ask the oracle

Upon leaving Ioannina, Kivunim began its journey to Meteora to visit to the monoliths and monasteries. Even on the bus, the view as we mounted higher and higher appeared striking. The Meteora, the massive castle-like structure of the six monasteries, perched on top of gargantuan cliffs. By the time we started to climb the 200 steps up, the weather had deteriorated to gray, menacing, and cold. This environment reinforced my absurd association with a Lord of the Rings scene filmed in Yosemite.

Reaching the apex, I could understand the monks' desire to seek an isolated refuge on a mountain. The height and view down provided a sense of closeness to the heavens and detachment from general society below. As monks sought to study and live here estimated as early as the 11th century, this monastery has proved its worth as a location and environment conducive to study and spirituality. As much as I have grown fond of Torah Drive off of Old Court Road, the shortcomings of Pikesville have become much more apparent in comparison to Meteora.

We then ventured to Delphi, home of the famed Oracle of Delphi. In ancient Greece, people flocked to Delphi to heed a message from the gods in the Temple of Apollo. The oracle would withdraw from her trance and enter into a psychotic episode, from which an interpreter would provide a cryptic, prophetic answer to the visiter. Her psychosis most likely resulted natural gases from a crevice in the earth at the Temple.

As we veered off from exploring Jewish remnants to ancient Greek ones, I became unexpectedly grateful for studying Edith Hamilton's Mythology in my eighth grade English class. The stories became relevant in my high school English classes, where Greek mythology references appeared as often as Biblical references in literature, especially in Shakespeare. However, standing above the amphitheater in Delphi, I wanted to simply FaceTime with Edith Hamilton and show her how Mythology became real for me.

Leaving Delphi, we briefly stopped in Chalkida before continuing to Athens. Chalkida is home to a Romaniote Jewish community, very few whom are left now. The Vice President and President of the community introduced us to a shul there, renovated with funds from the Rothschilds, and then to the oldest Jewish cemetery in Greece. In front of this cemetery, a most unusual memorial stood solemnly. On one side of the entrance, a statue of Greek Jewish officer Colonel Mordechai Frizis, killed in World War II, faced forward, while, on the other side, a statue of Greek Orthodox Metropolitan Bishop Grigorios paralleled him. Grigorios remains famous in the Chalkida community for hiding the Jews (in a country where 50,000 Jews from Saloniki were deported) and their Judaica (including Torahs) in his own church.

Two things in particular about the cemetery intrigued me: the old tombs, which resembled small houses, and the plethora of orange trees planted within the graveyard, whose vibrant fruits contrasted with the brooding weather and colors of the tombs.

Kivunim then journeyed to its final destination of the Balkans international trip: Athens.

We stayed at the Parthenon Hotel, which I found funny in itself. Obviously, we would have preferred to stay at the Parthenon itself, but it seems as if Kivunim's funding would not cover that bill.

After a Greek dinner (with Israeli influence) at Chabad, the next morning we toured the new Acropolis Museum to preface our Parthenon tour. We discussed the relationship and relevance between people of antiquity and people of the post-modern era: a "big picture" perspective on the general Kivunim mission and theme, how we can better understand ourselves by understanding the ancients and their perspective. I also remember  learning this basic reasoning for studying history in my first world history class in middle school - a lesson that only took about six years to resonate with me.

Moreover, we contemplated the Parthenon itself on a hill. What is the psychological effect of Athenians constantly looking up? To illustrate the nobility, excellence, and power of Athens? To further emphasize their superiority? Perhaps to some Athenians, the majesty and grandeur of the Parthenon symbolized their own money and manpower, and, rather than standing proudly, the Parthenon glared down at them. Perhaps to some Athenians, they resented this obnoxious factor.

We also toured several synagogues and a Jewish museum in Athens. At one synagogue Etz Chaim, we met the Chief Rabbi of Athens, who shared with us his family's survival story through World War II.

Born in Larissa, a historical Jewish community for 2000 years, he lived there until the age of 17. He then moved to Paris to purse rabbinical studies and later learned at a yeshiva in Switzerland. By 1943, Saloniki had already deported its Jews and rumors began to propagate throughout the country.

The rabbi's father quickly gathered the family and fled to Mount Olympus, where they hid in the forests as the Germans passed through the country. He then told us a story which would fall under the category of hashgacha pratis, according to my high school davening. Crawling into a shed in the mountains as it rained, the family huddled next to the farm's animals. The rabbi mentioned how that night the kids were crying and screaming, and the father moved them to the opposite side of the shed. The next morning, they discovered the shed's roof had collapsed and killed all the animals underneath it.

Forced to leave the farm the following morning, the family trudged aimlessly through the still pouring rain and mud. Spotting a field, the rabbi's mother ran over and pleaded the farmer for water. The farmer, however, had other ideas. Recognizing the rabbi's mother as the daughter of one of his best clients, who sold produce, he then took the whole family in and hid them for the remainder of the war. The rabbi emphasized his deep feeling of G-d always present in the life of his family.

A final note: Greece is a beautiful, spectacular country with infinite superlatives that one can attribute to it. However, what provoked me the most to think and question and ponder was the absolute abundance of graffiti. Bitter graffiti, swastikas marked public buildings such as libraries and banks. The general feeling I drew from Greeks surprised me as one of unrest, one of melancholy, and also somewhat one of anger. After witnessing thousands of people storming the streets of Saloniki on November 17, screaming and chanting and protesting, I recognized the irony of these bitter riots that have struck Greece the last few years. Perhaps the Greeks, birthed in the birthplace of democracy, possess an inbred desire to showcase and utilize their rights and responsibilities as citizens of a democracy (in response, of course, to a failing economy and government efforts to cut public funding and raise taxes). Simply put, one could say, this is democracy at its both best and worst. 

Rebecca Abbott

(Kivunim - www.kivunim.org) - a gap year before Barnard