly just pickles and potatoes for me) in a castle restaurant lit mostly by candles. This is one of those towns where the restaurant that should be touristy is actually quite good. We then toured the castle, where the museum docent kept popping up out of nowhere to share new facts. Very sweet but a little creepy in an old castle.

From the castle we went to the seaside. It was a tad windy and cold so we mostly just went to all the playgrounds in eyesight before we got blown off the beach.

We then stopped at every other playground we drove past, left flowers at the graveyard where my friend's grandma was buried, saw an old synagogue that has since become a library, and then that was pretty much what the town had to offer! Yes it was small but goodness it was cute.

On the drive back we decided we had just enough time to make it to Kuldiga, the home of the widest waterfall in Europe. Definitely worth the stop. The waterfall is on the list of top things to see in Latvia and the town should be too because it was a cute one.

On the drive home, in addition to the gorgeous trees and wooden houses that, had I thought about what the houses in Latvia were going to look like, that is exactly what I would have pictured, we also saw another synagogue. Yep, we are everywhere.

It was really a perfect day and just the kind of Latvian adventure I'd been waiting for.

My Tale of 8 Seders

I know this is borderline sacrilegious but I have a confession to make: I really, truly, strongly dislike Passover. To the point where I always swore I would marry a Sephardic Jew just to make those 8 days easier. There is just nothing about that holiday that likes Ashkenazic vegetarians. As far as I’m concerned, this holiday makes Yom Kippur look indulgent. I’m pretty sure (or at least seriously hope) that when the Rabbis began the list of kitniot they didn’t do so with the malicious intent of making all Jews covet thy neighbors’ refrigerators because they were too busy trying to predict the coming of the Messiah to predict the coming of the corn syrup Armageddon. I know there have been a disgusting amount of documentaries warning Americans about our excessive corn consumption and every Passover I consider joining on board because they are right. There is corn in gosh darn everything. During Passover I spend so much time reading nutrition labels and discovering more things I can’t eat that I usually just end up too mentally exhausted and hungry to think of a meal other than potatoes. I’m still so sick of potatoes from my childhood years of thinking that was the only thing you could eat during Passover that they have become an occasion in my life rarer than the Passover holiday. Maybe the Rabbis just really wanted us all to spend 8 days being soviet.

I have had a strong aversion to this holiday since childhood because I was, as my parents like to say, “a pastatarian.” So, not only was I heartbroken that I had to give up the only food group I recognized, flour filled carbs, but I was also always in ski school, which is really just a front for a constant pizza party. So, while my ski school friends chomped on all you can eat pizza and warm cookies, I had to go scrounge for my own lunch, passing all the buffets of tasty pizzas and pastas in favor of the part of the room that no 10 year old would even look at: the baked potato bar. And so, for 8 straight days I lived on 16 straight meals of potatoes with everything I actually wanted just in reach. There was one time when I felt a little bit better about Passover because one of my ski school buddies turned to me and said, “You have to give up bread for 8 days? That’s not so bad, we have to give up TV for a whole month!” When you put it that way, Passover doesn’t seem so bad. If only that’s what Lent actually was…

Anyhoo, so once a year this holiday rolls and once a year I try to find something that will make the holiday bearable. I usually settle on twisting Seder into another Thanksgiving because it starts with my mom cooking an excessive amount of food for an excessive amount of people and ends with a big meal. Of course, I clearly forget what comes in between. That is, until an hour or two into the seder when I can’t figure out why we’re still talking and still not eating. This year, I had that same realization but it was too little too late. Just like I ODed on potatoes as a child I ODed on seders as an adult. Israelis have one, families in the diaspora have 2, and I had 8. Oh yeah, and I cooked for 5 of them. Whoops.

As crazy as I was for participating in 8 seders, I was even crazier for starting my least favorite holiday a day earlier. What can I say, the Welfare Center was having a seder Sunday even though the holiday started Monday night and my love for partying with the elderly far surpasses any negative feelings I have toward Passover.

Actually, this first seder was a perfect model for what was to come. Besides the fact that the words and procedures were obviously the same, what was interesting was that the participant’s behaviors were too. No matter who was leading the seder, where the seder was, or how old the participants were, each seder looked like this: someone stood in the front babbling in a strange conglomeration of languages while everyone else just reached for the food. The biggest difference between the seders was in how cute the little rule-breaking mongrols were. It’s hard to fault babushkas and little kiddies for blatantly ignoring the important part of the gathering when they just look so cute doing it. It’s a lot less cute when it’s teenagers doing the same thing.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Plus, when the old people were totally ignoring the proceedings they were doing so because they were so happy to finally have great company and great food that they couldn’t help but indulge. It was also a lot cuter from my end because I was not the one they were ignoring. To finish it all off they all got up to sing and dance in a way that made me feel like I was in every Judy Dench movie that doesn’t involve royalty. One man came up to me to request “normal music” so he could ask a younger woman to dance. And then they gathered around the piano to sing in harmony. Seriously, the only thing that could have been more perfect was if we knit at the end too. Or if one of them adopted me so I could finally have a Russian babushka that I could visit in the countryside while she made me homemade borscht and tea from the flowers in her garden. (Don’t worry grandparents, I haven’t actually forgotten or betrayed you.)

The first real night of Passover was one of my few out of the community. My friend and fellow American was kind enough to host so I helped prepare the seder plate and lead the “service.” This seder was like all my other holiday celebrations outside of the community, where those who actually observe the holiday are in the vast minority. That means that the majority of people actually want to be there. Also, since most of the information is new to them they actually look mildly interested instead of the usual combination of bored and angry that you’re what’s standing between them and their food. This group was particularly special because even the goyim had made such a habit of going to seder for the past few years that they knew what was going on and wanted to continue the tradition with their own family. I guess there’s more appeal to the holiday when it’s just a seder. The whole thing felt a little foreign and awkward to me at first but I quickly realized that was just because I have never been to a Jewish event where everyone actually listened and I have definitely never had that many people listen to me that attentively for that long. It definitely was not a typical seder for me but a nice one nonetheless.

For the second night of Passover, the other real seder night, the brand new local Moishe house hosted. Moishe house is an international program that gives post college Jews a house and they, in turn, provide the community with Jewish events. So it made a lot of sense that they should host seder. And I’m sure it was a very nice seder but the Riga Jewish community takes Jew time to a whole new level. In my family we have to tell everyone to show up an hour earlier than we actually want them there but here I’m pretty sure you need at least a solid two hours of padding just to get everyone there and then an extra hour to retrieve them from their smoke breaks. You see, when everyone’s late, which they always are, a few people mosey outside to smoke. Just when they’re about to finish smoking the other half of the group decides that they’ve been waiting too long and now’s a good time for them to smoke too. So the first group returns but the second group is outside and the whole cycle starts again. And meanwhile, only half of the people coming are there before 8:45 anyway. So the seder started around 9 and I had just enough time to make it through the first 2 cups of wine before it was time to go to the airport to retrieve my boyfriend. It’s probably for the best because I wasn’t even half way through my seder marathon anyway.

The next night marked my boyfriend’s first day in this lovely city and his first chance for a seder. He is such a good sport that he more or less willingly agreed to spend his first day helping me cook and his first night hosting a seder. At least he had time to see the important part of Riga, the giant market, before we went to work. We prepared a lovely meal even though I think my boyfriend started to regret his decision to help when he found out my “oven” was really a glorified toaster my stove has a mind of it’s own. Luckily I’ve become an expert at cooking full meals with what is basically an easy bake oven and my boyfriend is a great sport so it all came together just in time. In terms of the actual seder part it was all a bit of a hodgepodge. I brought together a lot of people who don’t know each other and don’t know much about the holiday, so there was a lot of introducing to do. I tend to get overwhelmed when I have that much ‘splaining to do, and I get really overwhelmed trying to explain Passover because there are so many stories, laws, and songs that I never know where to start. Plus I wanted to keep it short and sweet because, again, I’m not used to people actually paying attention to me. Luckily I had an excellent audience who cared enough to ask questions and by the end I’m pretty sure they understood the important parts: slaves, plagues, songs, and wine. I did learn a very important lesson about having non-Jews at seder: you have to make it abundantly clear that, while it is usually nice to bring food or gifts, this is one holiday where it’s probably nicer to bring nothing at all. It takes years of training to understand half the holiday’s dietary laws so just coming to eat up the matzah I didn’t want anyway is really the best gift you could give me.

I finally got a break at the halfway mark, which was good because the cooking had barely begun. The community has learned two very important things about me which they rightfully used to their advantage: they know I love to cook and they know I don’t say no to helping them. So, when they asked me to cook 3 seders for 3 days for about 30 people each I said, “kaneshna” (of course) before realizing what I was saying kaneshna to. All I can say is, thank goodness for prepared food sections and leftovers. And very helpful boyfriends, community members, and, most importantly, the welfare center’s real people size oven.

Before the cooking began I went on my weekly trip to the kindergarten, not thinking about the fact that of course that meant another seder. I even got to help prepare the food for that one too, just to make sure I was ready for the weekend. As all things are in the kindergarten, this one was adorable and probably the best behavior I’ve seen at a community event.

After that lovely morning it was time to get to work. We peeled, chopped, and roasted enough root vegetables to last through about 7 more seders and made enough chocolate covered matzah to satisfy the small army of children. And after preparing 3 cartons of hard-boiled eggs (there was no way I was hosting an event without offering protein to the meatless folk), a salad, french fries, chopped up fruit, homemade charoset, and warming up 3 animals, we were ready to go. As if that were not enough, it was also time for me to lead the seder. For 30 russian speaking teens. Who had already been through an hour and a half of a program. And were staring at the piping hot, tasty smelling meal that they were not yet allowed to eat. I made them a haggadah with Russian transliteration and pictures and tried to use as much Russian as I could summon to keep them at least mildly entertained but, as we all know, there are only 2 things on teenagers’ minds and food is one of them. So, if ever there was a time for short and sweet, this was it.

We made it through everything and what happened next was the most confusing part: when they were finally allowed to eat they did a nice job ripping everything apart and I am positive I saw them put food in their mouths but, when they all had the same epiphany about a few minutes into the meal that it was time to go, I looked around expecting the usual teenage wreckage of a lot of empty bowls, finding instead what looked like more food than we had started with. I think I found a new species of teenager. At least I had extra leftovers and therefore less work for the next 2 seders.

The next day I woke up early to cook for the kids club because I was told to be ready for 30 kids at 11:30. Of course, it was no surprise that when I got there the person leading the seder was no where to be found. And so, 11:30 turned into 12:30 which somehow turned into 2:30. And at 2:30 it was time to start the seder. Not eat, but start the seder. At least I wasn’t leading this one because this was the hungriest and cutest group of rule breakers yet. The whole thing was exactly like the babushka seder and just as enjoyable and cute: a game of who could reach the food without getting caught, and I’m pretty sure they all won. Again, they kind of ate but barely made a dent. Everything about this community confuses me.

I went home for a short rest because I was attending another community seder that night, this time for the young families. This was my third seder led by the community’s Rabbi and my fifth in Russian. At that point it didn’t matter that I barely know the language because I knew exactly what was happening. This was by far one of the funniest seders, however, because the adults knew they wouldn’t be cute if they snuck food so when they were ready to they just said, “davai,” (enough), the Rabbi shrugged (he’d been through enough of people not listening to him to know the drill) and the eating commenced. He tried to lead the seder again but the same shtick happened and, once again, there was food. We left before the 3^rd cup of wine because it was pretty clear the seder wasn’t happening anyway, my boyfriend was still jet-lagged, and I was falling over from too much cooking and too many seders. It was nice while it lasted.

The next morning was the final seder I had to cook for but I was not actually invited, which at this point, was probably for the best. I introduced the teenagers to Matzah Pizza to go with the same salad, root vegetables, chocolate covered matzah, and fruit we had all been living off of for days. I handed the food off and headed out into the sunlight (we have that here!) and swore off seders. At least for another year.

Saturday, April 26, 2014

I think I just won the Jewish Lottery...

This whole fellowship seems to be a series of fortunate events. To the point where I should probably pick up gambling at one of the seven casinos next to my apartment because I’m clearly on some sort of a hot streak. I mean, come on. When else will I have a job that sends me to live in Europe and traipse around America, Israel, Tallinn, and one of my absolute favorite cities in Europe? I hope the answer is always and forever, but, just in case, I’ll buy my lottery ticket now thank you very much.

The reason for my giddiness and feelings of extreme fortune: right after the pleasant surprise that was spring camp I was also pleasantly surprised that JDC sent me to a program in a city that stole my heart long ago, Vienna. When I was first interviewed for placements in Europe, my internal dialogue went something like this: “woo! I might get this fellowship! I mean, it’s not the middle of nowhere Africa but it’s near Vienna!” I never actually thought I’d have the time to go to Vienna, but I liked that it was close and theoretically an option. And then, suddenly, not only was it an option, but also it was actually happening and it was part of my job. I’ll take it.

The stars aligned because JDC works in a lot of places on a lot of projects so any connection to them means you’re always in the right place at the right time. This time (and, as far as I’m concerned, every time), the right place was Vienna thanks to JDC Regions. JDC Regions is a branch of the organization that brings together Jewish leaders from all over Europe to strengthen their leadership skills, community development work, and international connections. They have a number of seminars with different names and purposes in different cities, and this was one of “Generation Next’s” productions, which focuses on leadership training. So, about 30 Jews from Europe joined me to become better leaders for our Jewish communities. Some, like me, were not from the region in which they work, and others had been involved in their communities their whole lives. The conglomeration of Jews from and representing different areas reminded me of my serious identity crisis, and I could tell I was in good company. The question “where are you from,” started to feel as overwhelmingly confusing as if you ask a senior, “where are you going next year,” and as complicated as if you asked me summarize my thesis in a ten second interpretive dance. Here’s why: I know I’m from Maryland but when I’m talking to Europeans I have to say “outside Washington, D.C..” because Maryland isn’t New York or LA so it doesn’t get a lot of press in this part of the world. But, if I find out my audience knows the US, then I have to quickly amend my answer, lest I offend someone by pretending that Maryland is DC. After that intro, I want to include that I’m a temporary representative of Riga. I usually just say the city’s name thinking someone out here might know it’s not part of Russia (or at least not at the time of this blog post). All too often, however, people give me a blank stare, so then I have more clarification to do. I have to explain that Riga is in Latvia. And then, while all of that is floating around in my head I get so wrapped up and discombobulated that I wonder if I should start saying I’m living in Georgia (the state, not the country. Yay for more geographical confusion!), because I spent four lovely years there and have planned another 6. By the end of all this rambling both the listener (assuming they’re still there) and I are totally dazed and confused. I guess it’s better to have too many homes than too few, but that doesn’t make me any less lost.

Anyhoo, so after all those long introductions we had a bunch of sessions on leadership in the “New World.” Aka, how can we use technology and creativity to be better leaders. We learned about fun new websites, I finally learned what a hashtag is, we painted pretty pictures, and I saw this great short TED talk: http://www.ted.com/talks/derek_sivers_how_to_start_a_movement

I also got to meet young Jews from Jewish communities that most people told me are old and dying out. Apparently not! When I went to Warsaw and Poland we only saw the Holocaust memorial sights. In general, most trips to Eastern Europe focus on the death and destruction, painting these towns as long gone memories of Jews past. While it is absolutely essential to learn about and see what the Holocaust left (or often, didn’t leave), it is just as important to see what is still there and what is thriving. People are still living and they’re living proud Jewish lives. If we spent even a fraction of our Poland trip with the current Jewish community we would actually be doing something to support them. After all, you can’t support people you don’t know exist.

All in all, it was wonderful to spend Shabbat and this seminar with interesting people in one of my favorite places. And, of course, I had just enough time to go to my favorite restaurants, wander through a great market, have incredible gelato, try Sri Lankan food, and go for a bike ride. So, just any other perfect trip for me.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

I survived Spring Camp. And all I got was this lousy T-Shirt. And a boatload of fun.

When JDC first told me to interview for the Baltic placement I thought they were crazy. Mostly because I didn’t think I wanted to move to the Baltics. Then I actually interviewed for the position and when my interviewer/future boss mentioned “Jewish camp” it all made sense. After all, my CV kind of looks like this: camp, teaching, camp, teaching, camp, World Market (it was a one time stint. Glad that’s over.) So I came here knowing I would go to camp but thinking that would mean another summer living in cabins, swimming in lakes, and eating s’mores as a camp planner who is a tad too old (and experienced) to be a counselor herself. Well, just like everything else here, camp was quite a surprise. Not only was there also a spring camp but it’s usually covered in snow, we live in a hotel, they don’t have graham crackers so they definitely don’t have s’mores, and, oh, biggest surprise, I was going to be a counselor! I knew I’d started to act younger since working here but I had no idea I had become that young! I can still hang around a playground with the best of them but in general I’m much more like an 80 year old than an 18 year old. After all, since living on my own I’ve picked up knitting, baking for/forcefeeding youngin’s as I tell them they’re too skinny, and going to bed when the sun goes down. But apparently it was time for counselor Hannah to revive herself for one last hurrah. And it was time for counselor Hannah to do so in Russian. I was scared and my bosses were petrified. But the bus came and I got on it.

So before leaving for camp I said my goodbyes, a little worried I was actually saying goodbye forever. A little dramatic, maybe, but I couldn’t quite fathom making it out alive after a week of having the energy of a 10 year old while being fed camp food, living in a hotel with no space or freedom, and muddling through all of it in a language I still can’t quite figure out. Being a counselor was hard enough work in America, when the campers theoretically speak my language, but it seemed near impossible now that I knew the luxury of living on my own and the perks of being a camp leader. But, to camp I went.

The first day was pre-camp, which was basically like any other seminar, so I felt kind of at home and mostly exhausted. As always, there was a lot of sitting, a lot of listening to and talking in Russian (or in my case, picking up some of the words, confusing most of the words with other words, and “talking” while everyone stares at me blankly because even though I’m absolutely saying the right words apparently I’m speaking another language. On the bright side, I made up my own language!), and cookie eating. Really, the reason for these seminars is the cookies. They buy them by the kilo and eat them by the handfuls. I know that Jewish events usually revolve around food but these events are a whole new story. First of all, the meals are the least important part. We go hours without eating, sometimes not being blessed with dinner until after midnight. Instead of tasty meals and delights everything revolves around cookies that come in massive boxes and taste like boxes. They’re on all of the seminars, in all of the meetings, and all over the floor of the community kitchen. The madrichim and teenagers shovel them while I watch, so distracted by how bad the cookies are, how many everyone’s eaten, and how quickly they ate them that I can barely focus on the conversation I was already struggling to understand. At least I have constant entertainment. And they have a constant sugar high.

Anyhoo, so I made it through the first day, tired and incredibly nervous. But still kicking. The next morning didn’t do much to calm my nerves because everyone was running around on a mission while I stood lost, trying to figure out what memo I had missed. I think that in addition to many of the other Soviet traditions and ways of life they inherited they also inherited some understanding of efficiency, organization, and ability to prepare for enemies that kicks in when a small army is coming them and, as a foreigner without those genes, the best I could do was stop and stare at the whirlwind around me. Before I could figure out what was going on or how to help the bus was there and the army was fast approaching. I immediately knew this camp was different than what I was used to because the first plan of attack was to check all of the teenagers’ suitcases for harmful substances (caffeine, alcohol, or anything else I wanted to confiscate, like candy…) I think security was better there than it is in the DC airport. So, props on that one.

After some of the logistics were settled it was time for opening ceremonies. That entire first day is a blur because I always seemed to be late or lost. I couldn’t figure out how to get somewhere on time because the programs ended and began at the same second. I’ve also never been so quiet because I thought that since my co-madrich knew Russian he should lead the peulot (activities) while I played more of a Vana White role. Eventually I realized the campers could understand my English if I spoke really really slowly, and that, in fact, the blank stares on their faces were not confusion or boredom, just sheer teenagereness. That, like everything else, took some getting used to. So, the only things I really remember are getting lassoed by a rope of sausages and speaking in Russian in a skit.

By the next morning I was beginning to get with the program, especially because every day was pretty similar. We woke up, spent 15 minutes playing games as a group, 15 minutes dancing, then sang Modeh Ani, Shemah, and Hatikvah.

After the morning ritual came breakfast, the only edible meal of the day, and the time for me to stock up on the hard boiled eggs that I would need to make it through the day. Camp food is bad but this was a nightmare. I think the kitchen decided the best way to deal with vegetarians was to starve us out or force us to convert because the vegetarian options ranged from a few slimy vegetables (they tried to serve me fried cucumbers. That did NOT go over well), fried potatoes to go with french fries (because that makes sense), or the mashed potatoes from the first day repurposed (aka fried or browned). I did get about two pieces of fish during the week, only to find out that apparently salmon can be chewy and you can serve white fish covered in cheese… The funny thing is that even through the starvation I was never once tempted by the meat because that looked just as unappealing. So instead I became the crazy girl with the eggs. And it was worth it.

After breakfast came 30 minutes to meet a new madrich, aka we played the game mafia. Apparently this is the only game they know or they just really like pretending to sleep and kill each other because this game was as over-requested and over-played as any Justin Bieber jam. Mafia and “ride that pony” were absolute staples that no one ever seemed to get sick of. Unlike with Justin Bieber songs I was happy for the repetition because it meant playing a game I actually knew.

After those wake up games came a rotating schedule of peulot (Jewish educational games the madrichim planned), Israeli dancing, singing, Judaism with the rabbi, inedible meals, an evening program, madrich time, and, my personal favorite, “Laila Tov.” Every day had a different theme that related back to “Me and my Jewish world.” So the first day was the Jewish lifecycle, then me and my country, Jews in the Diaspora, anti-semitism Israel and Tikkun Olam. I’m impressed by how educational camp was. Not only were two hours a day dedicated to learning during vacation but I think they actually learned something. Strange.

The evening programs were things like Jeopardy, (except they don’t actually know what Jeopardy is), make your own skit, or rotating stations where the groups visited different characters who gave them different tasks. No matter what the program was, they always involved the most elaborate of costumes. I watched madrichim transform into angry babushka in a matter of minutes. Usually the costumes related to the project, but sometimes they just kind of appeared. Apparently if you don’t wear a silly hat or jacket the program just won’t work.

The most elaborate and confusing costumes came every night during “Laila Tov.” To send the wee ones to bed the camp gathered to watch a chapter of a “continuing” story. I put the word continuing in quotations because the only thing that really connected the story was the fact that there was always the same princess and strangely mustached man. Other than that, there were new characters every day: bananas, cats, spongebobs, and smurfs, just to name a few. I have never been so happy to not know the language because as ridiculous as all the characters were, it was even more ridiculous when you didn’t have any idea why they were there or why they were dancing. The highlight of my camp experience was when I was blessed to watch it all from on stage one night as the butt of a horse.

The other personal highlight was the discoteka. This is particularly ironic because camp dances were the bane of my existence as a camper and counselor. There was nothing fun about groups of kids and teenagers awkwardly trying to pick each other up in a dark gym while bad music raged. Dances were uncomfortable and unnecessary to the point where I preferred a dank and dirty bathroom. At Aviv, however, camp dances were finally fun! The music was a mix of American pop, American oldies that most Americans don’t really know or dance to, and some incredible Russian jams about “tea and sugar” and dancing with your elbows. I raved, I danced, and I jumped around so much I’m still having trouble walking. And it was worth it.

So, all in all, I’m still getting over the exhaustion and the cold but not only did I survive, I actually had fun. I guess the surprises continue.

And now, an ode to my wonderful group:

Oh and I invented a fun game: i spy with my little eye WAY too many selfies. How many can you find in each picture? Welcome to my life with teenagers.