On a recent trip to New York I had the privilege of taking a guided walking tour of the Hasidic community in Williamsburg. Having read the book Unorthodox, by Deborah Feldman, I was fascinated by her account of life in this insular, Satmar community, the personal toll she experienced, and the impetus that finally made her leave.

The traditions and carefully proscribed rituals of daily life Feldman describes can seem comforting somehow to an outsider, and others downright invasive and strange to an outsider. The day-to-day and month-to-month grind of prayer, mikveh visits, endless housework and childcare, and the constant striving to be a complacent, conforming, and a pious Jew was exhausting to read, much less practice.

Our small tour group met Yoelish, our guide, in front of a small shop in the district. Dressed in slacks and a tweedy blazer and wearing short hair and a light beard, he looked like any man in his 30s that you’d encounter walking in any neighborhood. He donned his yarmulke before leading us to the neighborhood square, where he asked the four tourists to introduce themselves and tell why we were there.

Our time with him was scheduled for 90 minutes, but extended over four hours. Yoelish was a talker, and we were enthralled. We walked, listening carefully, as he told us his story. Just three years ago he left the community, his wife, children, parents, and 12 siblings for a life beyond the confines of Hasidic life. He spoke with fondness and respect of his family and friends, as well as his former culture, yet also relayed some of the challenges.

For example, being raised speaking primarily Yiddish as a boy, although his mother, who speaks excellent English, passed some of it on to her children; and the limited educational opportunities provided boys, who are schooled in the Jewish traditions but little else (hence, many financially successful Hasidic men are self- and community-made businessmen). I was surprised to learn that girls have more formal educational preparation–through high school–although in religious schools that carefully censor all books (inking out words such as TV, radio, Internet, love, kiss, and many others). The Web is out of the question for schools and homes, yet smart phones are acceptable—provided the appropriate filters have been installed by the local Hasidic Internet-monitoring company.

One wig-bedecked, matronly woman in the bakery, curious, asked where we were from and why we were there. Joelish engaged her in conversation, and she wished us a good trip. Two other ladies , best friends for many years, we learned, stopped us in front of an apartment to chat. They asked if we were Jewish, why we were there, and then told how “this life” was good to them, giving them children who made them proud. One noted she had eight children and all were rabbis and teachers. An impish five-year-old girl, her granddaughter, held her hand and shyly looked up at us.

Her closest friend said, “You should meet my father, he is a very interesting man.” A few minutes, the 91-year-old scholar came out to meet us. Speaking Yiddish, he talked with Yoelish at length, saying that he transcribed the scriptures 27 times in his lifetime, and speaks six languages—none of them English. His daughter proudly informed us that a book has also been written about him and his many accomplishments after surviving the holocaust.

Young women walked briskly all around us, pushing baby strollers and leading their children—three, four, and sometimes five of them—even with the youngest of mothers. Short bobbed wigs were the standard; having read Unorthodox, I knew their heads were shaven underneath. Heavy, seamed, flesh-colored stockings, flat shoes, and 50s-style hats were the norm. I saw only one fashionable young girl who wore light pink lipstick; otherwise, faces were well scrubbed. Two men the age of Joelish spoke briefly with us. They were being trained to work with and educate disabled children, and also were looking for business opportunities. According to Yoelish, they could not understand why we would be interested in them or their community. As Yoelish so bluntly stated earlier in the tour, “To them, anyone outside their community doesn’t exist.”

Later, as we sampled six delicious kugels in the deli, Yoelish told us in detail about the matchmaking process, the nerve-racking and extensive screening that occurs, and the focus and joy the culture places on having children. I looked around at the men and women enjoying their food, and coming and going, and felt their sense of purpose. I was surprised to realize I felt slightly envious.

Back at the hotel my husband and I relaxed in our room and discussed the afternoon. We were just a few miles away from Williamsburg, yet worlds away. Although our visit scratched only the surface of Hasidic life and the reading I’ve done had deepened my knowledge, my true understanding of the life for those living it remains limited. I still have so many questions. Was there an event that catapulted Yoelish out of the community, or did he exit based on a slowly developing curiosity or seething process of anger and frustration?

What would it be like to live your life without free access to books, the news, the Internet, other types of people, and diverse ideas? Why did the women we spoke with seem compelled to give us a good impression, telling us how happy their life is, and how blessed they are? Do people in the community experience loneliness even though they’re constantly surrounded by others? Do most who practice this form of Judaism, working so hard to conform and follow the rules, do so happily, or is it a daily struggle?

As informative and enjoyable as Yoelish’s tour was, it left me with more questions than answers. As he said in his “You’re welcome” email to me later, “Keep on learning!”

 

My heart felt full today as two other volunteers and I worked in the boutique at Jubilee Women’s Center on Capitol Hill in Seattle. Our job isn’t glamorous. We unpack used clothing people donate, sort through it, and determine which items are appropriate for women living at Jubilee. Our criteria: is it clean? Accept. Does it have spots or pilling? Reject. Is it the right season? Accept. Is it age appropriate? (The average age of women living at Jubilee is late forties.) Accept.

Jubilee provides homeless women a safe place to live for up to two years. Women have become homeless for a variety of reasons: domestic violence, job loss, and illness or addiction issues. Women must have been clean and sober for at least six months before admission to Jubilee.

Once there, they begin a committed journey to change. Some may need to learn more effective communications skills. Some need to acquire new job skills. Others need to learn how to manage money. Jubilee has a beautiful computer lab and provides and connects women with a variety of educational opportunities. All this, in addition to the sense of community the women experience together, helps women heal and grow.

My heart felt full today because of new friendships I’ve formed with Jubilee volunteers and staff. It felt full when I noticed a resident, bundled up in her warm, winter gear, leave for an appointment or errand. Were I to see her on the bus or in a store I would never guess she is homeless. Another woman briefly chatted with me. She told me she had a headache from a shunt she has implanted, and would have lunch and then rest. It’s not enough that she is homeless? She has a serious illness too. Or perhaps that is the reason she became homeless.

As I wished my compadres Happy Holidays, I felt blessed by the strength, courage and friendliness between residents, staff and volunteers. Jubilee is a special place because of all of us, working and growing together in the spirit of love, strength and compassion.

 

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If you’re feeling uninspired or lonely, I have a cure for you—a Chihuly afternoon.

One gloomy Seattle afternoon my husband and I made our way to the section of Seattle Center that housed the Fun Forest amusement park for many years. At first a little sad not to hear the delighted screams of the kids on roller coasters, we quickly found ourselves mesmerized by the sparkling, vibrant glassworks of Chihuly Garden and Glass. We would soon learn that, even more than we realized, Dale Chihuly is an artist who is truly committed to creating new experiences of color and light for people to enjoy.

We entered the exhibits without reading anything about them or talking to anyone who had already been there. I expected an outdoor garden only, given its name, Chihuly Garden and Glass. It is that and so much more. We were surprised to be offered a discount as residents of King County. Initial impression: excellent.

Galleries, Glasshouse and Garden

Next we explored the eight galleries and three drawing walls of the exhibition hall. One gallery displayed Chihuly’s collection of Northwest Coast Native American baskets and photos by Edward S. Curtis. His glass sculptures, in the form of baskets, mirrored the ways bark and grass baskets bend and curve with time. A wall of Native American trading blankets, also Chihuly’s personal collection, provided a colorful backdrop to the subtle hues of the natural grasses and sepia-toned photos. Walking through the seven additional galleries provided stimulation with color and sparkle that was almost unbelievable, except that it was right there, in front of us.

The exhibits emphasize the ways in which Chihuly finds everyday beauty for inspiration, whether it is a basket, a shell on the beach, or a plant in the garden.

People from all over the world chatted quietly as they shared observations and captured images with their smart phones as security officers amicably watched, unlike  the common practice in museums, where photos are forbidden. “The Glasshouse,” inspired by Chihuly’s love of conservatories, looks up to the Space Needle through an   expansive ceiling sculpture in reds, oranges and ambers. The outdoor garden, created in a variety of color palettes of glass, plants and natural objects, is stunning, with shapes and color combinations that defy imagination.
 

Collections Café

An unexpected delight for us was the Collections Café. Had we not been tired from walking three hours that afternoon, we likely would have bypassed the luxury of an iced tea and a bite. Chihuly was a collector of many things beautiful, and they are profusely and tastefully displayed in the cafe.

Accordions hang from the ceiling. Vintage radios in all colors strut their stuff from wall shelves. Each enclosed, glass-topped table is a mini-exhibit of its own. Our table exhibit housed an avalanche of antique Christmas ornaments. As other customers paid their bills and exited the café, we sneaked over to view the treasures in other tables. We found Mexican ashtrays in the shape of sombreros, ceramic dog figurines, bottle openers from hotels around the world, pocket knives, cast-iron bouquet doorstops, string holders (does anyone use string anymore?), shaving brushes and a host of other small collectibles. We could have spent another two hours in the café but did not want to impose on others as they enjoyed the scrumptious menu offerings. Our wait person told us that Chihuly personally arranged each tabletop display.

Finding Everyday Beauty

We left Chihuly Garden and Glass feeling uplifted and enriched. For a man who said, “I love to find the beauty in everyday objects,” Chihuly has certainly succeeded. Far from ordinary, his glasswork and collections are a testament that no matter what our walk of life, we all can choose and experience everyday beauty in the world around us, whether it is a shell on the beach, a flower in our garden, or the hairbrush we use every morning. Our Chihuly afternoon was an afternoon well spent, and one we will always remember.

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