Tangoing life

The other evening I was dancing tango with a woman who teaches swing, but for whom, like for me, tango is relatively new.  I could tell she was enjoying our dance; a smile lit up intermittently on her face, and now and again she joined me in a little conspiratorial laughter.  We seemed to have a nice rhythm.  She was funny and snarky, too, which I liked.  But while we were in between songs at one point, she said to me something that struck me:  ‘for this next one, don’t THINK; just dance to the music.’  I joked that I would pay close attention to not thinking, but in the end her advice led to something fresh; the dance was much sloppier, but it felt more alive, as if we were using tango to channel the music, rather than using the music merely to keep pace in our tango.  As the song came to a close we were both grinning like school-kids.   

My dance partner’s challenge to ‘just dance’ was actually a relief to me.  With her intuition as a dance teacher, she was telling me that I’m ready to shuck off some of my ugly duckling phase and to move forward—that I know enough now that I can play a bit, and that what’s most missing from my dance isn’t technical but rather lyrical.  It’s one thing to do a cross or an ocho with exact timing.  It’s another to use the ocho or the cross in creating a dramatic narrative, one that ebbs and bursts with the music.  The narrative might even be juicier if the ocho is fumbled, or the cross isn’t perfect; it’s not the exactness of the individual steps but the improvisation towards the narrative that makes the dance float off the dancefloor. 

I was also reminded that we needn’t master every conceivable tool to create something beautiful; rather, we must merely know how to use some tools well enough, and then it’s our soul that determines the outcome.  In my tango, I can strive to create art from the few steps that I know, just as a good female dancer will strive to take the steps she is guided through and use their bounds as her own palette for expression.  Equally, a dancer who knows many moves isn’t necessarily a good dancer, because it’s the interpretation and expression that make it a dance, not the mastery of technicalities. 

In this sense, I feel that tango is very much like life.  The man and the woman in tango each embody different struggles, which can be relevant at different times in anyone’s personal narrative.  The man’s challenge is to create art from a limited repertoire.  He succeeds if he manages to not think but to dance, to feel the tension of the music and the woman, and to bring something unique to them.  He is like the majority of us, handed some instruments from our upbringing and education and then released to the world with the challenge to make the most of ourselves.  The woman’s challenge in tango, on the other hand, is to take extremely confined circumstances and, through her spirit and soul, to transcend them.  She is like those of us put under extraordinary physical or mental constraints, and left to find nobility and expression in the very embodiment of this struggle. 

Paradoxically, when I watch extremely skilled dancers, it’s the woman, not the man, who appears to be running the dancefloor.  Similarly, it’s the people in life who achieve spiritual heights under the greatest duress who generally garner the most human respect.  It was through his spiritual response to decades of imprisonment, for example, that Nelson Mandela was able to bring a new political reality to South Africa.  But tango is a dance, and like life it is fluid.  The man is no prison and the woman no prisoner; he who can’t respond to the woman’s intention isn’t really dancing at all, despite the fact that, indeed, he is leading.  How many couples in real life are like this?  The best couples collaborate spontaneously, and neither can predict the outcome, for each is inextricably involved.  The drama is rich. 

On my way home after being told to just dance, I passed a few cafes filled with people conversing and laughing, and it struck me that these people too had spent the night tangoing.  How many of them were just dancing themselves, never even realizing their perfectly timed steps?  They weren’t thinking about the mechanics of their conversations nor about the relationships they were nurturing; they were just living and enjoying their night out, and in the process creating some sort of life tango.  Likewise, friends can gather again and again over a chessboard, trying their mightiest to become masters, only to realize in old age that it was the narrative of their gatherings through which they attained mastery at something much richer.  It’s usually only afterwards, sometimes years afterwards, perhaps even only at the very end, that we can see which of the tangos in our lives were the most meaningful. 

Life’s dance is elusive; we might feel it at moments for what it is but not realize that the dancefloor has already shifted, and then we might be left fumbling again, trying to work through a new set of uglies although we had previously thought we had mastered it all.  Things can change suddenly, such as in the death of a loved one.  If this process were more linear then it wouldn’t be life, for in life, there’s no guide but experience, and experience itself is what creates the rules of one’s tango.  Perhaps as we grow old we’ll have discovered our true narratives, and we’ll be able to look back fondly and laugh at it all.  If we are rich in our spirits then we’ll certainly do so.  The trick, then, is to try and catch ourselves dancing, and then to determine what exactly it is that we’re dancing to.  In some cases we might even be able to mold our own dancefloor as we skip breathily over it.  But even when we can’t choose our own tangos, we can still dance with abandon.  And I think it’s through this unintentional dancing that we’ll discover life’s ultimate meaning. 

The play-dough of science

When we are infants we play with things, feel things, put them in our mouths, crawl around until we bump into objects and explore and discover the properties of everything about us, and each new experience helps us build a concept of reality, which we then use as a framework for all of our subsequent behavior and our categorizations of the things we encounter.  

Infants are naturally scientific.  For example, a child’s epiphany about language—connecting the sounds people make with actual meaning—is pure science.  The child consumes many different sources of data and searches for patterns.  She’s not intentionally looking for the meaning of language, for in the beginning, she doesn’t even know to look for such a thing—she’s merely exploring and playing, and the noises made by other humans are among the many stimuli that seem interesting.  But then an awareness begins to awake in her, a new and transformative way of experiencing what she’s encountered all along.  She understands now that these—words—can have power.  Certain ones make the adults behave funnily.  She tries to speak some herself.  A struggle ensues to master the concept of speech, with extravagantly positive results.  And now finally she understands language—her mind has undergone a paradigm shift.     

What distinguishes a scientist’s work from a child’s is that the child rediscovers conceptions that are common to us, whereas a scientist tackles phenomena that are not yet comprehended by anyone.  But scientists can learn from the process of children.  Indeed it’s the scientists who take risks, who misunderstand the dogma and run crazy experiments, and who view the unknown with fresh eyes—typically young scientists—who do the most revolutionary work.  Older scientists can reject foolish notions and keep the youth focused, but they have trouble embracing the radically new.  The youth are the architects of paradigms.  

Skills are essential for science, but specific skills do not a scientist make.  The actual science comes in the play—in the use of hard skills to futz around with the sillyputty of reality, and to generate epiphanies.  This process is not about throughput, it’s about novelty; discovery; seeing the patterns that are perpendicular to the usual conception.  Although a scientist can spend tremendous effort and time doing one task with utter efficiency, the most significant science often occurs outside of the lab.  It is out there, at the beach or the cinema, that she experiences her earth shattering moment, and sees everything familiar anew. 

But I don’t mean to imply that science is a pursuit for the lazy.  A scientist must be utterly immersed in her problem if her trip to the beach is to benefit her.  The boundary of our knowledge is mercurial and amorphous, and identifying it, and then being able to find the shape of its weaknesses, requires a deep knowledge of precedent.  Although efficiency and skillfulness aren’t synonymous with good science, good science generally doesn’t emerge in the absence of these.  Epiphanies spawn from intuition and knowledge, as well as a huge dedication and effort.    

So how then do we judge progress in science?  After a paradigm shift the goodness of the science is obvious, but before then it can be murky.  While science often requires completion of roadblock tasks, ordinary definitions of productivity, such as ‘throughput’ or ‘hours of work put in’ or ‘speed,’ can lead us to stress the wrong factors.  If the solution to a scientific puzzle is West, it’s not helpful to move North, even if you do it with utter efficiency.  That being said, a scientist might need to travel North for a while to realize that West is the way.  But the best science might involve thinking and reading about the meanings of North versus West, and understanding well that distinction before ever leaving the origin.  Balancing contemplation and movement is all part of the craft.  

Nowadays, your field—whatever it is—is probably starting to feel a lot more like my description of science.  Tasks can be outsourced, but intuition cannot be.  So nurture your flexibility and creativity.  Be willing to work like a dog when it’s needed, but also make time for your passions.  Remember that your trip to the beach might provide the epiphany that will revolutionize everything.  And keep in mind that it’s not about effort—it’s about seeing your destiny like play-dough, and building the right intuition about how you must shape it. 

The freeing of Gilad Shalit

On Tuesday Israel announced the closing of a deal between itself and Hamas for Israel to release 1027 Palestinian prisoners—hundreds of whom are on life sentences with at least 599 Israeli deaths on their hands—in exchange for one Israeli prisoner, Gilad Shalit, who has been a prisoner of Hamas for the last five or so years.  On the surface this deal seems downright insane.  One can spout mumbo jumbo about the relative values of life in different cultures, but the numbers slice any sort of logical discourse to ribbons.  This is not the first time that Israel has released hundreds or thousands of prisoners in exchange for one, or in some cases for dead bodies, and this precedent undeniably gives Hamas incentive to continue its kidnappings.  If Hamas gets a thousand fighters back for each one that it kidnaps, you can do the math.  The Israeli prison system becomes a revolving door.  Life sentences mean nothing.  It’s like Hamas is playing a video game and each kidnap provides one thousand extra lives.  Why does Israel keep giving its enemies this leverage?

This is the view probably held by most Americans and certainly the view I came to this country with.  I was walking with my friends Tomer and Shiri one evening on Rothschild bouldevard, back in the summer when the social uprising was in full swing, and when I saw yet another of the ‘Free Gilad Shalit’ posters that are all over the city, I felt the need to tell my friends exactly how ludicrous I thought this Gilad Shalit issue is. 

You see, here in Israel, the issue of Gilad Shalit is not just some asterisk being silently dealt with by a few officials up in office; obtaining his freedom has been a major social and political movement, and in every protest, demonstration, or gathering about anything, the issue of Gilad Shalit always seems to pop up, even if it has absolutely nothing to do with what else is being discussed.  Gilad Shalit’s release is like the issue of abortion in the US; whether or not you want it to, it somehow seeps into every political discussion.  Why, I asked Tomer and Shiri, are the Israelis so irrational about Gilad Shalit, so willing to give up so much in exchange for a single soldier who was kidnapped?  I couldn’t comprehend it.  I expected my extremely liberal and highly educated scientist friends to fully support my incredulity.  Instead, they waited for me to run dry in my tirade, and then Tomer calmly explained it to me.

In Israel, he told me, every able-bodied person (aside from Arabs and some of the ultra religious) serves in the army, starting around the age of 18.  The army is seen as a necessary force for the defense of the nation, which is indeed even reflected in its name: the Israeli Defense Force (IDF).  In relinquishing their children to the state at such a vulnerable age, families make an unspoken pact with the state that in return for its new recruits, it will take full custody of those children, will treat them as if they were its own, and that it will do everything in its earthly power to return them home when their service is over.  In most cases, this means that the state will keep the country’s children from needless harm, will equip them properly, and will authorize them to use lethal force if their lives are in danger.  In the case that a soldier dies, his or her body will be buried in proper tradition, with all respect given. This means that if the body must be recovered from the enemy, it will be, even at great cost. 

Similarly, in the case that a soldier is kidnapped, this means that the state must do everything in its power to get that soldier back alive.  Up until Gilad Shalit, Israel has always delivered on this pledge, even when it required extremely difficult sacrifices.  However, this one time, the state seemed to be waffling. 

Tomer put it most clearly with the following statement.  He said that if in the future the Israeli government makes it clear that it cannot stomach certain sacrifices for the return of a single soldier, then at least new soldiers going in, and their families, will know what they’re facing.  But Gilad Shalit had entered the army with the implicit understanding that the state would do everything possible to release him in the event of his capture.  Israelis saw the state’s vacillation on this as a symbol of grand betrayal, the government leaving one of its sons to suffer at the hands of a cruel enemy.  It wasn’t rational in an objective sense, but it did have a particular reasoning behind it.  It made sense to the families of Israel, each of which could remember its own sons and daughters going away to the army and could relate personally to the plight of the Shalits. 

I still don’t agree with the Israeli decision.  There are so many things wrong with the exchange of over 1000 enemies, many of them murderers, for one young soldier—so many philosophical and moral lenses through which it seems flagrantly unjust—that it would take me a long time to fully unravel my thoughts on it.  However, at least I feel that I understand why Israel made the choice that it did. 

Perhaps in the future the Israeli state will more rationally weigh the life of one man versus the security of a nation, but at least this time, the one life was considered worth it.  I wish Gilad all the best in his recovery and reintegration into some semblance of normalcy.  And I wonder if at some point the Israeli state will make it clear to its enemies—and to its own citizens—that the next time, there will be no such exchange. 

The problem of culture

How much are gurus like ordinary culture?  How deep does our programming go? 

Culture and society rely on some degree of brainwashing to hold together, but then extreme interpretations can lead to wars and destruction.  War, which is essentially culturally justified murder, arises when cultures, whether individual or collective, go into a survival mode, feeling threatened by some other.  But these definitions are entirely arbitrary; you could have been born that way, or he this way.  Who’s to say who is right?  Any good fundamentalist (or guru) will say that he is, but that doesn’t help us at all in a relative world.  When the decision is whether to attack an enemy or not to, a choice of one world-view versus another must be made, and this is a matter of life versus death.

Without an objective observer, or even the theoretical possibility of one (even if you believe in God, it’s unlikely he’ll step in and directly state his opinion), how can we hope to overcome these barriers and bring peace to this world?  Even if we stand aside from war, there will always be some fundamentalist who will just take advantage of our weakness.  If we stand up for ourselves, we are making a proclamation that our side is right, regardless of costs.  Sometimes this is necessary for survival, but survivalism isn’t a basis for cohesive morality.  Who’s to say that our survival is more important than the survival of that other guy?  In a zero-sum game, the answer is that everyone says it, because to each of us, our own survival is paramount.  We will justify it with god or philosophy or other illusions, but fundamentally the view is survivalist.  Can we admit to ourselves that this is the case?  If we can admit it, will it then change our behavior?

Gurus

The thing about gurus is that you can’t know if their Kool-Aid really works without buying into it, but if you buy into it, you’re not able to then objectively assess it.  From the outside, any guru will look like a hack.  From the inside, at least most of them will seem like a god.  Where’s the truth in a world with no objective observer?

Sitting in peering out

I've been a month and a half now in Tel Aviv and it's been a whirlwind.  I'm not exactly certain where to start; perhaps it makes sense then to start at the beginning. 

I stayed the first few days I was here with my good friends Moriel and Claire, and then subletted a room from a great couple named Jackie and Michal while I searched for an apartment.  Finding a good apartment in Tel Aviv isn't trivial and can take a long time, but luckily, I managed to find a place very quickly—just a couple of days of looking.  It's a cute little studio in an excellent part of town, right near the central shuk (market) and some really neat boulevards and streets.  It's also about 7 minutes by bike to the climbing gym. 

Other logistics fell into place without too much trouble.  Cell phone, bank account, lab, bus pass, bicycle... also, one big priority for me coming here was to immerse myself in the language, so I enrolled in an intensive Hebrew class at Tel Aviv University a couple weeks into being here (they call it 'Ulpan').  I just finished the first semester of the class; it was 5 days a week, 4.5 hours a day of Hebrew for a month.  I’ve improved immensely in that time.  It’s been one of the most stimulating experiences of my life to start learning a new language, and it makes me wonder where my priorities were back in high school and college, when I had the opportunity to do it but didn’t.  I don’t think I’m naturally talented with foreign languages, but where I lack skill, I’m trying to compensate with obstinacy and grit.  We’ll see how it pays off.   

Many people ask me why I bother trying to learn Hebrew, since it’s hard to learn a language at my age and it’s a lot of effort and I’m only here for a year or two.  The true answer is that it’s something that’s important for me in its own right.  It’s part of why I wanted to spend time in Israel.  If I’m a Jew, and half of the Jews in the world order pizza in Hebrew, it’s a completing experience for me to immerse myself in that life and to learn what it means from the inside.  But I don’t pretend that it’s logical.  Neither do I think anymore that most things in life are.  It’s the illogical elements, which we instantly pretend were intended, that strike sparks in the banal.  I want to learn Hebrew just because, and for once I don’t feel a need to pretend that it’s justified. 

When I planned my trip out to Israel, I scheduled a month and a half of unstructured time before starting my post-doc, allowing myself time to get acclimated and to pick up some Hebrew.  It’s turned out to be the exactly right plan.  I’m starting my research this coming week, and I don’t feel any logistical pressures bearing down on me.  I already know my way around the city, where to do my laundry, how the bus schedules work, where to get groceries, and other small details that would be stressors if I were handling them while working.  By chance, my intensive semester of Ulpan finished this week just in time for the start of my post-doc.  I’ll continue with morning classes.  I’m incredibly lucky that the timing worked out so perfectly, since with any other Ulpan schedule, it would be much more difficult for me to continue with Hebrew.

This brings me to Tel Aviv.  Somehow I was expecting a stress level here that I haven’t encountered.  There's a bustle of life in this city that’s refreshing.  Coffeeshops and bars are filled with people until 3 or 4 in the morning on any given night of the week.  I'm still trying to figure out when people work here—coffeeshops and restaurants are always busy, anytime of day.  There are also cats everywhere.  I personally like cats; in addition to taking care of any rodent problems, they give a really warm feel to the city for me.  I walk around smiling every time I see another furry bundle crouched on a sidewalk, which means I smile at just about every street crossing.  It's winter now and the evenings can be a bit chilly, and we’ve had some much needed rain, but the weather is typically golden. 

Maybe I’m just not yet jaded, but I haven’t experienced the rude part of Israeli society that people warned me about.  Actually, I’ve found in general that Israelis are incredibly warm people.  The first week I was here I had a couple of women on the bus try to set me up with their daughters.  I had an egg distributer invite me into his shop for some coffee, and exchange numbers so I can come up to his moshav some weekend on Shabbat (I’ve been meaning to go back to that guy for my eggs…).  I bought a radio in the shuk that ended up not having a powercord in the box, and when I went back expecting a battle, the shopkeeper apologized immediately and gave me one, surprised that it hadn’t been in there.  There have been a few negative experiences of course but I guess I don’t focus there.  One can always find negatives in life, but with our already limited attentions, I see no need to waste mind on them.

Many people have asked me about the situation in Egypt (and much of the rest of the Middle East, now), and how it’s affecting the life here.  The short answer is that it isn’t.  Life is moving along as normal and Tel Avivers are still going out unabated to their coffeeshops and their pubs and their clubs.  In truth, I can understand the mentality; why change your life for a situation you can’t control and that hasn’t even settled out yet?  But I have been surprised by just how unconcerned Israelis seem to be about the situation.  Then again, I can’t really speak the language, so maybe more people are talking about it than I know.

I’ve also been surprised by the paucity of conversation about Palestinians and the peace process, aside from some offhanded comments here and there about Hamas.  I’ve actually heard more concerns from Israelis about the Ultra-Orthodox Jews than about the Palestinians.  That is to me one of the more fascinating glimpses into the Israeli mind.  People here are aware of, and terrified of, the multiple population timebombs (not my term) that are currently ticking.  With a democratically minded Israeli populace maintaining a birthrate that’s many times lower than that of the extremists surrounding them, it’s only a matter of time—and not even that much of it—before the demographics themselves turn into society’s downfall.  And the typical Tel Aviver’s response?  C’est la vie; let’s go party or continue with business as usual, at least right now things have some semblance of stability. 

I believe it’s that same illusion of stability that prevents true progress with peace.  It’s a ubiquitous component of human nature.  Why doesn’t America accept the existence of global warming?  Distrust of science sure, but I think that the problem is rooted deeper, and it has more to do with the natural tendency to think that tomorrow will look like today, even if you’re driving straight towards a cliff.  All that being said, it’s still somewhat astounding to me just how easily one forgets here the geopolitical miasma that Israel is steeped in.  Life plods like normal even as chaos nips at the edges and threatens to suck it all out in an instant.  I was in Israel two years ago when Israel invaded Gaza, and I’m here now when the entire Middle East is rearranging through popular uprisings that could have untold effects on the peace and stability of the region, but I could easily ignore all of it if I wished.  I just wouldn’t check the news; life here would be completely unchanged.  This, of course, might all change; everyone’s aware that there could be a war.  It’s difficult for me to reconcile the upheavals occurring outside with the normalcy within.  I guess that’s just the paradox of life here. 

I’ll make one small comment about Shabbat before ending.  I’m accustomed in the States to being in a cultural minority, and to feeling that to be Jewish I need to explicitly foster identity.  It doesn’t feel that way here, and Shabbat is the most prominent example.  The whole weekend here—running Friday through Saturday—has a ready-made architecture; it’s not just a mess of disorganized off time where each person does his own thing.  Friday, the city descends on the shuks and the shops and it prepares for the upcoming rest day.  Even here, in this secular city, I can feel a tendril of mellowness in the pace of the shoppers, despite all the buzz of the markets.  I don’t mean to glorify Israelis; they can be stressed and unhappy as anybody, and they’re plenty rude when they are.  But the structure of the weekend, culminating in the Saturday rest day, seems to exert a relaxing influence.  Friday night, most Israelis my age go have dinner with their parents or with friends, and then many come back into the city to party.  On Saturday itself, I see more people than ever out on Rothchild Boulevard, playing with their kids or having a coffee with friends.  Everyone’s dogs are out.  The city is thrumming.  This is the beat of a secular but Jewish society, where the paces and structures of the religion are maintained but the religious elements are kept minimal.  I find it refreshing.

That’s it for now—I’ll have more updates along the way.  I wish everyone well.

Hello

Dear friends,

I've just arrived in Tel Aviv safely and am staying the first few nights with my good friends Moriel and Claire, trying to find an apartment.  More updates will be forthcoming.  This is my new blog about life, the universe, and Tel Aviv.

All my best!

-Matthew