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There's so much to say about leaving and arriving, some of it too hard, but I will note the following:
- M. gave me a packet to open on the plane which contained a beautiful picture of herself, laminated with tape, and a message saying "To Yonah, have a nice trip. From me, M." I am amazed by the kindness from one just ten years old, the generosity it takes to give something to a step-parent, the insight and unselfconsciousness it takes to know that a photograph of yourself is the best thing for the occasion. It came wrapped in purple construction paper, labelled with pink marker, cut with little blunt scissors--the world of children and its population of distinctive objects, which I am leaving behind.
- The Darda'im gave me a sidur so I can be a good little Darda'ith even in shockingly Ashkenazi Scandinavia. "Who will fill the women's section now?" one asked (I was the only one who went to minhah and the weekly learning on shehitah). The rav gave me a blessing. It's nice to be cared for.
- My yeshivah was, by the end, no longer the place for me. But to think about it, I began in one of the lowest shiurim, worked my way to the top one, and a few weeks before I left substitute-taught a class. That might simply say something bad about it rather than something good about me, but regardless, it's progress.
- There are birches here, thought of in Irish traditional tree-lore as the aristocrat of the forest, represented by the letter (b-sound) in Ogham. Funny how the change in physical environment triggers so much memory. Instead of sandstorms, hoopoes, and cubes: rain, ravens, and triangles. Everything seems washed in iron grey. It's beautiful, but I miss home too much. My physical reality is now a little barrier between me and the learning, if not an unsurmountable one, and it used to be a connection.
- M. gave me a packet to open on the plane which contained a beautiful picture of herself, laminated with tape, and a message saying "To Yonah, have a nice trip. From me, M." I am amazed by the kindness from one just ten years old, the generosity it takes to give something to a step-parent, the insight and unselfconsciousness it takes to know that a photograph of yourself is the best thing for the occasion. It came wrapped in purple construction paper, labelled with pink marker, cut with little blunt scissors--the world of children and its population of distinctive objects, which I am leaving behind.
- The Darda'im gave me a sidur so I can be a good little Darda'ith even in shockingly Ashkenazi Scandinavia. "Who will fill the women's section now?" one asked (I was the only one who went to minhah and the weekly learning on shehitah). The rav gave me a blessing. It's nice to be cared for.
- My yeshivah was, by the end, no longer the place for me. But to think about it, I began in one of the lowest shiurim, worked my way to the top one, and a few weeks before I left substitute-taught a class. That might simply say something bad about it rather than something good about me, but regardless, it's progress.
- There are birches here, thought of in Irish traditional tree-lore as the aristocrat of the forest, represented by the letter (b-sound) in Ogham. Funny how the change in physical environment triggers so much memory. Instead of sandstorms, hoopoes, and cubes: rain, ravens, and triangles. Everything seems washed in iron grey. It's beautiful, but I miss home too much. My physical reality is now a little barrier between me and the learning, if not an unsurmountable one, and it used to be a connection.
