Wherever you go, there’s always someone Jewish
You’re never alone when you say you’re a Jew!
Ok so this song might be true, but what it fails to recognize, or at least tell us little children that listen and take in the meaning of the song is that while they may be there, they might be ridiculously difficult to find. This is my opening to my post about my experience with the high holy days in Albania.
I had always planned to maintain my Judaism while in Albania. I also realized how flexible I needed to be to make this work. Soon after I arrived Passover began and with it my first challenge; how to maintain Passover dietary laws while living with a host family who was already confused about my choice of vegetarianism. At the time my Shqip skills were still slim to none, but at least my heart was in it. I learned a few words to help me out; Jew (which was actually the wrong word Hebreo is the most known here, and truthfully I’m not sure even that word would have helped me in the small village I lived in), bread, slave, and religion. I tried to explain my even more complicated eating rules than usual to my family, my stammering I’m sure came out a little more like this:
“Because I faith (we hadn’t learned possessives yet). I am the Jew. Before are slave, then are not slave. We leave fast. Don’t eat bread.”
Needless to say this was generally met with looks of confusion from my Jysh (grandfather)—considering that we usually resolved these looks by playing our own little accidental games of charades (Bleta “buzz” says jysh accompanied by flapping of the arms in fast motions, can you guess, that’s right bee. Dele is accompanied by two horns and a scrunching of the face, uh-huh that would be sheep. Yes charades usually were about farm animals, so it goes when you live in a farming community) I decided trying to act out the story of Passover would not be all that productive. Giving up on trying to explain Passover I decided my best option would be to follow the dietary restrictions strictly while out of the house, but while in the house eat one serving of whatever was served to me even if it broke laws and avoid unnecessary items in the house such as bread.
While in pre service I dreamed of moving in on my own to celebrate Shabbat each week. Yes, I would bake challah, light candles, and bless wine. I must admit I have not been all that great with this as Fridays often became about traveling to meet friends to combat the overwhelming loneliness I felt in Shijak. It wasn’t really until the high holidays that I realized that keeping Shabbat was in actually an important part of maintaining my sanity.
With the high holidays approaching I developed a plan; my parents sent me a prayer book and I would do what services I could on my own. I looked up a recipe for challah, and bought some candles (well actually they were given to me as the word for candle is only slightly different from a dirty word and my coworkers were very afraid that I’d mess up on this one thus bringing turpe aka shame upon myself). I was ready.
Soon though I realized all that would be missing; the sound of the Shofar, the feeling of community, and being with family for the most important part of the year. Plan one was to stream services. Obviously there are some inherent problems with this mainly the time zone. After talking to another Jew in the Peace Corps I found out that she had set up bringing some Rabbis to Albania. I will admit I was much relieved to be spending Rosh Hashana with others instead of alone. Unfortunately these plans did not pan out. The Rabbis missed their plane.
While part of me was relieved I did not have to go into Tirana (this was in the height of my giardia), the other part of me broke down. After a quick cry I quickly called my mother who told me she knew this would happen and then offered to skype services with me. Despite the time difference I saw this as a good option. While it was strange to be part of something and yet alone, it was nice to be with family on this day.
Aside from the unconditional methods of celebrating Rosh Hashanah this year there were aspects which made it incredibly meaningful and special for me. This year Rosh Hashanah fell on the same day as Bajram, then end of Ramadan here. Rosh Hashanah was accompanied by drums, calls to prayer, and my neighbor ringing my doorbell in the middle of my skype service to bring me sweet cake and byrek. I returned the food gift with a bit of challah with raisons. At the risk of being overly sentimental there was something incredibly nice and special about this sharing of food, and the intermingling of songs from my canter and calls to prayer over the loud speaker of the Mosque. I suppose it’s just that feeling of universality we sometimes, although rarely, feel.
I suppose what I am trying to say is this, my celebrations might be different, my community might be different, but I still have them. Sometimes it can be overwhelmingly good to feel that I am in the right place at the right time, and I am having a unique experience for myself.
Until next time, wishing everyone a late shanah tovah, and hoping everyone had an easy fast.
