Rosh Hashana In Jordan: One Year Later

Hey Everyone,

As I reflect upon the last Jewish year, I can't help but to think about where I was at this time last year. My Rosh Hashana in Jordan was among the most special ones of my life, and I didn't post about it then.  Looking back on the year,  I realize how far I've come, how much I've learned, and how much I still have to learn. Thanks to everyone who made this last year possible, and I hope you enjoy reading about what Rosh Hashana was like in Jordan. 

Rosh Hashana in Jordan

September 5, 2013

As I prepared to fly to Jordan, I was worried about the J word—I assumed being Jewish was legit a death sentence. I was told that Jordanians understand the difference between Judaism as a religion and Zionism as a political movement, but also told to be careful about to whom I tell my religion.

Sure enough, though, tonight was Erev Rosh Hashannah, the night in which Jews around the world welcome in the Jewish New Year. Although I could not go to my parents’ Rosh Hashannah feast or synagogue, I found a way to make Rosh Hashannah special.

Jacob, another Jew on my program, and I decided yesterday that we wanted to do something, and I suggested that we buy some apples and honey so that we could at least celebrate the sweetness of the new year. We then extended our tradition into an invitation to the whole program to come hang out with us after dinner in a room to celebrate the Jewish new year. Today, I went to the market and we bought some apples, a pomegranate and a jar of honey. I was ready to go, excited even, but I missed the festivities at home.

As the sun set in Amman, I called my mom at home, ready to wish everyone a shana tova. At that point, I broke down. I walked into dinner with my program trying to hide the tears from my eyes. The staff and my friends saw me and called me out on it, which instantly made me cry more. I was given hugs and asked how they could help me, but I had no answer. I explained that to be in Amman during Rosh Hashannah was similar to being in the United States for Rammadan. Not impossible, not wrong, but emotionally difficult. They then started asking me all about the holiday, my family traditions, etc, and I really enjoyed telling my Muslim staff and American friends about this holiday. I explained that we eat apples and honey for a sweet new year; we eat a round loaf of bread to represent the cyclical nature of the calendar; the day is about renewal; the next week and a half about repentance. The sadness faded and melted into joy, as I realized that for the next four months, these people will serve the role of family and help me create new traditions that I can take with me anywhere in the world.

After dinner, a group of 9 us crowded into a friends room to celebrate Rosh Hashanah. I cut up the apples and the pomegranate, took out our round bread (a few pieces of pita I had stolen from dinner), and explained a bit about the holiday to them. We had no candles, so we turned out the three lamps in the room and then turned them all as the other Jew and I said the blessing over the “candles,” followed by the shehechiyanu, borei peri ha etz, and hamotzi.

Everyone enjoyed the sweetness of the apples and honey, and suddenly, we are all goofing around, taking pictures, etc. Jacob and I sang avinu malkeinu, and I did a very spirited (albeit fast) ma’ariv/yom tov service in the hotel bathroom. I figured out which way Jerusalem was (west of me) by looking at the marker on the ceiling of where the Kaaba in Mecca was. Yes, that marker with an arrow is on the ceiling of every hotel room.

My favorite part of the night was seeing the Catholics react to our descriptions of Jewish summer camp as a highly sexual breeding zone for future Jewish babies. As I described the very physically intimate games played at Ramah (sumo kiss, lap tag, etc), the catholic girls were shocked, unable to fathom the idea that a structured religion would be that sex positive. The conversation got more and more insane from there, but I will say that laughter was prevalent.

As we got into deeper topics about religion, I realized just how diverse our small group was. From our original 9 we were down to 2 Jews, 2 conflicted Catholics (13 years of catholic school), 1 self described “kind of catholic, I guess,” 1 Baptist, 1 Bahai, and 1 person raised with no religion that now attends Jesuit college.

While this Erev Rosh Hashannah was different than any that I’ve experienced in the past, it reminded me just how lucky I am to be here. I am in a place where I will get to live in a Muslim society, with a Palestinian family (I meet them tomorrow and am TERRIFIED), and experience life in this hectic yet beautiful and open region.

Life is good, and this year is going to be a damn good one.

Shanna Tova u’metukah.

First Day (September 6, 2013)

When I woke up the morning of Rosh Hashannah, I had very mixed feelings. I was so happy with what had happened the night before, and yet I realized that I had missed my family’s massive dinner party and seeing my community at synagogue. It’s all good. I’m in Jordan.

I decided, though, that I wanted a chance to daven shacharit and rosh hashannah services as best as I could here. My mom helped me find a Machzor online, and ultimately, I found a pdf of the full art scroll siddur to use. While the rest of my classmates were taking the Arabic placement exam, I went outside to a corner of the garden with my computer to do the service.

I placed my computer on the ledge and went straight to the point that contains the lead up to the shma. I did the shma and its brachot and turned to the page where the Amida begins. Sure enough, at that moment, the call to prayer rung out from mosques across the city of Amman.

I closed my eyes, letting the call to short, focused, and deliberate prayer to Allah move me into a state of mind that would facilitate reflection. As I listened to the Maznoon, I was amazed by the beauty of the voice I heard. Arab singing is very different than western singing, and involves much more vocal control and flair than the average singer in the west. The call to prayer is a cappella, in a language I don’t understand (yet), and yet, for those 3ish minutes, I stood still, eyes closed, hypnotized by it.

When the call to prayer ended, I took a deep breath, took 3 steps back, 3 steps forward, and bowed. For the next 10 minutes, I focused on my computer screen, saying these ancient words that helped me to welcome and celebrate the New Year. People were finishing their tests and coming outside, calling me for food, and my concentration didn’t break. Rarely in my life have I had that focused of an Amidah.

After I said Oseh shalom and finished, I decided that I wanted to hear the shofar. I went to YouTube and found a video of the shofarot service. I put on my headphones and shut out the world around me as I let the blasts of the shofar wake me up, calling me to action and reflection.

Being a Jew in a Muslim country is complicated, especially when 50% of that Muslim country is of Palestinian origin. This moment, though, solidified my already firm belief that all of these religions are the same; Allah is Elohim; Jews and Muslims are cousins that can learn more from each other than our current political situation allows us to remember.

Having said that, my Palestinian host family knows that I am Jewish and that I have been to Israel. And they call it Israel. They know that Jews are different than Zionists/Israeli soldiers/the Israeli government/Palestinian baby killers, and they too hope that peace will soon emerge.

Insha-Allah, god willing, we as Jews will learn to accept Arabs and Muslims the way they have so far accepted me.

Gmar Chatimah Tova, and may you soon have an easy fast and be inscribed and sealed in the book of life.