Human, humid, humilitary
Jacob Rosenblum
unlocked the door with my key. I removed my shoes, turned the handle,
and pushed my way into the house. I knew the house was empty, because
it was locked, and there were no other shoes outside the door.
"Buona sera," I echo in my mind, and then speak aloud. The homonym of
'sera' and 'Sarah' strikes me, and I fall nostalgic for a life that
never has, and never will be mine. Coming home to my good Sarah,
groceries in hand, I kiss her on the cheek as I get inside, and the
very action fills me with warmth. Oh, what a life that would be.
I feel like an anachronism: I can benefit from the sexual revolution,
the Cuban revolution, the civil rights movement, women's liberation,
the fear, temptation, and passion of decrying capitalism on the
streets of Metropolis, but I yearn somehow for domesticity, for a
traditional family.
I never saw a good working demostration of the nuclear family unit
growing up, and as a teenager, I cynically and casually disregarded
its usefulness. I want safety in numbers: I want four parents for my
children. And I want to model good relationships with these other
three adults, to show my young'uns that there is something worth
growing up for, that people can really build special ties. This is not
only possible, this is our birthright, our destiny, our path as
humans. This is the way it should happen, assuming no one fucks it up
for us. And it's the only thing worth giving a shit about.
And also somewhere in my mind is the revolter (not revolutionary), who
knows that as soon as I "settle down" with anyone or anything, I'm
going to blow it up, because I can, because I have to, because it
seems like the thing to do. Amazingly, this has not yet happened with
the hostel. The hostel leaves me a good deal of flexibility to trot
off for a several-month adventure, and in writing this I realize that
maybe a relationship/family/community can let me do this too. An
important thing that I learned in my travels in the last several years
is that, while traveling is amazing and I learn so much, and there is
so much richness and community in the world, I need to have a
community to return to. Traveling, especially the kind of traveling
that I do, can take a lot out of you. I notice my posture change, as I
start feeling more and more stressed out. I feel confident that my
current community can be a cushion for me to crash in on. Thank you,
Chez Cascadia; Thank you, Olympia.
--
The off-peak Metro North train from Wassaic, NY to the Big City only
costs $13.25. Joe got me to the train station 15 minutes late, or 1
hour 45 minutes early, depending on how you look at it. I didn't mind.
I used the time on the platform to catch up on a little sleep.
Unfortunately there weren't any outlets available, so I couldn't
charge my computer or my phone. Today, I was a bit forgetful about
charging before I took off, which has the potential of throwing off my
plans when I arrive in the city. As a rule, I never figure out where
I'm going to sleep the night I arrive into the city until I'm about an
hour away at best.
I just spent four nights with Adamah at the Isabella Freedman Jewish
Retreat Center in Northwestern Connecticut. It was a very nice, almost
familiar, comfortable group to be with: Jewish, social justice-minded,
young. I felt very much in my niche. I walked with and talked
"relationship philosophy" with Jacob, I talked about Great Dreams and
Visions, and the American Kibbutz with many: Rona, Joe, Eliyahu.
Considered a flirtatious possibility, but decided against it. I helped
Adam out with his computer (he compared me to the Messiah), and
layered the floor of the "Ofan Schmaltz" Biodiesel Homebrew Station
with cardboard, which was a safety and environmental improvement. I
woke up at 6 am for "Avodat Lev;" we sang, meditated, and prayed to
our complicated Jewish G-d, drawing upon traditions borne all over the
planet. The conversation about Israel/Palestine (and now Lebanon) was
mostly bleak, disconnected. In most ways it still hasn't hit me that
I'm going very soon.
And now in the city, I've met an angel who is putting me up in his
apartment in Brooklyn. We met for dinner to talk about
Israel/Palestine, since he's been working on organizing stuff there.
And then he asked me, "so where are you staying tonight?" And I said,
"I still have to make some phone calls about that." And he said, like
a good Jewish mother, "you can stay at my place." After which he gave
by way of apology all the reasons I wouldn't *want* to stay at his
place: no a/c, a long ways on the subway, etc. I didn't care. I prefer
this path-brother's mattress on the floor to the usual drop-in on my
hardworking cousins.
Quite a shake-up in the middle east... it gives me a heavy heart. So
far, I'm holding course, and will be going according to plan. "For the
first time, Jerusalem seems like the safest place to be right now!"
says some friends of mine.
For some laughs, check out the Brick Testament
[www.thebricktestament.com/the_law/when_to_stone_your_children/dt21_18a.html].
Shalom y'all,
Jake