The sounds of Melbourne and Jerusalem

When I was a young kid, I would climb onto the toilet seat and peer out toward our backyard from behind the fly-screen, mesmerized and captivated by the sounds of Shabbat wafting over from our neighbours next door. It was Friday night in Caulfield, and my now unfamiliar backyard was illuminated by a sliver of moonlight, transforming it into a shadowy Siberian winter-land punctuated by grey-silver grass and leaves. I could see nothing beyond the fence, but the sounds enchanted me — the harmonies of ancient Jewish melodies imbibed me with wonder. The words, strange and exotic, seemed to take me like a bird to distant Arabian deserts to sit in the company of wise, bearded sages.

I was just a kid. Maybe 9 or 10. My family’s Friday night dinners were dysfunctional — a leitmotif of screaming, arguments and agitated kids. The family dynamic was incorrigible, I thought, every Shabbat dinner ended in tears. And so, after the screaming, the kicking and the fighting, with everybody separated and locked away safely in their rooms with the lights turned off, I would quietly tiptoe across the hallway and into the bathroom, lock the door, and climb onto the vantage point to receive my dose of Shabbat.

As the shadows danced across my face, momentarily hiding the tears in my eyes, I would wistfully stand transfixed by the harmonies, like a diver emerging to the surface to receive his first breath of fresh air. The sounds were beautiful. The tunes arcane. They touched a chord deep inside me; they seemed to nourish my soul. I felt that I needed to keep my ears open, to let in this constant stream of medication, this panacea, before the tunes, so ephemeral, would die down, and the family would start eating their Shabbat evening meal.

I was envious, I wanted that too. I wanted to sit at the table of brotherhood and sing to the heavens. I wanted to feel elevated. I wanted to feel closer.

It is a cry out to the heavens of a man condemned; the joyful tears of a father holding his newborn.

Now fast forward some 10, 12 years, and that same boy, now corrupted by the cynicism of life, the travails of army service and the daily reality of living in Israel, sits on his rented balcony in Jerusalem on a summery Shabbat afternoon. Another breathtaking hilltop sunset flashes warm orange colours onto the cirrus clouds that punctuate the endless, dark blue sky, creating a vertiginous effect.

And then, as if from the echoes of a memory, a stream of melodies from Se’udah Shlishit from a nearby home disperses the twitter of birds and momentarily captures my attention. Like a little kid prodding me with a stick, the harmonies rise and fall in a spiritual climax that immediately strike my very core, and send me back to Friday night all of those years ago. The tunes are heart-wrenching — they come from the depths of despair and longing. They encapsulate the human experience. It is a cry out to the heavens of a man condemned; the joyful tears of a father holding his newborn.

They seem to rebuke me gently. Never forget who you are. The sounds percolate deeper and deeper into my being. Never forget. Perhaps I have indeed strayed, Father? I stand defenseless as the beautiful niggunim filter in, take me once more like a bird and pluck me back into shul on Yom Kippur, swaying, concentrated on the prayers, begging for forgiveness.

The Friday night discos at ulpan. The insouciant teenager playing with his phone on base Saturday morning. Once in awe of rabbis and religious teachers, now supplanted by a contemporary Israeli suspicion of anything dati. How far had I treaded off the path?

The pure voices of Se’udah Shlishit vie for airspace and my attention, but I’m already back in Shechem, in the Balata refugee camp

And suddenly, much like the beautiful tunes that had me entranced — far off in the east, a new sound abruptly assails me. The distant thunder of tortured voices, the muezzin of a million mosques. First a whisper, and then an endless feedback loop of the adhan, the Arabic call to prayer, the howls pull me out of my trance and back into reality. The strange and foreign melodies of the clash of civilizations, reverberating off the walls of my apartment built from Jerusalem stone.

The pure voices of Se’udah Shlishit vie for airspace and my attention, but I’m already back in Shechem, in the Balata refugee camp, weighed down by a heavy helmet and a bulletproof vest, besieged by the pre-dawn muezzin that uncovers me and exposes my location. We’re coming for you, they seem to say, at once haunting and enticing — like the pied piper luring me away from my squad and into the dark, narrow alleyways filled with the posters of dead Palestinian shahids toting their AK-47s before of an image of al-Aqsa.

Amid the booms of stun grenades and fire crackers, Shemah Koleinu becomes increasingly drowned out and sinks further and further into sub-conscious like an irritating headache or a daydream. I am now surrounded an all sides by the incessant cries of Suleiman’s Ayyubid hordes encamped beyond the walls of the Old City, like Joshua bombarding the terrified inhabitants with the ghostly warnings and the trumpets of a foreign land.

Never forget, never forget. Forget what? The innocuous call to prayer from the furthest mosque, reigning in the city’s faithful from a tall minaret illuminated by Mordor green? The pitiful sounds of wailing of Lodz and Theresienstadt that captivated me in my childhood?

But I have strayed too far now, I thought, as the adhan wailed louder and louder like a beating drum demanding clear-cut answers to my ambivalence. My inner disconnect was quite apparent: Never forget had become never more; my talking mouth feigning erudition in scholarly matters such as politics and philosophy, but in reality masking an empty, hollow core, devoid of spirituality, thirsty for a lifeline. A fleeting glance of thoughts — reigned in by the newly audible church bells joining the cacophony of piety like an uninvited guest to a party.

As I listened, bewildered on my porch, to the noise of the three great monotheistic religions — taking in the fresh, cool Judean mountain air — I felt this sudden inner tug-and-pull, lasting no more than a blink of an eye. A brief, transient yearning that all but disappeared as I returned my glance from the sky to the trees, from the idealistic dream-world that I had once inhabited, to the harsh reality of life.

I was no longer a child — but a denuded, featherless bird, savagely soaked by a bucket of ice-cold water, scolded and shivering in the breeze.

This 10-year old boy would not get his chance to fly to distant Arabian deserts, and bask in the company of wise, bearded sages.

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Coping and succeeding in high pressure situations

Note: The following piece was written over a year-and-a-half ago and may or may not reflect the author’s current view

So I have a problem, probably the longest lasting most serious personality related problem that affects me in the army. When I find myself in a high-pressure or stressful situation, everything seems to break down. I lose control of my ‘excitement/anxiety gauge’. I become reckless. My mind races at a million miles an hour, and I find it difficult to focus. I become irrational. The initial excitement turns into dread, as I come to the realization the ‘this is real’, I’m to blame, and its only up to me to salvage the situation.

My mind speeds and works overtime. My body slow down, my responses less-sharp. I broadcast stress and anxiety, and give off the feeling that ‘everything is lost’, the situation is doomed and other extreme and unhelpful comments. Time seems to fly – indeed loses all meaning – and I feel stuck in motion like a swimmer battling against the stream without progress.

So why am I like this and what can I do to improve?

First of all, most of the time I do feel as if I’m calm, in control and rational. Indeed I try, in public, to give off a cool, suave impression – as if playing some James-bond style alter ego. But in truth I’m anything but, and that all has to change.

I think my problem stems from lack of “personal-framework,” a clear order in my mind of what needs to be done, and an inability to see the bigger picture. I find that many times I find myself in these situations when I’m in a leadership position, or when others are dependent on the performance and ultimate success of my actions. Exhibited emotions include anxiety, stress, a feeling of being overwhelmed and hyper-excitement. It’s as if a valve shuts off in my brain and prevents me from thinking rationally. The worst part is that most of the time I am unaware that I’ve descend into this self-destructive cycle, and as a result it only worsens – with the beating tick of the seconds handle.

So what practical steps do I take to alleviate and prevent such situations in the future? What do I do to minimize and even eradicate this flaw in my personality?

The first step of course, is awareness of the problem, and acknowledgment that it is harming me in the army, and even in the long term. If I do not battle this problem now with all my might, who knows how it will develop in the future?

The next step is to realize that during the ‘high-pressure situation’ that I’m in a ‘high-pressure situation.’ When I find that things are getting out of control, I need to mentally tell myself that now of all times I have to slow down a notch and acquire clarity. This is the most difficult of all, because it requires me – under severe constrains – to stop everything, whilst the clock is ticking and make sense of it all in my head.

Even if it holds everybody up.

Even if there is ‘no time.’

Even if stopping now means that I broadcast that I have lost control of the situation.

This is the most critical stage. I must learn to stop everything – pause time. Ignore the chaos around me, and take a breath.

Ask myself gently like a father asks his young son:

“What’s the problem my dear boy?”

“Well is it really such a big problem, or are you blowing it out of proportion?”

“Can you fix it? Or is there another way?”

“What about the importance of the issue> i.e. the biiger picture?

Problem -> solution(s) -> course of action.

It’s simple really. And it makes a lot of sense. All I have to do is to force myself to stop, and to analyse the situation rationally from the outside.

And of course, as mentioned earlier – to take, a, breath……