The world has gone out of its mind.

Just a friendly reminder that I can now be found blogging (much better) at ItchyFeetBigWorld.blogspot.com. My travels are winding down in the next couple of weeks, so catch the excitement while you can!

~S

Seriously.

I'm reposting the link so now you have no excuse.

Click pretty much anywhere in this post and it will take you there.

Also if you're wondering, the address is itchyfeetbigworld.blogspot.com.

No excuses!! You can comment there too. I promise.

Check it out kids! My new travel blog, Itchy Feet, Big World, got linked from Wonkette for a tip I sent them about lube being the only allowable liquid on airplanes.

WHAT WHAT!

~S

I know, I know. This is long overdue. But now that I'm back in the District, albeit for a brief interlude, I feel I can rightly post this dispatch about the last day of my summer in the District.

I woke up in time to make firm plans to meet up with Varod for lunch at Cosi in Dupont. Showered and appalled at the ridiculous mess on my floor--it's hard to organize things when all your furniture has been abruptly removed--I made my way to the Metro. Varod ate a sandwich and I ordered coffee, the beginnings of my periodic appetite loss becoming apparent once again. We talked about books and boys and friends in Israel and managed not to fight about it. I was happy.

We left for an adventure I'd been putting off for a large portion of the summer. My Elementary School Teacher, here known as fivecats, clued me in to a special place in DC known as Cow Hill. It requires a bit of a trek but is close to the metro, and My Elementary School Teacher gave me detailed instructions on how to get there.  I'm not sure why I'd been putting it off. I'd wanted to go all summer, but I guess was undecided as to whether I should do it myself or take someone with me. I eventually concluded that I wanted to take someone with me...but who? It had to be someone I care about, someone who wouldn't screw it up for me, and also someone who would be likely to appreciate a spot of natural beauty as well. It literally went until this, my last day in DC, to decide to take Varod and just go.

Cow Hill is in a secluded spot, but so close to major arteries I'm really kind of amazed at it's very existence. You'd never guess by the surrounding area that there's even the space for it. The trees obscure any sign of civilization save for a little edge of an apartment building in one spot, and the grass is long and unkempt so that the only indication anyone else has been here in years is the just barely discernable path of trod-upon grass curving down the hill. Varod and I sat at the top in silence for a few minutes. We heard birds, and crickets, and no cars or city noise. It was like magic. Butterflies flew past. The sun shone from behind picturesque cottonball clouds in a bright blue sky. It was warm, but not too hot. It was beautiful.

We sat there for a long time, playing with the grass and talking about the future. I began to realize just how much this city has changed me. Not just the city, the whole experience of this summer, really. I don't think I can explain it. I felt good, and calm, and absolutely sure I'd be back to stay.

We left after a while. I took some pictures. I was so happy to have gone.

I went back home for a bit before Tikkun Leil Shabbat. I realize, in looking back over previous dispatches, that I haven't mentioned TLS before. Tikkun Leil Shabbat is a wonderful havurah in which I've been fortunate enough to take part over the course of the summer. I found out about it through Jews in the Woods, and it's comprised mostly of former JitW folks. Meeting every three weeks over the summer, TLS is full of song and kavanah and joy. Services are followed by a "d'var tikkun" teaching about a local social justice issue (always interesting) and a potluck vegetarian dinner (always delicious). I will miss this community I've only begun to get to know.

The Desk Job showed up briefly to the potluck. It was strange, considering we'd already done our goodbyes, but fine. I left after a little singing to meet up with La Dominicana for one last night on the town. The Harvard Broad and a friend met up with us as well. I saw Goyischef again. It was a fantastically bizarre end to this fantastically bizarre summer.

Looking back, a lot of this summer was, for me, about learning that I can do it myself. Because I'd spent the better part of the past two years in [mostly bad] relationships, I'd lost a lot of my identity as a self-reliant, capable, independent human being. I'm so happy to have gotten that back.

The next day I packed. Mr. Congeniality came over to help, and I didn't end up leaving until about 11:00 at night, putting me back in Raleigh around 4 am. I was sad to go, but ready for adventures to come.

Speaking of whichm I'll end with the introduction of my new travel blog, where you can find posts relating to my many travels in the next few months. I'll still use this livejournal for personal stuff, but you can find my adventures from now on at Itchy Feet, Big World.

Cheers!

~Shaz

Back in Raleigh. Got in a few minutes ago.

Will write the story of my last day and night in DC later. It's good on so many levels.

I miss the District already.

More later.

~Shaz

Tal, at lunch today: What are you doing with your last week in DC?
Me: Playing. 

I've had a great couple of days.

Monday, still debating my decision but feeling good about it with the ceasefire, I finished the bag I'd been making to help clear my mind. It turned out great. Black and pleated with a yoke and tote style straps and button closure. I bought extra heavy interfacing and designed the bag large enough to carry my computer and giant denim patchwork blanket, and all the normal purse stuff (phone, keys, wallet, sunglasses, metro book (currently Assasination Vacation by Sarah Vowell), non-Blackberry PDA, non-iPod audio device, emergency stain stick, and of course a number of other things a lady does not reveal in public forum). I spent a long time at Tryst in Adam's Morgan, a coffee shop one review I once read describes as only moderately resembling the coffee shop from Friends. They have free wireless and a blended Chai that's to die for, so I took up residence in the back corner and prepared to leave a big tip. I didn't end up staying too long because I promised to meet The Harvard Broad after (her) work and it was a long but pretty walk from Tryst to Dupont Circle. It was lovely. Another girl from the feminist intern program met us as well, and we made plans to hang out again Wednesday night.

The Harvard Broad had to pack, and our friend had to tend to a wounded friend, so I went myself to the last Screen on the Green of the summer. (As a brief aside, I got a call as I was about to step onto the escalator into the Metro from one of the professors from my UMass Performance and Social Justice class last Spring offering me a role in a show she's directing this fall. She forgot I was planning to study abroad. I have to admit I felt a pang of my usual "You're missing out on an opportunity! What's wrong with you??" demons, but I reminded myself that this is just further proof that I can't do everything, much as I may try, and that it's ok not to do everything. But back to the real story here...) Screen on the Green was great. I'd never seen Rocky before--how hilarious is that movie? Too funny. Sylvester Stallone and his awkward speech pattern--it just doesn't get better than that. Since I wasn't exactly following my form and arrived just as the opening credits were playing instead of, you know, three or so hours before, I didn't get to sit in the exact spot I've laid claim to for all the other movies, but got a decent seat along the edge and enjoyed the movie by myself. It felt good. The first Screen on the Green was spent lingering with The Most Sensible Girl I Know, running into what she's dubbed my "harem", followed by an evening with The Desk Job. This time, I had no one demanding my attention. I went home smiling to myself.

The next day, I once again set off for my old haunt, Tryst, because I was becoming ever the more frustrated with the lack of reliable internet here at home (seriously, La Dominicana needs to break down and pay for internet. Seriously.) and I had a long list of things to accomplish in preparation for the next few months. I mapped out where I'm going to be and when, and I'll post my intinerary as soon as I firm it up. But until then, here's a list of cities I will be in at some point before I leave the country:

• Raleigh
• New York
• DC
• Boston
• Amherst
• Northampton, other points in Western Mass
• (possibly) Philadelphia

 Having accomplished a great many things on my list, I went home before too long and began more serious work on a set of matched pink herringbone and tan vinyl luggage I'm making for myself, intended for my many weeks of travel to come. Not actually sure if I'll finish it in time. But it sure is cute...

Wednesday I went out to enjoy the city with Mr. Congeniality. He’s facing a lot of similar anxiety to me, as he’s leaving the country soon also, but for about 9 months instead of three. He couldn’t sleep the previous night and headed into the city early to hang out at the Library of Congress, so we met up on the hill and had lunch at Tortilla Coast where we stuck out like two sorely underdressed thumbs in a sea of business casual and staffer IDs on ball chains tucked into breast pockets. We shared our worries, plans, and hopes for the experience. It was good for both of us.

Our original plan had been to wander the city and take pictures because I, knowing I’m leaving soon and having completely neglected documenting the summer apart from this blog, got the urge to photograph the places I’ve grown to know and love. But because of Mr. Congeniality’s sleepless night, we opted instead for coffee and a dish session at a cute café in Dupont. We decided to meet up when I get to London. He’ll be in Madrid this semester.

Mr. Congeniality promised to help me move out on Saturday, and I hugged him and put him on a metro home for a nap. I decided to walk down Connecticut to the NCJW office to stop by and tell the ladies I’m going to Israel after all. They’re all so excited for me, even though it means I won’t be staying on with them for the semester. Americanadienne gave me a hug and told me she’s happy for my decision, which means a lot. I took the contact information of the one woman at the Jerusalem office of NCJW and some pictures of the office, and continued on.

Cliché as it was, what I really wanted to capture was the Hill. I took the metro over to Capitol South and set out, photographing each House office building, cutting across the Capitol lawn, and over to the Senate side (I got a couple extra of Dirksen, for the memories.) Then I walked down the mall to the spot I sat at for Screen on the Green—first with The Most Sensible Girl I Know and The Desk Job, followed by just me and The Most Sensible Girl I Know, followed by me and Prohibition Joe, followed by just me. I laid down on the grass and took a picture of the tree above.

I bought myself a frozen lemonade and sat on the mall and watched the tourists. I’d been thinking about how I was being a tourist, and enjoying it. I love this city from all perspectives. I walked back to the metro with a smile on my face and a roll and a half of film exposed to the reflected light of DC.

Early this morning, sleepy and unshowered, I disassembled most of my furniture and laboriously transported it into my car to hand off to a woman my parents know who’s driving back to Raleigh today. I had just enough time to shower, change, and hop on a metro back into the city to meet Tal for lunch. When I told him I was going to ask him for a job when I was considering staying in DC and asked whether, if shit really goes down in Israel, he’d let me work for Brit Tzedek, his response was exactly the what-a-stupid-question “Of course!” I was expecting. So worst comes to worst, I’ll work for Brit Tzedek for a while.

It’s late, and I’m finishing this entry in Word because my internet isn’t working, so I’m going to call it quits for the night. Tomorrow will bring, hopefully, hanging out with St. Louise, Tikkun Leil Shabbat, a nighttime walk of the monuments, and finally an attempted repeat performance of two Thursdays ago with La Dominicana—we’re going back to the hotel with Goyischef and his friend.

I get chills thinking about how tomorrow is my last full day in DC.  It hasn’t hit me, I guess because I know this won’t really be my last day. But there’s no need to go into that again.

 

~Shaz

Decision time was Sunday, and decision has been made. I'm going to Tel Aviv. I'm going to London first with Britty Girl. 'm going to take Hebrew and Arabic at Tel Aviv University and work at the Hebrew-Arab Theatre in Jaffa.

I know you guys all want me to stay. I'm sorry. I understand it's more difficult for you if I leave, but please understand that it's what's best for me. I haven't been back in 10 years, and I haven't had the opportunity to travel abroad in way too long. I have to take this while I have the chance. I'm sad to leave DC, but it will still be here when I get back, here for more amazing summers and beyond. I love it here, so even though it's heartwrenching to leave it, I feel like I'm just taking a break, a brief adventure, and I'm absolutely sure I'll be back. Don't worry. DC and I aren't through just yet.

Please be happy for me. I'm happy for me. I'm going to see other countries and cultures, and I'm going to do cool things, and I'm going to bring back those perspectives and experiences. I'll regail you with stories of Tel Aviv nights and adventures in London with My Special Place. I'll teach you Cockney rhyming slang and dirty words in Hebrew and Arabic. Please be happy for me. I'll write you if you want.

I think I've officially outlasted my welcom here at Tryst, so I'm going to hit the road for now. This will not be the last Dispatch from the District.

That's a promise.

This may be my last post from The Office. Or maybe it won't be. There's really no telling at this point.

I'm sad to leave. If I am leaving. Because I might not be. There's really no telling.

There's a lot going through my head right now, and I can't really say it. I feel a more sparse post is apropos. They're taking us out to lunch soon, at what is probably a very nice restaurant. It's weird that  this may be my last day. Or maybe it isn't. There's really no telling.

This is a great place.

Ok folks, decision time approaches, so I'm officially asking for your input. Comment to speak now or forever (or at least for the next six months) hold your peace.

Should I:

a) Go to Israel, probably Tel Aviv

or

b) Stay in DC

That's really the big question at this point. I'm stressing about it to no end, and I've made an arbitrary deadline for myself to decide by Sunday, however since I really want Tal's input and he's out of town this week, I may extend the arbitrary deadline a bit. The point is, though, that whether I'm going or staying, I've investigated my options and the verdict is that there are awesome things I could do here and there are awesome things I could do there. If security weren't an issue I'd be on a plane to Ben Gurion in a heartbeat, but it is, and I'm not going to pretend like it's not, so I'm asking what you, Small Crossection of My Friends, think.

How worried would you be about me if I went? How crazy would I be to go, or not to go? This is the question. I'm hoping you have some answers.

Love,

~Shaz

I feel inhibited about posting some parts of my life to this blog because I know people read it, even though I mostly would love to dish. Its more about not wanting to risk future job opportunities--don't laugh, it's for real--so I'm going to continue to be cryptic and promise to tell you details individually (and untraceably) if you like.

This story begins on Wednesday night when I decided to skip an international women's somethingorother in the city in favor of going straight home from work, which I hadn't done in weeks. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I'd walked home while it was still light outside. Living where I live, it's a lot more difficult to go home, relax for a bit, and then go back out if going back out involves going back to the District, because the commute can be really long when the trains only come every 10 or 15 minutes. So I went home, promptly changed into PJs, heated up a bowl of leftover chili, and began vegging out in front of the TV. Ahh. A beautiful lazy night, like I hadn't had in a long time.






There's plenty in store for this week. La Dominicana is out of town for the week, so I've got the place all to myself again. I finally got together with Harvard Broad for lunch today and we had a fabulous dish session. We're getting together again on Thursday, by which time I'm sure there will be plenty more to  dish. I'm going to Screen on the Green tonight, perhaps by myself or perhaps with Capitol Fling* who called last night to set something up for this week. Also weighing heavy on my mind is the Sunday deadline I've set for myself to decide what to do for the next semester. My options are:

1. Decide it's safe enough and go to Israel. I will:
    a) Hold out hope for Haifa to be safe again by the time I get there. Don't change original plans. Or,
    b) Accept that it's probably still not going to be safe in Haifa, and find a new program
2. Decide it's not safe enough, or the emotional stress on people who care about me is too onerous.
    a) Stay in DC and stay working for NCJW. They've already offered me to keep my job.
    b) Stay in DC and work for Brit Tzedek. Have not talked to Tal about this yet, but I'm confident he'll be amenable to the idea.
    c) Stay in DC and work part time for NCJW and part time for Brit Tzedek
    d) Stay in DC and work for David Price which I could definitely get, or Edward Kennedy which I might be able to wangle
    e) Leave DC. Go somewhere else. Become a carnie or a hobo or something. Go to London?

There are pros and cons to all possible solutions, which I'm sure I'll explore in greater detail in later posts.

VRA meeting now, must go.

Ta!

~Shaz

* Mostly for The Most Sensible Girl I Know because I need a truly sensible opinion here and Capitol Fling just isn't descriptive enough: what about The Desk Job as a new pseudonym?

Up until now, I've resisted the all-too-obvious urge to bitch post about how hot DC is in July. In fact, I made it all the way through the month of July without complaining too much about the heat--except to note once in a while that the humidity really slaps you in the face when you walk aout of the nearly arctic air-conditioned office buildings--and aren't you proud of me for it? I've always hated hot weather. I like winter, and I live in Massachusetts. But honestly, I haven't felt like bitching too much about the DC heat.

So even though I hear a stat that the "heat index" (whatever the hell that means) is 112, I'm not going to. Instead, I'm going to comment, in the brief amount of time I have before attending a Senate hearing (for those of you following the score, I'll probably be seeing Capitol Fling there), on a side-effect of the ass-busting heat: the women of Washington, DC have reinstated the 1920s.

I was on my way to a brown bag at HRC today,  and I decided to stop at Potbelly's to get a sandwich because I like taking the "brown bag" thing literally, and anyone who's ever been to Potbelly's knows what I'm talking about here. As I walked out of my building, I saw a woman carrying a parasol.

That's right, a parasol.

Ok, it wasn't a real parasol. It was a humongous orange umbrella. Five of her could have easily fit under it. But it was definitely being used as a parasol--there's not a cloud in the sky today. And wouldn't you know it, as I walked out of Potbelly's I saw another, this one more unabashed about its true identity as an umbrella: it was the standard $5 black variety, the kind you'll gladly pay $15 for during one of DC's characteristic impromptu rainstorms.

I love it. I wholeheartedly support this regression. I really want a parasol now--one of the lacy white ones you can't imagine are actually effective at blocking the sun. I also want to start carrying around a large fan, which I will whip open with a girlish flick of my wrist and use to hide behind when I am approached by attractive men on the street. Also, I'm going to bring back the tradition of Capitalizing words mid-sentence for Emphatic purposes. I may have written a post about this some time ago. Ten points if you can find it. I Definitely Remember talking to my AP US History teacher about this Way back in the day. Ten Points if You can find the Post about it.

Love,
~Shaz

(One final note to those of you keeping score: I don't really like the pseudonym "Capitol Fling". Ten points to whoever can come up with an entertaining-yet-unincriminating pseudonym.)

(Update: did not see Capitol Fling at the subcommittee hearing. Just so's you know.)

I'm going to an intern "congress" on Darfur for the day today, so I don't have a lot of time, but I thought I'd post some observations because I've had them running through my head.

1. I have out-of-town friends come into town almost every weekend. That's awesome. I love being the place people crash when they come to DC. It means I get an excuse to be touristy and show off my newfound knowledge--but more importantly, my newfound love--of this city.

2. I love the scent left on my second pillow in the morning, and how it lingers there for a couple of days, and how it brings back that secret smile. I love cool sheets in the summer.

3. There are tons of awesome people in DC. There are tons of awesome men, but there are also tons of awesome women. Yay women. Working in the women's movement is excellent. Women are great.

4. Stigma plays into our lives more than we'll ever consciously realize. We don't do things because of stigma--not because we don't want to, not because it's actually dangerous or stupid or bad, but because we think it's bad...just 'cause. Stigma. Not rationality. Yesterday a friend was talking about fooling around with a guy he's been seeing off and on for a while. Pressed for details, he answered, "Nothing unkosher." Unkosher: unclean, transgressive, prohibited, bad. Negative. How many times do you use negative words when referring to sex--or as in this case, not even sex? "Doing the nasty" for example. Negative. Lets stop referring to anything that feels good as something negative and maybe it'll all start to be less scary. Now don't get all "you're a hedonist!" on me, because I'm not. I'm just saying, lets rid ourselves of the guilt. People have some crazy ass complexes about sex and I think it could be cured in part by dropping the stigma and bringing it into the positive vernacular.

5. Public transportation is awesome. Public urination, less so.

6. Dupont circle is an excellent place to sit and watch crazy people, even if it does smell sometimes. There are always some awesome crazies in Dupont. And there's the guy by the Starbucks on the North side of Connecticut who plays the electric guitar in the afternoon, and there's the awesome brass band that plays next to the bridge on the North side of Connecticut after the sun sets. Live music, entertainment, and a quick walk to food, fun, and a ride home--what more could you want?

7. I could be happy in many places. I am happy most of the time. I feel this is abnormal, but it's true. Sometimes I think I'm happy, but I'm actually miserable. I only realize it afterwards. But if I don't know I'm miserable at the time, because I'm too busy thinking I'm happy...was I really miserable to begin with? I convince myself I'm happy because I enjoy being happy. Is that bad for me? Sometimes I think it is. But even when I look back on parts of my life I realized were miserable in retrospect, I have no regrets. So I can choose to be happy--this I've always known--but how do I know if I'm not? And does it even matter? Hmm.

8. I've finished two books that I've read just for pleasure, and another that I've read before and this time listened to on audio. That's three more books read solely for the joy of it than I've read in the past year. Maybe two years. I'm now returning to Che's journey which I  never really finished, in more ways than one.

9. Che Guevara says, "The first commandment for every good explorer is: An expedition has two points; the point of departure and the point of arrival. If you want to make the second theoretical point coincide with the actual point, don't think about the means (the expedition is a hypothetical space which ends where it ends, so there are as many means as there are means to an end, that is, the means are limitless.)"  I'm thinking about that a lot with regards to the upcoming semester. I'm not sure if I'll be in Haifa. I'm not sure if I'll be in Israel. I'm not sure if I'll be in the country or out of it. I'm thinking about staying in DC. I'm thinking about staying in London. I'm thinking about throwing darts at a map and seeing where I land. Ok, I'm not really thinking about that. I've got my first point, now I just need to figure out exactly what my second theoretical point is and how much I want the actual point to coincide with it.

10. Good friends. Dark chocolate. Singing. Reading. Peaches. Yum.
~Shaz

If you're interested. Inspired by raven13n

Another brief update, which will not, I'm sure, turn out very brief.

The past week was, in a word, ridiculous. RIDICULOUS!
Issues I work on that were voted upon last week:

• Federal Marriage Amendment (picked up 9 votes, as I mentioned before, but didn't pass)
• Pledge Protection Act (passed, but the Senate will never touch it because it is a patently obsurd, clearly unconstitutional court-stripping bill that the Senate will never touch with a twelve-foot pole. Spent a significant amount of time on Friday figuring out how to say that without saying...that.)
• Stem Cells Funding (failed in veto--ok, I don't work on this in primarily, but it's still infuriating)
• Voting Rights Act (passed, of course, and I was in the Senate gallery when it did--that's pretty cool)

I spent all day on the Hill yesterday lobbying on the PATHWAY act, which is a good piece of legislation that probably won't be moving. I got to see some people I recognize from the CLPP conference, which was cool. I was lobbying with a girl from Charlotte who goes to UNC (and knows lots of old YVR folks) and we had some time between the morning briefings and our afternoon lobby meetings, sowe stopped by Ileana Ros-Lehtinan's office where an old camp friend is interning and got him to give us a tour of the Capitol. She'd never been on a capitol tour before, so I'm glad we did it. The lobby visits were easy, as expected, because you really can't argue too much with the global AIDS pandemic.

After work, I met back up with The Jewish Conspiracies and took them to get Senate gallery passes. Just as we got to Capitol security, the guard told us they'd just adjourned. We dragged our asses back across the street to get House gallery passes from their congressman, Peter DeFazio of Oregon. As the receptionist gave them their passes, DeFazio came out into the lobby. "You guys from Oregon?" he asked. I poked The Jewish Little Brother Conspiracy because I was pretty sure he didn't realize who this was. The Jewish Media Conspiracy told DeFazio that they were, and that it was his brother's first time in Washington. "Well, welcome," DeFazio said, "I'm your Representative." I took a picture of them, and we left.

Outside Rayburn, gallery passes procured, we parted ways. I had plans to meet up with The Most Sensible Girl I Know for Screen on the Green. I'm glad they came to visit. It was a good couple of days. Screen on the Green with The Most Sensible Girl I Know was wonderful. We played hangman, and the category was "inside jokes between the two of us". Many a laugh was had at situations and people niether of us had thought about in years. I'm really upset she's leaving soon.

I've got a busy week ahead, and my schedule continues to fill up as I write this. It's beginning to feel like the summer's winding down, like this is the final sprint towards the end, and that makes me sad. I don't think I'm going to like leaving.

Yesterday, I took a couple hours out of my day to go--with my boss, Americanadienne--to a rally for Israel here in DC. We went because we're sad, and scared, and at least in my case, feeling powerless. I was conflicted about going in the first place because there wasn't a whole lot of information about the tone of the rally but what I did see, I didn't particularly like. Anytime Sam Brownback is behind you, you know you've got to watch out. So I emailed Tal to see if he knew anything I didn't know. He said Brit Tzedek would be there, and I should join up with their contingency. Sounded good to me.



But back to the main part of the rally. I'd be lying if I said I was surprised that some ridiculous things were said, like when someone thanked god for Bush and people clapped (not my first "WHAT??" moment of the day, and to which Tal yelled at the group, "Why are you clapping? You're Jews! None of you voted for him!"), and when somebody said something about how we reject all calls for moderation in Israel's response ("WHAT??"), and when Brownback said that the only way Israel's response is disproportionate is that maybe they're not doing enough ("WHAT?!?!?!?"). On the other hand, there were plenty of people who were with us in the Pro-Peace corner. And country music star Randy Travis made an appearance ("WHA---did he just say country music star Randy Travis?") with the head of a group of Christians for Israel (Tal: "You support Israel, because you want all the Jews to go there so you can have the apocalypse." True.)

I had to keep reminding myself that the group in DC in the middle of the day is not representative of the Jewish Community at large, and that Brit Tzedek now has a DC presence that will hopefully help to fracture the AIPAC image of Jewish public opinion (this article in the Post Magazine last weekend talks about the "Israel lobby" but really just talks about AIPAC; mentioning ony briefly APN, IPF, and Brit Tzedek, which it refers to as the Jewish Alliance for Peace and Justice). And in the meantime, I will be standing with the Brit Tzedek people and holding a sign that says "Pro-Israel, Pro-Peace" and yelling really loud.

The rally was wrapping up, and Tal and the Brit Tzedek contingency disbanded. The stage welcomed this terrible cantor who (badly) led the crowd in HaTikva. I called Americanadienne and met back up with her. (Also, I ran into a girl I went to Hebrew School with back in the day. That was bizarre. At first I didn't recognize her but I figured I had to know who she was--it took me a minute to place her face.) Her dad left, and we started back towards the office, where we ran into Tal and The Most Sensible Roommate I Know and another Brit Tzedek woman from the DC chapter.

"What are you still doing here?" I asked.
"We're on the phone with Washington Jewish Week," Tal said. And then to the other woman, who was on the phone, "If they need another person to interview, let them talk to Shaz." So then I gave another interview to the woman from Washington Jewish Week. This time I said more about my personal story, my friends in Israel, and my enduring belief that the solution won't be reached through escalation of violence and negotiations must occur now. I said that of course Israel has the right to defend itself, but there's a difference between having that right and using it responsibly.

Not sure if either outlet will use my interviews, but we'll see. I'll post links as I see them. So far, I don't think either article has been submitted. The Post has some lame coverage in today's Metro section.

I'm going to the hill today for the vote on the Voting Rights Act, and then for a meeting with Carolyn Maloney with some other women from New Faces, More Voices. But I'll talk more about that later. This post has rambled on long enough.

Alright, friends. I know I've been promising this for a while, so here it is. The exciting conclusion to my first few days in Washington, DC, posted a full month and a half after the fact:

On my third day, I once again arrived promptly and ready to work. I wish I could say that I’d managed to solve the shoe issue, but unfortunately I hadn’t. There’s just no way around it. Dress shoes are uncomfortable, and you have to wear them in Washington, even on the Hill (that’s more Washington lingo, “the Hill” means “Capitol Hill”) where the floors are marble and unforgiving. (The only thing to ameliorate the problem, I found, was to wear more comfortable shoes for the walk to the metro and from the metro to the office, and change them into the uncomfortable but business-worthy shoes in the elevator.)

“Let’s go,” Zaftiguru said, “The Senate if about to vote on the FMA.”
“Go where?” I asked.
“The Capitol, please,” she told the cab driver as we scooted in, “Senate side.”

The Senate Reception Area is directly outside the main entrance to the Senate floor. We were meeting up with some of the other faith groups to greet Senators before and after the vote and to thank them for voting against the FMA (or glare at them if they didn’t). An air of dignified formality is expected during this process, and in truth, is almost impossible to avoid in the grandeur of the Capitol Building. A chorus of “Thank you, Senator!” from the group was the standard greeting. I felt like a groupie waiting for The Rolling Stones after a concert.

There are a couple of tricks to the Senate Reception area. For one thing, you can’t see inside to the floor and there are no TVs in the room, so there’s no easily available way to keep track of the votes cast. Washingtonians get around this by use of mobile wireless devices, most notably the Blackberry (here known as the Crackberry for its strangely addictive quality that keeps its owner permanently glued to it). The other trick is that there’s a side entrance to the Senate floor which allows Senators to bypass the reception area, so standing there is no guarantee you’re going to see any particular Senator.

Few Senators wanted to greet us that day, but the ones who did were worth it. When Kennedy walked out after voting, the dignified formality went straight to hell and everyone applauded him. He stopped for a few moments to reaffirm his commitment to the issue and thank us for our work. We saw several other high-profile Senators going through the side door—Joe Lieberman, Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton sipping a smoothie—but they didn’t stop to say hello. Dick Cheney came hustling along with his Secret Service detail. In person, he looks bizarrely exactly like he does on TV—short, head cocked to the side, with an odd sort of grin on his face. As he passed, one of the guys from HRC stuck out his hand and said, “We really appreciate your opposition to this bill, Mr. Vice President.” Cheney barely stopped, but shook his hand and grumbled something sounding like approval before being hustled on by the Secret Service. Arlen Specter breezed by us and we all glared, until someone looked at their Blackberry and announced to the rest of the group, “Specter voted ‘no’ on cloture!”

Arlen Specter, who I’m convinced looks like an evil ferret, and who has authored some particularly hateful legislation in his time, went against his party and voted against cloture. Nobody saw that coming. And it meant that the vote was 49-48, Republicans leading by one but down four from the previous vote. Since the whole thing was about gaining momentum for the issue, and they lost momentum, this was seen as a major victory for the gay marriage lobby.

As we headed towards the elevators, John McCain almost bumped into me in an effort to dodge a reporter, who caught up with him anyway.



Yesterday, the House voted on the FMA. Once again, even though it was defeated in the Senate, the House vote is still important in the "momentum" fight. The final vote was well under the necessary two-thirds majority--286-187--but the Republicans picked up 9 to the Democrats' 1. That's momentum...in the wrong direction. This will not be good come election time. I'm sure we'll be seeing this again in two years.

~S

It's always bad when I stop writing.

It's always a bad sign when I stop writing, because it's an indication that there are just too many complex thoughts and emotions going through my head and anything I write will feel incomplete and unsatisfying. That in mind, it's bad when I stop writing, bad because it means things are seriously wrong, most of the time, or seriously busy or seriously great but mostly seriously bad, and so I'm going to write for the next fifteen minutes and see what happens because I don't want to believe things are that bad.

They bombed my city.

They bombed my city, the city I loved as a child, the city I played in as a little kid, the city where I walked to the baker on Friday mornings and got a fresh challah, the city where I went to school with Jews and Bahai'i and Arabs and shopped at stores owned by Jews and Bahai'i and Arabs and ate falafel made by Jews and Bahai'i and Arabs. They bombed my city, the city that was always safe, no matter what, because there were Jews and Bahai'i and Arabs and they were all living together and it wasn't worth the risk of killing the Bahai'i and the Arabs to kill the Jews too. They bombed my city, the city where I played with Danielle Amir who was Jewish and Nissan Asad who was Christian Arab and Shamsi who was a Black girl adopted by a white Bahai'i family and we all sat in the bathtub together and guessed which one of us would hit puberty first. They bombed my city, the city where I played with Barak whose name means thunder and Adam who tried to strangle me in class one time--I can't remember why, and we were friends anyway--and Jordan who ran away from my tenth birthday party because he had a crush on me. My city, where we cried when Yitzchak Rabin was killed, my city where I took the public bus to school every day, where I didn't know there could even be violence, ever. My city, where I played with Efrat, and her big sister Ela with her huge red curly hair and her father whose name was Noam which was the name of our youth group.

"You look absolutely miserable," says The Most Sensible Girl I Know as we eat the most delicious chocolate cake I couldn't fully taste for the bitterness in my mouth.

"Remember two years ago when we had that service for Roi and afterwards I was really upset?" I ask.
"Yes," says Craneum (which I know you think is spelled wrong, but it's not).
"That's how I feel."

(Most of you won't understand that, and that's ok. Those that do understand, understand.)

I can't think of Danielle and Nissan and Shamsi and Barak and Adam and Jordan and Efrat and Ela and all of the other kids I knew--there was Maya, who my grandfather loved because she called him Zaydie too and he called her "my fat friend", this coming from a man who weighed probably three times what she did--I can't think of them as adults. I can't think of them as the fake adult I pretend to be some of the time. I can only think of them as little kids--little kids, now with guns, and I see the news and I know that one of these days this fucked up situation is going to bring one of their names to the headlines and I'm not going to recognize their face in the picture bcause the face I see will be a soldier and not the kid who used to dance with me in the living room. Not the kid who loaned me a Peter Pan costume for Purim. Not the kid who I walked all the way home with one day because our bus driver got into a fight and we were too scared to take the bus. Not the kid who purred Arabic to her father on the phone so we could hang out after school. Not the kid who made a model water well with me for science class. Not the kid who sat next to me in the first few weeks of school and translated for me because I didn't speak Hebrew. Not the kids who comforted me with "Shomim otach b'mitzrayim!" when I cried at my desk for some long forgotten pain. Not the kids who voted overwhelmingly for Shimon Perez and the Meretz party in our mock election in 1996. Not the kids who roamed the streets, and took the busses alone, and went to the beach, and slept out in the wadi, all by themselves because no one worried. My city was always safe. No matter what.

And yesterday,
they bombed my city.

And someone on the other side of some invisible line somewhere is crying for her friends too, and their names are Haled and Samiya and Zainab and she's crying like I am and she should be, and I'm crying for her friends too.

"I still have the rock," I told Craneum. "Not the original one, but the one from two years ago." And now I wonder if I ever posted here about the rock because I'd link to it if I could but I don't have the energy. You can find it if you want. Sometime during the summer, two years ago. Something about a rock. See if it's there. It's a good story, anyway. Maybe I'll tell it later if I didn't already.

Today I tried to pretend like I cared about gay marriage as I visited House offices and dropped off materials and talked to staff while really I couldn't peel my eyes away from the TV screens and their images from Haifa and Beirut playing on a small screen, invariably high up and in a corner. I'm not sure how much everyone noticed. Sometimes there's nothing anyone can say anyway.

I've written all I can write for now. I'm going to go home, and come back later I think. It's rare that I want to pray, but I do. It's all I can think to do. And be with some people who cry like I do.

~s

Oh god.

The New York Supreme Court just ruled against gay marriage, so I thought this would be a good topic for this morning's July 4th Recess post.

I don't think I've ever written about my first day in DC in detail. I arrived at the office promptly at 9:00, dressed snappily in one of my reconstructed suits and black pumps. Within minutes, I was back on the street as Zaftiguru whisked me off to the Washington Press Club for a press conference of a multicolored, multigendered, multidenominational cornucopia of clergy who joined forces to oppose the Federal Marriage Amendment. You see, the day after my arrival was to be the Senate vote on the FMA. Sort of.


After the press conference, Zaftiguru and I walked back to the office. Within minutes once again, we were in a cab headed towards the Capitol Building for the second press conference of the day, this one put on by the inconspicuously named Human Rights Campaign. After the press conference [they gave me a tee shirt and] we met up with staffers from Americans United and a few other coalition partners and organized the team of interns to do a letter drop in the Senate.



With the interns gathered in a circle, the lead organizer from the HRC asked, "Who has ever been in the Senate office buildings before?" I had, so I raised my hand. Unknowingly, I had volunteered myself to take the entire Dirksen building, by myself. So I dutifully went floor by floor, dropping the thick stacks of signatures from over 2000 clergy opposing the bid to enshrine discrimination directly into the Constitution.

The floors of Senate office buildings are made of marble, and much as I tried to break my feet in to my dress shoes before the summer, there's something about walking on marble that is just unforgiving. By the end of my rounds, I'd visited the offices of Senators Dole, Santorum, Specter, Allard, and 11 other mostly unfriendly faces. I never saw them, of course, because they were off doing important things and all I got to do was hand the packet to an all-too-sugary intern, charged with the important task of accepting deliveries from interns like me charged with doing the delivering. Nevertheless, I did feel a sense of mingling pride and futility delivering an outcry from clergy to lawmakers, even though they would certainly never listen to it.

I returned to the office, feet blistered as hell but excited by my first day. I was in Washington, I was on Capitol Hill, I was doing cool stuff with cool people. Screw the small stuff. Summer is great.

(Tune in next time for the exciting conclusion...)

~Shaz

Happy Amrrkuh Day, yawl!

Washington, DC on July 4th is a madhouse.
Let me back up.
Washington, DC is a madhouse. Washington, DC on July 4th is like the overcrowded criminally insane ward of the madhouse. In the words of The Knight in Shining Armor, in the song he sings to me when we laugh at crowds of people wearing star spangled tee shirts,

"Tourists are the ones with shorts and sandals on their feet/
Every single day I run them over in the street..."


I'm writing this dispatch from work, because it's the July 4th recess and there's nothing to do. For those of you who don't know, Congress goes home for the week of the 4th, and everyone else stays here and twiddles their thumbs and revels in not having to go to the hill every single day. But honestly, we're all pretty bored. Tomorrow I am going to the hill, for a letter drop on the FMA. I think. But the people in charge of it are (I think) both taking today off, so who knows if it will actually happen or not.

On Monday, I made a suit (!) which I love. I'll fit the skirt tonight so I can wear it for the drop tomorrow. I'm proud of my work on this one. It looks great.

I think that's all I have to share for now.
More later. Happy recess.

~Shaz

(PS: You may have noticed that I've started using pseudonyms. I decided to do so after reading an article about the FBI systematically collecting information from blogs and other personal webpages, because I want to be able to tell funny stories about my friends without incriminating them. If you want a different pseudonym, you're welcome to ask.)