NewsLetter #4 Fall 2000

Our Students Speak:

B'erot Bat Ayin's archives are overflowing with the writings from our enthusiastic students. Each newsletter will feature a selected piece.

Awakening in B'erot Bat Ayin

By D'vora Wiseblatt
As silence blankets the Judean hills the bold call of a rooster awakens the dawn. Here in B'erot Bat Ayin, when I'm not being chased by the yishuv's donkey or tripping over a hen, I'm immersing myself in Torah and allowing my interests in music, art, and drama to unfold in a supportive and inspiring environment.
Last week's battles with mosquitoes and other creatures have evolved into a playful dance with nature and the picturesque sunsets are my audience as I play my guitar sitting upon a majestic hilltop. The trailer which seemed so primitive at first, has now become my "home", where I share communal living with women of all backgrounds. We cook wholesome meals for each other as we learn, laugh and develop a very special relationship together.
Avraham Shira's workshop on Spiritual Writing has helped me dig deep inside my soul for the answers to intimate questions about my religious process. Susan Schneider invited me to look at my soul from the angle of gilgul, reincarnation. Rachel Frumin explores the beauty inside of the Jewish woman. Chana Bracha Siegelbaum encourages me to use all of my inner resources to connect with the text's ancient lessons. Vera Porano, a fellow student, helps me heighten my understanding of concepts, such as prayer and teshuvah, through dance and expressive movement. In addition to dance, Vera has taught the Brazilian martial art form, Capoeira, through a Torah perspective. During the Drum, Dance and Song seminar, I led a Music Meditation and Processing workshop in which visualizations and centering helped inspire students to create. Those with no previous experience found themselves writing inspiring songs and poetry.
I'm looking forward to experiencing the unfolding of my process here. It is equally exciting to witness the subtle transformation of my peers. I recommend this program for any woman who wants to deepen her understanding of Jewish texts in a creative environment.

RECENT EVENTS

Soul Connections

In celebration of Tu' B' Av (Aug.16), the festival of feminine power, we had a special learning program involving traditional textual learning and movement workshops. The enlightening experience culminated in a unique night hike in the Judean Dessert.
With Drums, Dances and Song
(One week seminar in August)
In this seminar, learning Song of Songs, Psalms and other selected texts in depth, we tuned into the original Jewish melodies and rhythms. Based on the special atmosphere filled with learning, songs and hope, students composed melodies, music and choreography.

A Heartfelt Letter

By Chaya Magruder, B'erot Alumna
It's a beautiful place to visit, but I'm not sure if it's really for me." Those were my thoughts upon my arrival at Bat Ayin to spend two weeks learning at B'erot. Through out my summer in Israel, I often felt like I was jumping worlds. Spending one Shabbos amongst the ultra-Orthodox in Kiryat Sefer and the next with the Carlebach chevra at Moshav Modi'in, one could get a glimpse of two very different approaches to Yiddishkeit, for sure.
So, after a month at a Haredi yeshiva in Yerushalayim, here I was jumping again and where I had landed was either a yishuv in the middle of the Judean desert or the moon, I wasn't quite sure yet. The experiential approach to learning at B'erot appealed to me, and I loved the emphasis on creativity, spirituality and connecting with the land of Eretz Yisrael. But, in my (admittedly subjective) mind, there is a fine line between what I perceive as deeply spiritual and what sets off the "HOKEY!!" alarm. I was afraid that learning at B'erot might cross that line more often than I could hang with comfortably.
Truth is, at heart, I am really not a city girl. But, after living in an urban environment for a while... well, let's just say that patchouli oil and the Grateful Dead are not exactly my thing. Although my love for nature, non-materialistic healthy living and creative expression is strong, in the realm of secular cultural affinities, if I relate to a word with "hip" in it, it's more likely to be "hip-hop" than "hippie". This, as I was about to be reminded, means absolutely nothing once you get past the external labels and to the heart.
My first night at Bat Ayin was not at Bat Ayin at all - we spent the entire night walking through the Judaean desert until sunrise. After a complicated sherut ride our group of giggling girls finally made it to our starting point. As we entered the caverns the rocks turned to soft sand, winding down into a labyrinth of cascading mounds, the silence growing, glowing like the full moon guiding our footsteps. Who can speak of the desert at night? There is so much to say, and still no words. Sitting in a circle, our guide Yisrael Cheveroni asked us to close our eyes and imagine the sounds of a forest - trees, birds, animals, water. Then he asked us to imagine the sound of the ocean. Finally he told us to open our eyes; to look and listen to the place in which we sat. We repeated this meditation and then he asked us, "If you were going to name one of these places with a word that relates to speech, which would it be?" Various opinions were tossed about, and then he reminded us that the Hebrew word for desert "midbar" is related to "medaber", which means "to speak". In Lashon haKodesh, every word relates to the essence of the thing, which it names. The desert is a place so seemingly silent, and yet Hashem knows that it says so much. As Yisrael reminded us, a person can come to the desert, see great sights and have a beautiful time. However, if she never takes the time to listen, she will never hear it utter the silent voice that pierces the soul.
We then each spent time alone - I remember it like a dream, the sand, the moon, and the stars... laying there seemed like an eternity and yet the time passed so quickly. Cradled in the soft sand, the wind blowing warmly passed my eyes, I existed in a state so impossible to describe - awake, yet not, in this world, yet somehow in another. When we began to travel again, we each walked on our own. The space between us serves as a reminder that as we journey through this lifetime we go both together and alone. Finally, we stopped outside the entrance to a cave. By this time, the darkness of the night was beginning to lift a bit. Although we couldn't yet see the sun, there was a hint of its presence in the lighter hue of the sky. We entered the pitch-blackness of the cave, holding hands until we lit candles to guide our way. We went deeper, and then stopped, resting on the floor in a circle with candles as our only light. In silence we sat. Then Yisrael began to read. As the first lines of Bereshit poured from his mouth fluidly, he read the words "vayomer Elokim y'hi " (G-d said, let there be_). Repeating the phrase several times, "What word is missing?" he asked. "Ohr (light)," came the answer. Without hesitation, he leaned over and blew out the candles. We sat in a darkness so black I could not even see my hand in front of my face.
What do we search for throughout our entire life? Light. We entered the desert, walking through winding caverns, going deeper into silence until we found ourselves nestled here in the darkness of it's womb. Yisrael explained that from the night of our journey (just before Tu B'Av) until the 25th of Elul, the day of the creation of the world, is 41 days. The gematria of aleph and mem, the letters of the word "ema" (mother) is also 41. Likewise, 41 days must pass from the time of conception until a woman is first considered an "ema". We sat in the womb of the desert at the time when the world also symbolically sat in the womb of creation. When we began to walk again, we traveled through a narrow canal, and emerged from the cave to find that the sun had risen, beaming like a newborn smile. I looked around me with fresh eyes. Something had changed deep inside me, something I couldnot explain, but could not deny. Something I didn't want to lose.
This experience was symbolic of my overall experience of the music seminar at B'erot Bat Ayin. Whether we were wrestling in chevrusa over the words of Shir Ha Shirim, learning Chasidut, or dancing, drumming, singing our hearts out before Ha Kodesh Baruch Hu, there was always more going on beneath the surface than I could grasp. The creativity never stopped. In my moments alone, I gravitated towards the piano, composing melodies and singing niggunim. From where these songs came, I had no idea, and many of them were forgotten as soon as they were discovered. It didn't matter. Each one changed me, and each one Hashem heard. At night, we gathered to share with one another and create anew. I wrote these words about one such gathering:
Sitting in a circle of candlelight
We pour poetry, pieces of ourselves
into pots performing transforming
moment into purpose
purpose into life
we each hold a story so different
that in another realm we might not even
bother with a glance
if by chance
we should meet
on a city sidewalk street
but song the thread that weaves us
searching for meaning
Torah the song that leaves us
lacking nothing
Hashem only you
can take this moment
born beneath the summer sky
and paint my dusty soul
in starlight

In addition to the program at B'erot, I found myself also falling in love with the yishuv of Bat Ayin. There was simplicity and a depth to life there that I longed for. The few families that I had the chance to meet touched me with their warmth and respect for one another as well their reverence for G-d and Torah. I saw glimpses of a life I wanted to emulate. Towards the end of my stay at Bat Ayin, I realized that the place that I was originally not so sure was "for me'" had begun to feel like home in a very deep way. Before I had even left, I was already making plans to return. But even more important, was that I had already returned. In ways small and not so small, I had returned to parts of myself that had subtly been swept aside in recent years, parts of myself that were waiting to be reborn again into kedusha. Rebbe Nachman says that teshuvah is about constant movement. We are always changing, yet as we transform we never entirely lose who we were. Each prayer to Hashem is like a flower. As the days go on and we pray new flowers, we do not lose the old. Instead, we gather them all together in a beautiful bouquet, which we carry for the Holy One. Similarly, each experience of our life is a part of us. The key to doing teshuvah is not to deny our past, but to relive each moment and give it over to Hashem. In doing so, we davka share our soul with Him, and come only closer. Taking what was off the derech and align it, we transform what was mundane into something holy. I am grateful for the time I spent at B'erot Bat Ayin - for amazing people, for deep learning, for beautiful music... and for new flowers.