Safad

I came back to ground zero. The distilled streams of my past all began here. Even the old Turkish hospital still stands as a ruin to the mystery of the place. I get lost here everyday, trying to find my way among the streets that bend around like lost snakes. There are so many ways to get lost here and so many ways to find oneself. But this is where I began. This is ground zero and from here I can only move up.

The Shadows of Ostrava.

I came back, resolving the shadows of Ostrava. There needed to be some cleaning here. It was not a smooth ride, nor is it now. The winter does not help. What keeps me going is the way a street will turn, like a snake into a dark corner, and there it will find other sources. I learned to pray here. To find some grounding in the small upturned stones that graze your feet as you walk. I found my G-d nestled in a small shule thats over 800yrs old. There is an old man there who has a slight tremmor. I listen to his prayer deeply.

Prague

I came back to her again. Kafka called her the city with claws and so here I am again when I thought I would be gone for longer. I am blessed to be here.

Winter

We had snow today for the first time...The sun peaked out for a moment. Im feeling better. I think I have the sensibility of an artist. I am easily affected, easily moved. I sometimes forget the beauty that is in everything, regardless of the situation or place or the time or the people. I thought I could manage living here. It had all the charm an artist looks for; The dark stone, the small winding street that leads you onto the next one, the beautiful women, the change of light, the beginning of a country lane, the old man whos face is timeless, the creaking doors,the trains that take you to interesting places, the jewish soul which wants to be redeemed. But something just did not stick, and I realized, I am meant for greater things, for the spiritual, the creative, and for community.

getting ready!!

Ive started packing my bags today. It sure feels good. If I dont here back from the school by the weekend, there is good chance Ill be on my way. Im so ready to go, but Im hanging in there for the school and they still owe me money. But even if I come out empty, the experience was worth it as I get my feet wet in ESL. I can manage a class and I have the confidence. The hardest part is planing a lesson when Im so ready to move on, but at the end of it Ive been here a little over a month and by the time I do leave it will be less than two months, and so this is not such a long time to have waisted. And I dont see this as a waist as It was a great experience.

Observations!

They play some good ballads here on the radio. I dont understand them, but I like the melody. Today I found out that Istanbul is a 39-hr train trip that costs two hundred dollars. The train goes to Brno, Budapest,Belgrade and than Istanbul. The receptionist thought I was crazy for asking, but I love to toy around with the idea. Im alone allot here, now I know what it feels like to be alone. its amusing because im such an outsider here, looking in. Sometimes I see a smiling face, usually someone young. The older men all have a pink blush on their faces. I guess its from the beer. I saw two old men sitting at a table next to me. They looked like brothers but they were friends. I said to them "Comrade" (friends) and they nodded in agreement, then again they could have been gay, who really cares anyway. I told a friend in the States that I miss being with Jews. He thought what does it matter who you are with. I told him I need a Jewish community I can tap into on occasions, keeps me grounded. Thats the thing that bothers me here, the things that keep me grounded are limited at best and sitting in a pub all night hovering over a beer is not grounding for me. But the women are beautiful, almost too good to be true, like candy you want to eat but you know you will find a cavity the next day. But who cares about cavities anyway when all you really want is a warm body to hug.

The body speaks the mind waits.

For some time my body has been speaking to me. Let me tell you what its been saying. "Get out of here" I thought this might be the tremors of whats called culture shock. But Ive been to Europe many times, and even lived there for a stint or two, so that argument wont fly. I tried to console my wordless body,telling him that he should chill out, relax enjoy the ride, maybe even find some-other body who will enjoy a ride. But, there was knocking at the door, at first faint and than with a pounding thrust and I had to listen and listen well. Sometimes its ok to throw the towel to be honest with oneself and make a decision, even though that decision will affect others for good or bad. Sometimes I need to stick with things and see them through, but here something was knocking really hard and I had to listen and act. And so I will be off again to another place. I am on a journey. In this journey, its ok to make mistakes. Its ok to change my mind. Its ok to say No, and Its ok to disappoint, because that is what makes a real and honest journey.

Clothes hanging on the wire.

The fluttering rhythm of clothes hanging on a wire makes me lose sense of time. I've seen this somewhere before in my past. Somewhere long ago there were journeys made to remote locations where the winds were strong. I once had lived in the heart of the West bank not far from a small village where their clothes would always be hanging. There was always the smell of dust, and diesel in the air. Stray dogs, skinny to the bone would gather in dark corners, their eyes would reflect the blinding light of a lone car coming their way. And now here sitting on a one track tram car that takes me into the heart of this land, I see the clothes fluttering in the wind, peacefully waiting for the hand of an old women to fold them into their place.

The egg store.

I walk by her shop once a week. The eggs tower over each-other in crates creating a small glimpse of her aged and well worn face. She smiles. They say she loves her eggs, that she knows them very well and will not hesitate to advise you of their quality and good position. I hope to photograph her one day as she stands there with her eggs and all the solid wisdom that came along with them.

A cup of tea.

What does it take to uproot and remove yourself from the comfort zones of your life, to really go into something unknown and unfamiliar. The first you feel is loss of control. You feel edgy, a little off balance, easily irritated,looking for solid ground. You venture out into open space thinking you might find refuge there. The birds there seem to draw you in more deeply than when you were at home. You notice the smiles of children and respond in kind, their mothers look back at you perplexed if not curious. Than there are the older ones who remind you of a gentle and warm past, where you sat under the shadow of trees in the hot summer evenings, sipping on your well pampered tea. But you were home than, or at least you thought. It was all so familiar, and you did not notice the birds nor the smiles of children. You were just there in the familiarity, and the warmth, and it was enough to carry you through, or at least till the next day. But here much of it is very familiar, and thats the hardest part, especially when im sitting in the late evening sipping away on a cup of tea.

An innocence.

The other day I saw a child helping his mother unload groceries from a crate. He was so eager and willing to help that he was much faster than his mother, who was handing him the items with a mechanical impulse. He was so willing and present to the task, and I thought, if only I could apply that same intention to my life. If only the diamond,pinpoint intention and most importantly, the willingness that was there, could be applied. It was beautiful and refreshing to see, and very hopeful and humbling to know that these forces are within us. They are apart of us,perhaps lost during some blind corner of our lives, but, they are there and quite natural to our being, and sometimes it takes a child to remind us.

Havdalah.

The conclusion of the Sabbath is marked by a short and powerful ritual called Havdala. A goblet is filled to the rim with Kosher wine and a three weaved candle is lit. there is also a cloved spice box, that is sniffed to instill the sabbath spirit which will carry itself through into the new week. The prayer recited speaks of the importance of separation between the holy and mundane,between the Sabbath and the rest of the week. The ceremony is short or as long as one would want to make it. It is deep. I have only touched the surface of it and there is so much that I do not know nor fully understand. What I do know is that there is a surge of energy that I feel upon completing this ritual. I feel ready to tackle the new week with a sense of strength and purpose. It is grounding and life giving, and it is very ancient.

Alijah

I was born a Kabalist, or so I thought, in that far north jewel called Safad. I was born a twin in what was the last vestige of a Turkish hospital. As a child I had visions of the prophet alijah on his yearly Passover pilgrimages. He always stopped to rest on my bed. I remember him sitting there with his long white beard tumbling down to the floor. He looked tired and weary from his long journey, but his warmth was always a great comfort to me, even though at times he looked scary. But a Kabalist, I am not, and the visions of Alijah have long gone. But here in this rather forlorn place, where history is more pronounced than the present, I find myself once again reflecting and wondering about those mysteries of the past, which have never left me.

The Almighty One!

They gave me a badge and a security code so that I can inter the IT monster. Im teaching an advanced English conversation course there. I walk in with practiced confidence, a prayer under my lip, and a loose tie. My students are checking me out, wondering where has this strange fish been caught. The young polish women with thin brown pressed hair offers a forced smile. I wonder how I can make her like me. But Ive learned that this is a lost cause, and in the end I am only accountable to the one who made me and lead me to this place. Fear sets in. I am the child of an almighty and great G-d. I am a worrier. I fell off a horse, but got back on again.

Saba Zell

I saw my Grandfather the other day. He stood on the tram platform smoozing with some people. He even had the white thin mustache that pressed tightly against his upper lip. It looked like he was headed for another journey, only this time he was traveling light. He had a small black leather bag and an umbrella, and that was it. For a moment I thought he was there for me. His warmth of presence entered my heart, something so familiar and yet so far away. I had almost forgotten that feeling, and wondered how would it be to really see him again. But, he was on his own journey this time, to G-d knows where, and he was merely passing through, just to let me know that everything is going to be ok, that I am not alone here, and that he will be around.

Older men in cafes.

What is it about older men in cafes, sitting about, shmoozing, a pat on the back of a friend, a laugh,a smirk. Ive noticed them gather here, especially in the evening just after closing time. You see them in the dated restaurants, with the still left over communist wallpaper. They sit there over a draft beer and smooze for hours. I got thinking that this is something we are missing in the States. yes, we have our star-bucks and our convenient Dennys, We even have some local cafes; we call them neighborhood cafes. But whats missing is the tradition as well as the pass time of merely taking time to be with others, and doing it without an agenda, or an appointment,or something other that needs attention. We lost the ability to just sit and relax and have a Goddamn beer!

Fish.

There is something about Fish. I know Im in the old country, the home of my ancestors; the call towards an older way. It manifests in small ways, like A brief and subtle feeling of familiarity, A corner that speaks to you, A building that pulls you, an old man that draws you in, and fish. I have had A craving for fish here like no other time or place in my life. It's like the old digestive ghost of the past is creeping up on me. And the fish is good here; Its one of the first words I learned to say; Rybi or Rybu, they seem to understand regardless. And can you guess what I am having for dinner tonight?

Salsa in Ostrava.

I am an avid Salsa dancer. You might even say I am addicted to Salsa dancing. I am challenged here, as there is A very small Salsa scene. Temple bar on saturday night is the place for Salsa here. From 6pm to 9pm there is A small group of salseros there, dancing away the Salsa beat. This place for me is what A rosary is to A catholic; its really A life saver for me. I am determined to find A way to continue my Salsa practice. One idea is to teach, which I have minimal experience with, but I see this as an opportunity and as way of reviving the Salsa scene here in Ostrava, as well as nourishing my Salsa hunger.

A Smokers paradise

Smokers are kings here as well as Queens. Ive already accepted the fact that second hand smoke is part of the routine. There simply no way of avoiding it, and even worse seeing children exposed. I often think how much of A setback it is, that A society needs to smoke so much. It cuts life and it hinders stamina. Smoking in moderation is another story, and here that story has still A long way to play itself out.

Mohl Bych Dostat!

There is A secret to traveling in strange lands; learn A phrase that will work in almost any give situation, and from that branch out onto new words or phrases. Mohl Bych Dostat means "I would like" in A polite and warm manner. Its amazing how people respond when they here me say it; its like some new life entered their bones and they smile with glee.

The day before Yom Kippur in Ostrava.

The memorial for the Jews killed in the hands of the Nazis lies in the middle of A small park. The sculpted dark menorah is bleak and lifeless, melting into the abstract formless granite base. I saw an old man walking his dog there. what did he know? Did he even care? I walked on, over A bridge toward the town center. There is A women who smiles at me every time I walk past her office. I walk in. We talk. She tells me she love to dance Salsa. We agree to meet sometime, somewhere. I walk on into the center. The Cathedral is very large. I pass it and walk on toward the town center. The money changers are not kind here; thats too bad. I would rather change my money with A smile.

Ostrava.

Sometimes The Wondering Jewish Dreamer is full of surprises. He lands in places long forgotten by the darkness of past wars, and the seemingly predicable short memories of short lived nations. He feels he has reason to come back to these places as A kind of pilgrimage to A forgotten people. He honors them merely by coming back, saying A prayer in there memory, brushing off old cigarettes from their memorials and walking past their graves. And yet, A few remained and there is A kind of life here for the living, as well as for the stranger of A great and living nation. Amen!

Moles

If you want to see real Moles, you should come to the Czech Republic. Here the Moles are the best in the world, direct non manicured Moles,the real ones. The ones that count. Ive seen A few of them here. You cannot miss them. They are A little bit like tourist attractions, they are always there and here and always in your face. In fact I think they make A better attraction, Especially if your having A boring day and even more so when you catch one in the morning. Those are the best. I saw A lady this morning with A great Mole, it really made my day. I thought: "Wow, Now I can really start my day". So, if you want to see some great Moles, that otherwise you would not see anywhere else, come to the Czech Republic. You wont be let down.

God.

I was never good at defining what being Jewish meant. I went through the motions of A secular life, without purpose or direction. I had no sense of my own value or strength. I was an Ameba going here and there. At times I would get A glimpse of something powerful within myself, but it was never enduring. I happen to believe in A God. It took me A long time to get there, and still the path can get shaky. But somehow there is the underlying feeling that as A Jew there is no other way, that ultimately, no matter how many paths I take, I will eventually arrive at the same conclusion which is, that There is A God and that He is One. I dont question this anymore. And of course there is the question of gender which I am sensitive to. But at this point God is how each and every person defines it for themselves. I have been feeling God here, hovering above me when I walk. He is watching over me, keeping me on that straight and narrow. Thank God.

The flow of A river.

What I love the most here, is how there is this constant river of people moving about. It's not like the crashing speed of New York, where everything is moving in A frenzy. Here its more subtle and its got A certain flow, something like A quite river that is nearing its source. I almost look forward to not finding my way here just so that I can relish the exploration that exist around every corner. But what I really love is the feel of the cobbled stone pressing onto my foot as I walk. There is A grounding here and its very deep.

czech toilets.

You might be familiar with the slab toilets found throughout Europe. The ones that give you A front view of all the action, if you know what I mean. Here is no different. There is an added element that so far seems specific to Prague, and that is, that almost every toilet seems to be smack next to the door of the bathroom, so that at any angle the door is literally going up your ass. I think this is very amusing and I like it. It says allot about basic function here, and how Bathrooms dont need to become semi apartments as we so admire in the states.

Kafka.

In my early twenties I went through A Kafka phase. I was living in San Francisco in the Hait Asbury district, renting a small room on Webster street. There was A corner used book store that kept me busy. I had always been interested in philosophy and spirituality and Kafka had A way of bringing these two forces together. I have so far learned that Kafka had an interest in Hasidism. to what extent I dont know, but to me he was always searching, even though his searches bordered on the tragic and morose side of things. But not all the time. It is no accident that I am renting A room facing the cemetery Kafka is buried in. I am amused and A little delighted that I am making something of a full circle in my life. Something of those early years in San Francisco, when my passion was alive, when I felt hungry for the world, for life, for travel; that at this time Im starting to feel it again here in Prague not far from Kafka's grave.

Prague

I am A dreamer. I happen to be Jewish and first and foremost I am A Human Being. I moved to Prague recently on what is the beginning of a new journey in my life. I dreamed for years throughout my early teens and well into my twenties, of living abroad in Europe as well as Asia. At age 45 with the support and help of family and friends, I embarked on my new journey to Prague on September 3rd 2008. I am not new to travel or to adventure, but this time I am more committed to the prospect of actually making A life here.