Girl On Telucha

It started off as a much needed walk after all the holiday meals and a good preparation for the festivities of Simchat Torah. Just before we reached Prospect Park, my friend and I realized last year we had taken a walk on Sukkot and had meandered into the historic Kol Israel Synagogue.

This reminded me that I had always wanted to see the Eldirdge Street Synagogue in action. After a should we, dare we, why not conversation we went along Flatbush Avenue and then onto the Manhattan Bridge for a five mile walk to Eldridge Street.  At long last we reached the majestic building. I was so anticipating the joy of Torah in the space where Jews have celebrated for a hundred years. The gate was open but the doors were locked! I knocked and then my friend pounded the doors so hard I thought the alarm would go off. All this way for naught.

We were determined to see a shul at this point. Any really. I knew further into the Lower East Side there would be more synagogues but I did not know where. We stopped by the fire station for directions. When we saw the Chabad boys behind us so we knew we were going the right way. Until they turned someplace far back and we were lost again.

Chabad chassidim, men anyway, go on telucha on Sukkos. I am not actually sure of what the exact definition of the Hebrew word is except that its source is in the word 'to go'. They go on long walks to increase the celebration in shuls all over. This year, my friend and I, unintentionally as it was, were joining the telucha march. I would say that we are uber chassidish.

After spotting Hebrew letters we tried the door of the first building we saw. That's when my friend read the sign and said we were breaking into the Chevra Kadisha.  Whoops. We knew we had  finally reached the right street by the myriad groups of Chabad boys milling in front. It was party time. At last I was going to see Shtiebel Row, a famous street on the LES leftover from days when all the streets were teeming with Jewish houses of prayer, and I was going to see it in action! Bounding up the steps we thought we had missed it but the upstairs congregation was still going strong. We must have looked exhausted because a woman offered us seltzer. Everyone was so welcoming without asking questions. Just welcome. No cross examination though they were probably a tad curious as to how a girl in sneakers and a girl dressed to the nines had wandered into their midst.

We stayed for an hakafa and then went to the next shul. There we were welcomed by a girl named Tikva who explained that the white curtain over the Aron was there just for the holiday season.

At our next stop, we tailgated on a chassidish man's Kiddush. We burst into the room with his back toward us but this mother said, "keep them in mind!" He turned around and nodded. They gave us cake and we chatted and she told us that Young Israel and Bialystocker Shul did a hakafa together in the street. We raced further down the block to see the street blocked off and people singing, dancing, rejoicing.

My friend met her high school principal whose father had been the Baal Tefilah at the Bialystocker Synagogue. She told us that it had previously been a church and a stop on the underground railroad. It is a breathtaking synagogue. It has stunning murals of the Jewish signs for each month on the ceiling.

We saw six shuls rejoicing that night. My favorite moment though was the boys who had participated in the outdoor hakafah. They danced backward in a row, arms thrown across each others shoulders as they faced the Sefar Torah. They escorted the Torah back into the shul while singing Lishana Haba BiYerushalayim.

Simchat Torah is a holiday in celebration of the Torah. We dance around the bima, reader's platform, with the Torah scrolls in hand. However it was in that moment, with the boys facing the Torah that I saw the love as well as the joy.

The Torah starts off with the letter Bet and ends with the letter Lamed. Spelling the Hebrew word "lev" which means heart. The Torah is the heart of the Jewish people. Watching those boys dance in honor of the Torah reminded me of how cherished it is and of how cherished we are.

The beautiful night did not end there. We still had our long trek home. This time we kept up with the amazing Chabad kids who come to the city, dance furiously, walk back to Crown Heights and then continue the celebration a 770.

The Israeli thirteen year olds, who come to spend Tirshria in Crown Heights, generally drive me crazy. However, they are also a lifeline of passion and fervor in what it means to have mesiras nefesh in the twenty first century. To save in order to scrape enough for a flight to New York. Then to attend classes and celebrate Tirshria in Crown Heights. To see the iconic shul they had only seen in videos. To celebrate in a space where their inspiring lessons stemmed from.

They're crazy but in a good way.

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Validations

In Germany, we went to the Reichsparteitagsgelände, the rallying grounds in Nuremberg. There, we took this photo:

 

The story behind the picture can be read here. We stood where we once could not. Where my great-great grandmother, who was murdered by Nazis, could not stand. We stood to say we are here.

 

In my pursuit to visit as many New York City museums as possible this year, I went to the Museum of Chinese Americans. It was largely about the history and culture of the Chinese in America and the challenges, including racism, they face(d). In the exhibit exploring the definition of what it means to be a Chinese immigrant or even a United States citizen this was displayed:

 

 

 

Does it remind you of anything? Perhaps something you saw in your grade school history book?

 

Take a look at this and see what you can remember:

 

 

The famed railway which, in 1869, united the contiguous United States. Look at the picture closely. There are no Chinese in the photo though there were over 12,000 Chinese and Chinese Americans who helped build it. Many who took on dangerous tasks in desperation for a few dollars.

 

So why did the photographer want to go back and take a picture there with Chinese Americans? What do we accomplish by these photos? We are obviously here. Why take on the expense for a mere photo? What are you communicating by doing this?

 

In an article, Mr. Corky, the photographer, asks for participants to come "reclaim a bit of Asian American history."

 

 

Maybe when we go somewhere and we study the history we also change it. Some say history is dead. Maybe it is alive. Or if it is dead it does not rest in peace. It haunts us continuously by playing an incredibly active role in shaping our lives today. How we respond to it changes its impact and thereby changes the status of the past. It puts an intense power into our hands.