Travel – Page 2 – 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.

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!

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.

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.

How Montreal saved my Judaism

I just got back from the most amazing trip to Montreal. I had been before, but with groups of people who spoke only English. This time, I was going to do it in français. And on my own.

I found the past three years so difficult. I love to travel but because of Covid, I hadn’t been on a plane since I led a Birthright trip in Summer 2019. I had done some smaller trips to Philly, Richmond, Annapolis, Baltimore, and Charlottesville, all with friends. Which was great. I got to see new places and have a relaxing change of scenery. And rebuild my travel skills.

I spent the better part of two years traveling when I lived in Israel. I visited 120 Israeli municipalities and 10 European and Middle Eastern countries. And what was so amazing about this experience in Montreal was that with a little preparation, I was back in the game. Perhaps even better than before.

Montreal, for those who don’t know, is one of the most multicultural cities on the planet. It is home to large immigrant communities and diverse religious groups, including a significant Jewish presence dating back to the 1700’s. The Jewish presence is integral to the Montreal’s cultural identity. Of the three most famous Montreal foods, two are Jewish- bagels and smoked meat sandwiches. And these bagels, by the way, are in fact better than the best New York bagel I’ve ever had. They are cooked fresh 24/7 in wood-fired ovens and are absolutely delicious.

To be honest, as I’ve written about lately, I’ve felt distant from my Judaism. So I wasn’t sure how much I was going to engage with it on this trip. After all, I wanted to practice my French. Most Jews in Montreal are anglophones. And I was just tired of Judaism. I had signed up for a French-language Jewish culinary tour and if it hadn’t been in French (which excited me!), I’m not sure I would’ve gone.

But in French it was and something about the combination of French and Judaism works for me. It adds a layer of culture and interculturality to the experience. I found myself as the only Jew on the tour, including the guide, who was a non-Jewish woman from Quebec. The other participants were a French woman and a Quebecois man, both non-Jewish. While the guide was very knowledgeable, I ended up getting the chance to add my own commentary and knowledge to the tour! By the end, the French woman said the Museum of Jewish Montreal should hire me 🙂 . I was flattered.

The day before the tour, my connection to Judaism began to revive – or refashion itself – as well. I found myself in the Mile End, a heavily Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) neighborhood. It was Shabbat and even though I was wearing decidedly non-Orthodox attire (a bright polo and jeans), I couldn’t help but wish the people walking by a “git shabbes”. A good Sabbath. And for the most part I got smiles and a “git shabbes” back.

Solo travel can be hard but little moments like this when a gay Reform Jew is greeting Hasidic brethren in Yiddish – that just makes my heart warm. And they weren’t the only people making my heart feel full. I’m part of the Yiddish-language community in the U.S. A French Yiddish-speaking klezmer artist and friend Eleonore introduced me to her Syrian KLEZMER VIOLINIST FRIEND. Who lives in Montreal! Yes, you read that right. So Zafer, the Syrian klezmer artist, and I did Greek food and talked about all things Jewish and Middle Eastern and queer! Because our commonalities were incredible. It’s the kind of mix you really only find in few places on the planet. Montreal is definitely one of them.

Having done the Jewish food tour, spoken a ton of French, and met a Syrian klezmer violinist, I had arrived at my final day (I did a bunch of other non-Jewish stuff but this blog can only be so long!). My last day I could’ve just gone to a park and eaten cheese with a baguette. Which sounds really nice right about now. But instead, I went back to the Mile End, bought a t-shirt from my favorite bagel place and went to a Hasidic bookstore in search of Yiddish books. I even got a compliment on my Yiddish from a young Hasidic man on the street who I asked for directions from!

I found the bookstore and this entire section (and more) was just books in Yiddish:

The bookstore employee’s eyes lit up when I said I wanted Yiddish books. He showed me children’s books, Mishnah in Yiddish, and Siddurim with Yiddish translations of the prayers. I must’ve spent an hour and a half in there. I wanted to buy everything! And while my eyes initially drifted towards the children’s books (which are so cute!), I found myself surprisingly attracted to the religious books given my recent doubts about God. In addition to some children’s stories, I decided to buy a part of the Mishnah and, most importantly a Siddur, or prayerbook. Something about the Yiddish softens the prayers for me. So they don’t seem so scary or prescriptive. They feel a little queer. And I like it.

So to the province with a blue and white flag just like Israel, je t’aime. Ikh hob dikh lib. I love you! Because of you, I feel a renewed connection to my Judaism. It’s a Judaism that intersects with language. With Hassidism. With queerness. And even with Syria!

I’ll be back soon. Because to travel, to wander- that is to be a Jew.

The Birthright to be Jewish

Recently I had the blessing to lead a Birthright trip. When I was 18, I went on my first trip to Israel. At age 13, after my Bar Mitzvah, I decided to learn Modern Hebrew with a private tutor. It’s not a step most teenagers take, let alone on their own initiative.

I fell in love with the country. A country I had not yet been to, but a culture so alluring, so filled with life that I went by myself to a Sarit Hadad concert in suburban Maryland as a high schooler. And loved it.

My own Birthright experience as a participant was mixed. My tour guide was pretty right-wing and the group of people on my trip were so wild that they hooked up in front of the rest of the group…multiple times. It was not my scene.

What I did love was Israel itself. The landscapes, the history, the smells, the food, the Judaism, the curious nature of a country halfway around the planet somehow tied to those Hebrew lessons I took every week for three years in Maryland.

This time, the tables were flipped. Whereas once I was an engaged participant, this time I was a leader. While as a teenager and college student I had been an avid community organizer and counselor at various summer camps and activist institutes, it had been a long time since I had led a group of people. I work in communications and public relations, but corralling a group of 50 college students with only two other staffers is a challenge. At age 33.

The first few days were exhausting. Between the jet lag, the hectic pace, being in a completely new social structure with nobody I knew, and the heavy responsibility of watching out for dozens of people’s lives, I was exhausted. And frankly, not having a very good time.

All that changed with Shabbat. The trip came to a slow, gentle pause as we joined the country in resting and reflecting. As I had many times before in other places, I led the group in Kabbalat Shabbat services, a challenging and exciting opportunity given the very diverse backgrounds of the participants. Some of them had never observed Shabbat before.

But what was so amazing, and indeed is the magic of Jewish wisdom and tradition, is how it completely transformed both the group and the trip for me. Physically, we had a chance to practice the self care our bodies desperately needed. No hikes, no bus rides, no planes. Just rest.

Spiritually, we had a chance to come together as a new community.

One thing I mentioned to my participants at the end of our trip (by which time we really had become a loving, kind, tight-knit group of people who I really miss) was the difference between an experience and a community. An experience is something that ignites, that binds people together in a moment. Birthright is definitely that and I highly recommend going if you haven’t had the chance to yet.

A community, however, is something deeper and more long-term. It is a valley filled with overlapping emotions, care, and responsibility.

It’s something that only happened for me once we had a chance to celebrate Shabbat.

Because Shabbat is not a place, is not an attraction, is not a sight to see. It is a time to behold the spirit and to feel its presence in our selves and in those around us.

That is what I saw happen on Shabbat. A group of 50 thoughtful college students started to share their inner feelings and ideas with each other. They started to look more at each other than at their phones. And I started to feel more connected to them as they made themselves vulnerable talking about their families, the complexity of intermarriage, their Jewish values, and so much more.

What started as a moment in time became the seed of a growing community. A community that initially I felt I was responsible for. But eventually stood in awe as it became responsible for itself. For each other. Even for me.

This is the magic of Judaism. Judaism is not a thing you can touch nor buy. It is something you can practice anywhere at any time. Even just by sharing an act of kindness.

It is something you have to do to make real.

At least if you live outside Israel.

What is so special about Israel is that by experiencing life in a majority-Jewish country, you don’t have to do Jewish. You can simply be Jewish. The nature of the place is that the street signs carry the names of famous rabbis, the boulevards of Jewish heroes. The Hebrew language is plastered on every pizzeria and we hold our fate in our own hands with the ability and responsibility of having an army to protect ourselves.

That is the nature of Judaism in Israel. You don’t need to do anything to feel Jewish- it’s just around you all the time. The degree to which you engage it is up to you, but the holidays and culture will happen whether you participate or not. It’s a miracle of the complicated and sometimes fraught ideology we call Zionism. That for all its varying shades, victories, and failures is ultimately the only ideology that successfully found a way for people to simply exist as a Jew by virtue of being one. And to succeed to passing that unique state of being on to future generations.

If my words are unclear, think about it this way. If you want to be Jewish in America, you can certainly choose to identify as a Jew and do nothing to actively pursue that identity. However, that identity will ultimately not find any manifestation in your day-to-day life unless you act on it. Lighting Shabbat candles, learning about the Holocaust, studying Jewish texts, having Jewish friends- these are some of a myriad of ways in which you can “do Jewish” in the Diaspora. And if you don’t find some way to do so, Judaism as a faith, tradition, and culture will not be a visible part of your life.

So the gift (and challenge) of Israel (and of Birthright) is the uniqueness of Judaism in this place. Israel allows Jews to exist as Jews while doing nothing (consciously) Jewish. It is the only place on the planet where all schools shut down for Jewish holidays and you feel the presence of Shabbat by the absence of buses on the roads every Friday night. Whether you like it or not, or whether you pray or not. You’re a Jew.

So I want to share a special message with my Birthright participants (Bus 354 woo woo olé!) and with the secular Israelis who move to the States and with Jews in America looking for a way to engage.

My message is you have to do Jewish to be Jewish. Unless you live in Israel, Judaism won’t happen for us the way it did on Birthright. It’s something I’m sure you’ll miss when you go back home and it’s truly a special experience to walk the streets of Jerusalem emptied of cars on a Saturday afternoon.

The good news is your Judaism doesn’t have to stop there. Obviously it’s great to go back to Israel and there are many ways to do so, including subsidized programs through MASA. Explore in more depth. Learn about the complexity of Israel, including its diverse non-Jewish communities such as the Druze, Arab Christians, Arab Muslims, Circassians, Bedouin, and more. The tent we stayed at in the desert is only a meager taste of what these amazing communities have to offer.

But also take Judaism with you in your own way. It could be choosing to put your phone on airplane mode for a few hours on Shabbat to get that feeling of mindfulness you got during our trip. It could be taking a stroll with a friend in nature. It could be finding time to catch up with friends from the trip, keeping our newfound community alive. It could be learning about Jewish history or music or news or visiting a museum.

It also could mean plugging into your local Jewish community. Places like Hillel on campus, Moishe House after you graduate, or the dozens of organizations and synagogues in your local Jewish Federation– these are places where you can find fellow Jews to connect with wherever you are. And get that feeling of togetherness we had on our trip.

My greatest hope for you and for all Jews outside Israel is to see that the magic of Judaism doesn’t have to stop at Israel’s borders. Although it will never be exactly the same and there is something so unique and special about the spontaneous Judaism that happens there.

The spirit of Shabbat and of Jewish life that you experienced is all around us if you access it.

Take the moment, take the experience, and build it into a community. A community of our bus, of our friends, of our people. And let it nourish you now and for many years to come.

Amen. Miss you guys 🙂

Gratitude

Gratitude is not an easy concept when you’ve been through a lot of hard experiences. I’m not someone who falls for the “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” or “it happened for a reason” ideas. Some people find those valuable, and from time to time I suppose I can too, but I don’t think it’s a useful organizing principle. What doesn’t kill you can still hurt and wound you and create painful consequences. Everything “happens for a reason” but I don’t necessarily buy that it was preordained nor that good can only come out of evil or harm. Something bad doesn’t have to happen in order for good experiences to be enjoyed later. If it’s something you’ve come to the conclusion of, then that’s fine. It’s not for everyone or for every experience- and certainly not an idea to push on others feeling pain.

Gratitude is a difficult but important concept. And two stories come to mind when I think of the ways in which I’m fortunate.

One time in Belgium I felt someone else’s gratitude open my heart. I was in the village of Dinant in the French-speaking region of Wallonie. I had dreamed of going to Belgium for years. I love tiny countries, especially multilingual ones like Belgium, and it’s a great place to speak French.

I was trying to get directions somewhere and I asked this older woman for help in French. She gruffly pointed and told me where to go. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience. As any solo traveler knows, relying on locals for help and kindness is a crucial part of making your adventure a success- and feeling good. And I wasn’t very happy with how she treated me.

My French is quite good, so I thought perhaps she thought I was a tourist from France, and maybe Belgium and France have some sort of rivalry. Maybe she was old and miserable and in a bad mood. I really wasn’t sure- I just knew I didn’t really want to be around her, so I made my way up a funicular to the top of a cliff to see the town from above.

It was a beautiful, beautiful place.

After chatting with some other tourists, I made my way down. And who did I see at the bottom of the cable car? The grumpy woman.

She approached me, perhaps feeling guilty for her rude behavior earlier, and we chatted for a moment in French. She pointed me towards an interesting village she had mentioned earlier. And asked where I was from.

While during my travels I sometimes vary in whether I say American, Israeli, or both, this time I decided to say American.

And her eyes lit up.

She thanked me. Thanked me? For what, you might ask? She is from a generation of Belgians that remembers the sacrifices Americans made to protect their country in both World War I and World War II. Sacrifices like those of my great uncle Barney. For those who don’t know, Belgium was a battleground in both- and large parts of its countryside laid desolate and decimated. The graveyards are still present to this day, often flanked by American and British flags.

Her gratitude was palpable. It was a beautiful moment, one which I totally didn’t expect. Traveling as an American or Israeli abroad is often tricky, especially in Europe where both logical and deeply illogical negative reactions abound. Before I have a chance to share who I am as a person.

In this case, I felt nothing but love. It was this immediate bond and I thanked her for her kind words. She then, like a cute little grandma, made sure I knew exactly how to get to the next village and even followed me for a bit just to help.

It’s stories like these that make you realize the power of a word. Her gratitude made my day so much better. I’m thankful for people like her, willing to open their hearts to a stranger.

Stranger is one of the most repeated words of the Torah, for those who don’t know. The commandment to welcome the stranger is so incredibly present in the text. And Jews, as one of the most mobile people on the planet, have often been treated as “the other”. As strangers, sometimes even centuries after our arrival.

Which makes my second story all the more important.

I found myself in Ljubljana, Slovenia. I hadn’t really come to this country for its Jewish community- it numbers only 1,000 and its main historic synagogue which I wanted to visit was quite far from the capital city. I really came to this country for its mountains- and mountains it really does have. It’s the second greenest country by percentage of land covered in forest after Finland.

I spent about a week in Ljubljana and at this point in my journey, I started feeling a bit lonely. Lonely not only because traveling alone can be hard, but also because I saw a Hitler salute in the middle of the town square. While I wouldn’t want to suggest that most Slovenians are anti-Semitic, the experience of seeing a teenage boy dabble in Nazism in front of my face at noon in the town square was horrifying. While in the end I didn’t feel physically unsafe, I certainly felt alone and kind of sad.

Which led me to seek out Jewish community.

I googled and found the local Jewish museum. Being originally from D.C., I think of the Smithsonian or other large institutions when I hear the word. After traveling to other countries (and other American cities), I realize how lucky I was to grow up with such a dazzling institution for free at my doorstep.

Because this museum was a simple two room set up. The size of an apartment. Yet its power is much greater than its size.

In a country with only 1,000 Jews, the most prominent message displayed in this little space was one of tolerance and interfaith dialogue.

It really astounded me. I think if I lived in such a small community, while I would want positive relations with my neighbors (who in some cases collaborated with Nazis- so not an easy feat), my focus would be on Jewish continuity. I would probably double down on building strong Jewish-centric institutions.

Yet this museum managed to find a delicate and thoughtful balance between introspection and outward engagement. There were old relics of Torah scrolls and ritual objects and histories of the Jewish community. Right alongside the very active programming the center does to engage the broader Ljubljana community in educating not only about Jews, but generally building a cultural of tolerance for all. It’s a complex and nuanced approach to Jewish community that far exceeds the size of the building. It’s one that much larger communities continue to grapple with- where does the particular intersect with the universal- if at all?

All of which made me feel both impressed and grateful. Impressed at how this tiny community had taken such a small space and turned it into a meaningful educational endeavor. At their resourcefulness and at their interconnectedness. All in the space of two rooms. You don’t need fancy equipment or huge fundraisers to make a difference- you need willpower and a strong moral fiber more than anything else.

My gratitude goes to the Jewish Museum of Ljubljana for reminding me of this lesson. And it made me even more grateful to be part of the two largest Jewish communities in the world- America and Israel- where we have so many resources to explore our identity and pass it on to the next generation. Something we should not take for granted.

To be part of these communities is a privilege that some Jews don’t enjoy. Some Jews have fewer members of our tribe in their country than live in just one American suburb or an Israeli kibbutz. Yet, as the Jews of Ljubljana show, it is possible even with such a small, dedicated group of people to make a difference in the world.

May they continue to remind me, and all of us, of the power of one. Of the power of a small group. Of the spirit of the Jewish people. And, in the case of the woman from Belgium, the power of just one word to change someone’s day: thanks.

Dialoguing in the face of hopelessness

Let’s face it- things look dire when you read the news lately. North Korea this, Iran that, the Middle East generally speaking a mess. Democrats who won’t speak to Republicans who won’t speak to Democrats who won’t speak to moderates who won’t speak to liberals. It’s a dizzying and dismaying amount of isolation and siloing of society.

A friend recently messaged me upset about this breakdown in communication. A liberal herself, she found it frustrating when she met people on her own side of the aisle who refused to recognize the humanity of those who disagreed with them. That while some people clearly lie outside the pail of rational debate, there is room for disagreement in a democratic and pluralistic society. And that if we resort to the tactics of extremists on the other side, what do we, in the end, become?

To this end, I’d like to share a story.

I found myself in need of an adventure. And my adventure begins with Yiddish. Yiddish is a Jewish language I speak, the language my own ancestors have used on a daily basis for countless generations. A mishmosh (a Yiddish word itself!) of Hebrew, Aramaic, Latin, Old French, medieval German, Polish, Russian, and more- it is a mixed language much like English. Enriched by its various components. It allows for a degree of nuance. For instance, the word in Yiddish for an acquaintance is “froynd” (“friend” in German), whereas a close friend is a khaver, which means friend in Hebrew. It indicates a lot about the society Yiddish speakers lived in and how social and familial ties developed. As did persecutions.

So Yiddish, for all its various components, is probably about 70% comprised of medieval Germanic words (words which occasionally differ in meaning from their Modern German counterparts, but bear a strong similarity). Pennsylvania Dutch, as the famous scene from The Frisco Kid goes, is remarkably similar to Yiddish. As a pre-standardized form of German passed down from generation to generation here in the U.S., I’ve found it rather comprehensible to me. I tested my theory out by speaking Yiddish to an Amish woman in Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia- she smiled from ear to ear and responded back in Pennsylvania Dutch. She said she had heard of similarities between the languages and you could tell she was tickled to find out it was true. As was I 🙂 .

A few weeks later, I hopped on a train to Lancaster, PA, home of the Amish heartland. I went to another market and tried out my Yiddish while buying some whoopie pies (a delightful cream-filled dessert made by the Amish- they are really good at making dessert!). Some young women smiled and liked chatting with me. A few didn’t speak Pennsylvania Dutch, but were nonetheless happy to see me reaching out to learn and share about our shared cultural heritage.

And one woman was just mean.

After buying her decidedly delicious whoopie pies and complimenting her on them, I tried out my Yiddish-Amish experiment. Her response was to tell me a story about a Jewish woman she knew who she used to call a “dummer yud”. That’s German for “dumb Jew”.

Dumb-founded, I didn’t know what to say. I tried to ask her why she would use such a mean phrase, even about a woman she may not have liked. She simply smiled, my religious or social or emotional arguments completely ignored.

I left deflated.

This dichotomy explains the rough terrain we’re operating in today. Especially when it comes to dialoguing across cultures. Faced with mistrust, I understand the impulse to protect yourself. It’s actually a positive one because we all deserve safety and to be treated with respect.

It can also be a negative one if taken to an extreme. If I don’t ever make myself vulnerable, then I won’t see moments of light, like when the young woman smiled from ear-to-ear in the market while I spoke Yiddish. The first time she had ever heard my language or experienced my culture.

And if I always make myself vulnerable- or hadn’t distanced myself from the mean anti-Semitic woman- well, then I won’t be particularly happy or self-fulfilled.

This is the great challenge of communicating in a time of deep polarization. It’s not easy and I’m always learning and re-learning my boundaries and trying to protect myself while putting myself out there. Because if we never take risks, we never reap rewards. For ourselves or for those lives we could touch with compassion and kindness.

So be the voice of love. When in a group of like-minded people, offer a word of kindness about “the other”. Whether that other be a Republican or a Democrat, a Muslim or a Jew, an atheist or a religious person, an African American or a white straight cis-man from Appalachia. We are people. It doesn’t mean all ideas fly or should be accepted as true. It means that we ultimately share a lot in common with more people than we think- and should take advantage of that to build more compassion in our society.

If there is a solution to our polarization, perhaps it lies in each of us stepping just enough outside our comfort zones to provide some meaningful contact with people of different backgrounds. Even some backgrounds that could make us feel scared- sometimes justifiably, sometimes maybe surprising us with their kindness. Or a combination of both.

And it lies in being understanding. Having spoken with five or six different Amish people in Yiddish and gotten positive or neutral reactions from all but one of them, I am better able to see nuance. So that instead of sitting only with the “dumb Jew” comment (which should, nonetheless, be noted to protect myself), I can also recall the smiles of the young women touched by my actions.

As I left Lancaster filled with whoopie pies, I felt a dash of hope. A hope I wish for all of you. That nuance need not mean being neutral, nor negating our fears or feelings. But that stepping outside and adventuring and getting to know our neighbors as equals- that is a true step towards happiness and wholeness. For us, and for the greater society we share.

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