In 2010, I was fortunate to go on a pilgrimage to Turkey as part of my seminary education.

We traveled to Istanbul and then to Konya, to study the intersection between Judaism, Christianity and Islam. We arrived in Konya, the final resting place of Rumi, the 13th-century Persian poet, to celebrate his "death day," with Sufis from all over the world. 

A couple of things stand out about the trip.

One was our orientation, where we were told that if we were offered hospitality, we accept it. 

Perhaps then, you can imagine my delight in saying "yes" to an invitation to stay for cake when I arrived at a master felter's shop (Mehmet Girgic, who makes the felt hats for the whirling dervishes!). The shop was closed, but the door wasn't locked.

Upon invitation, I joined the table and had a piece of the best birthday cake I have ever eaten and wonderful conversations about the making of felt, one of my passions.  I was invited back and did a bit of apprentice work throughout the week I was there.

The other big learning was coming to my own realization that it is not how many times you fall but rather how many times you get up.

It started the first day when I tripped over an unnoticed down step getting onto the bus, which would transport us to mosques and ancient churches in Old Istanbul. I bashed my hip into an arm guard and limped my way to take a seat.

Next, I tripped over my roommate's backpack, which was in the middle of the floor on the first evening in Konya upon returning from a bathroom break in the middle of the night.

I massively conked my head while hurrying out of a stone cathedral with a low archway ceiling. Others in the room took a sudden breath at the sound of my head colliding with the heavy stone.

And finally, I slid down steep carpeted steps and bounced my way down at least six steps. I had been joking with a friend, was wearing socks, and not paying much attention.

Seeing stars as I gingerly moved into a nearby chair, my professor told me that he thought that he had witnessed something falling off me. I told him that my lesson was that you shouldn't joke around on steep carpeted stairs. "No," he assured me, "something fell off of you."

But later, when sitting in a circle reflecting on the day's events, it came to me that it didn't matter how many times I fell down. It mattered how many times I got up.

I am happy to revisit that wisdom, and these memories, with this quote by Nelson Mandela.

We fall down, literally and figuratively, all of the time. But we get up, where we are. Over and over again.

It is the mark of our success; our resilience in the face of the challenging.

Especially now.

Click here for more about Shebi-Arus and the annual celebration in Konya.

Click here for more about Mehmet Girgic.