Rosh Hashonnah: Not So Traditional After All

On Thursday Eve and I rehearsed in a small park in Prenzlauerberg.  I don't remember the name of it, but it's a strange little spot on Papalallee that is a park, playground and cemetery with a theater next to it.  I tried on Eve's moustache and became Boris.  I wonder who this guy is.  I think he is part walrus.  I'd be interested to play around inside him and see what happens.  He is either a cowboy or some sort of lazy cop.  In any case, he is confused.

After rehearsal, I went to Eve's place.  She is living on the top floor of an old squat that is now a flat with roof access.  I am hoping that I can move into her room when she goes if I do indeed figure out a way to stay.  The place is amazing, a little gritty, high ceilings, art everywhere.  On the balcony is a miniature/forest, swampland, complete with DIY pond.  The roof is accessible by ladder and gives a beautiful view.

We bask in the sun for a bit and then I have to come back to Neukölln for a tandem speaking appointment.  S-- a friend of B--'s, is working on her English and has agreed to help me with German.  At 6 the bell rings and I invite Simone up.  She is a stout woman with mannish haircut, and a slight left-side deficit.  Her eyes are firey and she has a warm smile.  I like her immediately.  We figure out how we will structure our time.  An hour of English, and hour of German.  Perfect.  She speaks enough of my language to have a conversation.  She asks me about clown and I tell her about the idea of the other.  We talk about Artuad.  She is working on a writing project called "Handi-captured" challenging notions of disability and looking at how every person has deficits and is able-bodied at once.  She says she is an in-between person.  Due to certain things that have happened to her, she cannot do things that she used to with out help, but she is an independent and strong woman, and likes to do most things by herself.  I tell her a little bit about me.  She asks me to write a one-page story for the project.  My deadline is the 12th of Oktober.  Yes!

At 20:30 she goes and Daniel rings the bell.  I get ready to go to this Rosh Hashonnah celebration, trying to look nice, conservative.  I did not bring so many clothes with me, so this is not an easy task.  The woman having the party is orthodox, which makes me nervous, but I will be with my friends, people I trust.  They will keep me safe and comfortable. 
Before we go to meet Sharon at Hermannplatz, which is about 3 blocks away, Daniel looks at the directions in his email.  Of course, they are in Hebrew, so I can't read them.  We walk to Hermannplatz, Daniel chattering playfully and me a bundle of nerves and caffiene.  I begin to smile in spite of myself, and by the time we get to the plaza, I am dancing to music in my head.  Sharon arrives in a huge bicycle with a seat on the front.  "Get on!"  He says in his authoritative tone.  I laugh and decline.  We shove each other around a little bit. 
We try to figure out where we are going.  The directions say to take the U-7 to Nuekölln station and then walk to some address.  It's written in Hebrew.  I have no idea what it says, so I just say, "Okay!"
Daniel and I hop on the train.  Sharon pedals off.  He'll meet us there.  Outside the station, we reconvene under a bridge.  I pull out my map and we look for the street we are supposed to go to.  It is nowhere.  Sharon takes the map, turns it over to the list of street names, stares at it.  "I never remember the order of the letters."  He says, handing me the map, "Can you find it?"
This shocks me for a moment.  Sharon has a brilliant and complex mind, speaks two languages fluently (Hebrew, English.)  But it makes sense. Both he and Daniel grew up with a separate alphabet.  I keep finding myself in these situations where everyone has something separate to contribute of equal importance.  All auslanders (foriegners), we all sort of need each other.
I find the street and the location on the grid.  It is on the other side of Berlin.  What to do?  If we try to go there now, we won't get there until midnight.  We can't call the host because she cannot pick up the phone due to it being the high holy days and her being orthodox.  And we are hungry.  We begin to walk.  "No sausage."  I request.  "I've had enough sausage."
"Oh, but this is traditional food for Rosh Hashonnah." Sharon chides.  (Sausage is pork.  Do the math, goyem.)
We don't want döner.  We don't want shawerma.  We want pizza.  "Harvey,"  Sharon says in his commanding voice.  "Use your powers.  Find us pizza."  We walk along.  I focus on pizza.  After 3 blocks, it appears, but it is pricey. 
"Sorry. " I say.  "I forgot to focus on cheap pizza."
Daniel begins to chant, "Cheap, cheap, cheap."  Too more blocks and voila!  2 euro pizza!

I get a margarita pizza and the Israelis both get salami and cheese.  Our pies come.  "Shana Tova," we all say and laugh.  Not only is salami unkosher, but they are eating it with cheese.  After, I want to go to a park.  I have a few bier in my backpack and, hey, it's new year's.  We walk and talk about all kinds of stuff.  Life, death, the soul, what it is and where it goes, pick up Daniel's bike, which is by my place. Eventually we reach Templehof Freiheit, only to find that it's closed.  We sit on the side of the bike path.  It's woodsy.  Sharon pops open the bier with his lighter, Daniel stretches out on his back.  I here rustling in the bushes and turn to my right. A fox is staring at me!  It is still, we are still.  Sharon moves his leg and the fox darts back to his hidden safety.  I feel magic in the air.  "Shana Tova!' Sharon and I clink bier bottles and Daniel's plastic one filled with water. 
We finish our biers.  Again, Sharon tells me to get on the front of the bike.  I acquiesce and get a ride home.  "Tchuss!"  I yell after the boys.  Daniel has sped off ahead. "Good night, Harvey!"  Sharon's voice trails off as he pedals toward his home at the circus.
My first observance of the Jewish New Year.  Nice!

We have plans to go hiking in the forest for Yom Kippur.

The Good, The Bad, The Emotional Baggage

On Saturday I have a workshop with a woman named BT.  Eve, my clown partner has arrived the night before and decides to come, too.  I am really excited!  Excited to see Eve, excited about the workshop, excited!  The place is a little hard to find, but we do.  At the beginning, I can tell something is going to go badly for me, but I do my best to ignore this.  BT notices that my left arm doesn't straighten.  I explain, quite succinctly, that I cannot bear weight on my left arm.  I'm used to this.  I work in a physical form.  My arm is part of my physical body.  A good clown teacher will see that I know how to deal with this and let it go, but I feel BT's attitude toward me shift.  She makes too much of a big deal out of it.  Besides Eve, there are two women in the workshop.  They are older, one in her 50s and one in her 70s.  They don't really know how to use their bodies.  But both their arms straighten.  I am immediately cast as the other.  Whatever.  I'm paying for this (45 Euro) and I am going to get something new out of it, goddammit!  If I just have a good attitude, BT will forget about my arm. Right?
We walk around the space.  She doesn't like the way I walk.  Thinks I am "clowning."
"No," I say.  "That's how I walk."  I have always been told that I have a distinctive walk.  I used to feel self-conscious about it, but I don't anymore.  I LIKE the way I walk!  People recognize me by it.  It is mine and mine alone, a hard gait to forget.  People have asked me if my walk is a result of my brain injury.  I don't know.  My accident happened when I was 2.  There was no me before it.  I am a result of my brain injury, every part of me: my walk, my arm, my mind, my sense of self, my ability to fight, my independence, me.  And I don't have to medically validate myself to anyone.  I am just me, and that is it.  And that is good enough.  I have lots to offer, lots to learn, lots to teach.  But Bartushka can't see any of this.  All she can see is that I am unique.
And she does not like it.
We do some exercises, nothing new really.  I maintain my positive attitude.  Then it comes time to show work.  I set up the cake. She has a different vision for the piece.  Fine, that's what workshops are about. You try other people's ideas.  If you like them, you keep them.  If you don't, you throw them out.  I am trying all the things she suggests.  She says, "Now stick your hand out the top."  I stick my right hand out the top.  She says, "Stick your other hand out first.  It is too much for the audience to see that hand first."  She is referring to my truncated thumb.
"No!" I say, maybe a bit too firmly.
There is a pause.  "Then show it off." She says after a beat.  And I do, I waggle my half-thumb around, I stroke it with my fingers, I make it the sexiest amputation in the world.

When the workshop is over, she encourages me to come to her open stage at Scheinbar, where she has booked me to perform a mini-slot of 3 minutes on Oktober 2nd.  She booked me after seeing my video.  But I guess when she say my video, she didn't realize that I am really "other," I don't just play it onstage.  She wants me to come to Open Stage to workshop the cake.  But you know, I don't feel like giving here anymore euros, anymore cake, or anymore me.  I would cancel the gig if I didn't need the 15 Euro she was payng me so badly.  She likes the song I sang in the workshop.  I'll do that.  BTdoesn't get anymore sweat from me.

Eve and I hang out a bit, and then she has a dinner party to go to with the guy who is hosting her.  Daniel has invited me to a circus show that evening at the Shake! tent (the circus near the Ostbanhof.)  I am not sure if I will go.  I feel weird and I realize it is because I am angry!  I haven't been angry in a while, but BT really hit a nerve.  If I wanted to be treated like that, I would have stayed in San Francisco.  Since I have gotten here, I have felt safe, unjudged.  I have felt at home at the CIRCUS, for crying out loud!  I have felt accepted, like I had something valuable to offer.  Now, I am just MAD!  But I decide to go see the circus and the Israeli boys. They always make me feel good.  I can be myself.  Daniel just accepts me and Sharon asks a lot of questions.  We are painfully honest with each other.  The things he has done in the Israeli army and the things that have happened to me, they make us both sort of aliens, and we connect through this and humor.  Also, the boys and I are all Jews.  I think the three of us feel a little bit revolutionary. At the Shake compound, I go to Daniel's trailer.  He is on Skype with his mom, introduces me as "Harvey. She is Jewish girl."
I find Sharon.  "What is wrong with you?" He asks me.  How does he know?  How are we so connected after such a short time.  I try to brush it off.  "You must let go of anger.  It doesn't help."  He squeezes me.
"Ja."  I say, but I'm still mad and he knows it.
"Stop being angry or tell me why?"  He says.  He doesn't mention the third option, which is me leaving, so I guess it's not an option.  I am not ready to talk about it, though.
"Sharon," I say, "I think that we have both experienced things that we don't think the other would understand."
He nods slowly, chewing on my words.  "I understand."  He steers me to the kitchen.  "I have to clean."  He sits me down at a table.
I want to help, need a task.  I tell him so.  He nods but then sits.  We start talking.  I tell him the bare minimum.  I had a difficult time in this workshop.  His eyes light up.  "That's good.  It means you learned something new."  Then, out of the blue, "You need to learn Hebrew."
"I'm working on German right now."  I dismiss his thought, though I think it's adorable that he wants me to learn his native language.  "I didn't learn anything new.  Let's clean."  I do the dishes angrily and he wipes the stove.  Daniel comes in, starts drying.
We go watch the show for a bit.  Or, they watch the show.  I try, but am too mad.  As I'm leaving, Sharon grabs my hand, but I leave anyway.  It is a bunch of young kids from a circus school.  They are all wickedly talented.  I sit outside, write in my journal.  The boys come out.  "You miss the whole show!"
"Sorry," I say. We go back to the kitchen.
"You need to eat." Sharon tells me, handing me a plate.  I pile it with pasta and sauce made out of yams.  I eat, then go back to the dishes.  "You are still angry," he gets me to follow him outside so he can smoke a cigarette.  "I hate watching all these young people do things that I will never be able to do.  At least you have an excuse."
"That offends me, I say.  And then I tell him.  I tell him about the workshop, about how the instructor could only see my thumb, my arm, my otherness.  I tell him about wishing I were like other people until one day I woke up and I was glad I was me and I just want the rest of the world to get over my differences, because I have.  I tell him about being a kid and being in special PE.  I tell him about trying to hide my scars and then cutting off me bangs.  I tell him everything I can.  He deserves it.  After all, he told me about killing a girl point blank, sitting in a tank for five days, waiting for any Palestinian to pass, about being brainwashed, about how he has flashbacks and his mind won't leave him alone.  How sometimes his reflex of violence terrifies him.  So I tell him.
And he puts his arm around me.  "The world,"  he stops.  "When I asked you about your thumb, it was scary.  People are not ready.  You are unique.  You are different.  You are a real clown!  Some people..." He trails off.
"I'm ready!  Fuck people!"  I say. "Let's finish the kitchen."  We play music from my kitty backpack.  I sing and dance around.
After half an hour, Sharon asks, "Are you still angry?"
"No!"  I smile, and then Daniel comes in.
"Good," Daniel says, "Then let's go to Nuekölln for a beer!"
Sharon won't come, wants to wake early and study German before a meeting he has with a possible juggling partner. We hug goodbye. I tossle his hair, he plays with my pigtail.
Daniel and I go off on our adventure and Daniel tells me all about this girl he is dating who is "not his girlfriend." (Yeah, right.) I introduce him to the American phrase TMI.  He likes it.

That was all Saturday and there's more to report, like actual Berlin stuff, not just Harvey stuff, but this seems like a good place to close right now.

TMI?