On Not Being a Tourist

I'm sure many of you, knowing me, have been wondering why I haven't posted a single picture on here yet. Isn't that what I do? Take pictures?

I think, subconsciously, I've been avoiding going around with my camera because I am trying to integrate into life here and not be a tourist for the year. I spent all last summer shooting thousands of pictures, and last summer I was a tourist. This year is different. I live here. I have an apartment, a community of friends all around the city, a lot of work...(Um, go-go gadget learn to chant Eicha/Lamentations in a week and a half?)

I've been having moments every so often that have really made me aware of how real this is. I mean, yes, I packed up my life, I got on a plane... but I've been here for a few weeks with little structure. Save for having the apartment (and learning Eicha), it could be a continuation of last summer, just traveling around, having fun... but it's not. Sitting in the Ministry of the Interior today arguing with them about issues related to my student visa --- that was pretty real. Actually, probably the only real "negative" moment. Sitting yesterday with other cantorial students to read through some choral music, that was rather thrilling.

I began to really feel the weight on my shoulders a few days ago. I went up north to Zichron Ya'akov, which was founded in 1882 by Baron Rothschild. It's a picturesque city at the southern end of the Carmel mountain range (noooo, I didn't take any pictures even though, yes, I had my camera...), known for, among other things, several wineries. So, I went to dri... no, I actually went to visit a man I met through a friend last summer, who I later learned was my great-grandmother's cantor in Cincinnati many years ago. We've been in touch all year, and he has been a great source of encouragement. Anyway, the day I was free to visit just happened to be his 79th birthday. We went to lunch at a winery (of course), and he showed me the beautiful memorial park, including a "blind-man's garden" full of herbs and Baron Rothchild's tomb. The views were stunning, it all was stunning. And then we went back to his home; he decided that we were going to sing. Three hours later...

It was my first real coaching over here, and was not-so-subtlely imbued with the message of, "Please. Keep this tradition alive." For three hours, we read through all sorts of traditional chazzanut, none of it written for a woman's voice, of course. We read some of his own compositions. He spoke of some of the most mindblowingly simple concepts that he teaches -- simple in theory, that is, not necessarily to implement -- which already have begun to transform how I conceive piece of music. This man has dedicated his life to chazzanut. It's up to me, to my classmates, to my colleagues to keep it alive. It's no small task...