Welcome to Egypt! Or as Ari says, Don't Forget The Bitter Herbs in The Kushari: A Cross Cultural Culinary Adventure

Hello all my dear followers! Firstly, I'd like to apologize for my late blogpost. Egypt's a little hectic, internet's unreliable, and I've generally been getting myself acclimated. So far, things are great. I'm living in a new apartment with a great roommate named Dalia (who is also a vegetarian and a linguist) and I seem to be getting right back into the swing of things.

Now, first things first (truly).
As most of you all know, Yom Kippur is tomorrow night, a fact that has been plaguing me for several weeks now, as it forces me to confront one of the most challenging questions before me, "How do I exist as a Jew in Egypt" and I seem to have to deal with this question right from the get-go. As of now, it looks like there are no services for me on the horizon. The Jews here are scarce and difficult to find, and I am slowly realizing that I will be making a makeshift Yom Kippur all on my own. So, as a part of my Yom Kippur cleansing and self examination, I thought I'd share a few thoughts about Yom Kippur, forgiveness, Jews, and Egypt.

Being Jewish in Egypt is complicated. A google search of "celebrating Yom Kippur in Egypt" brings up a litany of historical facts abut the Yom Kippur War, the exodus from Egypt (both in the Torah and in the 1950s). There is no list of synagogues, no services, just a confrontation with a painful and complicated past that goes back far into the collective Jewish memory. Egypt, for most Jews, seems to symbolize slavery, oppression, and violence.

Although Jewish tradition is filled was vast insight into how to confront difficult situations, it seems to lack any precedent guiding a Jew returning to a place where he was once oppressed. Our scholars don't discuss reengaging our once oppressors in a dialogue, restarting a conversation about what happened and why. In fact, as my father told me, the opposite is true; the Torah tells us, "Do not return to Egypt." We have no guidance telling us what we should do when we go back to Germany, when we revisit Poland, Russia, Spain. It seems, as Jews, our instinct is to move on, settle in a new place, continue our wandering until we find our "salvation." Although we establish permanent communities for ourselves, we still celebrate Sukkot, constantly reminding ourselves how to set up temporary homes if need be, in case of emergency.

And that brings me back to Yom Kippur. On Yom Kippur, we are commanded, not to run, but to confront our friends, our enemies, anyone in the past year who we could have disrespected or could have hurt us. We must engage them, grapple with them, and ultimately, forgive. We must give each other the chance to apologize, give each other the opportunity to cleanse from guilt, anger, sadness, regret, so that we we can both move on and continue in a healthier, more meaningful relationship.

So, to answer my skeptics, this is why we must go back to Egypt. It's not about pursuing an apology that will never come (after all, we don't not see ourselves at the doorsteps of our Palestinian neighbors) (sorry for the controversial statement and for those who I might offend), and we too realize that being a majority is hard. It's complicated. Every nation on Earth has motivations and reasons for acting the way that they do. Every person on Earth has passions that guide them. The key, I have learned, for forgiveness, is to best understand what those motivations are and try our best to understand anothers' perspective. You can no longer be burdened with anger when you understand. It requires a patience that I certainly struggle to have, but I want to learn the human story behind the faces that we Jews and Americans seem to villanize and hope that by engaging, we can begin to understand and respect each other.

How lucky am I that I am arriving after Ramadan- when I can explain that I am fasting to my Muslim friends. How grateful am I that I arrived the same day as Bebe Netenyahu and Mahmoud Abbas on the eve of negotiations in Sharm el-Sheikh. How difficult it will be to read the Hagaddah with my Egyptian friends come Passover, but what an unbelievable conversation that will be. What a feeling it will be to take a drop of wine out of my cup to recognize Egyptian suffering.

Yes, Yom Kippur will be lonely without a shul. Yes, this journey will be confusing and lonely and saddening at times, but I couldn't feel more blessed to be embarking on it.

I wish you all a meaningful holiday. May we all learn to understand ourselves and each other a little bit better.