Judía en Madrid

From an orthodox Shabbat service and dinner at la Comunidad Judia de Madrid (similar to a joint JCC and synagogue) to a guided tour of an art exhibit of Marc Chagall's work with the reform community to a discussion at a conservative synagogue on the meaning of Israel as a Jewish state to making new French, Spanish, and Israeli friends after Shabbat to a meeting at the Israeli Embassy for advocacy opportunities—I have discovered ruach in Madrid.

Discovering this ruach meant stepping outside my comfort zone, accepting the unfamiliar-yet-familiar, and embracing my senses.

Sight

The colors, strokes, and blending of lines in Chagall’s paintings. The Rabbi standing to give a brief sermon to the community at Shabbat dinner, his son sitting beside him and learning by example. The all-too-familiar Israeli flag hanging in the Spanish student’s room next to the open balcony. The golden Chai necklace delicately resting around the French girl’s neck, a gift from her bat mitzvah that depending on the neighborhood she is in, sometimes must be concealed by her shirt’s collar. The exchange of Whatsapp numbers and seeing the French girl's name spelled in Hebrew. The Israeli Embassy Spokesperson and her colleague who kindly and graciously welcome me with a warm hug—as if I was mishpocheh—when entering the interior of the Embassy after 20 minutes of going through security.

Smell

The sniff of kosher wine raised in the mini plastic cup during the kiddish. The familiar perfume inhaled when giving dos besos to a good friend I see at the Chagall exhibit. The acceptance of the European cigarette smoke clinging to my leather jacket after a night spent with new French friends I met at Shabbat. The fresh salmon sizzling in the olive oil on my ancient stove top, as my dear friend Merav taught me how to cook.

Touch

The woven basket and soft cloth that reliantly hold the challah as it is passed around the table of American college students during Shabbat dinner. The smooth, small notebook in my lap with its crisp pages being rapidly imprinted as I scribble the insight shared by the Rabbi during the discussion. The plastic xeroxed notecard in my palm as I practice my beginner Hebrew at the social program for young adults in the Jewish community. The sleek and cold subway pole tightly held by my hand as I stand beside new friends who I met at the Chagall exhibit.

Taste

The savory, rich, fresh humus with drizzled olive oil and soft mushrooms being slowly relished amid conversation with four French friends, discussing Sephardi genetic disorders to a ski trip planned for Sunday. The bite of a sweet Nutella cake carefully baked by the student organizer for the discussion with the Rabbi. The cooked and juiced chicken leg served at Shabbat that could have easily been enjoyed at a Shabbat at my Hillel on my college campus in the U.S. The all-natural, sugar-free, milk-free, gluten-free, everything-free orange and passionfruit popsicle that was savored with a good friend just after discussing elements of what a Jewish identity is. The lightly salted patata fritas snacked on as I finally meet Yocheved, the organizer for young adult programming through the Jewish community center, who I first e-connected with months before I even arrived in Madrid. The bagels and lox that remind me of Bagel Bar in my sorority every Friday afternoon, as I ask my new friends if they also use the word lox to describe smoked salmon in French—it’s Ashkenazi they joke.

Hearing

The Orthodox Rabbi’s strong but endearing voice streaming a fluid cohesion of Spanish and Hebrew to the men sitting below the women during the Shabbat service. The Conservative Rabbi turning to the man next to him to ask aich ohmri in Hebrew mid-Spanish sentence when explaining the delicate relationship between an individual, the state, and Judaism. The French student asking her friends if she can bring her Israeli flag to the Idan Raichel, an Israeli artist, concert tomorrow night and wondering aloud what the BDS protesters will be like. The Spanish tour guide who listened to my Spanish characterized by my Chicago-accent as I shared about my visit to Hadassah Medical Center in Israel with my family many summers ago and how awe-inspiring Chagall’s stained glass windows were. The group of discussion participants at the synagogue going one-by-one around the formed circle saying where they come from—Chile, Argentina, Rome, Israel, America, Spain. The young Israeli woman who owns the Hummuseria eight blocks from my apartment who I practiced my twenty-word Hebrew vocabulary and simple sentence structure with, complimenting her restaurant and introducing myself as Ani Chanah mih Chicago.

Day by day, moment by moment, interaction by interaction, and spark by spark, I am discovering ruach in my new and forever home of Madrid.