Vancouver Pics

The Vancouver photos!

There’s no place like home

I love Vancouver. It’s no secret. But like so many relationships, we have our disagreements. I want more Jews, more Jewish life, Jewish community. And Vancouver wants me to compromise; love her for who she is, without trying to change her. And I do, mostly. I love the ocean, the mountains, the sounds, the beaches, and the false creek. I love being able to ski and kayak on the same day. I love the abundance of amazingly fresh, delicious, yet cheap sushi. On a good day, I’ll even admit to liking the small big city (or is that the big small city?) syndrome: of walking down the street, sitting in a café, going to the farmers market, and running into people you know. Yet it pains me that I couldn’t be shomer shabbos with a progressive community in Vancouver. (Though, just wait, ’cause I’ve got long term plans.)

It’s annoying that the only kosher restaurants are the snack café at the JCC and a deli-slash-grocery store. That there isn’t really a Reform synagogue. That the pluralism, post-, and trans-denominational pushes happening in the US aren’t happening there. That there are so few visibly observant Jews, that I get to try to ignore the guys on the SkyTrain urging each other to “pull [my] strings.”

I want to see that all change, help it change, but I’m just not in a place to do that (yet).

This was my first visit to Vancouver that didn’t feel like “going home.” What an odd realisation. If I’m asked where I’m from, I’ll still say Vancouver. But now the question of where home is gets a shrug, an “I don’t know.”

I hope to know soon. For now, I can say that I’m in New York. And, for the first time in many months, I have unpacked my backpack.

Post script: Shabbos plus four days just isn’t long enough to see all the lovely people in Vancouver. Hopefully my next visit will be longer… and not after another 1.5 years.

BC travels

I spent four lovely nights in Victoria, visiting my home, my friends, remnants of my plants. It was great to relax, fully embrace my dorkiness, play a lot of Scrabble, and fall back into a comfortable rhythm with my friends.

On the way back to Vancouver, I had to transfer buses as the Ladner Exchange. There, a woman and her college-aged daughter started pointing at me, then pointing at a fellow standing a few paces from me. I stealthily paused my iPod so I could casually listen in on what they were saying about us. The mother was saying something about my “beanie” and the “head dress” of the other fellow. (Based on what I saw, I assumed him to be Sikh, so that was in fact a turban.) I wasn’t the only one listening in; the other guy had been listening and caught my eyes when this was said of us. He stepped towards the mother and daughter to clarify things with them. But he didn’t know the words “kippah” or “yarmulke,” so in trying to explain that he wasn’t wearing a head dress, and I wasn’t wearing a beanie, the mother and daughter concluded that we were both of the same religion and were wearing variations on the same religious head wear.

At this point he looked to me, so I stepped over and tried to clarify. At some point the daughter had a “light bulb” moment and said something like, “Oh, like what the Pope wears?!” Um, yes. Kind of. Many religions have customs of head coverings and… I lost them. He looked at me and shrugged. The daughter started talking to her mom about an Easter “South Park” episode which claimed the Pope’s hat was pointy because the Pope had rabbit ears to hide. And I put my earphones back in and turned on my iPod.

It’s good to be back on the west coast…

As a side note, I’d recommend reading two recent posts on Jewschool: The H in Apartheid, a thoughtful piece on Hebron, and No One Is Jewish, about Jews who have had their conversion revoked.

Pesach Plumage

So here I am in Seattle, cleaning, kashering, and cooking. The kitchen is pristine. The rest of the house… not my domain. Because I’m not the one who will be eating in this house post-Passover, I’m allowing my host to have the final word on some of the halakhah. The result is the chometz cupboard and box in the fridge (stuff he’ll want to eat in a week, that’s expensive to replace, and needs to be refrigerated). Thanks to the internet, both the box and the cupboard have been sold. That is, he no longer owns a cupboard in his kitchen, nor does he own the box in his fridge. I had fun with it, drawing on the boxes:

Then we had to find a feather. Despite suggesting to a friend that “tackling a bird” would be a great way to get a feather, I was not about to attempt this method on my own. We went to a dollar store that had a craft section. Alas, no feathers. We checked a K-Mart, alas, no craft section. Then we went to a giant pet store chain. They sell birds and, sure enough, there were feathers at the bottom of their clean-looking cages. While I wandered amongst the cat toys, trying to decide which cat toy could be defeathered the most easily, my friend approached an employee. “I have sort of a weird question… We need a feather for a religious ceremony. And I saw some in the birds’ cages. Could we have them?” The employee found a second employee, who agreed. Minutes later, he was on his hands and knees in the bird cage (while we were both mildly creeped out because, you know, no matter how clean that cage liner was…) grabbing a half dozen colourful feathers from budgies. My friend and I both reached for the nearby hand santizer as a reaction, but it was empty. (Oh, and let’s not forget the smell in there. A customer’s big ol’ dog had decided the floor next to the bird cages was the perfect place to do his business, both businesses.) Hands were washed once we returned home.

And now we have tiny little feathers to sweep for crumbs with.

Roads of the East

Recently, I heard an interview on DNTO with someone who was described as a “professional house guest.” He has some very clear expectations for his ever changing housing: you offer him a place to stay, with a bed or couch, for a minimum of two weeks, and in exchange he has done everything from cooking and cleaning to washing dogs to home repairs and minor renovations. But he doesn’t stop there. He also has rent-free work space, which he got through bartering. He approached an organisation with a bit of extra space and offered up his services in exchange for a place to call his office. For them, he’ll stuff envelopes, do photocopying, and in general help with the tedious things that have to get done around the office but no one really wants to do.

He described his living situation quite positively, and, 14 (or was it 18?) beds/couches and one year later, has no plans to go back to a permanent living arrangement.

When I heard this, I was amazed. By no means have I made formal arrangements with my fabulous friends who are housing me, but I have done a good deal of cleaning, cooking, and other errands (quite happy to chip in!). And, depending on when I start the count, I’ve either been doing this for three-and-a-half months or one-and-a-half, which corresponds to either ten or seven beds (excluding one nighters, such as spending a Shabbos night on a friend’s couch, then returning to my “regularly scheduled” friend’s motzei; Florida’s backyard or concrete floors; and the retreat cabins in Maryland). And I’m exhausted. Despite sleeping longer, and more regularly, than I have in many years, I’m definitely feeling the effect of not having a stable, regular place to call home. I shouldn’t be surprised - after all, only a few weeks ago, in Florida, I taught a lesson on the effects of housing or a lack thereof. But I really didn’t expect the results to be felt so quickly.

And I wish I had more to show for the last few weeks, but I don’t. Well, I do. But it’s not exactly concrete.

These past few weeks, I became intimately familiar with the I-95. Back and forth, Boston, to and fro, New York. It might not have been the most productive use of my time (though I did watch many movies, catch up on my backlog of podcasts, and write many a hand-written letter), but it had to be. I had hoped to be in NY for a couple weeks, visiting friends, interviewing, before doing the same in Boston. But, of course, interviews and social “obligations” in NY waded into Boston time. More time spent on the I-95. I came to realise that on a Sunday night, the Greyhound could leave Port Authority and reach South Station a mere 3.5 hours later. Unfortunately, I also discovered that a random weekday ride could stretch to nearly 7 hours.

These weeks have allowed me to catch up with so many wonderful people, I can’t begin to tell you. Unfortunately, the running around also meant that I couldn’t see as many people as I’d wanted to, nor for as long as I would have liked. But I will be back east, and hopefully with more time to spare. Highlights included beers and bocce in Brooklyn; a hasty retreat from a windy picnic in Portland; getting hooked on the Ultimate Spiderman series; being amongst many queer Jews (this ought to get its own post but, wow, was that great, especially after the long queerless months in Israel), doing Jewishly queer and queerly Jewish things; Paul Simon’s concert in Brooklyn, which made me feel utterly euphoric, happier than I had been in far too long; pastrami and knish adventures in the boros; taking dance tips from the old man at the Klezmatics and Joshua Nelson concert; ice cream; cuddles with Max and Benjamin; and walking to Brooklyn from the Upper West Side.

I’ve been in Seattle about eight hours now, and I’m already missing Boston and NY. I will return… soon. [photos here.]

Sprung!

Greetings from Bryant Park! It’s a beautiful spring day here in NYC, and I couldn’t help but take advantage of the free wifi in the park before continuing with my afternoon. The grass is green; the tulips, crocuses, and daffodils have  bloomed bright pinks, purples, and yellows; the sky is blue; the sun is warm; and the coffee is iced. A fantastic day!

Florida

After a nearly missed connection, lost luggage, and finally found luggage delivered soaked in an entire bottle of Dr Bronner’s (thanks, TSA, for not closing my toiletries after your inspection!), I got to southern Florida to join the University of Rochester Hillel’s Alternative Spring Break. The U of R was chosen as one of nine schools to take part in Hillel National (USA)’s ASB pilot program. Two students were given leadership training and support in planning the trip, and Hillel subsidized the costs. (This week o’social action cost each student $150.)

The students chose to go to South Florida, to work with Centro Campesino, a non-profit, rural development organisation dedicated to improving the quality of life and self-sufficiency of migrant and seasonal farmworkers, their children and other low-income families of all ethnic and racial backgrounds. The work they signed on for was fixing up a home for migrant workers. In addition to their daily work, they had sessions with local organisations, including Centro Campesino, to learn about issues facing migrant workers.

One of the conditions for the project was that the students must receive a minimum of three sessions of Jewish education over the course of the week. That was my job: Jewish educator. In addition to working alongside the students, I gave lessons on Jewish perspectives relating to housing, workers, and living wages, mostly as text study and discussions. I also helped organise Shabbat - I was especially impressed with our SoFlo niggun, composed on the spot for Psalm 99. Amazing.

In addition to finishing the tasks we were given in the home, the group found time to explore a bit of South Florida. At Robert Is Here, we found tasty, locally grown fruits that we hadn’t had before, including mamey sapote (which looks like a giant, squishy sweet potato, and tastes like sweet potato pie), fruits that were so fresh they almost had a different flavour (mangoes, key limes, papayas, kiwis), and more. One of the taller guys was able to pick a coconut, which I opened for the group - the coconut water was tasty (though not as tasty as it is when chilled), and the flesh was delicious. Having finished the work ahead of schedule, we spent Friday afternoon at the infamous South Beach, a short walk from the “woo! Spring Break!” and gay sections. We went on walks through Everglade National Park and alligators and herons and the sunrise.

It was a great experience, and I’m really happy that U of R Hillel let me join them.

Now, New York!

[Photos are here.]

Photo time!

A whole whack of photos from my last few days in Jerusalem. There’s some street art; happy people, music, poetry, and dancing at Def Adar Jam; and a boogie.

Amazingness of the last few days

Amazingness of the last few days

Friends. I’m blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life. And, though I’m glad I talked them out of it, it’s sweet that they volleyed around the idea of caging me in order to keep me near them.

Mile High Club. (Not that Mile High Club.) As the sun rose, I was somewhere over eastern Europe, or the Mediterranean. I noticed several black hatters standing in the aisle, reaching for their tefillin. I joined them. I got quite a few looks, but I think it was worth it. (It was suggested to me, before I left Israel, that davening on the plane/in the airport was important, so that folks could see alternatives to the black hatters’ orthodoxy.) It was also a nice bookend to the davening and shofar blowing in the airport on my way to Israel in the summer.

ICBC. Actually did something right! And easily! And quickly! They’re mailing me an extension on my driver’s license, so that it will remain valid until I get back to BC.

Swiss Air. Though they probably lost money on my flight from Zurich to Montreal, I’m thankful they didn’t cancel it. The plane was less than a quarter full - we each had a row to ourselves. Enough room to spread out, sprawl out for naps, and not care if the seats were fully reclined. I had a lovely conversation in Spanish, which pleased me as I really thought I’d forgotten that language. And then a French with a smattering of German conversation, comparing and contrasting women’s clothing/modesty in Judaism and Islam with a Catholic woman from Munich.

A fantastic welcome home from my parents and the friends I’m staying with.

SNOW! Landing in the snow was great. As we approached YUL, we were flying through the white clouds for twenty minutes. Once we descended from the clouds, the ground was white as far as I could see, which gave the illusion of still being in the clouds. It made for a trippy, but smooth, landing. Also, wearing crocs was great on the plane (comfy, easy to take off), but not such a great idea walking through the snow with my luggage from the car to the house. Wet crocs and toes! There are snow piles on every front lawn on this street - easily 3-3.5 metres tall. I’m in heaven.

Cuddles with the dog. Good talks. Many hugs. Good food. I’m happy to be back on this side of the pond.

And now, to sleep. Laila tov, bon soir, good night…

Our greatest ally?

Another incredibly stupid policy coming out of the US. It seems that Canadian luggage is screened twice:

The policy, developed after 9/11 and in place since 2003, requires all bags from flights coming from Canada to be screened at U.S. airports by the federally regulated Transportation Security Administration before they can be loaded onto connecting planes. This, despite having already been screened and precleared by U.S. Customs and Border Protection officers stationed at Canada’s eight major airports. The airport in Shannon, Ireland, is the only other in the world with preclearance to the United States.”In essence, that bag that’s already been deemed safe … gets to the United States, is taken off the airplane, goes back inside the air terminal building, gets rescreened and resecured, and is then sent back out to the second airplane and loaded,” said Jim Facette, president and CEO of the Canadian Airports Council, which represents airports across the country.

“So two things are happening: The passenger is waiting a longer period of time than they need to because screening can take between 75 and 90 minutes, and the TSA is incurring a whole lot of costs. It’s unnecessary.”

Unnecessary, airports and airlines in both Canada and the United States maintain, because the screening technology and security procedures in place in both countries are virtually identical, and precleared passengers can’t access their checked bags between flights. [Source.]

There’s a waste of money happening, as increase in missed connections and lost luggage, and the US hasn’t been able to show any evidence that this practice is making any difference! Ridiculous.