10/13
Today is the day after Yom Kippur, so I have some time to sit down and reflect on my holiday experience thus far. I came to Hungary a few weeks before the chagim on purpose, with the hopes of settling in a bit before jumping into the craziness of the holidays. The good news: the plan worked. The bad news: the chagim continue to destabilize any sense of routine/structure in my personal and professional life here, but I guess that's true wherever you are.
Before Rosh Hashanah, I had already spent a few Shabbatot in Hungary, and had made some contacts in the Jewish community. For the first night, I asked Zsofí, a good friend from the BBYO team, her plans, and she told me I was welcome to join her and a few friends at a Canadian woman's home. Before dinner, we went to a different Neolog shul across town. It was a really nice sanctuary with a Chabad hazzan. This sanctuary had a mechitzah (unlike most Neolog setups that simply have separate seating with no separation). The whole experience felt very reminiscent of an American Modern Orthodox shul. I think the difference is that this crowd is presumably not at all observant in their private lives.
Zsofí is a part of a Hungarian cohort of a pan-European Jewish leadership and professional development program called MiNYanim. MiNYanim hopes to create inspired leadership teams in various European countries who can help mobilize the millennial crowds into finding different types of engagement within their local Jewish communities. Her group, along with its leader, Tomi Buchler, were invited to dinner by a Jewish Canadian woman named Janet who enjoys being active in the local Jewish community. Janet's husband is Hungarian, and she spent a number of years going back and forth between Toronto and Budapest, but is now officially a resident here. I was incredibly grateful to have an invite to this dinner, because it included interesting young Jews, as well as some of Janet's expat friends. The dinner conversations were carried out in English, and I absolutely loved getting to know such an interesting crowd while sitting down for a traditional Rosh Hashanah seudah (dinner). Zsofí told Janet that I keep kosher (again, besides the Orthodox/Chabad community, it is very very rare for Jews to buy kosher meat), and Janet prepared kosher soup and chicken in separate, strictly kosher dishes. I couldn't believe she made such an accommodation for me, and I told her how grateful I was.
Tomi (the MiNYanim organizer/leader) and I discussed the Jewish scene here. He said he thinks that there really is space for serious progressive Judaism here (similar to Conservative in America), but the reason Neolog remains the predominant stream of Judaism is because the older generations, who of course merit respect and reverence in the community, don't want to see an evolution of Judaism. People may choose to practice or not practice, but they don't want to see what they see as the essence of Judaism change. To Tomi and me, that actually makes a ton of sense. Perhaps it means that a future emergence of progressive Judaism may come. If a knowledgeable and visionary progressive leader comes to the community, I'm sure it can happen. I should add that Rabbi Tomi's neolog shul (the one where I am based out of for BBYO and most frequently attend) does an incredible job of welcoming the older and younger generations, and doing his best to walk the lines of how to keep Judaism relevant in his shul while remaining true to tradition. The results of that project manifest differently here than in the US because the Neolog and Conservative paradigms are different, but they emerge from a similar struggle taking place in different circumstances.
My second night dinner was with Gabor Balasz, who hosted me for my first Shabbat dinner in Budapest and is my contact at the Lauder school where I may begin working in some capacity soon. The other guests were all lovely and interesting people, included a former student of Gabor's who is training to compete on Hungary's Olympic karate team, a British man who (among other things) works with celebrities to brand personal alcoholic beverage products, an anthropology professor who was born in Romania and came to Hungary originally for her PhD, and a Hungarian woman who works in architecture and went to Illinois on a scholarship and helped design new Yankee Stadium during her prolonged stay in the US. The conversation revolved around exploring our many different personal stories, and eventually led into the Romanian/Hungarian contingent sharing stories about growing up during Communism. For the Hungarians, the country had become much more open by the time they were growing up, but the Romanian woman explained the strict and stringent image of Communism that we hear about continued until the fall of the USSR. Her childhood had many of the staples of the oppressive Communist experience. She says she still buys many bottles of shampoo at a time, because there were really no cosmetic or hygiene products available during her youth. She said many people who grew up with strict Communism have that same tendency to buy products en masse. Dairy products were also forbidden, but a shepherd would descend from the mountains once a week to illegally sell her family milk.
The day before Kol Nidre, my roommate Sam arrived!!! Sam went to IU and knew many of my friends there, and is also a JDC Fellow here working with JDC's Junction program, which is pan-European young Jewish engagement program. It's so nice having her here and knowing that no days will pass without having someone to talk to. When you live in a new country, you don't take that for granted. We made dinner together before the fast, consisting of Kosher chicken and roasted veggies, all covered in paprika (my first time cooking with this staple of Hungarian cuisine).
Kol Nidre and First night Rosh Hashanah are THE big nights. We arrived at synagogue 15 minutes past the advertised start time, and the building was literally overflowing. We found seats in the balcony (where I had never sat prior), and we didn't have machzors. Many of the attendants were enjoying the social scene, but I did my best to try and focus and appreciate being in such a unique service.
On Yom Kippur morning, I arrived at shul at 8:30 and stayed until the fast ended minutes before 7:00. They did not have a break. They prolonged the service by having many more prayers read aloud than I'm used to, as well as honoring each of the shul's many donors with an aliyah to the Torah. It was easily the longest Torah service of my life, with what must have been 20-30 aliyot (and mi sheberach after each one).
The crowd started off quite small, but then the room was magically full for most of the Torah service and for Yizkor, and then emptied out immediately after. A decent crowd returned for the last hour of the fast. The shofar blow at the end was sounded by 5 different people, which gave it a powerful and melodic ring that I had never heard before. I mumbled to myself, "L'shana Ha-ba'ah B'Yerushalayim," which I once more have the privilege of knowing, God willing, to be true.
Thursday, October 13, 2016
Where I Cast My Sins
10/4 (post-Yom Tov) (I started working on this right after RH, but have taken some time to let the thoughts sit)
When services finally ended around 3:30 (we also did Mincha) on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, I joined a group of ten others to do Tashlich, the ritual, symbolic casting away of our sins into running waters. We played real life Frogger, crossing main roads and train tracks through holes in fences before reaching the Danube River. The Danube threads the border of Buda and Pest, and is probably the most elegant and iconic natural feature of Budapest. Parliament, The Castle, churches, and other remarkable buildings line the shores of the river. Our roundabout path to the waters was a fun little adventure, and performing Tashlich at such a grand location stands in stark contrast to the 20+ times I attended Tashlich at the little stream running through the neighborhood in Deerfield.
The Danube carries with it various historical legacies. One striking one was its complacent role during the Holocaust, accepting human sacrifices into its depths. In the bitter winter of 1944-1945, Jews of Budapest were brought to the Danube and told to march up and down its banks. In horrific fashion, Jews were shot into the river, the running waters turned red like the first plague. The tragic events of that winter have been memorialized with shoes crafted permanently along the river, marking where their owners last planted their feet below their breathing bodies on this earth. Here is an article about the events and the memorial:
http://www.yadvashem.org/yv/en/education/newsletter/31/shoes.asp#!prettyPhoto
While that particular legacy of the Danube had never actively occurred to me yet during my time here--and I cross the river, or at least see it, nearly every day--something struck me about symbolically casting my sins into it. Here is a poem I wrote that seeks to capture my feelings of the experience.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
מי אל כמוך-Who is a God like You?
Here I humbly stand.
Pockets heavy with the remnants of transgressions.
לא החזיק לעד אפו-He does not maintain His wrath forever
I am human. I believe in a merciful God.
מן המצר קראתי יה-From a place of distress I called to God
God was both my first call and my last.
ה׳ לי, מה אירא-God is with me, from what should I fear?
He joins me in my triumph; He joins me in my suffering.
מה יעשה לי אדם-What can humans do to me?
God is with me as humans drown us both.
ואני אראה בשונאי-And I will see [my enemies fall]
God and I will both have our dignity restored.
These waters forgive me. Or so they claim.
They move onward.
Not cyclically like the round challot we eat.
These waters point to a different process.
They move onward. Away. Towards the horizon.
Never to be seen again.
New water, fresh water
Takes their place.
The water as perpetrator:
You knew what you were capable of.
You feel yourself flowing and expanding.
You have swallowed before, never totally satiated.
The water as bystander:
But maybe you had no choice.
Or chose to stay your course.
Hoping that yesterday will be as tomorrow, life ultimately unchanged.
The water as victim:
They forced you and took advantage of you.
Offering you sacrifices you didn't ask for.
A strange fire consumes the holy altar.
The water as forgiver:
Years later, you swallow my sins.
Bread tastes better; a more welcome sacrifice.
You understand that everyone errs on the side of evil sometimes.
The water as forgiven:
You try and run away, but you are forever running in place.
But I understand you, and I urge you that it is ok.
Everyone errs on the side of evil sometimes.
When services finally ended around 3:30 (we also did Mincha) on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, I joined a group of ten others to do Tashlich, the ritual, symbolic casting away of our sins into running waters. We played real life Frogger, crossing main roads and train tracks through holes in fences before reaching the Danube River. The Danube threads the border of Buda and Pest, and is probably the most elegant and iconic natural feature of Budapest. Parliament, The Castle, churches, and other remarkable buildings line the shores of the river. Our roundabout path to the waters was a fun little adventure, and performing Tashlich at such a grand location stands in stark contrast to the 20+ times I attended Tashlich at the little stream running through the neighborhood in Deerfield.
The Danube carries with it various historical legacies. One striking one was its complacent role during the Holocaust, accepting human sacrifices into its depths. In the bitter winter of 1944-1945, Jews of Budapest were brought to the Danube and told to march up and down its banks. In horrific fashion, Jews were shot into the river, the running waters turned red like the first plague. The tragic events of that winter have been memorialized with shoes crafted permanently along the river, marking where their owners last planted their feet below their breathing bodies on this earth. Here is an article about the events and the memorial:
http://www.yadvashem.org/yv/en/education/newsletter/31/shoes.asp#!prettyPhoto
While that particular legacy of the Danube had never actively occurred to me yet during my time here--and I cross the river, or at least see it, nearly every day--something struck me about symbolically casting my sins into it. Here is a poem I wrote that seeks to capture my feelings of the experience.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Where I Cast My Sins
Here I humbly stand.
Pockets heavy with the remnants of transgressions.
לא החזיק לעד אפו-He does not maintain His wrath forever
I am human. I believe in a merciful God.
מן המצר קראתי יה-From a place of distress I called to God
God was both my first call and my last.
ה׳ לי, מה אירא-God is with me, from what should I fear?
He joins me in my triumph; He joins me in my suffering.
מה יעשה לי אדם-What can humans do to me?
God is with me as humans drown us both.
ואני אראה בשונאי-And I will see [my enemies fall]
God and I will both have our dignity restored.
These waters forgive me. Or so they claim.
They move onward.
Not cyclically like the round challot we eat.
These waters point to a different process.
They move onward. Away. Towards the horizon.
Never to be seen again.
New water, fresh water
Takes their place.
The water as perpetrator:
You knew what you were capable of.
You feel yourself flowing and expanding.
You have swallowed before, never totally satiated.
The water as bystander:
But maybe you had no choice.
Or chose to stay your course.
Hoping that yesterday will be as tomorrow, life ultimately unchanged.
The water as victim:
They forced you and took advantage of you.
Offering you sacrifices you didn't ask for.
A strange fire consumes the holy altar.
The water as forgiver:
Years later, you swallow my sins.
Bread tastes better; a more welcome sacrifice.
You understand that everyone errs on the side of evil sometimes.
The water as forgiven:
You try and run away, but you are forever running in place.
But I understand you, and I urge you that it is ok.
Everyone errs on the side of evil sometimes.
לא ירעו ולא ישחיתו בכל הר קדשי כי מלאה הארץ דעה את ה׳ כמים לים מכסים
They shall do no evil and shall not destroy in all My holy mountain, for the earth will be full of the knowledge of God, as the waters cover the sea.
Saturday, October 1, 2016
Talking Tachlis
10/1
Ok. One more post today.
I should have known when I created a blog that I would ramble about Jewish identity far more than actually share the tachlis (practical) elements of my time here. I'm sure people are curious (or maybe not) about my life and work here. I'll give you a brief update.
Ok. One more post today.
I should have known when I created a blog that I would ramble about Jewish identity far more than actually share the tachlis (practical) elements of my time here. I'm sure people are curious (or maybe not) about my life and work here. I'll give you a brief update.
- I am here to work primarily with BBYO. I'm enjoying the kids (middle school aged) and the BBYO leadership team (Linda, Rabbi Tomi, and 4 madrichim). We meet every Sunday, so tomorrow will be my third meeting.
- Soon (mid/post-chagim), I will teach a weekly leadership seminar for a group of teens who could be future leaders/madrichim. Since they are still a little young to handle some of the big picture/abstract elements of running a youth group, I'll work first on specific skills.
- At the end of the month, we are having a BBYO-Hungary fall camp, which is our big convention for the semester. It will be Friday-Monday. I have been given most of the responsibility for the vision and planning, because the leadership here only knows the Szarvas model and wants some new ideas. I've put my Ramah/USY experience to work, and will pick up my planning next week.
- I'm in touch with some other JDC-BBYO fellows about starting utilizing the BBYO-Europe network for some co-programming. Hopefully we can find some ways to work together and meet up.
- I met with the Lauder Javne Community School here about helping out there. We thought of having me bring Jewish content to the advanced English students.
- My Visa is still not totally worked out, but I visited the authorities with a lawyer that JDC set me up with, and we're hopefully close to getting that worked out (shoutout to my dad for helping get my college diploma notarized, apostilled, and next day shipping it to Hungary last week!!!)
After the chagim, we will have the fall camp, and then I think I can hopefully settle into a schedule. For now, I'm enjoying having time to settle in and explore a little.
My Father Was a Wandering Hungarian
10/1 (written post-Shabbat my time)
On more than one occasion in college, my professor handed back a paper and told me that it drifted from its intended purpose of being a research paper and had turned instead into a sermon. I find that divorcing information from broader tropes and moral imperatives falls short of utilizing the information we receive to its fullest extent. I preface this post with that short tidbit, because in case this post drifts close to unwarranted sermon territory, you'll at least know that you were warned.
In last weeks Torah portion (ugh, it's already in sermon territory), we read the text of "My father was a wandering Aramean..." which is a quotation that the Israelites are instructed to recite, and for future generations. The passage recalls their parents journey from slavery to freedom, and later rabbis borrow it in compiling the Passover haggadah. I always thought about this quote in a more big picture sense, thinking about what the arc of the story from servitude to prosperity tells about the Jewish story, why that generation may have been instructed to consider and identify with the ideas of those passages, or what it means for future generations to recite those same lines. Lately, however, I have focused much more narrowly on the notion of wandering.
[Some background: As a JDC employee this year, I am not allowed to take a political stance or even really engage with politics. The apolitical nature of JDC has allowed it to be so successful and cooperate with all sorts of regimes and administrations all over the world, in order to function and serve local Jewish communities. I want to address the topic of refugees and be very clear that I am officially not taking any stance on the topic, but I want to report to my friends and family abroad about my observations on this pertinent issue whose urgency and complexity is felt around the world.
Tomorrow, there will be vote in Hungary on the topic of migrants. I will only say that the vote is a topic of much controversy. The government has publicized throughout the entire city posters urging people to vote no, and a satirical political party has created its own campaign urging people to vote, but to mark both Yes and No, thereby submitting an invalid ballot.]
In less than three weeks here, I have tried to expose myself to as much of the Budapest Jewish world as possible. I have davened at the Frankel Synagogue (Linda and Rabbi Tomi's shul), which is neolog, and it is definitely my home base while I am here. It's very nice to have that community and slowly begin to start meeting people. I visited the Lauder Javne Jewish Community School. I have prayed at two stiebels, which are Orthodox shuls that are tucked into apartment spaces, with older and old-schooler feels to them. I joined Moishe House-Budapest for Kaballat Shabbat and dinner. And today I joined Marom's Dor Hadash Masorti kehillah for morning services and kiddush, where they were joined by friends from the Reform community here. I believe I met both Reform rabbis who reside in Budapest. So I've pretty much dipped my toes into the entire spectrum of Hungarian Jewry, and hope to build upon those experiences and settle into a routine that works for me.
At today's service, there was a major emphasis on the topic of migrants and movement. The rabbi invoked the "Wandering Aramean" text from last week, and a Hungarian Muslim man and an Eritrean immigrant both attended and had prepared words to share. The Muslim man spoke in Hungarian, but the Eritrean spoke in English, which he admitted he only began learning recently. His final message was, "Be angry with the people who forced us into these situations; do not be angry with us." The rabbi affirmed and praised the message, and declared that we are in fact all migrants.
The instruction to tell the story came at a point of great unity: at the culmination of a communal journey to freedom, during which every together witnessed Revelation and accepted the yoke of the commandments. The instruction also came at a point of great anxiety, as the nation neared its entry into the Land of Israel, and its dispersal throughout the land and divisions into the Tribes.
When we retell the story today, we often think about that first frame of unity, and how we can bring ourselves into a mindset that feels like we consider ourselves part of the larger Jewish people and its history. However, I am finding myself right now thinking about how the instruction has always been intended to be said during an era of Jewish dispersal. I feel the weight of Jewish community, tradition, and history as I explore my Jewish identity and Jewish community here in Budapest, because our people is a wandering people. I think that's why the JDC has adapted the notion that all of Israel is responsible for one another as one of its most central tenets. When the Jewish story is one of striving for unity in the wake of dispersion and separation, we must think of what unites us, and what common stories we tell. I am humbled that I have that opportunity this year, and my kavannah for Rosh Hashanah is that everyone takes the time to think about the message I heard today: that we are all migrants, both as people, and as Jews.
And as a final note, I'd look to put to rest the premise of a very very classic camp discussion group topic: Are we American-Jews or Jewish-Americans? You may feel or identify however strongly you want with either of those identities, but as I am learning here, my Jewishness is the essential part of my identity. I am still American here, but Americans aren't really meant to wander... The American in me wants to be home, where everything is familiar. When the time and place makes sense, I am an American. However, my Jewishness follows me and leads me wherever and whenever I go. It manifests in different ways, but the struggle to engage my Jewishness unfolds with similar intention and attention wherever I go. So, I am Jewish. And because I am Jewish, I wander. And I wonder too.
On more than one occasion in college, my professor handed back a paper and told me that it drifted from its intended purpose of being a research paper and had turned instead into a sermon. I find that divorcing information from broader tropes and moral imperatives falls short of utilizing the information we receive to its fullest extent. I preface this post with that short tidbit, because in case this post drifts close to unwarranted sermon territory, you'll at least know that you were warned.
In last weeks Torah portion (ugh, it's already in sermon territory), we read the text of "My father was a wandering Aramean..." which is a quotation that the Israelites are instructed to recite, and for future generations. The passage recalls their parents journey from slavery to freedom, and later rabbis borrow it in compiling the Passover haggadah. I always thought about this quote in a more big picture sense, thinking about what the arc of the story from servitude to prosperity tells about the Jewish story, why that generation may have been instructed to consider and identify with the ideas of those passages, or what it means for future generations to recite those same lines. Lately, however, I have focused much more narrowly on the notion of wandering.
[Some background: As a JDC employee this year, I am not allowed to take a political stance or even really engage with politics. The apolitical nature of JDC has allowed it to be so successful and cooperate with all sorts of regimes and administrations all over the world, in order to function and serve local Jewish communities. I want to address the topic of refugees and be very clear that I am officially not taking any stance on the topic, but I want to report to my friends and family abroad about my observations on this pertinent issue whose urgency and complexity is felt around the world.
Tomorrow, there will be vote in Hungary on the topic of migrants. I will only say that the vote is a topic of much controversy. The government has publicized throughout the entire city posters urging people to vote no, and a satirical political party has created its own campaign urging people to vote, but to mark both Yes and No, thereby submitting an invalid ballot.]
In less than three weeks here, I have tried to expose myself to as much of the Budapest Jewish world as possible. I have davened at the Frankel Synagogue (Linda and Rabbi Tomi's shul), which is neolog, and it is definitely my home base while I am here. It's very nice to have that community and slowly begin to start meeting people. I visited the Lauder Javne Jewish Community School. I have prayed at two stiebels, which are Orthodox shuls that are tucked into apartment spaces, with older and old-schooler feels to them. I joined Moishe House-Budapest for Kaballat Shabbat and dinner. And today I joined Marom's Dor Hadash Masorti kehillah for morning services and kiddush, where they were joined by friends from the Reform community here. I believe I met both Reform rabbis who reside in Budapest. So I've pretty much dipped my toes into the entire spectrum of Hungarian Jewry, and hope to build upon those experiences and settle into a routine that works for me.
At today's service, there was a major emphasis on the topic of migrants and movement. The rabbi invoked the "Wandering Aramean" text from last week, and a Hungarian Muslim man and an Eritrean immigrant both attended and had prepared words to share. The Muslim man spoke in Hungarian, but the Eritrean spoke in English, which he admitted he only began learning recently. His final message was, "Be angry with the people who forced us into these situations; do not be angry with us." The rabbi affirmed and praised the message, and declared that we are in fact all migrants.
The instruction to tell the story came at a point of great unity: at the culmination of a communal journey to freedom, during which every together witnessed Revelation and accepted the yoke of the commandments. The instruction also came at a point of great anxiety, as the nation neared its entry into the Land of Israel, and its dispersal throughout the land and divisions into the Tribes.
When we retell the story today, we often think about that first frame of unity, and how we can bring ourselves into a mindset that feels like we consider ourselves part of the larger Jewish people and its history. However, I am finding myself right now thinking about how the instruction has always been intended to be said during an era of Jewish dispersal. I feel the weight of Jewish community, tradition, and history as I explore my Jewish identity and Jewish community here in Budapest, because our people is a wandering people. I think that's why the JDC has adapted the notion that all of Israel is responsible for one another as one of its most central tenets. When the Jewish story is one of striving for unity in the wake of dispersion and separation, we must think of what unites us, and what common stories we tell. I am humbled that I have that opportunity this year, and my kavannah for Rosh Hashanah is that everyone takes the time to think about the message I heard today: that we are all migrants, both as people, and as Jews.
And as a final note, I'd look to put to rest the premise of a very very classic camp discussion group topic: Are we American-Jews or Jewish-Americans? You may feel or identify however strongly you want with either of those identities, but as I am learning here, my Jewishness is the essential part of my identity. I am still American here, but Americans aren't really meant to wander... The American in me wants to be home, where everything is familiar. When the time and place makes sense, I am an American. However, my Jewishness follows me and leads me wherever and whenever I go. It manifests in different ways, but the struggle to engage my Jewishness unfolds with similar intention and attention wherever I go. So, I am Jewish. And because I am Jewish, I wander. And I wonder too.
Is this a metaphor?
10/1
Walking around (mostly alone) with a good amount of time with my own thoughts, there is ample opportunity to observe and reflect. I mentioned to my dad that it felt like college ended, I went right to camp, and I didn't have time to process any of these major life changes. I now feel that I have a great deal of time to reflect and process. With this time and reflection, one more mundane thought that keeps occurring to me is considering whether many of the new and interesting things represent metaphors for my presence and experiences in Hungary. Most people reading this blog probably know that my older sister Rena is living in Hanoi, Vietnam, and she created a blog called "What's normal?" in which she lists the incredibly odd and humorous cultural differences and phenomena that she encounters. I want to riff off of that idea by creating a blog segment called, "Is this a metaphor?" The poet in me sort of wants to take all of these posts and extrapolate, but the friend in me doesn't want to put any of you through that jargon and creative stretches. So I'll leave you to interpret them however you want...
Is this a metaphor?
The clock at Teleki Ter Steible has Hebrew letters, but it goes backwards, and the hands tick counterclockwise. Can a clock be counterclockwise? Plato would have something to say about the essence of clocks, but I'll just wonder: Is this a metaphor? (I took this picture from the internet, but it looks like the one at Teleki. I think it reads 12:35)
The dogs here speak better Hungarian than I do. Is this a metaphor?
There is a big intersection about 15 minutes away from my apartment that features Subway, KFC, Mcdonald's, TGIFridays, Burger King, and Starbucks. They stand out to me as exceptions in the broader scenery, but they are still somewhat subtly incorporated into the consistent, elegant architecture of the city. Is this a metaphor?
I went to the Office of Immigration and Nationality and met the first Americans my age! They are both Mormon missionaries who have lived here for one year now. It made me realize that basically the only Americans who would come to Hungary right out of college for a more extended stay are religious missionaries (myself included?). This one might be too real to ask: Is this a metaphor?
That's all for now! If you thought the "Is this a metaphor?" game was a useless exercise, hopefully you at least gleaned a few bits of information about my time here!
Walking around (mostly alone) with a good amount of time with my own thoughts, there is ample opportunity to observe and reflect. I mentioned to my dad that it felt like college ended, I went right to camp, and I didn't have time to process any of these major life changes. I now feel that I have a great deal of time to reflect and process. With this time and reflection, one more mundane thought that keeps occurring to me is considering whether many of the new and interesting things represent metaphors for my presence and experiences in Hungary. Most people reading this blog probably know that my older sister Rena is living in Hanoi, Vietnam, and she created a blog called "What's normal?" in which she lists the incredibly odd and humorous cultural differences and phenomena that she encounters. I want to riff off of that idea by creating a blog segment called, "Is this a metaphor?" The poet in me sort of wants to take all of these posts and extrapolate, but the friend in me doesn't want to put any of you through that jargon and creative stretches. So I'll leave you to interpret them however you want...
Is this a metaphor?
There is a big intersection about 15 minutes away from my apartment that features Subway, KFC, Mcdonald's, TGIFridays, Burger King, and Starbucks. They stand out to me as exceptions in the broader scenery, but they are still somewhat subtly incorporated into the consistent, elegant architecture of the city. Is this a metaphor?
I went to the Office of Immigration and Nationality and met the first Americans my age! They are both Mormon missionaries who have lived here for one year now. It made me realize that basically the only Americans who would come to Hungary right out of college for a more extended stay are religious missionaries (myself included?). This one might be too real to ask: Is this a metaphor?
That's all for now! If you thought the "Is this a metaphor?" game was a useless exercise, hopefully you at least gleaned a few bits of information about my time here!
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