2004-12-03 - 9:37 a.m.
The low point of my day was going outside and seeing that Adidas had decided to take down the incredibly awesome Muhammed Ali billboard (it's the photo of him roaring and clenching his fist while standing over a knocked-the-fuck-out Sonny Liston, and was one of the first cool things I noticed about Harlem) and replace it with some dumb circus-themed basketball sneaker ad. I am going to miss seeing Ali every morning as I descend into the subway station.
That having been said, the fact that a billboard change was the low point of my day suggests that my day was pretty damn good. This was in fact the case. My roommate spent the night at her boyfriend's, and while I like my roommate just fine, it's nice to have an empty apartment to putter around in the morning. I get to leave the toilet seat up, brew the coffee extra strong, and tend to my morning ablutions without taking another person's hygienic needs into consideration. So my morning got off to a good start, and the unseasonably warm weather helped take the edge off my shock and dismay at Adidas's crappy marketing decision. On the train, I saw a Hispanic man in his early 20's quiz a little girl--a younger relative, possibly his daughter or niece--on spelling words, in one of those moments that make teachers and/or privileged white people feel all warm inside. Also, there were two young men having a friendly contest to see which one could punch the other the hardest. They found this hilarious, and I'm not going to lie and say I didn't.
When I got to school, one of the teachers offered me a book of poetry by Robert Frost for a little morning inspiration. I turned at random to "Two Tramps in Mud Time," and read this verse:
But yield who will to their separation
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future's sakes.
These were good words to read after having struggled mightily to remember why I wanted to be a teacher. The verse helped me remember that I once saw teaching not only as a calling, and as an obligation, but as something I genuinely enjoyed. I applied for Teach For America because i thought it was my duty as a Jew and a patriot to do so, "for Heaven and the future's sakes."
After reading the verse, I sailed through the day. It didn't hurt that the special ed kindergarten class was out on a field trip, so I got to spend an extra forty-five minutes sitting in the teachers' lounge and talking to the poetry book teacher about Robert Frost, the Talmud, and health food. When lunchtime rolled around, I found myself grinning and shooting the shit with the other teachers. Usually I just sit in the corner with a book, Fletcherize my food, and grunt whenever someone speaks to me. I spent the afternoon playing number bingo with bilingual kindergarteners, and I surprised everyone, myself included, by managing to conduct pretty much all of the class in Spanish.
I got home and hit the gym, and when I came back my roommate was clearly wiped out. I, on the other hand, was so upbeat as to be bordering on manic. I capered around the apartment, smacking my chops over a dinner of tuna, couscous, and dried fruit, while she sprawled on the couch and grew more and more irritated. I felt a bit guilty for being so exuberant when she was feeling less than jake, but I was still in high spirits when I left for synagogue.
Synagogue was great, as usual. I hadn't gone for about a month, due to my weekly junkets to New England. There was nothing as moving as the last service I described, but the music was beautiful and the level of positive energy was high. The rabbi mentioned the belief that we get an extra soul on the Sabbath in order to help us absorb all the beauty and refreshment that the Sabbath brings. He explained that we gain this extra soul as we recite the lines "sukat shlomecha," shelter of your peace--the words that had moved me to tears the last time I went to synagogue. So I tried to focus on this idea of enhanced restfulness, and I found myself feeling relaxed and calm rather than overcome with emotion, as before.
Near the end of the service, we sang Oyfn Pripetshik, a Yiddish folk song about a rabbi teaching little children the alphabet. The last verse of the song, roughly translated, is as follows:
And you will, little children, carry the exile [The song uses the verb "schlepn," from whence we get the familiar Yinglish word "schlep," and here suggests a far greater burden than is implied by the Yinglish word.]
To be exhausted
You should draw strength from the letters
Look into them!
It made me think of the strength I drew from Frost's words, earlier in the day. It also made me consider how, as with the rabbi in the song, the schoolteacher's role is to provide knowledge that will help the students cope with adversity--another one of the reasons I joined Teach For America. Finally, it made me think of how my own approach to Judaism is not to turn to God in times of trouble, but to seek comfort in the texts and liturgy. It was another incredibly meaningful service, which seems to be par for the course at that synagogue.
Afterward, I stopped at Whole Foods for some fancy organic groceries and walked the forty-some-odd blocks back to my apartment. When I got back I heated up soy milk and stirred in carob powder and cinnamon, and had a mugful while reading Anna Karenina. A fine end to a fine day.
