Matt Adler – מטע אדלר – Planting Roots Bearing Fruits

Spain is where my soul breathes

Spain is where my soul breathes. It is full of life. Of laughter. Of stunning views. And of kind, generous people who make every moment worthwhile.

This trip was my sixth to Spain, dating back to when I was 13 and went on a school trip. Other than the U.S. and Israel, where I am a citizen, it is the single country where I have traveled most.

I started my trip in Madrid. Madrid is a city that holds a special place in my heart. Besides being where I first went to Spain as a teenager, it is also where I studied abroad a summer in college with my college roommate Ben who is one of my best friends. We had a wild summer. This trip was definitely less wild (I’m 38!) but was so much fun!

Fresh off the plane, I started hitting up the sights. And walking around the gorgeous neighborhood I stayed in, El Barrio de las Letras, named as such because famous writers such as Cervantes spent time there. The sidewalks are lined with quotes of Spanish authors and it is full of one of my favorite things – bookstores! I was also lucky to find that the time I spent in Madrid overlapped with the antiquarian book festival, where I got some real gems, including a hundred-year-old book in Spanish teaching people how to read Hebrew!

Madrid has some pretty churches and of course, the Royal Palace (it was booked up by the time I got there so I admired it from the outside – I had been many years ago and next time I will get a ticket in advance!). It also has some world-renowned museums. I went to the Reina Sofia, the modern art museum. I did this on the second leg of my Madrid trip. I started and ended my travels in Madrid. It was nice to see something modern and creative. I love cathedrals and history. I also enjoy modern, creative artwork that shows a different side of Spain. It was really nice to see everything from Dalí to the famous Guernica work by Picasso.

I also went to two tablaos to see Flamenco shows while in Madrid. Flamenco is an art form that I have always enjoyed. And the performers didn’t disappoint. The footwork, the passion, it was all there. And most importantly, being from a dull city such as Washington that is full of bureaucracy, the performers were all smiling. Improvising. Being creative.

That is the spirit of Spain. Of Madrid. Its people are full of life. Whether it was the cab drivers over sharing about their love life, the Flamenco dancers hugging me telling me that my Gypsy blood explained why I loved the music so much, the woman who insisted on giving me extra ice cream flavors just to make sure I chose the right one. This is how Spain lives. It is the two-hour lunches. It’s the waitress who laughed with me at how many times I ate her restaurant’s salmorejo soup (four times) and told me I was “in love with it”. I am! It’s the best soup and makes its otherwise delicious cousin gazpacho look like Campbell’s.

Another great thing about Madrid is how central it is. It is so easy to get to other parts of Spain. It has long been my dream to visit Zaragoza. And I was not disappointed. Only one hour and change on the high-speed rail system, I did a day trip. Keep in mind this would’ve been a three and a half hour car ride. Spain’s rail system is fucking incredible. And surprisingly affordable. Amtrak blows. I have no idea what we’re doing with rail in the U.S but we are decades behind Spain.

Back to Zaragoza. The city has one of the most incredible churches I’ve seen in my life: Cathedral-Basilica of Our Lady of the Pillar. You can’t take photos inside the magnificently and tastefully adorned interior. But I took some pictures from the outside to give you a sense of the magnitude of this thing.

In addition to seeing a bunch of beautiful historic streets and museums, I got to visit a bookstore, opened just for me! I had asked a man passing by whether this antiquarian bookstore was open. He said he wasn’t sure, then asked a man down the street whether he would open it. The kind man came by and opened the place. Just for me. This is how Spain (and a lot of the Mediterranean) works. There are no set hours for many places. It’s just when the owner feels like opening up. And he was kind enough to do so for me.

I found some gems! I bought books in Aragonese. It is a very old language, on the verge of extinction, that was spoken throughout the Kingdom of Aragon. I’m hoping that with my Spanish and Catalan (a closely-related language), I can understand some of what I bought. The bookstore owner kept bringing me new books to read and to check out. He never, I mean never, rushed me. This is the spirit of Spain – take your time, enjoy, peruse, explore. Never, never rush someone. It’s a lesson I wish many parts of the U.S. would take to heart.

Zaragoza was incredible and it inspired me to do two other day trips. One I actually did before Zaragoza and that was Toledo. Having not visited since I was 13, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Boy was I happy to see what I did! As a Jew, Toledo holds special importance. It was a city with a large and active Jewish Quarter before the expulsion of Jews from Spain. It has two Jewish museums – both former synagogues. Both of which are adorned like mosques, were converted to churches, and then reconverted into Jewish museums.

The cityscape was full of churches and a stunning cathedral and tons and tons of marzipan! Everywhere. I must’ve tried 10 different types of marzipan and it was all delicious and never going to make it into my packed suitcase (full of books!) unfortunately. But boy did I enjoy it! It’s a local specialty and I highly recommend eating lots of it while you’re there.

The other day trip I did from Madrid was Segovia. Most known for its ancient Roman aqueduct (it’s absolutely stunning), it also has a beautiful cathedral and a Jewish museum! It has been inspiring to see Spain caring for its Jewish heritage in ways that even a few decades ago was not happening.

The other half of my time in Spain was spent in Valencia. While I had visited parts of Castilla-La Mancha before (albeit many years ago), I had never been to Valencia! I was attracted to the warm weather (it was sunny every single day), the Mediterranean, the Valencian language (a dialect of the Catalan which I speak), and the landscapes.

The train rides to and from Valencia (which interestingly enough took different routes I believe) were almost worth the trip itself. Here’s some of the scenery:

Valencia is where I started to engage more with people, not just sights. I had, of course, met very kind people in the cities I had visited before. Now that I was over my jet lag and wanting some more in-depth contact with folks, I decided to do some planned activities. In my experience, every good solo trip is a mix of individual exploring and meeting other fellow travelers (and locals!).

Before I get into some of those experiences (city tours, paella making, a flamenco lesson, and a visit to an orange orchard!), I want to share a couple stories about some villages I visited.

During my stay in Valencia, I made sure to get out of the city and see some of the countryside. The first place I visited was Xàtiva. Xàtiva is famous for its castle. And wow it is stunning. Perched atop a mountain, it actually contains two castles connected by a wall surrounding the area. Pictures are worth a thousand words so here are some:

Instead of hiking up the mountain, I took a cab. I got as close as the cab could get to the entrance to the castle, but there was still some way to go to get to the ticket office. And the pathway was partially open. Meaning, there was a steep cliff to the side as you walked by. For those of you who know me well, I am not into steep cliffs or in certain circumstances, heights. So I mustered up a ton of courage to walk into the castle. And I did it! I’m very proud of the steps I took. The bravery I showed myself. And I will always remember Xàtiva not only for the gorgeous views, but also for the relationship of trust I built with myself there.

Other towns I visited included Port Saplaya (a little Venice by the Mediterranean), Buñol (home of the tomatina tomato throwing festival and a very delayed bus driver who was super kind to me), Sagunt (home to a beautiful castle and Jewish quarter), and Puçol.

Puçol is where my online Catalan/Valencian tutor lives! It is not on anyone’s tourist itinerary because it is quite simply a place where people live. There are no “sights to see” (although the church is quite nice). It is just a place where we walked around, finally met in person, and ate the best white chocolate-filled croissant of my life.

Now let’s come back to some of the experiences I had with other tourists and locals in Valencia. First off, I had a private flamenco lesson! The teacher was kind, patient, and kept telling me I learn the dance quicker than others (thanks!). It was so much fun. We kept doing this move she called “un, dos, tres, cuatro, patada!” Which just sounds so fun to stay in Spanish. A “patada” is a kick. And I got a kick out of this lesson.

I also took a paella making class with a wonderful group of tourists from the U.S., Germany, the Netherlands, Kuwait, Costa Rica, and more! The chef was a riot. He was so funny. And we all got to contribute to making the paella (and Spanish “tortilla” omelet) together. The paella was hands-down the best paella of my life. The crap that I had eaten in the States (or even at other otherwise-good restaurants in Valencia or Madrid) did not compare. It was fresh and delicious. For those of you who didn’t know, paella comes from Valencia and maybe that’s what it made it so yummy.

After paella class, one of the German guys asked me if I wanted to go watch the Real Madrid soccer game. I said sure! We talked for hours. Deniz is from Hamburg, incidentally the port where some of my ancestors passed through to get to the U.S. from Eastern Europe. He is also of Turkish descent and Muslim. And married to a Ukrainian Jewish woman. We had such a nice time together. I hid nothing about myself. Although given all the news that has come out of Europe (and the Middle East) this past year, I was hesitant to reveal too much, I felt comfortable with him. And he did with me. We learned a lot about each other. I shared what it’s like to be gay. And Jewish. And some of my experience in Israel. And his experience as a man of Turkish descent in Germany, where he is not always accepted for who he is. It was heartwarming and one of the best nights of my trip. Traveling solo is not always traveling alone.

Perhaps my favorite tour experience of the trip was a visit to Huerto Ribera. It’s an orange orchard in Carcaixent, about 40 minutes outside of Valencia. I asked one of the tour guides what languages she spoke, since she was speaking some French to these Quebecois tourists and a group of French twentysomethings. Her native language, it turns out, was Valencian. She was thrilled when I started speaking to her in Catalan (which is mutually intelligible). Since there were so many French-speaking tourists, she sent the English-speakers to the other guide and took the French-speakers (and me!) with her. Since I speak French and Valencian (and she had only taken three months of French), she asked me to help her translate along the way. It was a challenge but a fun one! Frankly, it’s not one I may ever get again. These are two languages that don’t come into contact very often, especially not in Washington, D.C.

Ana was an incredible, warm, friendly tour guide. We learned all about the different types of oranges (which taste incredible!) and got to try them. We even got to taste orange blossom honey made right there on the orchard. And learn the history of the place. We even got to pick some ourselves! I wish I could bring those rich, citrusy flavors home with me.

Before I left Valencia, I got to see something truly special. Spain has many holidays. In fact, there were two while I was in Madrid, one on either end of my trip. And one in Valencia. In Valencia it was called the festivity of “la verge dels desamparats”. The Virgin of the Helpless. It was packed. Thousands of people filled the streets. An incredibly generous woman next to me explained every step of the celebration. They brought the Virgin’s statue through the streets as people threw flower petals from their balconies. It was a dream.

The woman next to me was with an older woman. Maybe her mother. And the woman started to cry. She said “it’s very moving” in Spanish. And I agreed.

This is the spirit of Spain. It is a place where your emotions are free to flow. Where people are generous. Where quality time is the most precious commodity. Where, rather than keeping everything bottled up inside, you can simply stomp it out like a flamenco dancer or give a “patada” kick like I learned in Valencia. Because Spaniards live well. They aren’t always wealthy and they don’t necessarily wear all the designer brands, but they know their neighbors’ names and they’ll invite you over for dinner.

If you haven’t been, go. If you’ve been, go again. Spain always has something to offer and no matter how long you travel there solo, you’ll never be alone.

What my mom continues to teach me

A few months into the grieving process after my mom passed away April 18, 2023 and I could already hear a voice in my head telling me to “move on”. That somehow if I buried the memory of my mother further and further in the depths of my psyche, that if I only let myself be happy, then her memory would fade and I could go on with living my life.

Obviously this wasn’t the only voice I heard. I experienced a lot of sadness, anger, guilt- you name it. And the further I tried to suppress the feelings, the more potent they would get. Because without release, they just forced me to twist my emotions in a way that didn’t reflect the reality I was living in. I had lost my mom and my best friend when I was 37 years old. And nothing – no dissociation, no amount of throwing myself into other things could change that.

On top of the loss of my stepfather five months before my mom passed away, I had to numb my feelings. I couldn’t let myself feel the depth of sadness I truly felt because I had to clean out and sell my childhood home, get through the funeral and shiva, deal with the estate and death bureaucracy (an ongoing pain in the ass), design and pay for a tombstone, and more. There was so much to “do” that I couldn’t just “be”.

On top of that, I was working in a toxic professional environment where my boss told me point blank: “Matt, when you started this job, you were so enthusiastic. Then you lost your parents and you lost your motivation.” As if somehow losing motivation after losing two parents in five months was unreasonable or irrational.

I made one of the best decisions of my life the day my boss told me such utter and cruel nonsense. I walked into her office and I quit.

Since late October 2023, I have worked part-time doing my communications consulting business that I’ve had for over a decade. But mostly, I took time to focus on myself. I focused on my health, increasing my exercise and working with a nutritionist to improve my diet. I’ve lost fifteen pounds and more importantly, I am starting to feel better.

In addition, I’ve built strong friendships and relationships. That’s something my mom really emphasized to me in her waning days on this planet. It’s the people who matter. And I’m truly blessed to be surrounded by a tremendous group of empathetic and supportive friends who’ve made this year so much more bearable and even at times, fun.

I did important therapeutic work, using both art and talk modalities to express conscious and subconscious emotions. I even look forward to my art therapy, as I can use my creativity to work on issues in an almost playful way.

I joined a bereavement group for young people who had lost parents. This allows me to connect with other people in my circumstance who get things viscerally and personally. It gives me the chance to feel accepted and acknowledged in community with others who are going through incredibly tough times and making it through it despite it all.

I started dancing again! As a little kid, I used to prance around the living room to the soundtrack of Phantom of the Opera. In college, I joined and choreographer for an Israeli dance troupe and performed in Latino, West African, and Indian pieces. Since my parents passed away, I couldn’t find the joy in movement anymore. That is, until recently, when I picked up Latin dance classes and started reconnecting with the DC Israeli dance community.

While I’ve spent the better part of my mom’s three and a half year cancer battle angry at God and disconnected and confused about my own spirituality, I now feel an itch again to explore. Being angry at God won’t bring my mom back. And while I may not believe in a God that actively makes decisions or works in the world, I do feel a desire to live in community as a Jew and rediscover what that means to be.

Today I went to see the cherry blossoms in Washington, D.C. where I live. They were beautiful. I went with a friend. We took pictures and smiled and played “tourist”. Just like me and my mom would do every single year since I was a little kid.

Mom- they were gorgeous. I remember you asking me, in the last few weeks of your life, to go down to the Tidal Basin and to take pictures with them to send to you as you were stuck on your deathbed. To give you perhaps a sense of joy and freedom from the awful, painful, isolating monotony you had to endure at the end of your life.

I hoped at the time those pictures would bring you some relief. Not only that I would carry on our tradition of visiting the beautiful cherry trees we so adored. But also because it meant I would move forward with my life. Not “move on”. Not leaving your memory behind. But forward. One. Step. At. A. Time.

That is the meaning I’ll always hold on to when I see these beautiful trees. Your kindness, your love, the many fond memories we had together. And my commitment to take care of myself and move forward. To let myself feel both sadness and joy. To let myself feel all of the spectrum of emotions. To slowly and carefully let go of some of the numbness I needed to get through those first few months. To give myself the freedom to live a good life. Even though I know you can’t be in it in the way I wish.

Because that is what your death means to me. It means the fact that I’m crying right now is ok. In fact, it’s healthy. I cry because I love you and always will. I weep because you’re someone that I miss.

Grief never goes away. It evolves. My hope for the year ahead is that my mom’s memory can serve as inspiration for living a good, healthy, happy life. Exactly what she has always wanted for me. And I believe somewhere, somehow, she still wants it for me today.

Miss you now and always, mom.

Love,

Matt

Magical Nashville

This holiday season has been rough. This whole fall has been filled with “firsts”: my mom’s birthday, my step-dad’s yahrzeit, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Thanksgiving, Chanukah, and now Christmas/New Year’s. All without my mom and step-dad for the first time.

I’ve frankly felt lonely lately. I’m working on it – I have great friends and am picking up some new hobbies like getting back into dance. It also comes with the time of year – lord knows I get the winter blues. It’s just hard to spend time with family that’s gone – while your friends spend time with the ones they still have.

So I decided to go to Nashville! Nashville? Why go to Nashville? Isn’t that just for bachelorette parties? Well, to get a break from the loneliness of the holiday season, I turned to the best medicine I’ve ever found for the blues: travel. And as an avid fan of country and bluegrass music, Nashville has long been on my list.

I certainly bumped into the bachelorettes and drunk middle aged women thronging Broadway’s honkey tonk bars. But then I quickly realized that my scene was elsewhere.

My first night in Nashville, I made my way to a local bluegrass jam session away from the center of the city. It was everything I wanted and more. I sat in a heavenly daze for over an hour and a half and just soaked in the amazing tunes. As more than a dozen different fiddles, banjos, mandolins, guitars, and other instruments plucked away and made my ears melt with joy. Santa Claus even made an appearance and played some bluegrass tunes! If I did nothing else in Nashville, dayenu– this would’ve been enough.

The next day I woke up energized and headed to East Nashville for a mural tour and photo shoot. My guide Aidan was one of the kindest, funniest, and most engaging people I’ve met in my travels. I immediately felt at ease and felt I had found a kindred spirit. We took some great photos, including this post’s cover photo of a Dolly Parton mural. My mom would’ve loved to see it- she was a huge fan. Here are some of my pics:

I then headed to a country line dancing lesson on the main strip on Broadway. I was joined by a Canadian bachelorette party and a 15-year-old girl’s birthday crew. It was a riot. While not exactly my scene socially, the dancing was so much fun and the instructor was really patient and engaging. I’m going to get a video in my email later this week so we’ll see how I did! It reminds me of the good old days in college when I used to go to Wild Country bar outside of St. Louis and go line dancing with friends. And boy was it a workout – I had really worked up a sweat by the end and was having a great time. Plus, I got to dance to one of my favorite country songs- “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy”. I’m hoping the meaning was lost on the 15-year-old haha.

Tuesday I hit up a historic mansion outside the city that was beautifully decorated for Christmas.

During my stay, I got to visit several museums documenting music history, including the National Museum of African American Music and the Country Music Hall of Fame. I learned how so many bluegrass and country music stars drew inspiration from black artists in their communities and often learned their instruments with them. Latino acts such as Los Lobos drew from and influences country music styles. Jazz, the blues, ragtime, bluegrass, country, and folk music are inextricably connected and all make this town pulsate with life.

On that note (pun intended!), I got to hear a truly wonderful concert at one of America’s most famous venues, the Grand Ole Opry. A live radio show in front of a several-thousand-person studio audience that has been running for almost a century, the Grand Ole Opry was so much fun. I got to hear some amazing bluegrass, country, and soul artists and get exposed to new sources of musical inspiration.

An Israeli friend once told me to guess which part of the United States most resembled Israel. At the time, I hadn’t lived in Israel yet and had only visited twice. I wasn’t sure where she meant. But she told me – “the South. There, life is simple. People aren’t as materialistic. They are warm and friendly.”

Having spent a lot of time in the South (where I went to summer camp growing up) and in Israel, I think she’s on to something. While the South (much like the Middle East) can suffer from conflict and racism and misogyny, it also is the place where I’ve encountered the warmest people in the U.S. Of all races and religions. Whether they’re hipsters, locals, transplants, conservative, liberal, white, black, or none of the above, I’ve found in my travels to the South that people just have an extra soft spot for helping others feel welcome. It’s social lubricant that frankly my hometown of Washington, D.C. sometimes lacks.

Nashville is a creative place. It’s artsy, it’s musical, it’s filled with murals and the dreams of hundreds of songwriters and guitar players. Of fiddlers and of new residents coming to its communities from around the country and around the world.

They know something that not everyone else has discovered and I hope remains somewhat of a secret for the sake of keeping the magic of this city alive. Nashville isn’t just bachelorette parties. Far from it. It is the people who live there who make it so special.

For now, I live in Washington, D.C. and I don’t know if I would move to Nashville or somewhere like it. Kinda hard to live there without a car. But maybe one day there’ll be more public transportation or I’ll simply come back to spend some more time there. Because one thing’s for sure- Nashville’s got a hold on my heart. And if that doesn’t sound like the beginnings of a country song, then I’m not sure what does!

Internalized antisemitism

As a gay man, I’ve fought for years to live with pride as who I am. It has also offered me a unique vantage point from which to experience and explain internalized antisemitism – and its antidote.

First, let’s start with some definitions. Internalized homophobia – something I experienced quite a bit of especially before and during my coming out process – is vile. It is when the surrounding prejudices and bigotry of others force LGBTQ+ people to unwittingly adopt some of the hateful viewpoints directed at them.

I can remember my first real run-in with internalized homophobia. I was dating a guy named Matt my freshman year of college. He was my very first male kiss. We had had a wonderful night together and I woke up in the morning feeling great. I got down off my bed after he had left and all of a sudden I felt a wave of disgust fall over me. “Why was I so disgusting? What was wrong with me?” I felt a sense of panic. Anxiety. Dismay. It was almost an out-of-body experience and I had no words to describe it.

Once my therapist explained to me the concept of internalized homophobia, it all started to make sense how I could love being gay and yet the very act of gay intimacy could arouse such self-hatred. It was the classmates who called me faggot. It was my dad telling me he was proud of me for dating women in high school – he said he was glad I wasn’t gay. It was the “health” book I was given by my family to read as a teenager that said if I had feelings about another man, it didn’t mean I was gay. It was my soccer team in high school that had a team “fag” – a guy who we pretended was gay and laughed at. It was my grandfather writing me out of his will all while making comments about my “lifestyle”.

And that’s the tip of the iceberg.

Victims of abuse often internalize aspects of their abusers’ behavior without realizing it. And I had my own prejudices towards LGBTQ+ people that started with my self. While a part of me loved kissing this cute boyfriend, a part of me couldn’t bear to break with all the hatred that I had digested over the years. That I had been conditioned to obey. Or pay the price.

The antidote to this homophobia was a curious one. It wasn’t just to accept myself. It was to actively seek out opportunities to be loud and proud. And to do so regularly. Because coming out is a process that never ends. If you don’t actively fight against the forces pushing you back into the closet, you will continue to lean on those prejudices internalized deep within and you will falter. You will become miserable and silent.

So I became an activist. I led rallies against conversion therapy. I marched in Pride parades in Madrid and Washington D.C. and Tel Aviv. I went back to my high school to speak with the timid yet brave students who went to the Gay-Straight Alliance meetings. Meetings that when I was a high schooler, were not even allowed to use the word “gay” in their title. Because the principal thought it was too controversial.

In Israel, I visited Arab communities and spoke openly about my gay identity in places many people still fear to be out. I subsequently wrote a book about my experiences, allowing my gay and Jewish and Zionist identities to merge. There’s something therapeutic about writing that allows the singed seams of my past traumas to heal and to bring some connection between the different parts of me.

Which brings us to the title of this blog: internalized antisemitism. Have I experienced antisemitism? Oh yes. I’ve been thrown out of a Lyft for being a gay Jew. I was told by one of my college Arabic professors that there were “good Jews” who opposed Israel. I was told by a high school classmate that Jews were stingy and she was “proud of her Cossack ancestry”. Yeah, the Cossacks who murdered my ancestors and forced us to come to America. I was told by another classmate that “Matt, you’re not like the other Jews. You’re not a big mouth.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been told “the Jews are rich”. At a Brazilian Portuguese meet up in D.C., by a soccer teammate of mine, and at my YMCA summer camp. I was told countless times that I supported the “Holocaust” of the Palestinian people. I was even told by my own father, the most prescient example of an internalized antisemite, that it wasn’t “normal” for me to want to go to synagogue. Who would threaten me and my mom for taking me to Hebrew lessons. Because I should do what “normal” kids do. Not Judaism.

These are but a few examples of the antisemitism I’ve experienced in my life. In a country that’s getting worse. There has been a nearly 400% increase in antisemitic events after Hamas’s terrorist attack on October 7th. And believe me, Europe and the Middle East are even worse.

The antisemitism I experienced has at times led me to lean on the very prejudices I experienced, much in the way internalized homophobia works. While under great pressure from a number of antisemitic professors in college, I twisted and turned my Judaism until I found myself publicly and repeatedly condemning Israel in an effort to seek their approval. I would even email articles about me slamming Israel in the student newspaper to these professors, these authority figures who taught me to be a “good Jew”. And they would praise me. And it felt good and disgusting at the same time. Much like that kiss with Matt.

How have I fought back against this internalized prejudice? What is the antidote to internalized antisemitism? When we see Jews attacking police officers while calling for “ceasefires” with a terrorist group that knows no respect for humanity. The Jews who condemn Israel for committing a genocide that is quite simply not happening. While they remain silent about the 130+ innocent Israeli civilians kidnapped by Hamas. Who allow themselves to be tokenized by antisemites on the Left as the “good Jews”. Much like my Arabic professor thought of me.

The antidote for internalized antisemitism is Zionism. It is Jewish pride. It is the liberation movement of the Jewish people. Living in Israel and making aliyah (even though I returned) changed my life. I can no longer stay silent in the face of antisemitism whether it emanates from Hamas or IfNotNow or Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Because I am a proud gay Jew. I have learned from my experience as a gay man how to liberate myself as a Jew. And I would suggest that other Jews consider the ways in which antisemites have silenced them – and how it might be impacting their behavior towards their brethren in Israel now.

Because you don’t have to be a non-Jew to be an antisemite. And you don’t have to live this way forever.

I learned to love to kiss men and to be proud of who I am. And I learned to drape myself in the blue and white of my people with pride despite all the haters who would have me shy away from my ancestry and identity.

I’m a gay Jewish Zionist Israeli and American. And I will not silence any one of those identities to make someone feel comfortable in their prejudice. Am yisrael pride.

The peace that is Portugal

In September, I took a trip I had been wanting to do for a long time. Portugal and a slice of Galicia, a region in northwest Spain.

In college, I took a course called “Portuguese for Spanish-speakers”. It was the second Romance language I ever learned. And it challenged me. I only took it for a semester, but I learned quickly. The two languages are similar, but are pronounced very differently and have some different vocabulary and grammar. I kept wanting Portuguese to follow Spanish rules. But it refused! So I adapted, learned the new way of communicating this Latinate language, and expanded my mind in the process.

Other than a short jaunt to Lisbon when I was transient homeless between Israel and the U.S., I had never been to a Portuguese-speaking country. I could speak pretty well, but I didn’t have much of an outlet for using the language.

Until this past fall! I went for 10 days to Portugal. I started in Lisbon. What a beautiful, authentic city. The summer crowds had faded (though it was still pretty full!). I toured around on my own. I met some of the kindest people. From the people who worked at my hotel to the restaurant owner who shook my hand and congratulated me on my Portuguese, the folks I met were almost universally kind and friendly. And very, very appreciative of the fact that I communicated with them in their language. Here are some photos from Lisbon, including the end of my trip when I circled back to the city and went on a sailboat cruise!

After a couple nights in Lisbon, including a Fado show (I love this kind of music!), I headed up north to Coimbra. Coimbra is a hidden gem and I won’t tell you everything I experienced there because it’s just too special for me!! All I can say is it’s worth visiting. A medieval university town, it is filled with young college students in Harry-Potter-esque robes wandering around the city singing and gently hazing their freshmen classmates by making them march and shout slogans about their academic fraternities. It was so cool!

Coimbra also has Roman ruins nearby in Conímbriga. It was so neat to see thousands of years of history! Coimbra has a unique Fado music style that I got to experience up close as well. It is the polar opposite of crowded Lisbon – it is quiet, it is peaceful, it is the most relaxing place you could imagine. Here are some photos, though no picture can capture the pure tranquility and easygoing nature of this city:

The generosity of people really rubs off on you here, much like it did to me in Israel. Frequently when I would go to bakeries, the employees would give me extra pastries! So when I found myself at a cafe listening to Fado music and I saw a couple (who I later discovered were part-German part-Brazilian) looking for a place to sit, I invited them to sit with me. We ended up talking for hours and it was so lovely. The spirit of the Portuguese people and their kindness inspired me to do likewise and it felt great. This part of the world – the Mediterranean and its adjacent countries like Portugal – they bring out my soft and generous side and it fits. It feels right.

After saying a sad goodbye to Coimbra, I headed further north to Porto. Porto is somehow even more crowded than Lisbon with tourists. To a point where it was actually unpleasant at times. But I found my niche. I found some cool bookstores, some outer neighborhoods where locals frequent, and most importantly, I used it as a home base for exploring other cities in northern Portugal.

While staying in Porto, I visited Braga, Guimarães, Valença, and the Galician city of Tui! These cities are so gorgeous and laid-back. Here are some views, none of which truly do justice to these gorgeous places:

I learned a lot by visiting these off-the-beaten-path destinations. Guimarães and Braga apparently have an athletic rivalry that parallels a general rivalry between the cities, including politically. I found both to be charming. But many people are “team Guimarães” or “team Braga”. I guess I’m team both!

Valença and Tui are right across from each other on the same river. Valença is the Portuguese town and Tui is the Galician/Spanish town. Both were fascinating and despite being so close to each other geographically, were quite culturally different.

Tui attracts pilgrims on the Camino Portugues de Santiago. I met some on the way and they were super friendly, including a woman from Brazil who basically did a photoshoot for me while carrying her heavy hiking backpack.

The food in Tui is distinctly Spanish and the Galician soup is delicious! In addition to Spanish, people speak Gallego, a form of medieval Portuguese (actually its original dialect) mixed with some Spanish phonology and vocabulary. I can understand 99% of it with my Spanish and Portuguese and it is so cool! I’m incredibly glad I made it to this part of the world that I had spent a long time dreaming about visiting.

In Braga, I met Pedro, my new Instagram friend, who was my Uber driver. And coincidentally, also gay! He’s Brazilian with Portuguese parents and took me all around Braga all the way to Porto, making extra stops for me to see special sites. Like many Portuguese immigrants, he comes from a former Portuguese colony. I got to experience some of this diaspora culture in Lisbon when I went to a Mozambican restaurant. The owner was so kind. I offered to tip and he refused saying, in Portuguese, “it’s like you’re eating in my home. I can’t accept a tip.”

If I had to summarize this incredible, life-changing trip, it is that Portugal’s people are what make it so special. The architecture is stunning, the weather is great, the scenery is relaxing. But what made this trip so heartwarming were the people I met along the way and their incredible kindness.

At a time when the world is spinning. When my other homeland of Israel is under attack. When innocent civilians have been kidnapped. When war is on our minds. I think back to the joys of visiting Portugal and hope, with that ever-present Portuguese feeling of “saudade” or “longing”, that one day we’ll get back to this state of mind. A state of tranquility and peace.

May it be so.

The difference between Israelis and Palestinians

Israelis and Palestinians share a lot in common. As do most human beings. We want a good life for our families, we want to put food on the table, we want to find a sense of purpose. We often find ourselves perplexed by the lack of control we have over events in our lives. Nowhere is that more true than the Middle East.

But what most western liberals fail to understand, that I do understand having traveled extensively in Israel and Palestine and being a fluent Arabic speaker, is that there are fundamental cultural differences between these two societies. Differences that are leading to continued conflict and distress.

Let’s start with some basic premises before we dive into this difficult topic. First, innocent people are suffering in Israel and Palestine and that makes me very sad. Second, the way out of this conflict is unclear and anyone who pretends to have a “magic solution” like “from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” (i.e. genocide of Israelis) or “death to the Arabs” is full of shit. Erasing the “other” will only perpetuate conflict rather than resolve it. And third, some of the people I know with the strongest opinions about Israel and Palestine have never stepped foot there. And should be invited to listen and learn and, frankly, shut up if they have nothing constructive to say.

So what are some of the differences between Israelis and Palestinians? Israel is a much, much more diverse society than Palestinian society. Consisting of Jews from all over the world (including the dozen or so Muslim-majority countries that ethnically cleansed them in the 20th century), plus Druze, Arab Christians, Circassians, Arab Muslims, and non-Jewish refugees- it is a virtual melting pot of civilizations. Meanwhile, Palestinian society consists of an ever-increasing Muslim majority, with a dwindling Christian population consisting of 1 to 2.5% of the West Bank. Life is far from perfect for minorities in Israel, but it is a fundamentally more pluralistic and inclusive society, with non-Jews making up approximately 26.6% of the population, with full voting rights and citizenship.

Palestinians are also rabidly homophobic when compared to their Israeli neighbors. Only 5% of West Bank Palestinians support LGBTQ+ relationships according to a BBC poll. A year ago, a Palestinian gay man was beheaded in Hebron. Meanwhile, 61% of Israelis (and 68% of Israeli Jews) support equal rights for LGBTQ+ people. While right-wing politicians continue to attack the Israeli LGBTQ+ community, they represent a minority of the country and face intense pushback from Israeli civil society. There is next to no Palestinian civil society pushing for social acceptance for the queer community. Religious fundamentalism and a deep-seated conservatism define Palestinian society in a way that western liberals have trouble understanding – or at times even justify.

I could go on and on about the litany of differences, including the rights and roles of women, but I’d like to focus on the single most important difference between the two societies. Most Israeli Jews are prepared to accept a Palestinian state as part of a peace agreement. Only 24% of Palestinians accept the idea of an agreement with Israel, with even lower numbers in younger generations. The numbers vary according to how the question is phrased and no doubt the number of Israelis feeling in the mood to make a peace agreement after the horrific October 7th Hamas massacre is going to go down. But fundamentally, one society accepts the existence of the other, and the other doesn’t accept the existence of the former.

Most American liberals or progressives or whatever you’d like to call people on the left-end of the political spectrum that I’ve often called home- most of them have no clue how to process the idea of Palestinians’ cultural differences as an obstacle to peace and human rights. Not the only obstacle, but certainly a big one. When you see people waving pride flags at anti-Israel rallies in Europe and the U.S., you have to wonder how these people have deluded themselves. How, in a colonialist fashion, they have imposed an American understanding of race, sexuality, victimization, and oppression on two countries across the world with very complicated and significant cultural differences.

I’m not in any way suggesting that Palestinian human rights be disregarded because they are by-and-large ultraconservative, antisemitic, and homophobic. Two wrongs don’t make a right. The status quo cannot continue. All human beings deserve dignity and I’ve been incredibly outspoken (if you’ve followed this blog at all) in advocating for Palestinian and Arab-Israeli rights.

But the only way to make peace is to understand reality first. And until American and European liberals can wrap their heads around the cultural differences between Israeli and Palestinian societies, we will get nowhere. We will get more heated rhetoric and antisemitism. Out of both hatred and a lack of understanding of how this conflict continues to plague the region.

Jews and Israelis of all faiths have a right to protect themselves. Ourselves. If seeing Jews wield the power to protect themselves scares you or causes you concern, you are an antisemite. Until our neighbors, the Palestinians, are willing to accept the existence of Israel, this conflict will continue ad infinitum. And the day Palestinians come to the peace table in good faith, I’ll be the first in line to protest the Israeli government until it makes peace a reality. I eagerly await that day and hope one day, much like there is an Israeli peace movement, that there will be an equally large Palestinian one.

Until that day, we will protect ourselves. As my cover photo from a Druze village in the Galilee says in Arabic sarcastically: “it’s all my fault, I love my sect”. It’s all my fault. I love the Jewish and Israeli peoples and we will outlive all those near and far who wish us harm.

Feeling numb

When I was a kid, I was always the most talkative one in class. I had the best grades but the one thing my teachers would say to my mom at parent-teacher conferences was that I had to learn to raise my hand. Ever since, I’ve been speaking out – and writing – about what is important to me. And what was once a liability in the classroom has since become a skill and one that I’m proud to use to articulate my thoughts about life and the world around me.

Ever since the massive Hamas terrorist attack and pogrom on October 7, I’ve felt numb. And despite my usual verbosity, at times speechless. I’ve felt out of place and sad at friends’ parties, unable to find my inner joy. I’ve felt lonely as I watch acquaintances and friends – mostly not Jewish but occasionally Jewish – justify Hamas’s horrific attack. I feel as if I’m carrying a weight in my stomach as I watch a constant stream of victims’ faces scroll across my Facebook and Instagram. A very significant number of Israeli friends, although themselves “safe”, have lost loved ones to Hamas’s slaughter of innocent civilians.

First things first. I am incredibly sad and extend my deep condolences to my friends living in Israel who have lost loved ones and are coping with the most existential crisis in Israel’s history in the past fifty years. Who are stuck at home and bomb shelters as thousands of rockets whiz overhead. Who are scared and deserve better than to live in chaos and fear.

For me, while I am not in Israel, I feel this pain viscerally. I’ve spent time in many of the places attacked. I’ve met people there – some of whom may no longer be alive. My blog post cover photo is from Sderot, which has been battered to a pulp by Hamas attacks recently and has endured their terror tactics for over a decade. The reason I feel this attack so viscerally is not only because I’m a Jew, is not only because I’m Israeli, is not only because my friends are suffering. It’s also because I recognize that it could have been me kidnapped or killed. If the timing had been different, I could’ve been one of the civilians tortured or burnt alive. It could have been me.

When I visited Sderot a few years ago, I stopped by Kibbutz Nir Am across the street. At the time, Hamas was “only” sending over rockets and flaming kites to set fire to agricultural fields and parks. I encourage you to read the blog about my experience there and the kind people I met, including a father of a five-year-old. I hope they are ok. Nir Am is one of the kibbutzim that was attacked in the Hamas invasion.

One loss is a tragedy. Thousands is a statistic. But we must never lose sight of the 1,500+ Israeli lives lost in an utterly unnecessary and evil act by religious fanatics. Each and every innocent life lost is as if an entire world was lost. Friendships, partners, parents, children, community. Destroyed. Not to mention the hundreds of hostages kidnapped, raped, and abused by Hamas terrorists. It should go without saying, but I will say it anyways, that the Palestinians caught in the crossfire and oppressed by Hamas deserve safety too. And a government that represents their genuine interests for self-actualization and freedom, not murderous rampages against Israeli civilians. I mourn the losses of Palestinians as well and I hold Hamas accountable first and foremost for instigating this war resulting in these deaths.

Where to from here? I don’t know. Part of me wants vengeance. Part of me wants to crush Hamas (more justifiable than vengeance). Part of me wonders what the plan is for once Hamas is hopefully defeated. Part of me wonders if Hezbollah and Iran will strike at Israel from the north, my very favorite part of Israel. Part of me wonders if non-Jewish Israelis who’ve been killed and kidnapped are also getting their airtime they deserve. Clearly this was an attack on the Jewish people and Jews in and outside Israel are more vulnerable to antisemitism and violence than in a very long time. This was the single worst single-day attack on Jews since the Holocaust. And Hamas is also holding non-Jewish Thai people captive, for example. Hamas terrorists are simply fanatics who will stop at nothing to kill, kill, kill.

Part of me experiences this death and destruction as an Israeli. And part of me experiences it as an American Jew who lives next to a synagogue which now has multiple police cars outside for protection. Within whose doors my friend works at a preschool every day. As Hamas calls for global jihad. And progressive American voices who are usually our allies stay silent or, worse, allow their latent antisemitism to seep through. I get nervous every time I walk by the synagogue. What if the jihad comes here? Will that be enough for my fellow American progressives to speak out for our lives?

Why is it so hard for people to realize that it is possible to be pro-Palestinian and not justify Hamas’s actions? One friend (now former friend) claimed that what Hamas did wasn’t terrorism, it was an an act of anti-colonial resistance. Putting aside the fact that Jews are not colonizers in their own historic homeland and that they don’t control the Gaza Strip, when did Mahatma Gandhi ever sanction raping and burning British women alive? How sick some people are. It makes me feel unsafe and angry.

As I write this blog, I am giving myself permission to feel. To let the numbness fade and to find my words. Much as I did as a little kid. Yet I don’t particularly care to wait politely and raise my hand this time. Sorry Mrs. Kyle.

I live now as a bold, liberated Jew and a compassionate human being. Hamas is trash. They are the ISIS of Palestinian politics and do not represent all Palestinians. I continue to believe in freedom for Palestinians and I wish for the destruction and eradication of the Hamas movement which terrorizes their lives as well.

To my fellow Jews heaping criticism on Israelis right now, take a step back and recognize your privilege. We are lucky to live in the United States where we haven’t known war on our shores of this kind for a very, very long time. The closest thing was 9/11 and that was 30 times smaller in proportion compared to what Israel is experiencing right now in terms of casualties. We have a right to speak out and even to disagree among ourselves, but show some sensitivity to people whose lives are marked by traumas we couldn’t even imagine.

It is 12:19am and I needed to write this blog because I’ve been holding these thoughts inside me and haven’t been able to sleep well in a week and a half. Here’s to hoping this helps.

To my friends across the ocean, Israeli and Palestinian, who are struggling – I love you. All I can offer are my words but I mean each and every one. May we find a route to peace, to justice, to safety. And soon. Inshallah. God willing.

Sweet Switzerland

Switzerland. It is the most beautiful place on the planet. At least one of them!

Take a look:

And it’s not just the scenery that’s gorgeous. It’s the smile on my face. Having been through so much in the past few years, it was refreshing to get back to my “self”. My traveling, wandering, exploring self. At times I missed my mom, but I could feel her spirit supporting my journey.

Initially, I was supposed to spend three nights of my journey in France, but due to rioting there, I decided to change my plans and spend my entire trip in Switzerland, where frankly things are extremely safe and calm all the time. The most outrage I saw was when a train was 15 minutes late and people panicked. Everything runs on time in this country and it’s so steady. Reliable. It’s like the country version of the kind of man you want to settle down with.

I did make a point of crossing the border and spending some time in Annecy, France, not far from Geneva. It was stunning and unlike other parts of the country at the time, quite safe. Here are some pictures of the medieval town and its surrounding crystal-clear stunning lake:

More of France will have to wait until another trip, but I was glad I got to see this countryside gem.

As for Switzerland, what can I say? The trains are sleek, efficient, and take you everywhere. Even the deepest mountain valleys like Engelberg and Interlaken that I visited. There were cable cars up the mountains too. It was like a dream. I’m so glad I spent the rest of my trip in this charming country because it was nothing but stress relief. The nature saps away all your worries. And the people, especially in the German-speaking areas around Bern that I visited, were so friendly.

The Swiss have a reputation for being a bit cranky. And some people fit that description, but many did not. The stereotype is that the German-speaking regions are more uptight, but anecdotally, I found the opposite to be true. Even though I spoke French and not German, the French speakers tended to be a tougher nut to crack. That being said, it totally depended on the person and I met plenty of friendly francophones!

While I don’t speak German, I do speak some Yiddish, a Germanic language. And it came in handy! In Bern and some of the rural villages nearby, some people only spoke Swiss German. And with a sprinkling of Yiddish and English, I was able to communicate with people! It was remarkable. The next time someone tells you Yiddish is useless, tell them “not in Switzerland!” I understood most street signs and could gather what people were talking about.

It frankly makes me want to visit more German-speaking countries, especially Austria next door, which has some pretty spectacular-looking mountains itself. It surprised me how much I loved German-speaking Switzerland and I look forward to seeing where this takes me linguistically, culturally, and of course with my travel!

I loved visiting some pretty incredible bookstores and I bought some pretty unique treasures to add to my library. I visited one antiquarian bookshop in Geneva. The woman working there unfortunately fit the stereotype of the grumpy Swiss person. Every time I asked about a different genre of books, she grumbled. Finally, she said “vous ne savez pas ce que vous voulez”. You don’t know what you want. And I responded, with restraint but calm certitude: “Je veux explorer.” I want to explore.

That’s what I want. I want to see the world. I want to view, experience, love, learn. I’ve never felt so powerful as when I responded this way.

This trip had its challenges, but overall, it was a dream come true. My mom would be proud of how I tackled those challenges and made this a week from heaven.

Switzerland – I’ll be back. In the meantime, I’ll miss your on-time transit, your delicious cheese and chocolate, your stunning nature, and the people smiling at me along the way of every language and culture.

Where to next? We’ll see! But you can count on hearing more from me soon.

Traveling Matt is back.

The travel bug

Last Sunday, June 18, I booked a ticket to Switzerland for June 30th. I’ll be, God willing, visiting Switzerland and France for a week and I could not be more excited!! Send me good vibes folks.

Something interesting happened as I told my friends. Those who had met me during the pandemic or while my mom and stepdad were sick with cancer were shocked. Was it the short time frame? The distant travel? The go-with-the-flow spirit of adventure? Or some combination?

The bottom line is all of my friends that I’ve made in the past few years were happy for me, but almost all were surprised. After all, I’ve been grounded since I met them by the circumstances that surrounded me and all they knew was what they saw. Sadness, anger, frustration, and a sense of being “stuck”.

Now of course that’s not all they saw. There were happy moments amidst the chaos. And I did, in fact, travel a decent amount on a smaller scale. Small enough to get home to see my mom if her health went from bad to worse. Since I first got vaccinated, I went to Montreal (twice!), Philadelphia, Charleston (twice!), Savannah, Charlottesville, New Orleans, Richmond, and Vermont. So it wasn’t as if I was stationary. But I can’t deny that Covid, and in particular my mom’s cancer, was always in the back of my head even if I could temporarily feel some relief and healthy distraction.

I’m still experiencing my own hardship as I grieve over my mom’s and stepdad’s deaths and will continue to do so in various forms for a long time. On some level, forever.

And yet, a part of me is coming back to life. Something that would make my parents happy. And is making me feel like I have a new sense of purpose and enjoyment.

I am traveling again.

Again being the key word. When I lived in Israel, I traveled to 120 different municipalities. I visited 10+ European and Middle Eastern countries. I would hop on random buses and see where they took me, plotting out my voyages along the way.

All of which is to say, this is not new for me. It’s only new for folks who’ve met me since I was dealing with the hardship that has been the past few years. I’m excited for them to see this side of me and to get to know me this way. And perhaps to join me on some of my trips – in person or in spirit.

Anne is one of my Zoom Hebrew students. She and her husband live in Massachusetts and met me in Barcelona when I was visiting a Reform synagogue for Shabbat services. She has followed my ups and downs both as a student and a friend for about five years now.

When I told her today that I had just booked a ticket to Switzerland, she was ecstatic. “You’re getting back to the Matt I met,” she said. “The Matt that wanders, that adventures, that explores other cultures. I’m so excited for you!”

I am too. I’m excited to reconnect with this deep sense of self that enjoys seeing the world, talking to new people, reconnecting with old friends in other countries, eating good food, speaking different languages, buying fascinating new books, visiting archives, bathing in the beauty of stunning nature, and finding reasons to hope. To feel optimistic. To find joy in complexity and layers of texture.

That is the Matt who started this blog. That is the Matt who, from a young age, has always dreamed of seeing what’s out there. That is the Matt who learned seven (and a half) languages. And why?

Because I love it. Nothing makes me happier. It is a source of exploration and joy and affirmation and compassion for each other as human beings.

I can’t wait for my next adventure and I look forward to sharing it with you!

The Magic of VerMontréal

This may be one of my favorite vacations ever, so be sure to read all the way through!

When I lived in Israel, I used to travel all the time. It was healing, it was wholesome, it was exciting.

Towards the end of my time in Israel, I was struggling with my mental health and was experiencing transient homelessness as I made my way across Europe, eventually settling in Philadelphia in early 2019. There, I regained my stability and reconnected with my mom and rest of my family.

Coming back to D.C. that fall was hard. I successfully managed to rebuild my relationship with my family and find a great mental health team to give me the strength to live safely as a man with bipolar disorder. And D.C was full of memories, good and bad. It was supposed to be a temporary stop on my way back to Israel.

A few things happened. First of all, my mental health dictated that I needed to really settle down somewhere for a while and get treatment. Second, I needed to strengthen and heal my relationship with my family after being out of touch for several years. And third, the pandemic started months after I came home. Then my mom was diagnosed with Sarcoma, an aggressive form of cancer.

Going back to Israel or traveling for any extended period of time was out of the question. My health and my relationship with my family came first. It was a difficult decision- I missed seeing the rest of the world and exploring. I put my (then) plans for rabbinical school on hold. And I prioritized my mom. Which was the right thing to do. Because three years later, I would lose both her and my stepdad David to the very same type of cancer.

The past few months have been rough. My mom and I spent our last Passover together, she passed away on April 18, and we started packing up my childhood home. I nearly had a manic episode after my last packing day with friends. I have another packing day tomorrow and frankly I’m nervous. But I am doing my best. I am supported by incredible friends and family and a mental health care team that is standing with me every step of the way. Oh, also we went through my first Mother’s Day without mom here and Father’s Day (for my stepdad) is this Sunday. It’s all too much.

Given all this stress, I could have just stayed put. But I decided to do what I do best: travel. Explore. Engage other cultures. Immerse myself in nature.

For the first time in five years, I took a 10-day vacation. And it was worth every moment.

I started in Vermont. For those of you who haven’t been to this tiny little state, it is absolutely gorgeous. Take in some of the scenery:

I felt healed by all the green and nature around me. I hiked for the first time in many years and went sailing on Lake Champlain with a wonderful group of people. I met up with my friend Neale’s sister Catherine (mom loves Neale!) in Burlington, one of the cutest cities I’ve ever visited.

I feel incredibly lucky that this cute little green paradise is just an hour and half direct flight away from D.C. It took a little time to get adjusted to being on vacation and putting a pause on some of my worries, but once I did, I felt better than I have in years. No pandemic, no parents’ cancer looming over my head, just vacation and travel.

In Vermont, I took a maple syrup tour, met a Von Trapp, and took an urban forest tour with a quirky (and smart!) guy who told me he once climbed a tree and found underwear in it! I met tons of friendly people, including my cab driver Joe from Long Island, who helped me get around rural Vermont.

Then, it was time to cross the border. I took a cab from Vermont to Montreal, one of my favorite cities. I was there last summer on my first solo trip there, and had been twice before with other groups of people. I stayed at my favorite AirBnB and had a blast catching up with the host. I may even go back later this summer because I had so much fun!

While earlier in my trip I had been calling friends because I was feeling lonely, by the time I was in Montreal, I was feeling great. It’s such an energizing and creative city. Look at some of the cool murals:

It’s not only the beautiful street art that makes this city special. It’s also the amazing food and diverse cultures. Take a look at some of the Hasidic Jewish, Chinese, Portuguese, French, and Italian pastries I had:

Over the course of just five nights, I spoke English, French, Spanish, Arabic, Hebrew, and Portuguese! And in the past, I’ve even gotten the chance to speak Yiddish and Catalan! That’s all of my languages in one beautiful city.

I got the chance to take a “Rabbis and Radicals” Jewish history tour of the city with the Museum of Jewish Montreal. My guide, Claire, was a fellow queer Jew who had lived in Israel just like me. It made the experience extra special and I highly recommend the museum’s walking tours for anyone visiting the city.

At the end of my trip, I got to add music to the mix. I saw Isabelle Boulay, one of Quebec’s premier singers and a Franco-Country star. I love this kind of music. It was inspiring. My mom raised me to love music. It always infused our house. Sometimes our tastes overlapped, other times they diverged. But we always loved a good tune together. And she would support me even when my tastes were different.

I could go on and on about the magic of Montreal and Vermont- or as I like to call this space only 1.5 hours apart, VerMontréal. It is a place filled with greenery, with culture, with history, with friendly people. I will be back.

My journey has evolved over the past few years. You never know where life – or death – will take you. But the only thing you can be certain of is that if you don’t “go for it” now, you’ll regret it later. Book the ticket, dip into your savings. You can’t take money to the grave. But you can live a fun, meaningful, thoughtful, and creative life. And give back to others.

To all the Uber drivers, cab drivers, AirBnB hosts, hotel employees, sailboat captains, forest tour guides, and others who made my trip so special – thank you.

And to my mom, I miss you every day. And I will continue to live my life to the fullest and most meaningful way possible in honor of how you taught me to live.

With that, I’ll leave you with some beautiful pictures of the Montreal Botanical Garden. My mom and stepdad loved plants and flowers, and I hope they enjoy seeing some of the beautiful ones I got to enjoy on my trip. I love you guys.