Making it Home

After nearly two weeks in the apartment without so much as a chair, our stuff has finally arrived.  Thank G-d.

To say we had challenges with the moving company is a gross understatement; from the moment they told us we were misinformed about the timeline of the moving process (a few weeks after picking up all the possessions from Tomm's old apartment) to finally getting our belongings a day later than promised, the whole ordeal has been a series of the most unfortunate events. But hopefully the bad luck that was the hallmark of this experience will make way for only the best of luck in our new apartment.

There is a great sense of accomplishment to be had in completely unpacking, assembling, putting away, and organizing one's apartment in a single day.  If only I could be that productive every day!

Today is my last full day in New York before I return to my small town home for the rest of the month.  Since the street had to be cleared for street sweepers today I had the responsibility of moving the car from the most glorious parking spot ever and finding some way to occupy myself for a couple hours.  So after filling the tank and cleaning it of all the papers and garbage that have accumulated since Tomm first bought it, I drove around trying desperately to find a parking spot so I could get some breakfast.  Oh, that reminds me.  Gotta buy milk today.

It took a while, but I finally found a one-hour spot along a street with a variety of cafes featuring words like "Organic" and "Vegetarian" on their artistically designed windows and signs.  I found a cozy little one and I only wish the parking meter would allow me to relax here longer.  Streaming unobtrusively through the speakers in the corner is the music of Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, and Billie Holiday.  The granola was homemade, the fruit fresh, the baristas friendly and charismatic.  One even took my name with my order and then proceeded to actually call me by name as he brought out my food.  It's the little touches like that that make me feel a little less alone around here.

Loneliness is undoubtedly my greatest fear in this adventure.  I wouldn't call myself introverted, but nobody would peg me as a social butterfly.  It often takes time and a great deal of consistency for me to make friends.  People said it would be wonderful that we're living in resident housing because I would find the spouses of other doctors who are left with too much time on their hands, but unless I start knocking door-to-door trying to find them, I'm not sure how we'll meet.  It's not as if the super hosts weekend mixers for the non-doctors in the building.  Though wouldn't it be interesting if he did?

The last two days I combated the loneliness by going to a local animal rescue.  It's about a mile and a half away, a pleasant walk.  Once there I asked if I could walk some dogs, so I was presented first with a highly energetic pit-bull mix that strained at the leash.  We walked around for about a half hour and when I returned they asked if I'd like to walk another.  This went on for a couple hours and by the time I left I had walked five dogs ranging in size from a small terrier to a beautifully monstrous cane corso with a brindle coat.

I returned the next day and the employee from the day before recognized me.  I walked four dogs and also got into a conversation with another volunteer whose name I actually remember!  I walked with her to the train station along with the fattest dog I've ever seen who was incredibly happy when the walk was over.  There seem to be a lot of volunteers at the shelter and though I don't know if they need more, spending quality time with dogs who desperately need the attention is good for everyone involved.  If I have a chance I'll go back this afternoon.

Ultimately, my goal is twofold: to not be lonely, and to make friends.  Hopefully one leads naturally to the other.  Wish me luck.

Shabbos in the Hood

This week marked my first Shabbat (or Shabbos as it's known in its Yiddish pronunciation) in my new neighborhood.  Before I tell you about it, I think it's important for you to understand a little more about this particular neighborhood in Brooklyn.

I'm learning that Brooklyn, and New York in general, is an astonishingly diverse place.  As I mentioned in my first post since arriving, the variety of languages, nationalities, and traditions is astonishing.  There are, however, certain neighborhoods throughout New York that have noticeably higher concentrations of certain ethnic groups, as delineated here.

My neighborhood is a Hassidic hot spot of not just NYC, but of the world.  Hassidic (sometimes transliterated as Chassidic) refers to a branch of ultra-Orthodox Judaism which puts significant emphasis on absolutely following the letter of the law and its accompanying rabbinical commentaries.  Additionally, Hassidic Jews typically avoid many attributes of secular life and form insular, close-knit communities among themselves.  Most people recognize ultra-Orthodox Jews by their black hats, long beards, payes, and black coats, and the women by their long black skirts and dark long sleeved-shirts.  This is worn in even the most oppressive heat and humidity, but it is all a part of the centuries-old traditions that have allowed these Orthodox communities to flourish.

This part of Brooklyn is situated directly next to a large Chinese community -- [insert joke about Christmas and mahjong here] -- and has a handful of Mexican and Puerto Rican restaurants thrown in for good measure.  Still, when Tomm (a modern Orthodox Jew raised in a Jewish neighborhood) came here for his interview I distinctly remember him only saying "I'm not Jewish enough to live here."  He was only half joking.

So now imagine me, a traditional Jew raised in a small town whose Jewish population hovered somewhere around 50 people, suddenly thrown into the heart of American Hassidism with a Jewish population estimated at over 100,000.

Thus it was with some uncertainty that I began thinking about where I would go for Shabbos services on Saturday morning, since a Hassidic shul (synagogue) isn't quite my thing.  I did some research and found there were four modern Orthodox congregations nearby.  Great!  Having nothing else to go on, I decided to try out the one closest to the apartment, a measly three short blocks away.

I'll spare you the unnecessary details of the shul, but suffice it to say it was old.  Big and old.  It had probably been around for generations and was probably a pretty sizable congregation at some point, but judging from the number of empty pews during the service the community has shrunk considerably.  As is standard in Orthodox synagogues, the women had their own section separate from the men (because men are too easily distracted by our beauty), and by the end of the service I was one of only six women there.  According to Jewish law, women are not required to attend prayer services so it's typical for there to be more men than women in a synagogue, but this seemed sparse even by my standards.

I was obviously the youngest person there by a significant margin, so naturally I felt very at home.  The congregations in which I've grown up and to which I've belonged have usually been on the older side and I feel quite comfortable in a congregation primarily made up of people my parents' age and older.  But that was just about the only thing that made me feel comfortable there.  First of all, there was little to no singing among the congregants, so I felt the service was seriously lacking in ruach, spirit.  Second, nobody seemed to do any part of the service together, so I didn't sense any community.  But what struck me as odd was that nobody said hi to me or welcomed me until long after the service had ended.

Perhaps it was presumptuous, but I've grown up believing that Jews look out for one another, and that new faces should be welcomed wholeheartedly.  In fact, there was a sign in their social hall that said something about always being the first to welcome someone new.  During the short social and snack time after services known as kiddush, the women did say hi to me and one even offered me some job hunting advice, but overall I felt the reception was cold.

I told Tomm about it later and he admitted that he wasn't entirely surprised.  There are two types of small communities, he said, and they're either open or closed.  Both my community at home and the one I've been a part of for the last six years are small but very open.  They welcome newcomers with open arms and an invitation to lunch, they play Jewish Geography and search endlessly for connections to people they know, and there is never a shortage of smiles to suggest that they are sincerely happy to meet another member of the tribe.

But it seems that the shul I walked into was of the closed persuasion.  They are probably a small, aging community where new is not always good.  Perhaps the changing neighborhood has not treated them kindly.  Or maybe they've just lost too many young people to the more glamorous Jewish neighborhoods around New York.  Equally possible is that New York Jews are simply different than Midwest Jews.  Whatever the cause, I'm not convinced I'll find my new community in that shul.

At least I've got three other places on my list!

Independence

As we all know, the 4th of July is a day to celebrate our freedom, to spend time with family and friends, to dine on hot dogs and potato salad, and to decorate your new apartment.

It's amazing how much you can get done when both people living in the apartment have the day off - thank you national holidays!

For those who don't know, I've moved to Brooklyn for one reason and one reason only: my fiance.  He graduated from medical school a few months ago and moved here to do his residency at a local hospital.  Since he has to be here for at least the next five years, I figured I'd join him because let's face it, long distance sucks.  For the purposes of this blog, let's call him "Tomm." (It's a thing he came up with. Just go with it.)

So Tomm, by some glorious and miraculous flash of good fortune, was granted off for the 4th of July.  This made me excited for two reasons:  One, I got to see him during daylight hours.  Two, he got to help me finish setting up the apartment.  There's a lot I can do on my own, but I felt he should be around to help pick out an air conditioner and window treatments.

So we shopped.  We got that air conditioner, the curtain rods and curtains, and all the miscellaneous things our apartment was lacking.  We also went on a massive grocery shopping spree to fill our barren kitchen because nothing says "welcome home" like a fully-stocked fridge.

Early in the day we had talked about what we wanted to do to celebrate the Fourth.  We agreed that a fireworks show was the way to go, but in researching the various options it looked like the only fireworks show going on was the Macy's show on the west side of Manhattan along the Hudson.  Discussion wasn't even necessary to decide that we weren't going to travel into and out of Manhattan that late at night to be pushed around by a million people, so I looked into alternative options.  As it turns out, there's a park not too far away that happens to be the highest natural point in Brooklyn which, according to the website, made it a wonderful place to watch the Manhattan fireworks show.  Sure, it'd be a little far away, but it would also be significantly less chaotic and easier to get home afterward.

Well, all the errands took longer than expected and by 8:00, only an hour before the show, we realized it just wasn't going to happen.  That's when Tomm was struck by a brilliant idea: why don't we go to the 10-story apartment building next door and try to watch the fireworks from there?

We ate our lox and bagel on the way (happy birthday, America!) and found an open window near the entrance to the roof.  We were cautious about going onto the roof for fear that it might get us in trouble, especially since it wasn't our building, so we resolved to stay at the window.  We weren't facing Manhattan, but we did have a beautiful view of Coney Island, the Verrazano Bridge, and at least three separate fireworks shows going on within our view.  It was lovely.

After a few minutes a man who may have been the super came up the stairs and asked if we had been on the roof.  We dutifully said no.  "Did you see anyone else?"  "Nope, nada, no one, sir."  "Alright then.  Come with me," he said as he opened the door to the roof.

Wow.

From every point on the top of the building, walking around in a full circle, we could see fireworks.  Staten Island, Coney Island, Brooklyn, Manhattan....there were fireworks going off in every direction.  We didn't know where to focus our attention!  Some were close enough to really enjoy, others were further in the distance and provided just a hint of colorful light on the skyline.  Around 9:30 we saw some finales beginning with unstoppable streams of fireworks, one after the other in robust, glowing grandeur.  From what looked like the heart of Manhattan we saw a glorious display of red, white, and blue explosions that were probably perfectly timed with music, blaring over the voices of a million spectators.  We didn't hear the music; instead I heard a soft breeze and the occasional sweet nothing whispered into my ear.

We tried to count how many shows we could see and figured that 20 was probably a low estimate.  Neither of us had ever seen anything like it, and we both agreed that it was way better than anything we would have witnessed from the park.  What's more, since we could see so many we were there for a full hour and left while some shows were still going - much longer than the 25 minute performance Macy's would have given us.

While watching the fireworks, I thought about this Independence Day.  Quite honestly, this may be the most independent Independence Day I have ever celebrated.  Installing an air conditioner and putting up curtains may not be quite what the Founding Fathers thought of as statements of freedom, but it certainly is for me.  And as Tomm and I stood upon that rooftop with fireworks lighting up the sky in every direction, I felt assured that we can make it work in this big, scary city with so much to offer.  I just need to right vantage point to see it.

I'm back...and in Brooklyn

Whelp, so much for trying to keep a blog throughout my first year of teaching.  Blame it on fatigue, stress, business, or sheer complacency, but after a full month of not writing I realized it just wasn't going to happen.  But this time I'm back, and hopefully here to stay for a little while longer as I explore this new territory called The Big City, a.k.a. Brooklyn, a.k.a. My New Home.

My move isn't 100% official yet, but I just got my Brooklyn Public Library card so I'd say it's close enough.  I'll be going back to my small town home once more before moving here for good, but in the meantime I'm doing my best to make my new apartment and my new neighborhood feel as close to home as I can.  Though I've gotta tell you something: it's hard.

You see, I grew up in a small town with a population well under 50,000.  I'm used to wide streets and big backyards, two-story houses with separate two-car garages. I'm used to a 15-minute round trip to drop off a book at the library, free and ample parking spaces and giant lots, and something like the Cheers theme song, where everybody knows your name.

I'm also used to pretty much one language and one accent (though thickness varies) throughout the city, one widely accepted set of traditions (though I typically did not share them), one primary religion (not that I was a part of it).  I'm certain I'm not giving my home town nearly enough credit for the diversity that does exist there, but by New York standards I come from a pretty cookie-cutter Wonderbread kind of place.

Okay, okay, so I did go to college in a big city.  Well, in the context of my own state, anyway.  New Yorkers don't even recognize the city when I mention it.  But even there I didn't feel the city was overwhelming or multitudinous.  Actually, all things considered, I really enjoyed living there.  I'm a bit sad to have left.

So here I am, a small town Jew in a giant metropolis where people live on top of one another, where languages, ethnicities, traditions, and dress codes bump and shove and glide and mix with one another like splatters of color in a Jackson Pollack painting.  Beautiful to some, jarring and uncomfortably chaotic to others.

With this change comes a shift in the purpose of my blog.  This time 'round, I think I'll need this space as a way to process everything I'm experiencing and to share it with all the people who can't be here with me in person.  This is the biggest, grandest, most terrifying adventure upon which I've ever embarked, and this blog might just be the one thing that keeps my head together.

Join me, won't you?

Barometers of success

Hello again, everyone!  Despite having every intention of updating the blog on a weekly basis, the last few weekends have been exceptionally busy and Life seems to have seriously limited the time available for writing.  Also, I find myself getting really tired when I actually have time to relax and I end up devoid of the energy necessary to write a coherent blog entry.  Such is life!

Among the many areas in which I have plenty of room for improvement is lesson planning.  Last week, after a few hours of "teacher's block" when I was supposed to be writing lesson plans, I finally had a eureka moment and planned this week's lessons in a breeze.  I was so excited as I planned these lessons to introduce percussion instruments, especially since many of the students have been asking me regularly "When will we get to play the instruments?"  Finally in their fifth week of music lessons I was looking forward to the excitement I would undoubtedly see on their faces when I proudly proclaimed "Today we're playing instruments!"

Unfortunately, yesterday didn't go over so well.  In every class throughout the day I faced challenges.  I couldn't quite figure out if the students were just misbehaving, if I wasn't as energetic as I normally am, if I wasn't properly managing the students' behavior, or if the lesson plans were poorly designed.  Regardless of the reason, nearly every class yesterday had challenges that, I fear, made "instrument day" a little less fun.

One thing I'm learning is that class behavior and the quality of a lesson plan are intrinsically related.  Even the strongest, most high-functioning group of children can be off with a poorly planned lesson.  Similarly, a typically low-functioning or misbehaving class can be on task and focused with a well planned lesson.  One of my personal goals as a teacher is to design my lesson plans in the most efficient, effective way possible to encourage the highest possible level of focus, performance, and success.  Basically, I need to plan for success instead of hoping for it.

After yesterday's lesson I had to reflect:  If I faced behavioral challenges with most of the seven classes I taught yesterday, part of the problem must be in my lesson plans.  So what could I do to change them?  It came down to prioritizing the learning objectives and finding the most efficient way to prepare the students to work with the instruments.  One change I made with two of the lessons was to focus on the instruments more than the songs I wanted the students to learn.  It was a challenging decision for me to make, but I recognized that making that change would more accurately reflect the students' desires for the lesson.  Why should I try to drag them to focus on learning a song when all they want to do upon seeing the instruments is to play them?  Better to go with the flow and emphasize meaningful learning in the process.

The other change was in my preparation within the lesson.  I wanted the students to be able to explore the instruments, but I also knew that given the limited time we have it would be better and equally enjoyable for the students to be prepared the moment the instruments get to their hands.  So today when I introduced the instruments I also introduced how to hold and play each one and made sure the students understood, in no uncertain terms, all the rules associated with instruments in the music room.  The results were not just good, not just an improvement over yesterday, but made it into a completely different learning and teaching experience which everyone enjoyed.

By the end of the first couple lessons of the day I was bolstered by the success associated with the few changes I made.  Apparently, I wasn't the only one made happier.  I realize the students I saw today knew nothing of how the lessons went yesterday, but the reactions of the students today were so markedly different and so much more positive that I know I did something right.  Throughout the day students hugged me upon leaving the music room, personally thanked me for letting them use my instruments, told me how much they loved me, and complimented my dress.

Another sign of the success of the classes was how barren my seating charts (which serve as a place to mark behavioral successes and challenges throughout the lesson) were.  Some pages were completely untouched today simply because the lesson moved so quickly and the students were so on-task that I didn't need to threaten anyone with a poor report to their teacher.

These may not be the most consistently accurate barometers of success, but the smile on my face by the end of the last class was the unmistakable mark of the happy teacher after a day of good lessons. :)