Day 7 -- Listening Without Hearing
Has it really been a week since we left the States? Time simultaneously moves quickly and slowly. As a group we have bonded with great intensity and know each other so well -- it's hard to imagine that we haven't known one another forever. And yet, in just three days our time together will be over. The mixed emotions of a group that misses the consistency and familiarity of home, but is deeply engaged in being here and being in love with Israel, is palpable to all of us.
It was a full and exciting day today, a mixture of so many different ways of experiencing Israel.
We began our morning by driving to Afula, home of Idan, one of our Israeli soldiers. En route, we invited participants up to the microphone to sing their favorite songs. It's remarkable to see folks who began last week quiet and reserved willing to come up and share. Their talents continue to awe and inspire us. Some came up in pairs, aided by staff, others simply put their earphones in so they could hear the music and bravely sang on their own. The bus was a wonderfully appreciative audience, applauding enthusiastically and congratulating each and every one as if they had just won a Grammy.
Arriving in Afula, we were welcomed by Idan's father and aunt, who had readied the house with snacks (typical Israeli hospitality, as I noted earlier in the week). Idan's home was our newest sacred space and we sang the Shaharit service with gusto. Once we fortified ourselves with excellent hummus and pita, Idan brought out a set of drums and sang a beautiful song entitled Keren Or, about rays of light. Idan gave them a tour of the house and then we returned to the living room where our own participants played the piano -- several of them were really quite good. We concluded with a bit of a sing-a-long, including a group favorite, Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. Bidding farewell to the Vaitzner's (and thanking them most politely before departing), we returned to the bus for the next stage in our journey.
Continuing south, we arrived to 75 degree temperatures in Caesarea (http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/vie/Caesarea.html) an ancient Roman city directly on the Mediterranean. We were welcomed by our own Caesarus Annoyus (an alter ego staff member Bruce Sharon acquired on Shabbat). We sat in the magnificent restored amphitheater there and enjoyed a choir of our own singing Halikhah L'Kaysarea (The Walk to Caesarea) by Hannah Senesh. Exiting the amphitheater, we entered the ancient race track, where our very own teams of horses and drivers (two runners in the front, held together by a scarf grasped from behind them by the driver) reenacted those ancient races. Participants were tickled to discover that the ancient word for 'exit' was 'vomitorium'... An excellent historical film entitled The Caesarea Experience gave us a detailed history of the city and its shifts in population. It was both a beautiful and informative visit. The bright blue skies and pleasant sea breeze made it difficult to leave.
After a quick lunch, it was on to our final destination of the day. The name Israel Children's Museum is deceptive -- our staff was just as amazed by this experience as the participants (http://www.childrensmuseum.org.il/front/ShowCategory.aspx?CatId=99). We took part in a remarkable exhibit entitled An Invitation to Silence. Donning noise reducing headphones and committing not to speak for an hour and a half, we went through a variety of games and exercises with a deaf facilitator. His only means of communication with us was through facial expressions and body language. You can already guess that this made for a remarkable experience. Some participants struggled to understand the instructions. Others were incredibly articulate even in nonverbal ways. Some adjusted to the challenge over the course of time. We played memory games and learned to give ourselves names in sign language. We worked very hard. The visit concluded with a dialogue with the facilitator, who read our lips and signed responses, which were translated back into both Hebrew and English. Hebrew Sign Language differs from American Sign Language, hence the need for two forms of translation. Our participants responses were remarkable. One apologized for misunderstanding all of the instructions and getting everything wrong. His stress was palpable to everyone in the room. The facilitator calmed him by reassuring him that the experience was out of everyone's comfort zone and pointing out that he was not being judged. A second articulated frustration with the experience. The facilitator repeatedly signed for him to make eye contact, which was a struggle. Just as Rose Sharon, the group coordinator, raised her hand to explain the nature of the group, the facilitator called on a third participant who immediately and without hesitation explained that everyone in the group has Asperger's Syndrome and that the facial cues and body language are particularly challenging for them. The facilitator's response was that he knew and that that gave them something in common in terms of challenges in communication. He also pointed out that none of them should feel limited by any boundaries and that with patience virtually anything was possible. He illustrated this by saying that he and a group of deaf friends had ridden bicycles from New Jersey to California over a two month period. He was incredibly inspiring. Out of nowhere, the first participant to speak, visibly more relaxed, said, 'You're now one of my heroes.' As the conversation concluded and this same participant noted that he was a stand up comedian, the facilitator described his desire to put together a deaf comedy troupe, signing, 'Now you're my hero too.' We on the staff should have come prepared with tissues.
As we exited the museum, several of our participants were interviewed by Israeli radio. You'll be able to listen to them at 11am Eastern time on Thursday at http://glz.co.il/index.aspx.
A day like today needs no greater conclusion than a good dinner and a good night's sleep. We're hearing all sorts of rumblings on the bus of lives changed forever for the better and first times of not feeling alone. We can hear them, but it's our hearts which are doing the listening.
The play Children of a Lesser God describes deafness as 'A silence full of sound.' We hope we've filled our travelers' own kinds of silence with a soaring symphony.
More tomorrow, including photos.
Rabbi Elyse Winick
