We will learn to live together between the grove of olive trees

Years since writing - but now am feeling the necessary push to get me to express myself with words again. Yet, silence beckons me constantly...

Here is something for the new year.

As we have heard so far, t'filah, tzedakah, t'chuvah are the three threads that ties us wandering Jews to our annual introspective journey of self awareness. This year has brought to me all three of these understandings, in much greater and spiritually enlightening ways I've felt thus far.

I find myself returning to the answer this year, more so than I ever have before.

It is mid-June in the desert of New Mexico. Mountains rise in front of me as I slowly rock with the forward motion of the truck. Below cries the sleeping valley of meth heads, young boys selling newspapers on the corner, and taqueria after taqueira. Above lies the waking village of consciousness, very intentionally placed on the exact opposite side of the globe from one of the most spiritual places in the world: Amritsar, India, drawing me closer. Digging into the core of the earth with our energies, all 2000 of us hoped to return to the answer together. As yogis, as activists, as parents, children, healers, and businesspeople - All coming together to return to the answer in our own little ways.

On top of this mountain I float into a perfect space of T'chuvah. But more than a state of repentance of sins or sorrows, I attempt the simple act of loving all that is unloved, all that has hurt me, all that i might consider my "enemy" or "darkness". I embrace that energy, I hug it tightly, wrapping it around my third eye, deep breath in, down to my heart center, out through my lungs, capillaries, sprouting through my fingertips. Rooting it through my feet into the very source that birthed my human experience. Then I ask it to please transform. Strengthening my roots, blossoming flowers instead of broken fingernails, emptying my lungs so they fill with compassion, a heart center so full of intention it might burst, and then finally back to my third eye, where I remain neutral, simply seated in the valley of meth heads, indigenas workers without jobs, and the endless aisles of Wal Mart's spend less get more mantras. For when I return to the land most of us know -- the one where I, as a struggling human being trying to heal the open wounds of this Earth, of my people, of all people, of all living beings - I must be able to teach without attachment, to let it all in and show some compassion.

My repentance lies in the idea that GOD exists everywhere, and that I forgot that for most of the year. All that generates, organizes, and destroys - everything with energy, holds the utter transformative nature that GOD contains. As I stand on the mountain, and as I continue to gaze up at that mountain's significance from wherever I might be standing in this human world, I remember the answer I've returned to: be more compassionate and give my heaviness a hug - for we all have the power to generate, organize, and/or destroy all that holds us back as creative beings. deep breath in, deep breath out. L'shana tova, I love and miss you all so much.

You could be anywhere. Out having coffee, sitting watching English television, or eating a fresh batch of popcorn on the side of the road—you will get the offer. If you are with friends, the characteristic shuffle of the carton-o-cigs weasels its way into the scene. It’s socially kindled in Serbia, a way to offer what you have no matter what—just for the sake of sharing something. Always kindly refuse, and smile.

Kindly refusing has brought me far in my travels. Whether it is to people handing out flyers on the street, old men slurring some language I don’t understand as I walk past their staring eyes, or the nth plate of food offered to me, the warm smile and “no thanks” can make the difference. It isn’t menacing. It isn’t brutal. It is what it is.

I have figured out a lot about myself during these 4 months. Traveling in itself, especially alone as a woman, has its ups and downs. Learning how to work with what you have in order to make the best out of situations is key—although sometimes breakdowns are necessary. I know this trip has been successful because I have felt every single emotion that could possibly exist in the spectrum.

Like for instance—the past 48 hours…

I got on a plane heading from Tel Aviv to Vienna. The flight went well, I had a whole row to myself, a yummy meal (Austrian Air impresses me with its food), and time to finish my book (first novel in a long time). I was quite nervous with all the transfers I would have to do to get to Prague—it would require a lot of things going right.

Things didn’t go right. In fact, they went terribly, terribly wrong.

But I won’t get too ahead of myself.

The sherut brought me to Ben Gurion airport fine. The flight went well. I successfully got on the bus heading to Sudbonhoff train station in Vienna. I bought my ticket to Prague and sat for 2.5 hours in a café to pass the time. A beer and a finished book later, I boarded the train, where I would stay for an hour and then switch in Breclav to get on another train heading to Prague.

I sat down in the seat and took off my bags. Struggling (but I have mastered the technique), I lifted my 45 lb backpack up on the top shelving, my jacket, presents bag, and scarf on the lower shelving, my regular backpack by my feet, and hung up my purse on the clip so it could be close when the people needed my tickets/passport.

In walks in my new Croat friend. I don’t know his name but I noticed him in the café I was sitting at before, he looked nice and honest—maybe someone I would be friends with or share interesting stories all night long. I loved how he was Croatian too (it made me realize that I already miss it a lot).

He is a photographer and was on his way to Lithuania to do some freelance work. He lives in Zagreb. We spoke in Croatian for a while and he was impressed by my skills (!!). The conversation soon turned into him talking my ear off for an hour (and later an Austrian girl who joined us) about his travels on the trans-Siberian railway. All I wanted to do at this point was sleep.

I was very nervous I wouldn’t get off the train at the right stop. Sometimes these trains have a tendency to stop for about 50 seconds and then leave, so I wanted to have all my stuff together for Breclav. I quickly tossed on my jacket and scarf, took my big backpack, became pregnant with my second backpack thrown in front, and grabbed the bag of presents. Off I went.

Outside of the train (which ended up sitting there for 15 minutes), I met two people: Nik and Tanja, from Albania and Kazakhstan. My companions for the next 5 hours.

At this point I was happy—I had successfully gotten through all of the transfers. Now I was on my way to Prague and could relax until we got there.

Except for one thing: (can you guess it yet?)

As us three were shooting the shit on the train, I went shuffling around in my bag looking for the name of the hostel I was going to stay at. “It’s like Hostel…plus…A…something, just hold on”. After about 10 seconds of shuffle, I almost shat my pants. Where was my purse? Where did it go? I don’t have it. Shit, I don’t have my purse. My purse with every single piece of identification, currency, PASSPORT, and ipod. I left it on the train. I left it hanging on the hook. I knew It. I couldn’t believe it. But I knew it.

Holy fucking shit (this is an appropriate time, mother).

I flipped out. The two with me didn’t know what to do, but calmly told me to find someone on the train to tell them.

(All avenues to calm down were certainly out of the picture)

I ran up to one of the women who checked for tickets. A new dialect of English spilled out of my mouth as I tried to explain to her that I was royally screwed. That I had a plane to catch the following morning home, that I had exactly 4.5 euros in my pocket and nothing else. She looked at me like I was crazy.

She gestured for me to return to my seat. I sat down with my hands covering my face most likely swearing over and over. When the woman came to our car, the Kazak and Albanian came to the rescue.

I told her exactly what train I was on, where I was sitting, where the bag was, what it looked like, and what the two people in the car looked like as well. She phoned in. Nothing. I didn’t understand. All I could do was wait. I thought I was going to vomit.

I took out my ticket and showed her the train I was just on. She quickly grabbed her phone again, repeating the directions to another voice on the other end of the line. A few moments later she peered in at me with a smile and thumbs up. Found it!

I started laughing. Like a crazy person.

.But the journey wasn’t over

As she wrote out my mission, I repeatedly went over the situation in my head. How could I have been so stupid? So so so incompetent. So…wait. Breathe. Don’t be hard on yourself. This stuff happens right? I could go to the embassy first thing in the morning; I could ask my parents to wire me money. I have a copy of my passport on my computer which was with me. I could make it work.

The woman wrote out that I had to meet train 422 coming at 8:29 to Prague from Kosice, and that the conductor would stand outside waiting to give me my purse.

I knew I had faith in the world.

Our train was suppose to arrive in Prague at 330 am, but it mysteriously stopped for over an hour halfway in between. The Kazak and the Albanian really made the difference—they offered me a place to stay until 830 when they would show me back to the train station and help me get my purse. The catch was, we didn’t get into Prague until 5 am (because of the delay), and I wasn’t ready to take a 30 min trip to sleep for an hour and then take another 30 minute trip back by myself and get lost along the way.

No. I would stay there.

Funny thing is about the Prague train station—it’s not heated or inside. Great. I had 3.5 hours of pure hell in front of me—hell that was freezing instead of sweltering, thirsty, hungry, completely tired, and nervous that it wouldn’t work out. I wanted to believe everything would be okay, but I also had to make a plan if the worst happened. The worst being that the purse doesn’t make it on that train and that I am royally screwed.

Embassy, day after Christmas, plane in 24 hours, no money, no food, no water—even the bathroom cost money. The Kazak and Albanian left me with enough money for a phone call and their cell phone number, in case things went wrong. I didn’t want to spend any money (just in case), so I sat on a bench staring at the arrivals board. The clicking of the changing names almost drove me mad.

I put my big backpack horizontally in front of myself and wrapped my legs around it, along with the smaller backpack. I placed the bag of presents on my lap and arched around it. I fell asleep like that for around a half hour, sparing me some grief.

There are a lot of crazies in the train station. I was among them. For the first time I felt like any amount of pride was thrown out the window as I shuffled around the station trying to get warm but trying not to get more thirsty or hungry. I tried meditating. I tried praying. I was going completely bonkers.

Everything had to go perfectly. I set my alarm for 8 am just in case I fell asleep again. I walked in circles. Anything to pass the time. But truthfully, 3.5 hours never went so slowly before.

It was finally 8:10 and the platform number popped up on the arrivals board for train 422 from Kosice. I had to go! Of course platform 7 was the furthest away, and of course when I got there there was nothing written on the black board which usually tells you when and where the train is coming. Just a blank screen.

There was another man shuffling around that platform so I asked him if he spoke English. He shook his head and asked Dueschland? Rusa? Italiano? No no no. I thought for a moment and spurted out some unintelligible Croatian (very similar to Russian), and he smiled. We were both waiting for that train so it made me feel a whole lot better. I placed my smaller backpack on a chair with the bag of presents and began circling the bench. I circled and circled, quietly praying and wishing and hoping everything would work as planned. That the conductor would help me complete my mission. I even got to a place where I told myself “if this is what God wanted me to experience today, so it shall be”. When did God come into the picture? What!

Suddenly the train came in. The man I had just spoken with looked at me and gave me a not-so-assuring “maybe” shrug. I waited for the train to stop and rain up and down the doors, yelling “excuse me!” and “help!” and “English!!!!!” like the freak I am.

I get to the end of the train and look back, and I see a tiny figure in the distance in a black hat. It’s him!!!

I bolt with my 45 lb bag on my bag, my heavy-ass bag in front (with computer, etc), and my bag-o-presents. I wave to him. He waves back. I yell “purse!”. He waves back. Is he just waving because I am waiving? I get around 15 feet away and he smiles, nodding after I huff out “purse, you have, passport, mine, Vienna…” He tells me to wait a second. He goes into the car and unlocks a door, coming out with my purse.

I almost fainted.

I burst into tears as I thanked him over and over again. He just chuckled and walked away, as I searched through my purse making sure everything was there.

And it was. By some miracle, it all seemed to work out.

And by some other miracle, I walked around Prague for 7 hours without much sleep. I don't remember what I saw, but I know I was there!

And now I am at home...

Now what?

Like the Chinese student said to me in the hostel in Prague: don't put all your eggs in one basket!

(note: somewhere at the end here I was going to tie in kindly refusing into the story. but i am too tired and not that creative yet. More to come)