Passover is one of my favorite holidays- Jewish or otherwise. It is a time to get together to eat and drink with family and friends. My own Passover tradition started in college, when lots of my friends had no where to go to celebrate. Already known for my dinner parties, throwing Passover dinner for 30 people seemed like the right thing to do. As a resident assistant in Coulter House (go U of C), my celebratory dinners got even bigger. My house was made up mostly of people that had never met a Jewish person, nevermind celebrated Jewish holiday, and the U of C Hillel was happy to help me out to introduce my students to this fun event. Even in California during graduate school, 15-30 people (even my parents one time!) would come. I always follow the family tradition of having at least 50% guests that have never participated in a Seder before and continue to invite all the Jews that have no place to go. We have music, finger puppets and masks for the 10 plagues, and lots of food. 

In Israel, oddly enough, most everyone has somewhere to go for this holiday. And it isn't quite as spectacular as it is in the US, as weekly people head to parents and family to celebrate Shabbat (even if they are not religious, it is a tradition). So, this year is a very small Passover celebration for me. One without my typical brisket or tons of people. However, I still wanted to take a moment to share why it is special to me, and why I keep the holiday.

1. It is a holiday that celebrates the end of oppression. To me, that is important as something to celebrate, but also a goal for the future. In this vein I remember Reverend, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. on this holiday, as well as think about my friends from the Department of Justice's Community Relations Service, at Rotary, NewGround, the Olive Tree Initiative, the Center for Citizen Peacebuilding, and those working toward freedom from oppressions due to sexual orientation, the color of one's skin, and one's gender, as well as those at Ikar and UCI working with latino families and workers rights. We are not there yet, but I find so much hope in what you all do and on this holiday, I give you my thanks. 
2. It is a holiday that reminds us we are all human and we have all suffered. Not just the Jews. Slavery and the 10 plagues happened and they freed the Jews (according to the story), but we are reminded that death of anyone is not something to be happy about. 
3. It is a holiday that values family. 
4. It is a holiday that asks us to remember to open our doors (and hearts) to others, including the Elijah and anyone else that needs food, care, and help. 
5. It is a time to teach our traditions and values to the next generation by getting them involved and teaching them not just to listen, but to ask hard good questions. 
6. It is also a holiday to celebrate. It is spring; there is new growth and the winter (even on the East Coast of the US) is over or almost over. We are here; we have food, family and friends. During this holiday we drink (4) cups of wine, we recline, and we sing. Ok... I don't sing and my family really should not be heard in song, but I have a CD that takes care of that instead. 

Below I am including some pictures of my favorite traditions. 

I never thought I would say this, but I appreciate American bureaucracy. One of the reason I travel is because it is through lived experiences that we realize life is beautiful, but imperfect. There are many things I am guilty of complaining about in my own, rather pampered, American life. Bureaucracy is one of those things; something I feel I share with every person who has ever visited a US DMV or lost their passport. 

This month I spent a day (for about the 6th time) at the Israeli Visa office. (The foreign ministry was on strike when I got here and I am getting my official student visa versus visitors visa now.) It was an enlightening experience. In the United States, I can freely mark down my religion on a census form. My rabbi and my parents' rabbi were both happy to write me letters certifying that I was Jewish without any background investigation as this is not the case in Israel. "Why do you need to certify that you am Jewish?" you might ask. Israel is a Jewish state and one's ethnic/ religious identity impacts the services they receive. I for example would have received a discounted student visa if I could prove my heritage. One's ability to marry, immigrate, get state benefits, etc all depend on certified membership in the Jewish group.

And by the way, proof means submitting paperwork to an official group of orthodox Jewish men who decide if you are in or out. This is not a statement about how it should be or about political opinion. It might be necessary for the Israeli State, but it makes me appreciate the US where gender equality and the separation of Church and State speed bureaucratic interactions and uphold rights I have grown accustomed to and cherish. 

For those unfamiliar with this system, I'll give an example of how secular (non-religious) Jewish individuals must uphold some Orthodox Jewish laws for political reasons. Here having a Jewish marriage (according to the state/ Orthodox parameters) impacts your rights and status (taxes, citizenship, etc). Therefore, Jewish women must visit a ritual bath and say certain prayers before they can be married. This means for many secular women going to a public bath, stripping down, and having another woman instruct you. The certificate of having completed this must be handed to the (state approved male) Rabbi before the ceremony can happen. For many here this is seen as sacred and is a cherished moment. For me, it's requirement and single gendered burdon makes the idea uncomfortable. Notably, many secular Jews here get married in other countries to avoid these types of restrictions.

In addition to this freedom to self-identify, American bureaucracy tends to be (while annoying and sometimes form filled) direct. (Unlike my writing on occasion.) One can know, from American government websites, what forms to bring in, how much you will pay for a service, and how many times you will need to return (usually just once). In this case, I am on visit 3 to the Herzliya office to bring in extra forms, waiting in line 2-6 hours each time for my number (deli counter style) to be called. (I visited the Tel Aviv office twice before being referred to another city.) I do appreciate that the women who work at these office as often very nice and helpful and especially appreciate that most speak 3-5 languages (Hebrew, Arabic, French, English, and often another) to do their jobs. They deserve a great deal of praise for maintaining this.

Cultures around the world value different rights differently and run their offices in different way. While that is something that might seem basic, it is not something I encounter often. It took travel into Jordan, for example to understand how much I value freedom of speech in the US. In Israel, the capacity of city workers to speak multiple languages is astounding. On this particular trip, I have come to value my identity. Not only my heritage, but my ability to decide how I identify on my own. 

Hello Everyone. I wanted to share a bit about Christmas in Israel. A national (or might as well be) holiday in America, Christmas for me has always been a festive time of year filled with Christmas Eve mass, Reindeer songs, and Chinese food. I enjoy the holidays as a time to get together with friends, let loose and celebrate. Most of the time, you get none of that here. 

Once a year (Passover) some of that spirit (I'm told) comes into play. Sukkot and Purim might replace some of Halloween for dressing up and decorating too. But Chanukah isn't off, nor is New Year's Eve or New Year's day. The time in the US where everyone is off together (friends, family, colleagues) isn't part of the winter tradition.

I admit, I miss that. I enjoy the togetherness, the travel, the hot cider, and the antlers. I was hoping for a Rotary trip to Bethlehem, but was never called and was too sick to even attempt planning. 

But never fear, Christmas came to our lab in the form of several holiday elves and a youtube tutorial on making snowflakes. I hope you enjoy the results! It might not be the Nutcracker, but it made me smile for hours nonetheless. 

Today is the first day it has rained in Tel Aviv since I arrived. To me, rain is beautiful, signaling a process of renewal and change necessary for growth. The Middle East is, for me, a place in need of metaphorical rain. There are many wonderful, longstanding traditions and cities that have changed again and again over the centuries becoming multicultural and multifaceted. Jerusalem and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher are good examples of this. The old city walls share stones from multiple eras. The markets bustle with ancient treats and T-Shirts advertising local tour guides as better than Google. The call to prayer intersperses with merchants yelling their wares and church bells announcing the hour.

There are also many things here that people have come to accept as normal and unchanging. Every new apartment has a safe-room, everyone jokes about not needing a gas mask but has one somewhere, and machine guns are carried around the streets by 18 year-olds going about their army service. The longer I am here, the more I understand both how difficult it would be to see an urgent need for change if one grew up here and saw these things as routine. At the same time, I I feel so much hope as I see, often amongst my new colleagues and friends, how resilient, open minded, insightful and refreshing Israelis can be. 

Please allow me to introduce my second group of colleagues in Israel. As with the PICR lab, I honestly hope the individuals I meet here will be friends and collaborators for life. 

For those of you in academia who are familiar with the motivational lulls of graduate student life- those times when endless literature searches on one's couch lead to less than fantastic work (yes, I admit it)-you are also aware of how important something inspirational- a conference, paper, conversation, or mentor is. For me, the annual ISPP (International Society for Political Psychology) Conference is usually that thing that moves me forward, along with an occasional conversation with a colleague or my adviser. 

Here in Israel, I am lucky enough to have those mentors and advisers daily. If you've never experienced this, I hope you meet a group like those here. Each time I have a conversation or meeting, I leave both confused and energized. To have a group of people willing to support, educate, push and share with you is an exceptional way to life an academic life. This model, one that Daniel Bar-Tal champions and that is not used by many of his students, including Eran at IDC, is truly a gift and something I hope more Professors embrace.

From here on out I have two main goals: to pick just a few of the many projects in my head to pursue and to bring this model to my own students if I ever have the chance to become a professor in my own right.