Ponce was one place we perched for a few nights. An old, classically Spanish town, where noble buildings still are crumbling whilst streets are being made anew with major government funding, we wandered freely to the beautiful, rather new, elegant and eloquently assembled art museum. The paintings of a guest German artist David Schnell took our breath away. Stunningly skilled in the huge scale use of paints that give the impression of light, depth and architecturally fascinating spaces, he also includes what appear to be towers from concentration camps in many pieces. It was the first art we’d seen in years that engaged our imaginations with in-breath of awe and out-breath of oh. The message I took away was of a new Germany with the past increasingly far behind it in a bright and healthy way. Hope so!

El Junque, the rain forest region lived up to its name. All night sheets of rain alternated with the music of frogs found only in this eco-zone, nine species, each louder than any cricket you ever had in your bunk at camp. Owls punctuated the night too, it was like trying to sleep in New York City your first day back in town, impossibly fascinating just to listen to the soundscape. We were intrigued to learn the rain forest is destroyed by nature on a regular cycle of cyclones for as long as anyone can remember. This causes seeds of short-lived trees to germinate; they provide shade for longer-lived ancient palms and other trees to renew. These latter will gradually provide so much shade that the shorter lived trees will die, and on and on. The colorful snails were 4-6” wide. We didn’t do off trail hikes outside of the formal rain forest area after seeing our host return covered in mud over his waist, he thought we might have some trouble out there in the seasonal and rather junglish climate and terrain. We’re not writing the name of our B&B here in order to avoid lashon har-ah [unethical speech] since all things change. Let’s just say the breakfast was great, but with massive construction scenes underway on the property, the ambiance and personality of the owners were impediments to the manuscript work we have underway on this trip.

We have a food recommendation, eat the regional cuisine from food kiosks and food trucks in Puerto Rico. The “Puerto Rican” food in major city restaurants was a kind of bland bean/plantain scene, not really the Mexican Spanish Americans tend to like. The cuisine in Ponce at the restaurant at the Melia Hotel was particularly memorable - we give it five stars. Our hotel room there (ask for one’s in the older section, they are lovely with high ceilings and romantic courtyard-like overlooks) was lovely - large room, lovely large shower too. First they gave us one that was like a motel room in another wing, bleh - be sure to specifiy.

The kiosk row on the high way near the glorious beaches atLuquillo offer yummy indigenous fast foods – plantain is made into a kind of starch container for meats (if you eat that out), fishes and veggies, there are varieties of these and they are yummy, albeit deep fried. The fish is super fresh in the villages of Puerto Rico and definitely stop in the little fishing villages for just caught meals if you like we, reluctantly do eat food with a face. (I once had a dream that a fox went by driving a jeep, he leaned out the window and pointed at the bumper sticker which read: join the food chain, eat meat. I then wondered if my lack of energy might be resolved by ending 10 yrs as a vegetarian – yes, amazing how my skin and spirit began to improve over three weeks of renewing animal proteins in my diet. Guess I’m an aminal, as my kids used to say, after all, no denying it.)

Here is a photo of our improvised Hanukkah first night candles, which we lit at a beachcomber dining spot near the sea in Rincon after getting lost in the pitch dark and not making it back to our B&B in time for sundown. While streets signs are in Spanish and English, English literacy is not emphasized so far as we can tell. The city museum in

San Juan does not have signs in English, most of the art museums have at least some English interpretative signs available. Fortunately, Spanish is easy to learn for those familiar with other romance languages, typically the same root words, so we’re punting as quickly as possible. Plus, art speaks for itself.

Pretty churches are major tourist attractions. Out of curiosity about the varieties of world religious traditions, I drop in on services in most countries we visit. The attendance is sparse here in

San Juan’s large cathedral, maybe thirty-fifty. Striving for relevance and congregant participation is evident as a small rock band accompanies one service, and lay vocalists and many readers of the lectionary (bible selection) are part of another. No one under 50 appears to be at either service save for two of the electric guitarists. I stand and sit with everyone to be an accommodating visitor, but stop short of kneeling, which feels like it would be inappropriate given I’m not a Christian, nor inclined to be one.The woman beside me in the chapel, is wearing an employee badge from an area market is weeping deeply. I offer a tissue and touch my heart to show empathy. Later she touches my hand in appreciation and seeing my open-gaze to be there for her, she elects to hold my hand for much of the service. I visualize myself as a representative of a tethering rock, tzur hevli b’yet tzarah, like in the Adon Olam prayer those of us inclined to Jewish practice say each day, the “Rock which anchors in times of distress.”

When Barry beckons from his wandering amongst the glorious classical art in the various chapels and nooks through out the cathedral, fortunately she’d already dropped my hand and gone into her own reverie. I slipped away softly, the service was becoming long for me sinceI couldn’t understand much of the Spanish other than the holy, holy, holy, which comes from Christianity’s origins in Judaism, as well as the Latin G*d words in the congregational responses.  beisdes, I was allergic to the incense and sniffing up a storm, and having given away all my tissues…. Time for bright light and fresh air.

Often we proved a curiosity as Jews in Puerto Rico and when we did meet English speaking staff in museums, we were often asked questions about our people’s practices and traditions. As it happened, our host here at the B&B in Rincon proved to be Jewish. When she asked we explained how in the traditional blessing formulation, Barukh Atah Adonai, that Adonai has a root word, eh-den, meaning Threshold. It is also a place holder term for the letters yud hey vav hey, the “shmei rabbah” described in the Kaddish prayer, the Great Name. This most mysterious and holy name for the Jewish G*d idea, is made up of all the forms of the verb “to be”. So once could also say that for our people, G*d is the Infinite Potential for Change. It was wonderful to be able to share that with our host, as she’s been going to church to study bible with a priest and is married a Catholic from

Spain.

Having done my doctorate under a foundation grant that led me to study at a Christian Seminary, I now understand why the Jewish Scriptures (Torah) sounds rather alien interpreted through the lens of Christianity. Christians tend to read Jesus backwards into the biblical period by using key words like yeshua (it means “drawing out,” like Moses was draw out of the water, or in our Havdalah ritual, “the G*d who redeems me, who draws me out is, hinei el yeshua-ti” to mean that Jesus was already in the Torah. This core Christian belief, that he was predicted in such texts, is the heremeneutical device used to get Jews to think they can still be Jewish and believe in Jesus. Of course, educated Jews know our tradition allows no one human to be considered G*d. In Judaism, every human, in our tradition carries a G*d spark, a chip off the Old Block, if you will, our soul, and so we are each all-together b’tzelem elohim, made in the “image of G*d,” and yet like a flea could never grok the dog with which it is in symbiotic relationship, Jews accepted we can strive to grok The Big Picture, but never fully will. That existential condition is quelled by the experience of a Still Small Voice that can be heard within, light from the Spark if you will, that we learn to trust far more than dogmas from from professional institutional dogma generators who are inevitably tied to political dramas. Fortunately Christians and Jews share almost all the same behavioral values – so if your attention isn’t on the afterlife or committed to the Christian belief in the necessity of being “saved,” there’s no need for all that much conflict.  It is no fun for any one religion to imagine it holds the keys to the doorway to the kingdom of G*d, gosh, what hubris.  A G*d that doesn’t make one kind of rose, one kind of butterfly or one kind of universe, sure isn’t going to institute only one doorway to the Mystery beyond embodied life.

Jews believe everyone’s soul is evolving and that there’s no saving involved in moving on to the next plane of being, if there even is one, our musing on that question start with “no one knows” and include ideas from “we return to dust” to “re-incarnation.” In my next book, Living Jewish Life Cycle: Creating Meaningful Jewish Rites of Passage for Every Stage of Life (Coming out, if the publisher is on time, May 2008), I explain our life cycle perspectives in some depth, and also the wide range of contemporary and historical Jewish views on the after life.

The Passover Kiddush, a prayer for the holiday that is chanted over dark red grape wine or grape juice symbolizing the vitality of life reads, zman heyruteynu mikrah kodesh, “times we are free holiness happens.” Several things holy happened during free-time on our trip to Puerto Rico and the Caribbean islands.

The first was appreciating the difference between attending or teaching retreats and a trip that is mostly vacation. Definitely have to begin taking vacations more seriously. Feeling revitalized, filled with light in winter’s darkness from the outside-in. Teaching or taking intensives builds light differently, more so from the inside-out. Both are good and have different effects.

This is a dynamic, rather reborn Puerto Rico. In my youth I was an inner-city social worker and later, I served in Cumberland County, NJ, a farming area, so those born in

Puerto Rico who I tended to meet in the

US were more recent immigrant families and migrant workers. When I visited

San Juan some twenty years ago, it seemed a slum not dissimilar to living conditions of those I’d met in the

US. Not so on this trip.

The historic area of San Juan is colorful, completely rehabilitated, thriving, with boutique museums. In another section of town is a world-class art museum in a remarkable modern bulding.

In a tiny pharmacy museum, Barry was intrigued to see digitalis leaf among the containers. This triggered his memory of the US medical boards which, when he arrived only some 35 years ago, still contained something as irrelevant to modern practice as a question asking how many grams of ground leaf were required to treat some aspect of a heart condition.There are certainly areas here in Puerto Rico where homes have windows and balconies barred against crime, such as one sees in parts of

Jersey City, NJ. 4 million residents and not enough jobs leads to poverty and emigration, another 4 million Puerto Ricans live in the

United States, or so we heard on the news. Immediately next to the historic section of

San Juan, in a narrow area of land by the sea that one might have been temped to enter and wander, is the most notable area for drug-related crime. In the photo you see we’re walking with school teens and they’re message was unambiguous, go down there, into that neighborhood and you will get robbed, raped and shot dead.The many locals we went out of our way to encounter seemed actually happy to pause with curiosity on the beach or street to chat with us about their lives and ours. Catholic and Episcopal school uniforms abound and the youth did not exude the frighteningly wild behavior of kids near where we live do after school. Wonder what we will learn as we leave the town and tour the villages?

We are in Puerto Rico on a mission of self-care and book research. So many of those we love are declining in health and needing extra support right now, hopefully this trip will restock inner reserves. It’s fun re-learning how to be in the stormy tropics. We were about to leave San Juan for the village of Rincon, but the skies have opened yet again with a stupendous downpour. That said, we are learning how to be the wind, the colors, and the pure friendliness of the people here calls out one’s highest self.

Between squalls, our first two days hold colorful, joyful, serene moments with pure awe of nature swirling towards us from right inside the city of San Juan. Here is a creature we met, about 5″ x 2/3″ the only one of its kind that seemed to be about. The red part is it’s rear, it flickers as one approaches, the red rear leaps out at you to protect its vital head, the end with the black antenna is the head. No one seemed to know what type of moth or butterfly it will turn into.

Huge Caterpillar, we did not use magnification, this is same size image. San Juan, PR

In that same park were infinite pigeons, in fact they part is for them and dedicated to them as holy creatures. This somewhat mollified my discomfort when one spattered me utterly with her gift of presence. The sign says being so spattered means you have been blessed by G*d. Far be it for me to eschew a blessing. They even have an ancient dove cote built into the city wall, pigeon condos. The hope it seems is that by feeding and lodging them, they’ll stay home and leave the city statues alone.

The author Aryeh Kaplan, z”l describes a phenomenal state of consciousness in one of his books where from the compression of intense study and drive one reaches something new and worth all the physiological consequences of that time. This happened to me here on our first day here, a lucid dreaming that revealed what I’m supposed to write next as a serious work in my field. Within seconds of this awareness a huge rainbow appeared in the sky, kinda trite for that to happen. Still I’m (w)holy happy to know, living between assignments has an anxiety to it.

My sense is that nothing new pops under the sun at such times but rather is suis generis and arising in multiple persons since Creation seems to invest in multiple innovators for the sake of all.

By way of details for travelers we stayed at Guest House Nuevo Uno in Ocean Park, outside the city in a glorious safe neighborhood by the beach. Their restaurant Pamela is truly fine dining, they do fish in a caper butter that melts in your mouth, the roasted garlic to spread on bed in an additional garlic infusion is memorable and their pina coladas delivered to each guests private umbrella and lounge chair, perfect.

Thanksgiving appears to be modeled on the mitzvah of hakarat ha-tov, recognizing what’s good and pointing it out with gratitude. I’m not sure how, but I don’t recall it being mentioned when I went to Hebrew school in the 1960’s, that it is a Jewish spiritual practice to make a point, not just on Thanksgiving, but throughout every day, of seeing what is good around us and acknowledging it. Sounds simple enough, but isn’t always.

What a joy to be around folks who are naturals at seeing the good in the world. My mother, before Alzheimer’s erased her mind was such a deeply nice person. There’s a book I heard mentioned on NPR, The Power of Nice, have ordered a copy. Why dwell on this? Let me ask you a question, have you ever lost your power of nice? When does that happen to you? I mean other than during hormonally challenged times.

 

Last year, when a collision of responsibilities became overbearing, I hit the wall hard and fell into deep despair and exhaustion and wasn’t able to be sustainably nice somehow. Interesting to reflect on it now - too much work, too much multitasking, too many emotional issues with ill parents, sister with cancer, husband living in another city then. Too much makes for a less nice Goldie.

Only have had experience of this excruciating state of being once before, a few months after initiating divorce from my first husband. These experiences were both followed by a kind of therapeutic despair/depression that burns through resistance to needed change. Work changes, residency changes, eating and exercise changes, priority changes.

So grateful for the human capacity to go into dark nights of the soul and emerge into the light. Learned a lot. Life, keyn ayin harah, is good.

What a turkey I’d been, with no slur meant to these real turkeys I encountered in Costa Rica last year.

Just for now, life is so deeply good even with all the sad things still happening among friends, family and the world.

Meanwhile, we’re heading to visit all around Puerto Rico for three weeks soon and wondering if there are any Jews in Rincon with whom to celebrate Hanukkah? After Hubbatzin Barry took these pics in Costa Rica when we were there last year the furious turkeys eventually chased me up the fence of their corral and the farmer rescued me. Gotta love barnyard adventure! Turkey in Hebrew, fyi, is Hodu, which also means “praise”. Happy Holiday - Hodu LaShem