2L

So I know I don't write on this blog as often as I should...I'll try harder. This year is shaping up to be a good one. There have been a few set backs this Indian summer, but now that fall is in the air, my life is back on track. Second year of law school is much more manageable than the first (aka hell on earth). Though some of my classes are more demanding, I do not feel like I am drowning in them. I even have an elective--The Constitution and Foreign Affairs. I'm also on law review, so while that is extra, it is a good extra. My Property professor is as engaging as a cabernet dancer, so that is about all once can ask for.

I FINALLY passed my background check (it took over 3 months!), and I'll be starting work at the Anti-Defamation League soon. I am really excited to learn about the organization and defending civil and human rights in a legal context. I think that working for this Jewish organization after my summer studying Islamic law and Middle East issues in Egypt will give a good base for the type of work I want to do (and hopefully one up on the resume as well).

I'm living on the Upper West Side in an amazing apartment (housewarming party TBA) with my boyfriend, Adam, who I am grateful for every day. I have a few new friends in the city (Sarah, Amanee, Naoufel). It just doesn't get any better!

Here is a picture of me modeling at the AUH20 Blockparty fashion show. My friend Kate Goldwater is the designer of an environmentally friendly line and the owner of a small boutique on the Lower East Side. She's great!

Umm awesome

Again, I find myself using and re-using the words "awesome" "fantastic" and "amazing," but that's just all I've got.

I spent my 3rd consecutive birthday out of the country (Chile 2005, Morocco 2006, Egypt 2007), and it just keeps getting better.

On June 14--the day before THE DAY, I saw St. Catherine's Monastary in the Sinai desert. It was really cool to be at this little place in the middle of the desert that has survived the harsh conditions of such a climate, not to mention the different conquests the penninsula has seen the past 1500 years.

I saw the burning bush (or allegedly a part of it) and Zipporah's family well (that's Moses' wife), and lots and lots of ancient texts the monks preserved at the monastary.

We left at 2am on June 15 to climb Mount Sinai and got there in time for sunrise. The landscape was so austere in it's beauty, it isn't hard to see how someone could have a spiritual experience or how a people could become so vitally attached to the land.

I recommend Bruce Feiler's Walking the Bible to say it all better than I could hope to.

Then we went to Sharm el Sheikh.

Yeah. My birthday rocked.

A Novel Experience

A Novel Experience
I traveled to Cordoba to visit a dear friend of mine from high school. She is doing wonderfully in a gorgeous city in the south of Spain. I am so proud of her for following her heart. Let me tell you a little about my friend and what this woman is up to.

Of course it is important for everyone to case their dreams, but I would advise caution to most friends of mine who abandon their previous goals (being a larger than life lawyer in the US) to move to Spain, live with her first boyfriend ever, become a midwife, and live a beautiful life surrounded by family and friends and wine. After a year abroad in Spain, numerous Spanish and American friends, a little dancing, and a handsome and intelligent boyfriend, this is what Sarah is doing.

I would caution most people about this 180 degree change of plans. No, to most people, I would do more than caution, I would disbelieve. But not Sarah. This is a girl I have known since high school to be an incredibly studious, hard-working, opinionated, talented, motivated and ambitious girl. She was always grown up—more than grown up: mature with a twist of eccentricity—not being distracted by the high school pitfalls of boys and booze, being hyper-liberal while at the same time stunningly conservative in her own actions. A bit of an enigma—albeit an outspoken one.

I am so proud of her. It is really brave of her to embrace this capriccios change of plans. She is a very solid person, and I truly believe that things are relatively likely to work out for her. Even if they don’t, though, she will rebound being all the stronger because of this experience. As a person who is trying to do both—have fun and live in the moment AND pursue a career in law and maybe diplomacy—I know it is a difficult thing to do. I am proud of her for her conviction to make such a drastic but well-laid plan and stick to it. It is these decisions that will make for a happy life with no regrets, and I wish her all the best. Surely, though, a person as who is both as responsible and unafraid doesn’t need my support, as she is a truly a woman I admire for standing on her own.

I have always liked characters--people who could be in books because of their personalities. They remind me of reading novels---which I do with startling infrequency since law school. Sarah, right now, is a fantastic heroine for me.

My beloved

Plaza de Cervantes--during the summer, there are little shops that open up, and people sit in the plaza sipping wine and doing nothing (or alternatively, reading or chatting). With each drink order comes a tapa.



Me and Kristin, a study-abroad buddy-turned Alcala local eating tapas.



Even the Atocha train station in Madrid brings memories.



Going out in Madrid with Stef and Allie.



Plaza de Cervantes--the meeting/chilling/skating historic center of the city



Olives growing in southern Spain on the way to or from my city.






I lived in Alcalá de Hernares which is about 40 minutes by metro from Madrid. I traveled all over Spain and Europe and parts of Morocco. I fell in love. In love with Spain, in love with someone else, and the entire experience was incredible. Every moment was better than the last, and I never stopped discovering and changing. It has had a profound affect on my life since. My journey into Judaism, the joy I take in learning language and culture, my work as a study abroad advisor, and my skeptical but decidedly liberal outlook on the world all stem from my experience in Spain. It would not be a stretch to say that I have been traveling the world seeking to recreate (with varying degrees of success) at recreating the experience I had in Spain.

So last week, for the first time, I returned. When I went to Alcalá de Hernares, where I spent my time living and studying (and as a home-base for other travels), I was at the point of tears. Tears of happiness and memories, then tears that I would have to leave again. It was a perfect time, the only thing I can complain about is predictable: it was too short.

Goodbye New York

So back to blogging occasionally. I know I haven’t done it in forever…
But now, that’s about to change.
So tonight I had the perfect last night in New York. I met up with my friend Jennie and we walked around the West Village and got a few glasses of wine which we sipped outside sitting at a table on the sidewalk. Then we went to Magnolia bakery which is, to me, the ultimate New York activity. And I am back by 11PM to pack for tomorrow. All in all, the perfect farewell to a city I have begun to call my own.

Updated "where I've been" map

My Visited Countries

Get your own Visited Countries Map from Travel Blog

I have a lot of blank space to fill.

"And once I've known you for long enough, my fears are your fears, my involvements are your involvements, I feel attacked when you feel attacked. This is what love is. And it is proof that we are human."
- T. Oey

Karaoke

This weekend was the second time in the city I've been to a karaoke bar. We went to 2nd on 2nd for Lisa's B-day. I got to see a bunch of people I knew a little from college and meet new ones. It was great. Me singing--not so great. At least it was contained within the group. :)

I must look really bad.

School is hard. I stay up late and get up early. I am never finished.

After a particularly grueling night of homework (among other things), I was riding into school on a bus. By this time I had already been en-route for well over an hour—walk crowded subway---transfer---crowded subway--- crowded bus). I was leaning up against a metal pole, ignoring the pack of high school kids throwing things and bumping into me. We were about 10 minutes from my school, when we approached a stop.

An old woman, about 70 years-old, clearly a laborer on her way to work got up and tapped me. She told me to sit down and take her seat. I graciously accepted, thinking she was going to get off at the bus stop where we were arriving.

Low and behold, she doesn’t get off.

A 70 year-old woman gave me her spot on the bus. It was at that point I knew I needed to apply more concealer and get some rest.

I'm back.

So. I haven't written anything about NYC. What can I write? I looooove it here. Everything I want, whenever I want it. That's pretty much heaven to me.

Law school is tough, but I'm enjoying the challenge for the most part. I can already tell I am thinking in new ways. Since CUNY is the first law school specifically designed "in the service of human needs" aka it's a public interest school, I have had the chance to people with really interesting and diverse backgrounds, ei a nun who just got back from working in Africa, NYC police officer, sexual abuse activists, and ppl from all over the world. We all have similar values though completely different goals. The professors are great too--very knowledgable, and they've all contributed important work to their respective fields.

I've gotten to hang out with a bunch of my friends who A) are from NY, B) have recently moved here and C) are just passing through. Meeting new people has been great---I have a lot of people to meet here.

I've been going to clubs, cd release parties, campaign events, pubs, and and various shabbat services and dinners (mmmmm). And school. The end. I don't even have enough time (or money) to buy tylenol.

Here are some pics:

me jess adam

me and melissa (who is now back from morocco)

Moment of truth

And now for the big decision. Since I have been home, I have not been sure whether or not to keep blogging. My activities are decidedly more mundane (went to the grocery store, read, worked --though I did get chemical burns on my legs, ask for more details--, went out with friends...), and thus less blog worthy. That being said, I am moving to NYC in a little less than two weeks to live with people I don't know and start law school shortly there after. I don't know how interesting it will be, as far as entries go ("I did homework today." "Today I did more homework." "Mmmm Torts." and the like can probably be expected), but ya never know. If it gets too painful, I will take requests to stop. :)

As of now, I am doing lots of reading: A History of the Supreme Court, Egypt's Road to Jerusalem: a diplomat's story, Law for Dummies (yup.), The Calif's House in Casablanca, Law School Confidential, and Seven Pilars of Wisdom, (all started frantically in an attempt to finish within a week and a half and start on another set BEFORE school--I am not too confident all will be finished, but we'll see).

Other than my ambitious reading I've been preparing to move a little, and hanging out. I've been to Madison and Iowa since home and some of my friends have come here to Winona to chill. It's been a great time in general. That's about all that's new for now.

The worst trip home EVER

So I didn’t even want to go home, right? Well after a night of goodbye and happy birthday (to Ann, another trainee) revelry, I woke up with all the people who’d have to leave for work well before 9am. I had kind of packed the night before, but I still had quite a bit more packing to do. I also had to check my flight times on the computer. Amine was taking off work and taking me to the airport at 10:30. Four of the trainees ended up staying at the apartment later (Due to Nick forgetting his shoes, and NEEDING brown dress shoes? Or the door to the other trainee apartment not working? -I’m still not exactly sure why they didn’t go to work on time, or at least why everyone but Nick didn’t go, but I wasn’t complaining since it meant buying me a little more time with my friends) and we went to breakfast. It was 10AM. After saying our goodbyes, I promptly got a terrible stomachache and spent the next 20 minutes miserably in the bathroom. I got out and tried to shove my things into my suitcase. Amine arrives at 10:30--I am not done. I hadn’t checked my flight times, couldn’t find my dvds, or other important items. So I throw all my stuff pretty much indiscriminately into either my luggage that would be checked or one of 3 carry-ons. As we are rushing out of the apartment, a strap on my plastic bag that held 2 big serving dishes breaks. Off to a great start.

We taped the bag back together in the car, but it wasn’t long lasting to say the least. At the airport Melissa, Amine, Youssef, and the airline check in lady watch in amazement as I'm kneeling on the ground and can’t find my tickets (They were E-tix. What an idiot!) or my passport (not excuse...). The bag weighed too much, so we had to undo my luggage and try putting various things with the carry-ons. As soon as my friends say goodbye, my plastic carry-on breaks again.

Apparently Air France is full of ASSHOLES, and they won’t let you take a full huka on board the plane. Well I find this out after I had already sent my bags under the plane. I had to take the vase out from the carrying case and carry it with me (by this time I am a walking circus. I had: royal air maroc’s in flight catalogue, tagines, jewelry, carpet, a dead cell phone, Cocktail and American History X, a camera charger, Egyptian pounds, Czech money, underwear, the Torah, my Salaam binder, tickets to a jazz festival, facewash, and photo albums to start) and leave the metal parts of the shisha to chance unprotected under the plane. Fine, Air France, fine.

Next as we are boarding (20 minutes late, might I add), and they discover that they hadn’t really printed me a ticket. I go over and get it printed. Of course they had to hold my passport and check me through all over again. (it’s the 3rd time). Thanks Air France.

So since I didn’t have a chance to check my email at the apartment (the stomach pills Melissa gave me are working, for the moment), as soon as I got to Paris I ran to the nearest phone to call my mom to have her check my email and my flight itinerary. Oh, and France won’t let me exchange dirhams. So I am out 200DH aka about $20. Thanks French Currency Exchange. Anyway, I finally do get a hold of my mom collect.

Turns out there is no fire. I don’t fly out till 10:30 the next morning. It is 5:45 PM. I buy a book and drag all my belongings from café to café for a few hours. I got to talk to this guy (I think he was pretty coked out. He was something) about Bush. Mostly I got to listen to him rant about the US and the government and about how we are killing everyone and how I shouldn’t go there. “I don’t really want to right now,” was all I could really say. At about 11PM, I am dying of boredom and exhaustion when a policeman comes over and tells me that there are dangerous people staying in this terminal and I should move because “they’ll do anything to get your money….or even worse.” I didn’t have any money (I would disappoint any bum), but I didn’t like the sound of the “even worse,” so I hauled my crap about a mile to another terminal where a bunch of ppl were sleeping. I basically alternated between staring into space, staring into space while listening to dance music on my iPod, reading, and trying to sleep with no blanket, no socks, on a hard airport chair.

Finally finally finally the place starts to come back to life. (Oh, btw, the bag with no handles, yeah, every time I used the bathroom I had to set it on the floor of the stall. Then I’d have to hoist it back up—it probably weighed 20 lbs and it was huge—and hug it to my chest to carry it. Mmmmm public bathroom floor). Finally I am on the plane to DC.

Well the plane gets to the US about an hour late. Baggage claim takes forever. I RUN to the AirTran ticket counter to be told they stopped checking in for my flight to GA 10 minutes earlier. I beg, I plead. Nothing. The crabby lady tells me that I can maybe fly standby for the 6:30PM flight (it’s currently 1PM). My eyes start to tear up, “but, I have to make another flight from GA to MN…” “Sorry.” CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Just at that moment, my purse dislodges itself from the cart, shattering my shisha vase.
“FUCK.” I yell loudly enough for several parents to shoot me disapproving glances. I glare back. My beautiful pink shisha vase from Egypt is in a million pieces and my foot is all bloody. The crabby AirTran lady stops talking and looks sour. So anyway, she books me standby tickets, and I go clean out my purse.

6 hours later (and another collect call to Mom) I am on a flight with no food or drink to Georgia. I don’t live in Georgia. I wait another 3 ½ hrs for my next flight.

Oh, and since AirTran is such a class act, they are always at the farthest littlest shittiest corner of the airport which always requires a tram ride 5 escalators and shlepping all your belongings through the part of the airport that is under construction. Thanks AirTran.

By this time I am practically unconscious from the lack of sleep. It is July 12, and I have not had more than 3 hours of sleep since the night of July 3rd. Most of those nights—though not all-- were my fault, but that didn’t help my delirium at all. The airport was freezing and I was bleeding. Hadn’t showered in 2 countries. Ugh.

Of course on both of the standby flights I had to sit in the way back next to the bathroom in the seats that don't recline.

On the last flight a fat old man next to me wants to chat it up. Do I look like I wanna shoot the shit when I am passed out and have headphones on? Apparently. All I could think of was suppressing the intense desire to tell him how much I hate it when people spill over into my seat and invade my personal space and that he should lose 75 pounds and stop gesturing so wildly with his flabby arm that it hits me on my leg, on my stomach on my left breast. I didn’t tell him, though I may have an ulcer now.

Then I got into Minneapolis at 1:15AM. Mom snaps photo. Thanks Mom. We drive what is normally a 2 hour trip in 4 because it is raining and her one of her lights goes out making the road impossible. 4:15AM I get into shower and go to bed shortly there after.
Time changes taken into account, the whole ordeal was 44 hours.

And the worst part? When I woke up, I was no longer in Morocco.

I am a navigational genius

In my usual fashion, I didn’t prepare ANYTHING for my trip to Egypt. (I worry about the stupidest things but then completely neglect details about things that actually matter) I didn’t have a guidebook, anything to do, even the address of the person I was staying with (Kaitlyn---a saint) until the day before I left. In fact, I never actually had her address. All I had as I left alone for Egypt (again, not knowing Arabic) was, “tell the cab driver, ‘Sheria Sheik Maroof. Go to Koshery Abu Tarek—a restaurant, take a R then walk all the way down the street. It is the last building on your L across from the mosque.”

So I manage to get to Casablanca, transferring once in Ain Seba and I even get on the right plane (applause welcome). After the night passes (night 2 of no sleep—there were 3 3 more in the next week. Not kidding. We’re not talking about nights with almost no sleep.), the plane lands and I get off. Kaitlyn had mentioned in an email that someone might pick me up from the airport, but since then I didn’t have the chance to check my email, so I didn’t know if someone would pick me up or if I would have to find my way. I waited a few minutes looking for people who were looking for people, but then I decided to go. I overpaid the cab driver, and after asking me to marry him, we arrived at Sheria Sheik Maroof. Or close to it. Goodbye. “No tip for me? Baksheesh?” Of course. So I get out of the cab. I am exhausted. I look around for a restaurant. Hmmm. I start walking so as to try not to look conspicuous (right.), but end up asking a guy for Koshery Abu Tarek. He points me in the right direction. By this time it has occurred to me, that “a right after Koshery Abu Tarek” would depend completely on where one was dropped off, and though a nice neighborhood, it is kind of windy and full of allies I don’t want to find myself lost in right off the bat. I’m looking around to see if I can see any minarettes of a mosque, and a man asks if he can help me. YES! Thank heavens. So I ask for the nearby mosque. He doesn’t know (or understand?). I ask for a nearby phone where I can make a call. He pulls out his. We spend like 10 minutes trying to dial Kaitlyn’s number. No luck. The man won’t take any money (dear sweet man). But I’m a little worried. What if I can’t find her apartment? What do I do? Anyway, someone else is able to point me in the direction of “the mosque.” Okay, so I walk into the last building on the left of the street. I do NOT think Kaitlyn lives here. No, as a piece of the ceiling falls off. No, I don’t think anyone does. So some friendly guy comes and asks what I am looking for. I ask if there is an apartment building nearby. “A hotel?” he asks. “No, an apartment. I am staying with a friend here.” “Oooooh, come with me.” So I go with the man (around the corner I might add. This wasn’t in the directions I was given….). He takes me up six flights of stairs. It’s a hotel. So again, I explain that I don’t need a hotel, that I am staying with a friend who lives here. “Ooooh! Sorry. Follow me.” Another building. Another hotel. (Am I speaking clearly? What is the deal? I am getting a little frustrated here, but still in relatively good humor). So the concierge of the hotel ends up taking my notes and decides we should back track all the way. We go downstairs, but I see no reason to backtrack all the way to Sheik Maroof (especially with him, no sooner than we stepped from the hotel, I get, “Are you married? Boyfriend? You are very beautiful…”), so I ask the nearest person I see if there are apartments nearby. An unbelievable stroke of luck. People live in THIS building. “Who?” the man asks. “Uuum, Kaitlyn.” –silence- I try again, “Amereeka?” “Yes.” I was soooo happy to walk up those stairs and knock on that door (of course not before saying goodbye to my friend. “Do you have phone number? Email? I would like to see you again. Later today?” I gave him my email and told him I’d see him later maybe. Ensha’ala).

The Cave of Alcohol

I don’t speak French. I know this is stupid—and PEN 15 club immature, but it is one of those things I see on an almost daily basis and always cracks me up. The grocery store a few blocks from the apartment has a basement where they sell alcohol in opaque black bags to really shady looking characters. In French “Cave d’Alcool” translates roughly to “Alcohol/Spirits Cellar” but I feel like I am going into the “Cave of Alcohol (and Iniquity).” Every time I pass it, I crack up.

Shabbat in Rabat

The service itself was really tough to follow. It's a Sephardic community, and I have only been to one other Sephardic service (before the Lubabitchers came, I imagine it was considerably more chaotic, knowing what I know about Morocco), and everything was a little different. Different words, rhythms, motions, orders of events. My favorite part was the melodies. The way they read from the Siddur was really uniquely Moroccan, lots of fluctuation of the voice on a particular note. It was lovely.
Afterwards I was invited to dinner with a family. I went and had a great time. The man who invited me is from here but living in Andorra with his mom and dad now. He was back here for a wedding and was staying with his grandmother for the week. It was so cool to see how a Jewish family here has Shabbat. We ate a spinach dish, spicey eggplant, a Moroccan fish dish, palm hearts, beets, fruit and this interesting spicy challa-like bread. It was great. I got to speak in Spanish with the grandmother bc she only spoke Spanish and Arabic. I talked to him a lot about the Jewish community in Morocco and he was really insightful. He is really sad that everyone is moving away. They have seen several synagogues close down. He also talked about how attached the Moroccan Jews are to Morocco. All the kings of Morocco have alway been really good to the Jews--protecting them from the Nazis, condemning terrorism, etc (currently one of the kings most important advisors is Jewish) but that Jews here have to worry about uneducated people damaging their shops or making comments or discriminating. He says that is why people are moving, because in other places that just doesn't have to be a daily concern.

I attached a few photos from the Jewish Museum in Casablanca.

Chasing after a temple

In most places synagogues are pretty inconspicuous. You’ll rarely find a big Cathedral of a place. In my experience synagogues outside of the US have been kind of tough to get into: “show me your passport,” “why do you want to come here?” “are you jewish?” “read this in Hebrew,” “say the Shema,” --that kind of weeding out process. Though it is daunting, I understand why it is like this: because of bomb threats and other nasty problems associated with anti-Semitism and anti-Israel sentiments. I wanted to go to service this Friday night, so I thought it would be beneficial to go to the synagogue first, introduce myself, and get all that weeding-out crap out of the way.

So I have been looking for synagogues in Rabat for a while on the internet but with no real luck with addresses. I asked one of my Moroccan roommates and he drew me a diagram and told me he thought one was located. So I get in the cab and prepare my little schpiel in broken French on the back of my dictionary (“hi, do you speak English? My name is Lindsey Blank; I am Jewish. I am from the United States. I am here for the summer. Do you have Friday services? Would it be possible for me to come? What time?” etc). So I get a cab. The driver and I talk in French, Arabic, and signs. He pulls up to a Greek Orthodox Church. Nope. I got out and walked a bit, but then decided to head back to the apartment and try again later. I get into a new cab, and tell him to go to my apartment. He was kinda chatty, so I decided to ask him if he knew where any synagogues were. He didn’t know the word, so we acted out “je sui juif.” I tell him I want to go to "a place of Jews" and he starts fake praying. "je islam" and he does a bowing motion; "vous juif" and he does a little swaying in front of a book motion; "Yes!" I think, "he gets it!" so anyway three churches later, I tell him to take me home. Clearly he doesn’t know any temples... He’s like, "no, no, I know where it is," okaaaay, I agree. He goes right back to where he picked me up: the Greek Orthodox church. FUN.

Another friend of mine knew where one was located, about 4 blocks from my apartment, and he took me there. He helped me talk with someone at the desk. She was great. My new friend was wonderful too. Later we got to talking about religion and what it means to him. We talked about the similarities between Islam, Judaism and Christianity and especially between Islam and Judaism. It was really interesting to hear his views on sex (somewhat hypocritically conservative), dating out of your religion (very open), marrying out of your religion (not particularly open). We also got to talking about Israel and Palestine. We shared a lot of the same views, and I was surprised at how rewarding the conversation was. I thought that he was really hearing what I had to say, and I was definitely in tuned to the problems he was describing. We were really on the same page with most things.