Day 11: I Walked Across the George Washington Bridge

 Oh, it dawned a beautiful morning. I woke up to the delightful surprise that my building's super had chosen this day to turn the heat on, and the sun was shining clear beams along our street. The cozy, peaceful feeling stayed with me as I bundled into a thermal shirt and chunky sweater for this morning's challenge: a bright and early walk across the George Washington Bridge.

I have been looking forward to walking across the bridge, but I knew it would be a different experience from walking across the Golden Gate Bridge or the Brooklyn Bridge. There's no manicured garden at the lead up; no wooden promenade crowded with pedestrians. No crowds are waiting to rent bicycles; no one is fingering a ring in his pocket or getting down on one knee in the center.  This is a business bridge. 

Unfortunately, sometimes that's the business of dying. I have a friend who has always hated this bridge; a teacher at her high school in Brooklyn jumped from the bridge while she was a student. It wasn't until she found a job in Northern Manhattan that the bridge was a landmark in every day life, no longer looming as a reminder of death. I remembered her teacher this morning, as well as Tyler Clementi, who committed suicide the same fall that I moved to New York. So while I set off on my challenge this morning, I wasn't just thinking of my own journey between New York and New Jersey but of the others who have been drawn to the bridge for far more difficult journeys.

The sun was bright as I stepped onto the walkway, burning golden outlines around passersby and pilings. It speckled the apartment buildings below me and sprayed across the tops of trees. To the north, the Palisades faded into the water. Headlights twinkled from the Henry Hudson Parkway through a break in the trees. To the south, trucks passed by, carrying milk, produce, or machinery into Manhattan. The smog from their tails floated around us, making my head hurt, and clinging to the skyline.

Just before the first tower, I stopped and looked at the rocks below. I held my camera and took some shots of the logs lying against the rocks and a little island that stood in the breakers. I stepped out from behind a pole and back onto the walkway and saw a security guard walking towards me, ashen and with purpose. Then he looked relieved and said, "I didn't see the camera in your hand. When you stopped there I was scared. We have a lot of suicides here. I was scared."

HOW I LEFT MY COMFORT ZONE:
This challenge felt like a physical feat. It was cold and windy, and the smog from the passing traffic almost made me turn around.

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY:
The line that separates us life from death and us from one another is thin. When the security guard told me he was scared for my safety, the thought crossed my mind - but, surely he doesn't think I look like I would kill myself. Of course, I realized, anyone could look like that.

Anyone could be, at any moment, the person in danger or in need. And that person could easily be me. I know I have struggled and suffered, been burdened with sadness. My life, for all its tremendous blessings, has had low moments and dark nights. But I'm still here, still living. What makes me different from those who couldn't go on? Am I braver, or stronger, or smarter, or wiser? I don't think that I am. I feel the grip of providence and grace. And I want that grace for the others, too.

When I started this project, I considered asking my readers to contribute to a relavant cause or charity each day, and then I decided I didn't want to do even that. I wanted to let the blog be just for your enjoyment, no strings attached. (I hope it's that!) But today I decided to make an exception. If you'd like, find out how you can help to prevent suicide.

Day 1: I Celebrated Sukkot!

I was terribly excited when I found out that the first day of the Birthday Exercises corresponded with the first day of Sukkot! As a religious studies major, I read about this festival in my Hebrew Scriptures class, and when I lived in Boston, many of the families in my neighborhood set up sukkot (booths or tents decorated with branches) in their yards, and ate or visited in them throughout the festival. The lovely booths always impressed me as I past them on my autumn walks. Despite my religious studies major, however, I never experienced Sukkot first hand - and I'm embarrassed to say I've never been to services at a synagogue at all.

When I set off this morning, I was quite nervous. My best friend reassured me that the synagogue had surely seen visitors before and that I shouldn't worry - but then she added that none of its visitors had come as part of their extravagant "Birthday Exercises!" 

My nerves were assuaged when I arrived. (Forgive me, gentle readers for whom going to a synagogue is not a new experience, for the following rather detailed account.) Entering the synagogue felt like being in church: there was a comforting, welcoming, and reverent atmosphere that made me feel at home. Someone handed me a prayer book, and the rabbi announced the page numbers as we went, so I was able to follow along with the service. Our prayer books had Hebrew on the right-hand page and English on the other, which reminded me of the Latin-English Missal my mother used as a child. I wanted to let the prayers wash over me and get lost in their sound, but I also wanted to take in the meaning of the words. The words were heavy and heartfelt; I wanted to feel them on my tongue. 

After the preliminary prayers, the rabbi spoke about the meaning of Sukkot. I felt a bit guilty, because she began by congratulating the congregation on making it through the fast of Yom Kippur - but the rest of her words I could take to heart! She told us that the booths that families construct, and eat or sleep in during the festival, remind us of our vulnerability and challenge us to accept it - but that we are able to admit vulnerability when we know we are supported, both by God and by our community. And as a harvest festival, Sukkot emphasizes hospitality; the rabbi encouraged us to reflect on the ways we can invite others into our lives and our hearts. 

Then the lulav (a bundle of palm, willow, and myrtle branches) and etrog (or citron, a thick-skinned, fragrant citrus fruit) made their appearance. As the congregation continued to pray the psalms, we shook our lulavim and etrogim in six directions. The members of the congregation passed the lulavim and etrogim to those who didn't have them so that all had a chance to shake them. The young man standing behind me passed his to me, and I was amazed by the fragrance of the etrog. All around me, the branches rattled in a chorus, adding to our prayers.

When it was time for readings from the Torah, many people went onto the stage; throughout the reading of the Torah, many members of the congregation were invited to participate. Although I didn't always understand the structure of the service or each of its elements, it was easy to see the central place the Torah takes. [THEOLOGY NERD ALERT:] I felt awe for the scrolls themselves and the word of God that they contain which stayed with me through the day, and I was amazed by the way the reading of the Torah paralleled the Eucharist in so many ways, reminding me that we "do not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord." 

I absolutely loved this experience, but as I left the synagogue and made my way back to work, I felt uncomfortable with the idea that I might be exploiting someone else's authentic religious experience for the sake of an "adventure," and worried that my account would come off as flippant. But I know that this is more than an adventure; these exercises stem from a sincere desire to learn, be humbled, and be awed. 

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY:
Reverence and exuberance can coexist. I was excited to celebrate Sukkot, something that truly was a novelty to me, but that didn't take away from my understanding and appreciation of the sacredness of the experience. Respectful doesn't have to mean serious.
Admitting our vulnerabilities makes us open to greater gifts. It's humbling to admit we can't do it on our own, but the gifts and grace that God wants to give us are even better than what we could imagine.

HOW I LEFT MY COMFORT ZONE:
I went to completely unfamiliar religious services. As a self-avowed theology nerd, I spend a lot of time in Mass. It's as familiar as making French toast or mending a button. But today I was nervous when I walked into the sanctuary and got lost in my prayer book. It made me think of my peers who have spent a long time away from church or just don't come very often. How can I help them feel reverence and welcome, as I felt today?