Today I washed windows from approximately 9:40 AM to 3:00 PM.
I had a half hour break around 10:30 and then took about 40 minutes for lunch. Other than that it was just me, the squeegee and a bucket of tepid suds. Top be honest, it was a very nice day--satisfying work with instant results, I was able to be outside a lot, I listened to music and had some alone time which is always nice around here. As I wiped the dust and cobwebs from the glass, I couldn't help but be struck by the symbolism of this task. Here I was, at a peace and reconciliation center, making sure that people on the inside could see outwards clearly. Maybe I am reading into it too much. As I stood cleaning, I thought about what other members of my graduating college class were doing right at this moment, picturing some of my friends in grown up, formal, work clothing, sitting at desks with their work email accounts. I thought about those of my friends traveling, working in coffee shops, as English teachers, nannies, secretaries, volunteers in other capacities. When you've been in school for as long as you can remember, it's pretty impossible to accurately envision post-college life. Sometimes I still wonder about when this limbo part ends and "real life" begins. At so many different points in my life, from camp to college to travel, I have sought out intimate communities that provide some sort of "bubble" that separates me from what feels like the rest of the world and contains me within its social network and daily life. I don't quite know what to make of this but it's something I've been mulling over for a while.
There's something about this season. It seems that every year the fall brings change for me, both predictable and unexpected, connecting me and my life with the season in which I was born. As my mother always tells me when I'm upset around this time: "Everything happens in the fall." Indeed, it would appear that this time of year in which the old growth dies as the earth steadies itself for the coming months of cold has always been a time that represents change for me, sometimes tumultuous and sometimes meticulously planned. Though spring is traditionally thought of as the time of birth, new life and new beginnings, it's not a coincidence that the Jewish new year happens in the fall, when the sunshine and bounty of summer give way for something else entirely. Perhaps, I'm not talking about renewal but of cleansing, a clearing away of what is no longer necessary and a moving on from the sunny, happy days of summer to a time of introspection and focused reflection. If praxis is the dialectic between acting and reflecting, autumn is a time for me when the latter becomes dominant and I can't help but self-reflect. While this can be overwhelming and often painful, I have come to the understanding that it is this time that allows my to approach the rest of the year with passion and motivation.
Every time I sit down to write it feels like a whole year has passed. Since last I wrote, I spent a day with Corrymeela's schools worker leading activities in an integration program with ninety 5-6 year olds, worked with an SIT group, the program I came here with, spent time with an integrated group of fifty 13-14 year olds from nine schools in the town of Ballymena, went to Belfast on my off time where I spent time with a former volunteer from Turkey and saw some stellar Irish music on the Falls Road and met some awesome Hungarians who gained respect for me when I told them that my favorite Hungarian dish is gumbotz (thanks, Gizi!). It's completely amazing how I stay in one place and the world just comes to me! Sometimes I feel like the work being done here is so important, that my role is awesome and that this is the best place ever. Sometimes I feel completely useless, bored and that I will literally strangle the next kid that rings the worship bell in the middle of the day. Most of the time I am somewhere in the middle, which is probably how it should be, I suppose, though bad moods are something you have to get over pretty quickly when working with groups.
Nancy, a mid-term volunteer from the US who happens to be the mother of one of my brother's friends from college, left Corrymeela under less than ideal circumstances, which really affected our community of volunteers. It's really amazing how quickly everyone's role in the group has solidified such that the loss of one person means so much to everyone, often regardless of personal relationship. I'll miss Nancy, and the show must go on.
A highlight of last week was Monday night, when Valentin and I cooked community dinner for the rest of the volunteers, Aileen, Tim and Tiff, Paul (the center director)'s family, Andy, Mary Lynn and AJ, everyone's favorite resident five-year-old. Because of the fact that several of the dishes I grew up on are German, we decided to make schnitzel (chicken breast breaded and pan fried) and cabbage salad. Despite the kitchen's denial of our request for beer (dry site schmy site!) we had a great time--I cut up the cabbage very thin, added some lemon juice, salt and pepper and called it a day while Roland hammered the chicken and Valentin dipped it in flour, egg and bread crumbs. Though the house smelled like schnitzel for about five days afterwards, it was so nice to cook for everyone and take pleasure in their enjoyment of our food.
We also celebrated Jeni (my roommate)'s birthday last week. She turned 20, making Valentin our lone teenager, and we threw her a Batman-themed party in homage to her favorite movie. I had spent a while making batman masks for everyone and batman symbols, which we put all over the reception area of Coventry (the building where we live). We've decided to keep them up until Halloween, so for now the building is very batted up! Speaking of which, I also got an awesome package from my mom for Halloween, which included a Dorothy costume complete with ruby slippers and Toto too, as well as some vital accoutrements, such as temporary tattoos, fake spiders and other essentials. It was the best--everyone gathered around to oooh and aah and I am trying to drum up support for everyone to go as someone from the Wizard of Oz. Jeni and Michaela are already fighting over the Wicked Witch, but as long as Roland is a flying monkey I'll be happy.
Sara's birthday is coming up on Sunday, followed two weeks later by mine! The wind whips the changing leaves as my 23rd year comes to a close and I look forward to a 24th full of learning, growing and renewal.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
At Long Last!
Photos! It only took me 36224725 hours of frustration with the stupid HP software my computer came with to realize it's useless! Thanks, Picasa and Google for saving my sanity and allowing my pictures to go public. For those of you just tuning in, I am spending a year in Northern Ireland, volunteering at Corrymeela Center for peace and reconciliation, which has so far involved lots of doing dishes, playing with little kids (some cute, some not so much), and listening to cool people talk about some crazy shit that's gone down. In any case, if a picture is worth a thousand words then this album is worth 155,000 words! Winner!
Click on this sentence to view the photos (it's what they call a "link"--this is for you, Savta and Grandpa).
Hope you're all well and staying out of trouble (or at least not getting caught;).
xox
Monday, October 4, 2010
Ignorance
Another week, another series of events, experiences and activities that make me feel as if I've been here for years. I hung out and slept a lot on Tuesday, following our family group, community week and our day at Knocklayd. I then went to the pub with four other LTVs, which was nice, if fairly short, owing to the fact that Ballycastle's approximately 14 pubs all close at 11 on weekdays. Awesome. In any case, I ended up going to Belfast the next day, catching a ride with a community member and spending the day on Wednesday just wandering the streets, checking out our old haunts in South Belfast (Clement's was as awesome as I remembered!) and relishing being around lots of strangers I didn't have to introduce myself to! A few of the other LTVs spent their time off camping, biking and being in nature--it's funny to think that I have to recharge by heading to a big city and being in an urban environment with concrete and bustle and noise. Corrymeela is by far the most rural place I've ever lived, and I really miss being in or just outside of a major city, though I am enjoying the alternate opportunities living in such a gorgeous place provides. I met up with Nancy, an MTV, and we saw a very interesting documentary as part of Belfast Age Awareness Week entitled Gen Silent, which examined the crisis faced by aging LGBT people. The film followed several gay, lesbian and transgender senior citizens as they try to negotiate placement in senior care facilities when the people entrusted with their lives may have serious prejudice that sometimes goes as far as trying to "cure" the seniors in their care. Many older people in the LGBT community even find themselves going back in the closet to ensure that they receive unbiased care, including couples that pretend to be non-romantic when one visiting each other in nursing homes. It was an American film that took place entirely in Boston and its suburbs, but was especially poignant to watch in Northern Ireland, where, in my opinion, the culture is much more conservative and repressive of LGBT issues. Even being in the audience was unusual in that I was around more openly gay people than I had been possibly in my entire time in Ireland. As much as I enjoy being here and as secure as I am in (most of) my multiple identities, the film also articulated issues for me about inclusion, exclusion, categorization and bias that have not been at the forefront of my mind for a while as I try to focus on acclimating to this community and surrounding. This was especially striking during a conversation the other day with a few other LTVs about Christmas. I discussed the experience of feeling excluded from Christmas as a child, wishing I could have a Christmas tree, lights, Santa Claus and took it a step further by suggesting that the length of time and degree to which Christmas is celebrated excludes many people that live on the margins of expected societal and cultural norms. The four other people I was talking with agreed that Christmas was way too commercialized, and as a result of the general detachment from the religious aspect of the holiday, it was open to anyone who wanted to celebrate it. Therefore, I, as a Jew, was excluding myself by choosing not to participate in Christmas, and that I was always invited to celebrate Christmas in a non-religious manner (i.e. tree, lights, etc.). How could I explain to them that a sign that says "Happy Holidays" doesn't mean anything to me when it's up two weeks after the minor holiday of Hanukkah and colored in red and green? Can that really be considered an act of inclusion? Partly because I wasn't in a very serious frame of mind and partly because four people were in agreement without me, my attempts to represent my point of view were framed in a joking, lighthearted manner. I tried making an analogy to a group of popular kids in school that invite you to hang out with them, provided you change the way you dress and other representations of your personality. The fact is, though, that I couldn't draw a comparison to something that a group of middle class people of European descent would be comparably excluded from. When I suggested that gay people are another group marginalized from the holiday, one girl disagreed strongly. I stated how I felt, that the mainstream definition of a family and togetherness as being exclusively heterosexual is concentrated and especially emphasized around the Christmas season, and the fact that many people, align themselves against/don't like gay people/homosexuality becomes very clear (to me and others on the outside) during the Christmas season. One girl became very offended by my characterization that "many people don't like gays," saying that her sister is gay and that she's found more acceptance than not in a very conservative society. The others piped in with the myriad of gay people they know who love Christmas and therefore if someone feels excluded it's just their own fault. I said that while I couldn't speak to her sister's experience, I know that in the US the number of places where gay people can live an open lifestyle without having to obscure their identity to most people is limited, and that I was not saying that no gay people like Christmas, but rather that the perception of the holiday as being inclusive is, in many cases, misguided.
In any case, I the Christmas conversation came to a close, but it wasn't until the following night that I realized how affected I had been by it. As we sat around a lovely bonfire, one of the people who had taken part in the conversation spoke brought up the subject, saying I had been "complaining" about Christmas and something about my being bitter about the holiday. Not wanting to be misrepresented, I reiterated how much I like some aspects of the season, such as the trees, the lights and the music, but that I couldn't help but feel excluded by something that almost everyone else takes part in except for me and a handful of others. The team started piping up with the "you do it to yourself" spiel, until someone else in the group (who happens to be gay but isn't out to most people here) called them on their crap and expressed their frustration with placing the blame on those in the minority. "It's not a choice," this person said, "and I hate it when everyone says that it is when really it would require you to give something up in order to join in." Hearing someone else validate my point of view as reasonable was a wake up call to me. It was only then that I realized how much I had been doubting myself, thinking about whether or not I was doing this to myself. I have always been fortunate to live in exceptionally open-minded, accepting places, in which there was an awareness about issues of inclusion and exclusion, particularly in terms of religion and sexual identity. Having people I like and respect tell me that my feelings of exclusion as a member of a minority religion/culture were my own fault had been so unusual for me that I didn't know what to do with the feeling at the time. I am hoping to have another, more focused conversation about the issue at some point, having thought about my feelings and position. Hopefully it can be a learning experience for people other than myself.
It seems that opinions about foreign cultures are held on to for dear life whether or not they are based on experience. A few days later I was talking with another LTV and somehow the issue of Mormons came up. She had read several books about the early church (read: polygamy) and was suddenly saying all these things about the modern church, how some Mormons are still polygamous, how they "propagate" (yes, she used this word) because they believe you need a number of spirit children to get into heaven--I didn't even know what she meant--and how demeaned women are within the belief system. I related my experience of living with and surrounded by very devoted members of the Church for a year, having had many conversations and asked many questions about their beliefs and come to have a lot of respect for the way in which many people of this faith live their lives with great integrity and care for their children. I told her about how people found to be polygamous are excommunicated from the Church and that the lifestyle is in no way acceptable within the modern structure. This girl kept referring to books she had read and "articles on the internet," because clearly, reading about something on the internet is waaaaay more informative than asking many people, over a long period of time, whose lives are devoted to the religion, specifically about their beliefs. I would never read a book written by someone who left her hometown for having a negative experience and then her life in her hometown, thinking that my understanding was more informed based on this book I had read. Why hold on to this? I'm not claiming to be a theological scholar by any means, but seriously? You're going to argue with me about whether Mormons are still polygamous when I lived five minutes from BYU? So frustrating.
And truly, the icing on the cake came yesterday when I went with Valentin, Sara and Anthony, volunteers from Germany, Hungary and Ghana, respectively, to hang out in Derry for the day. After a beautiful, scenic bus and train ride, we arrived in the middle of town and started walking around Shipquay Street, the main drag within the old city walls. As we passed by a seasonal Halloween store, we notice, among the costumes for kids to dress up like a pirate, a policeman or a skeleton, a Gestapo costume. Now, just to be clear, this wasn't a soldier's uniform that happened to look like a Nazi; rather, the label read "Gestapo" and the suit consisted of a grey uniform with a black hat and boots and a red armband (sans swastika--really?? That's the line they draw?). The four of us stopped walking and Valentin and I in particular were absolutely speechless. Part of me felt like crying while another part felt like breaking the window and a third part just wanted to keep walking and pretend I had not seen it. Yet, knowing myself, I knew that I could not pretend I had not seen it, nor was I willing to release emotion then and there. Of course, being incapable of keeping my mouth shut (for better or for worse), I walked in the store. I asked the older man behind the counter if this was his shop and he said yes. I mentioned that he had a Gestapo costume in the window and he turned around to hand me one to buy. No, no, I said, I just wanted to let you know that I find the costume very offensive. He put the package back on the shelf, shrugged his shoulders and said "that's just the way it is here. Sorry, love, that's just the way it is." Before I opened up with my whole life story, I just told him again how offensive it is and walked out. Valentin and I recalled the episode a few years ago when Prince Harry dressed up like a Nazi at a Halloween party and he noted that he could not understand how anyone could have a sense of humor about this, which made me think more about the costume. Who would buy such an outfit? Who would want to wear it? I concluded that it would either be someone who somehow thought it was funny, or someone who didn't know what Gestapo meant and just thought they were buying a soldier's uniform. Which was worse? An offensive sense of humor and poor judgement or complete ignorance to something so recent, significant and threatening? What was the thought behind the marketing? One of the effects was that it made an integral figure in mass murder colloquial and insignificant. I reflected on how scary this process is of forgetting just enough of the real meaning to make us ignorant on a daily basis to horrific, violent events that have shaped the world and our lives. While I knew that telling this shopkeeper how I felt would not cause him to take the item off the I think I would have felt a sense of self betrayal had I not said anything. At the same time, if there had been a costume in the window of an IRA volunteer or an RUC (notoriously sectarian police force in Northern Ireland prior to the peace process) officer, the display would have lasted about five seconds before people came out to demand its sale stopped. What did he mean when he said "this is the way things are here"? That people in Northern Ireland only care about their own tragedies? That offending people doesn't matter if they're not from around here? Or, most likely, that being offensive doesn't matter if the only person giving you shit for it is a tourist from New York who wouldn't be a potential customer anyway. Though I'm sure that some might say I am too sensitive, politically correct or naive, I don't feel that I am overreacting in any way. The bottom line is that seeing that costume made me feel more than uncomfortable, it hurt me to think that the Holocaust, or any genocide for that matter, is so unimportant to people that they would dress up as its perpetrator for fun.
Living in a small, diverse (Christian) community in a small, socially conservative country with many people who have been sheltered from conflict other than their own has its ups and downs. I am glad I'm here to have these conversations with people about Christmas, to share my experiences with others and have others share with me, but sometimes it's hard to do this much learning and teaching. This weekend I am working with the SIT group, the study abroad program that brought me to Northern Ireland and to Corrymeela for the first time. Should be fun and exciting and interesting to share where they are on their educational journey.
In any case, I the Christmas conversation came to a close, but it wasn't until the following night that I realized how affected I had been by it. As we sat around a lovely bonfire, one of the people who had taken part in the conversation spoke brought up the subject, saying I had been "complaining" about Christmas and something about my being bitter about the holiday. Not wanting to be misrepresented, I reiterated how much I like some aspects of the season, such as the trees, the lights and the music, but that I couldn't help but feel excluded by something that almost everyone else takes part in except for me and a handful of others. The team started piping up with the "you do it to yourself" spiel, until someone else in the group (who happens to be gay but isn't out to most people here) called them on their crap and expressed their frustration with placing the blame on those in the minority. "It's not a choice," this person said, "and I hate it when everyone says that it is when really it would require you to give something up in order to join in." Hearing someone else validate my point of view as reasonable was a wake up call to me. It was only then that I realized how much I had been doubting myself, thinking about whether or not I was doing this to myself. I have always been fortunate to live in exceptionally open-minded, accepting places, in which there was an awareness about issues of inclusion and exclusion, particularly in terms of religion and sexual identity. Having people I like and respect tell me that my feelings of exclusion as a member of a minority religion/culture were my own fault had been so unusual for me that I didn't know what to do with the feeling at the time. I am hoping to have another, more focused conversation about the issue at some point, having thought about my feelings and position. Hopefully it can be a learning experience for people other than myself.
It seems that opinions about foreign cultures are held on to for dear life whether or not they are based on experience. A few days later I was talking with another LTV and somehow the issue of Mormons came up. She had read several books about the early church (read: polygamy) and was suddenly saying all these things about the modern church, how some Mormons are still polygamous, how they "propagate" (yes, she used this word) because they believe you need a number of spirit children to get into heaven--I didn't even know what she meant--and how demeaned women are within the belief system. I related my experience of living with and surrounded by very devoted members of the Church for a year, having had many conversations and asked many questions about their beliefs and come to have a lot of respect for the way in which many people of this faith live their lives with great integrity and care for their children. I told her about how people found to be polygamous are excommunicated from the Church and that the lifestyle is in no way acceptable within the modern structure. This girl kept referring to books she had read and "articles on the internet," because clearly, reading about something on the internet is waaaaay more informative than asking many people, over a long period of time, whose lives are devoted to the religion, specifically about their beliefs. I would never read a book written by someone who left her hometown for having a negative experience and then her life in her hometown, thinking that my understanding was more informed based on this book I had read. Why hold on to this? I'm not claiming to be a theological scholar by any means, but seriously? You're going to argue with me about whether Mormons are still polygamous when I lived five minutes from BYU? So frustrating.
And truly, the icing on the cake came yesterday when I went with Valentin, Sara and Anthony, volunteers from Germany, Hungary and Ghana, respectively, to hang out in Derry for the day. After a beautiful, scenic bus and train ride, we arrived in the middle of town and started walking around Shipquay Street, the main drag within the old city walls. As we passed by a seasonal Halloween store, we notice, among the costumes for kids to dress up like a pirate, a policeman or a skeleton, a Gestapo costume. Now, just to be clear, this wasn't a soldier's uniform that happened to look like a Nazi; rather, the label read "Gestapo" and the suit consisted of a grey uniform with a black hat and boots and a red armband (sans swastika--really?? That's the line they draw?). The four of us stopped walking and Valentin and I in particular were absolutely speechless. Part of me felt like crying while another part felt like breaking the window and a third part just wanted to keep walking and pretend I had not seen it. Yet, knowing myself, I knew that I could not pretend I had not seen it, nor was I willing to release emotion then and there. Of course, being incapable of keeping my mouth shut (for better or for worse), I walked in the store. I asked the older man behind the counter if this was his shop and he said yes. I mentioned that he had a Gestapo costume in the window and he turned around to hand me one to buy. No, no, I said, I just wanted to let you know that I find the costume very offensive. He put the package back on the shelf, shrugged his shoulders and said "that's just the way it is here. Sorry, love, that's just the way it is." Before I opened up with my whole life story, I just told him again how offensive it is and walked out. Valentin and I recalled the episode a few years ago when Prince Harry dressed up like a Nazi at a Halloween party and he noted that he could not understand how anyone could have a sense of humor about this, which made me think more about the costume. Who would buy such an outfit? Who would want to wear it? I concluded that it would either be someone who somehow thought it was funny, or someone who didn't know what Gestapo meant and just thought they were buying a soldier's uniform. Which was worse? An offensive sense of humor and poor judgement or complete ignorance to something so recent, significant and threatening? What was the thought behind the marketing? One of the effects was that it made an integral figure in mass murder colloquial and insignificant. I reflected on how scary this process is of forgetting just enough of the real meaning to make us ignorant on a daily basis to horrific, violent events that have shaped the world and our lives. While I knew that telling this shopkeeper how I felt would not cause him to take the item off the I think I would have felt a sense of self betrayal had I not said anything. At the same time, if there had been a costume in the window of an IRA volunteer or an RUC (notoriously sectarian police force in Northern Ireland prior to the peace process) officer, the display would have lasted about five seconds before people came out to demand its sale stopped. What did he mean when he said "this is the way things are here"? That people in Northern Ireland only care about their own tragedies? That offending people doesn't matter if they're not from around here? Or, most likely, that being offensive doesn't matter if the only person giving you shit for it is a tourist from New York who wouldn't be a potential customer anyway. Though I'm sure that some might say I am too sensitive, politically correct or naive, I don't feel that I am overreacting in any way. The bottom line is that seeing that costume made me feel more than uncomfortable, it hurt me to think that the Holocaust, or any genocide for that matter, is so unimportant to people that they would dress up as its perpetrator for fun.
Living in a small, diverse (Christian) community in a small, socially conservative country with many people who have been sheltered from conflict other than their own has its ups and downs. I am glad I'm here to have these conversations with people about Christmas, to share my experiences with others and have others share with me, but sometimes it's hard to do this much learning and teaching. This weekend I am working with the SIT group, the study abroad program that brought me to Northern Ireland and to Corrymeela for the first time. Should be fun and exciting and interesting to share where they are on their educational journey.
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