Saturday was our one-year anniversary here, and we celebrated by going to a Hanukkah dinner at the Temple With The Beautiful Rabbi (this is not the official name of this temple, which is less artistically just called Temple Sinai like nearly every third synagogue in the world). At the temple there was a fantastic klesmer band, a potluck dinner, and a whole group of friendly-looking jews who mostly ignored us all night. We hung with the rabbi some and we watched the intergenerational dancing, and I found that the trumpet player’s parents live in Chevy Chase, but mostly we just wondered how to break into conversations that seemed to be going really well without us. Still, there were beautiful moments and it was amazingly cool to be in this very international group of jews. I, of course, am on the outside in even a US group of jews, so there was no happy home for me in this group, but there was great beauty in songs and prayers and traditions that spread around the world and through so many different cultures.
So the celebration, as it happened, waited for Sunday. After the open house (one family back for the FOURTH time—we’re going to start charging them rent), we headed back to our place with a sickly Karen and met up with the ever-prompt Melissa, patiently waiting on our front porch for our return (this is the last time she’ll wait on the porch—now that she has her own key she can avoid our constant tardine
ss in the comfort of our living room). While Karen nursed her herbal tea and tried to breathe, we went about messing up the house which had only seconds before been picture-perfect. I made the messiest of all foods—latkes—and Rob made that December Hanukkah favorite gazpacho to go with the Christmas classic of homemade strawberry ice cream (we are SO much having to get used to these spring food choices during this winter holiday season!). We drank champagne with fresh raspberries and toasted the idea that life changes in uncertain ways and that times can look really dark and confusing but it’s all part of the upwards spiral of happiness we’re trying to construct. And there we were, each of us in these serious life transitions, each of us uncertain about where we might go next, and all of us laughing and hoping together.
This has been a week for looking backwards and forwards. We have been remembering the tumult of our lives a year ago as we arrived in this new country and tried to make our way here. We have been picturing our future in this new house of ours and with these new friends. And we’ve been breathing through the present day, knowing that each of these moments is its own kind of gift. We’re learning that no matter how clear things seem, each element in our lives has its own kind of uncertainty, and no matter how uncertain things seem, each element in our lives has its own kind
of certainty.
We never would have guessed, two years ago, that we’d be celebrating Hanukkah 2006 in New Zealand, fresh off the planes, shiny new residence visas in our passports and all our things on a ship. At that Hanukkah, we’d never have guessed that Hanukkah 2007 would be celebrated with people we didn’t know a year ago and also with our oldest friend, come to give NZ life a try for himself. At this Hanukkah I feel utterly certain that I have no idea what Hanukkah 2008 might hold. Who will we celebrate with? What will our life feel like? And at the same time, there are pieces that seem quite likely: there will be a new menorah to replace the broken one, there will be candles and latkes and laughter. And it’s nearly certain the backdrop for it all will be the big sea view out the lounge window and the sound of waves breaking in the distance.
Still, no matter where we are, it’s clear that each celebration brings its own joys and its own tearings. This is a time of year to miss the family and friends we’ve left behind, and it’s also the time of year to go to the beach after school each day, to unwind before dinner with the sound of lapping waves and laughing children. I have learnt that it is very very hard to feel sorry for oneself with sand between ones toes!
And now for you, gentle reader. I am grateful to those of you who turn to this blog to maintain our connection together, grateful for the occasional email asking me to follow up on something I’d mentioned or clarifying a point I made in a confusing way. I’m curious, here at the end of the first year, who you are and why you read this blog. I’ve been surprised at some of the folks who read regularly (and also surprised at the folks who don’t read much at all!). If you think about it in the next little while, drop me a note to let me know who you are and what’s going on in your lives. No matter how uncertain the world might be, it is the connections between us that give it its form and substance. It wasn’t the excellent food and champagne that made the marking of our one-year anniversary feel special, it was the drinkers and the eaters around our table. I like to think that each of you reading is around my table too, only you’re slightly harder to see and hear (and you don’t eat so much). I hope this last night of Hanukkah brings light and miracles into each of your lives, whether you’re in the winter or the summer, and whether you celebrate Hanukkah or not. May we all be connected through cycles of light and dark, cold and warmth, and growing and changing friendships. This are all miracles.
So the celebration, as it happened, waited for Sunday. After the open house (one family back for the FOURTH time—we’re going to start charging them rent), we headed back to our place with a sickly Karen and met up with the ever-prompt Melissa, patiently waiting on our front porch for our return (this is the last time she’ll wait on the porch—now that she has her own key she can avoid our constant tardine
ss in the comfort of our living room). While Karen nursed her herbal tea and tried to breathe, we went about messing up the house which had only seconds before been picture-perfect. I made the messiest of all foods—latkes—and Rob made that December Hanukkah favorite gazpacho to go with the Christmas classic of homemade strawberry ice cream (we are SO much having to get used to these spring food choices during this winter holiday season!). We drank champagne with fresh raspberries and toasted the idea that life changes in uncertain ways and that times can look really dark and confusing but it’s all part of the upwards spiral of happiness we’re trying to construct. And there we were, each of us in these serious life transitions, each of us uncertain about where we might go next, and all of us laughing and hoping together.This has been a week for looking backwards and forwards. We have been remembering the tumult of our lives a year ago as we arrived in this new country and tried to make our way here. We have been picturing our future in this new house of ours and with these new friends. And we’ve been breathing through the present day, knowing that each of these moments is its own kind of gift. We’re learning that no matter how clear things seem, each element in our lives has its own kind of uncertainty, and no matter how uncertain things seem, each element in our lives has its own kind
of certainty.We never would have guessed, two years ago, that we’d be celebrating Hanukkah 2006 in New Zealand, fresh off the planes, shiny new residence visas in our passports and all our things on a ship. At that Hanukkah, we’d never have guessed that Hanukkah 2007 would be celebrated with people we didn’t know a year ago and also with our oldest friend, come to give NZ life a try for himself. At this Hanukkah I feel utterly certain that I have no idea what Hanukkah 2008 might hold. Who will we celebrate with? What will our life feel like? And at the same time, there are pieces that seem quite likely: there will be a new menorah to replace the broken one, there will be candles and latkes and laughter. And it’s nearly certain the backdrop for it all will be the big sea view out the lounge window and the sound of waves breaking in the distance.
Still, no matter where we are, it’s clear that each celebration brings its own joys and its own tearings. This is a time of year to miss the family and friends we’ve left behind, and it’s also the time of year to go to the beach after school each day, to unwind before dinner with the sound of lapping waves and laughing children. I have learnt that it is very very hard to feel sorry for oneself with sand between ones toes!
And now for you, gentle reader. I am grateful to those of you who turn to this blog to maintain our connection together, grateful for the occasional email asking me to follow up on something I’d mentioned or clarifying a point I made in a confusing way. I’m curious, here at the end of the first year, who you are and why you read this blog. I’ve been surprised at some of the folks who read regularly (and also surprised at the folks who don’t read much at all!). If you think about it in the next little while, drop me a note to let me know who you are and what’s going on in your lives. No matter how uncertain the world might be, it is the connections between us that give it its form and substance. It wasn’t the excellent food and champagne that made the marking of our one-year anniversary feel special, it was the drinkers and the eaters around our table. I like to think that each of you reading is around my table too, only you’re slightly harder to see and hear (and you don’t eat so much). I hope this last night of Hanukkah brings light and miracles into each of your lives, whether you’re in the winter or the summer, and whether you celebrate Hanukkah or not. May we all be connected through cycles of light and dark, cold and warmth, and growing and changing friendships. This are all miracles.
(Pictures today of the miracles of year one: the menorahs at the temple, Michael in the new upstairs window and again on the driveway of the new house. Don't you wonder what pictures you'll see in the next year? I know I do...)
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