Back in Haifa

I write, or don't, in a few different ways. The first is the most dramatic, I think; I sit down to record a small observation, and that little tidbit blossoms into a gigantic life metaphor, and I post or save my writings with a sensation that I've achieved something. Other times, I'll write and write, reread what I've written (rarely a good sign, for me, since if I'm rereading, it means I've already lost faith in whatever I thought I was expressing), and end up ditching the whole thing for lack of substance. Occasionally, I'll feel the motivation to write, but no subject matter in my mind, so I'll ignore the feeling altogether.

Today is one of those occasions, except I'm not ignoring it. So, I guarantee no great feat of literary greatness, just some thoughts that may or may not come together, in the end.

You've been warned.

Being in Jerusalem, it was easy to forget what's so nice about being in Haifa. I had spent so little time here actually taking in the breathtaking views, amazing weather, and fresh, clean air, that I failed to see the upside to our return. Being back here, though, only makes me lament our having to leave in the first place; spending time here is such a joy, letting hours fall off the clock in sun-drenched conversation, having old friends not spread out across an open campus, but new friends waiting in the expected places. The campus here is isolated and small, it's true, and perhaps one could end up with a severe sense of cabin fever (akin to what we felt during the war).

With the city open, bustling, and just a bus ride away, though, we feel not locked in to a hilltop prison, but rather selectively spending time in a mountain getaway. On one hand, it helps me identify with the closed-community mentality of the ultra-orthodox in Mea Shear'im or the neighborhoods in Brooklyn; to have an isolated community amidst the choice of an outside world, it creates a context to that community, opens up the avenue of choice, and allows for the community to become a vivid thing of beauty. Visitors here, though, become not a nuisance, but an addition; accent pieces to a single-minded whole. By the time we left Jerusalem, the act of learning had become an emotional burden; I tired of going to class, and every minute began dragging on, endlessly. Here, I feel a renewed sense of purpose; I'm speaking more Hebrew than ever outside of class, and I feel that I can actually start to express thoughts with a sense of clarity, albeit sparsely.

So, in a sense, we've come full circle. But what about Shabbat?

Our first Shabbat here was a thrown-together mess; Josh and I hurried to get food on an unset table, serving people who frankly had no interest in a Shabbat experience or participation in the meal. All fine, if that's their choice, but certainly not the kind of table I like to dine at. This weekend, the wonderful Adina and I teamed up for Shabbat, and like the first Shabbat here, it was once again a thrown-together affair. That said, it opened up into a thing of beauty, a table appearing from nothing, dining outside in the cooler evening breeze, pulling chairs from random apartments and food from random refrigerators, and creating a Shabbat table that drew people from different backgrounds and countries. It was a Shabbat table that didn't fall apart before it even got started; in a sense, it started from nothing, and ended up becoming a wee-hours affair. It was an impromptu Shabbat experience that could easily fall apart, but after so much moving, removing, seperation, and anxiety, I think it provided a much-needed calm for everyone at the table.

For the first time in a month and a half, I think, everyone felt settled, normal. There was a sense that we had returned home. This campus was ours, this community, however makeshift, was our own. To be a guest can be a wonderful experience, but sometimes, we unwittingly overstay our welcome; it's only when we leave, when we return to the familiar, that we rediscover what we never knew we lost.

So, yes, despite all my bitching and moaning, I'm really glad to be back here. I feel a sense of calm that I've missed for a long time, and my only regret now is only being back here for such a short time. I'm gearing up for Pardes, though, and an amazing year back in Jerusalem. It will be a good one.