The problem with not writing for so long: I have more and more to say, and as time passes seemingly less words to express it all. Nonetheless, I will start with the children. In spite of all the changes that have taken place in my life here, children have remained a constant fixture in either one way or another. I have amassed a sort of strange collection of experienced and have become well versed in the ways of the world from the perceptive of children of the world. I never imaged that coming to Israel would put me in contact with so many different communities. Yet in my time here, I have worked with kids from the U.S., Israel, the Palestinian territories, Great Britain, the Philippines, Sudan, India, Tanzania, Zanzibar, Kenya, and Angola. The shear amount of children and their unique personalities have already started to blur in my head, so I am hoping to be able to get as much on paper as I can before I wake up one day and start to wonder whether all of these experiences really did happen.
I will start with the British kids, partially because I want to get it out of the way and partially because this experience was both the most negative and the most surprising. Right after I left the program, I spent one month working for a wealthy British family in an area of Herzilia Pituah mostly populated by ambassadors and their families. The family had little connection with Israel—mostly I got the feeling that they were living here to be able to go home and say they lived in the Middle East. In their two years here, they spoke almost no Hebrew, had no Israeli friends, and lived a lifestyle completely removed from society here. Nevertheless, they convinced themselves that their life here was genuine, or at least genuine enough to allow constant criticism of the country and its people. I felt myself cracking after one week, but it took one full month for me to finally get the courage to quit and face the possibility of having to pay rent with no guarantee of a job. I went into the experience feeling like I didn't have many options… I was on a student visa, trying to find a job in a country where I did not speak the language. When they offered me 35 hours a week in the span of four days, I thought… why not? I had always wanted to be an au pair. It seemed like one of those romantic stories, of a girl moving far away from home to live with her boyfriend, learn another language, and work as an au pair. And so I became babysitter, cook, chaufer, family shopper, ironer, and cleaner to a family with three boys aged 9 months, 2, and 4. Instantly I became one of four illegal workers for the family and began to see that the way in which these workers get mistreated by society cuts much deeper than lower wages. It is as if you are a person, but not quite… your wants and needs only matter in as far as they don’t interfere with what your boss needs at that exact moment. Words cannot explain how miserable I was at this job, but not because of the hours of the conditions. Instead, I found myself constantly denigrated by parents (who expected that a high enough salary overrode respect) and small children (who expected the world to bow down to them). Already at 4 and 2, they had taken on the roles of royalty and superiority. Even so… in the entire spectrum of children I have worked with this year, they seemed the most unhappy. They cried all the time and got passed around so much that they never actually developed emotional connections with any caregivers. My addition to their household was commonplace, as was my subsequent absence. The lesson? That they would have the world at their fingertips, but only as long as they could buy it. As for friendship and true bonds, I cannot fathom their perceptions of those.
After I left the program, I still kept up the volunteering that I had started through them. One of the places I volunteer, and the only consistent project in my life since I got here, is Mesila. This organization is mainly set up to help the foreign workers and illegal immigrants that live in Israel and are concentrated in Southern Tel Aviv, in an immigrant area not lacking for shady dealings, prostitution, and the confines of poverty in general. Throughout this area, there are over 40 unrecognized kindergartens that are set up by illegal immigrants to care for the children of other immigrants. In Israel, contrary to the U.S., a child born in the country to an illegal immigrant remains illegal until the age of 18. This means that there are teenagers here who speak Hebrew, have grown up here, know no other country, and are still not Israeli. The word “kindergarten” is actually pretty deceptive… in our minds, kindergartens conjure up images of toys, activities, games, and all things pleasant. Here, the “kindergartens” are dirty run down buildings that moonlight as apartments. Mine happens to have an outdoor area—others do not and so the children rarely get sunlight. Mine is also right next to a Russian brothel. To date Brian and I have stopped two men from entering as we exited (their level of discomfort was priceless). The prostitutes hang their towels in the outdoor area, as the children play and run and hide behind the laundry. My kindergarten is Filipino (they are mostly Filipino, Ghanaian or Sudanese… and the immigrant groups do not mix) and the kindergartens contain between 20 and 40 kids with maximum of 2 or 3 caretakers. Most of the children’s time in the sometimes 60 hours a week they spend there is spent is cribs eerily reminiscent of cages or in cases of overcrowding, beds and mats on the floor. This is not because the parents or caretakers do not care… on the contrary, they all care deeply for the children and are in Israel because they believe they can give them a better life, even in those conditions. The first time Brian (a friend from the program) and I walked in, we were horrified. Slowly though, this weird place has become a source of happiness and comfort for me. To say simply that the children are amazing does not truly befit how I feel about them. The kindness, patience, and happiness that they hold within them are unrivalled by any children I have ever met. Brian and I go once a week for 3 hours… nevertheless, despite the little involvement we have, we have become one of the few constants in these kid’s lives. There are no words to express what it feels like to walk into a room and have 20 little arms reach for you. Mainly, all these children want is attention. They want to be picked up and hugged and kissed. I have actually seen nothing like it before—you pick them up, they stop crying instantly. As soon as you put them down, they start again and the second you lift them again, they stop. Like clockwork. When we first came, the children would fall and pick themselves up with no tears. Psychologically, this is very abnormal and only arises as a defense mechanism when a child learns that they have no want to count on besides themselves—when they learn that their cries will go unnoticed. Over the past six months, they have started to cry more and laugh more. Or perhaps, they always laughed. In the beginning we were so preoccupied with the dirt and the injustice that we missed a very simply fact. These kids, however counterintuitive it seems, are happy, They run and smile and appreciate absolutely everything. In fact, they are much happier than the wealthy British children I worked with. We have gotten used to the atmosphere, but some things still stand out. Some of the children call us Ima and Aba (mom and dad) and many recede into their own world after a father is deported. And yes, that happens often. In 2004, Israel began to deport the men thinking that the women would follow, but they did not. Many of these children are raised in single parent home. When I asked Myra, the caretaker, which child’s father was deported one day, she answered back with “It doesn’t matter. Sooner or later, all of their fathers will be deported.” And Myra… she is also something special. She is a 29 year old single mother, running a kindergarten for 65+ hours a week in her home. She also happens to be a trained and certified physical therapist, a very intelligent woman, and one of many who’s intellect is daily wasted. That this life is better than the one she would have in the Philippines only has me wonder in horror what life is like there. Our similar ages and interests have opened up many conversations—this week I learned that she stays at this job our of desire not desperation. She is thinking of getting her certification here, but can’t bring herself to leave the kids that she has practically been raising for the past seven years. I can understand this sentiment—even when things got bad here for me, one of the factors that kept me here was this kindergarten. Mostly I feel lucky, to be let into these people’s lives and to have the chance to know these wonderful children. There is Maxima, a Nepali girl who latched onto us from her first day and refuses to be put down, or Ilana, a tiny girl whose beauty astounds us, or Mojo, the little artist, or Ron, the boy with a passion for hoarding toy cars and crayons, or Kandar, the Sudanese boy who’s quiet sad manner seems to express the burden of his culture’s past. I have watched Alai stop fighting with others and start speaking (in 3 languages), and I have seen Bucky start walking. There are more, many more, all with their own beauty and wonder for the world. I only recent met the older children who come in the afternoons after kindergarten, and was astounded once again to see how they care for the younger children, play with them and calm their tears when the caretakers are busy. I have never seen so many children together with so little jealously and so much love for each other. I am extremely lucky to have the chance to know these children, and very scared of leaving them behind to an unknown future of poverty and all its pitfalls.
**Pics on facebook of Mesila kids to follow...
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Quick Update
I have been avoiding writing for a long time, mainly because so much has happened and changed that it is becoming increasingly difficult to put it all into words. First some background for those who I haven’t talked to in a while:
Around mid October, after things seemed to be getting harder and not easier, I decided to leave my program. I have a million reasons to list as to why—I wanted more freedom, I wanted to get out of the neighborhood where we were based—but the only relevant on is that I felt like I wasn’t getting what I had come here for. What is it exactly that I was searching for was unclear to me then. I only knew that the program wasn’t it. So I found an apartment with Arnon in central Tel Aviv, got a full time job as a nanny, and kept up my volunteering independently. At that point I was so elated for change that I took the first job that came along—the idea of not having money for rent, with no government loan check to bail me out, was terrifying. That job though turned out to be, well, horrible. I was working for a wealthy British family living here with their three boys, all under the age of five, and running their complicated lives with my help and that of three illegal immigrants from India. Social commentary on that will follow, but for now, keeping up to speed. I quit that job, much later than I should have perhaps, and continued my seemingly unending search for happiness here. To shorten a very long story: I got a job part time as a nanny, this time for a very nice family with only one child, got in touch with a research lab and am helping a PhD student with cardiac research, hired a Hebrew tutor, and also do my previous volunteering, with an unrecognized kindergarten and a free clinic.
Ok so I know this is a lot of information. I will explain more of these things in detail, but I’m glad I finally forced myself to catch my blog up with my life ☺
Around mid October, after things seemed to be getting harder and not easier, I decided to leave my program. I have a million reasons to list as to why—I wanted more freedom, I wanted to get out of the neighborhood where we were based—but the only relevant on is that I felt like I wasn’t getting what I had come here for. What is it exactly that I was searching for was unclear to me then. I only knew that the program wasn’t it. So I found an apartment with Arnon in central Tel Aviv, got a full time job as a nanny, and kept up my volunteering independently. At that point I was so elated for change that I took the first job that came along—the idea of not having money for rent, with no government loan check to bail me out, was terrifying. That job though turned out to be, well, horrible. I was working for a wealthy British family living here with their three boys, all under the age of five, and running their complicated lives with my help and that of three illegal immigrants from India. Social commentary on that will follow, but for now, keeping up to speed. I quit that job, much later than I should have perhaps, and continued my seemingly unending search for happiness here. To shorten a very long story: I got a job part time as a nanny, this time for a very nice family with only one child, got in touch with a research lab and am helping a PhD student with cardiac research, hired a Hebrew tutor, and also do my previous volunteering, with an unrecognized kindergarten and a free clinic.
Ok so I know this is a lot of information. I will explain more of these things in detail, but I’m glad I finally forced myself to catch my blog up with my life ☺
Thursday, January 8, 2009
In War and Peace :)
Many people have been writing me and asking how I am. I haven’t written in a while and have much to write about (I’m sorry for the long disappearance, and will explain that later), but for now I will skip all that and answer some of the long list of questions.
All my life I have lived in the U.S. but have grown up thinking about and worrying about people living in Israel. To watch the news from there always instigated a bone chilling fear in me. I remember faint memories of what I later learned was the Intifada, otherwise distinguishable to me back then as a time in which things in Israel blew up and my worried parents made many phone calls to many people. Then I came to Israel and began to know the people on the other side of the phone—the wonderful relatives and friends who played a big role in my decision to move here, if only to get a small chance to make up for the unfair separation that we all endured. I came back and watched the news with a different outlook, then traveled to Israel in 2006 in spite of Lebanon and watched muted chaos erupt. I learned then that news are not always what they seem, that newspapers may not lie but can spin the truth in many ways, and that Israel suffers privately rather than publicly. That time I saw what war looks like from the inside, but even back then, I knew I was leaving in two weeks. This time around, I am more or less intent on staying (despite many requests otherwise). I have also spent the last two weeks with my brother, who is visiting Israel for the first time and experiencing it, both unfortunately and fortunately, right as a war is being waged. Unfortunately, for obvious reasons; this is not Israel all the time and his viewpoint is influenced by a feeling of fear that did not exist during my first visit. Fortunately, because he isn’t seeing this country through the rose colored glasses of Birthright and is experiencing a reality here that we in the U.S. lack.
In terms of what it is like, that question is a little harder to answer. When people ask, I tell them that I hear the news like everyone else- on the news, in the papers, but not as a true reality I see before me. This is only partially true. My life here right now is much more fearless about the situation here than it is in the U.S. when I am far removed and watching only the news. Here I live my life and see that the lives of those around me are relatively calm, which is a reality I don’t get through the sensational headlines back home. I don’t worry about the war nearly as much as people assume… it is a topic, a big one, but not the only one. The true spirit of Israel lies in this exact attitude, the ability to simultaneously accept reality and refuse to let it take over. Here, I have fun and make a point to. I see it as not only allowable but also essential that Israelis maintain their lives in the realm of normal as much as possible. More than any other state, this one fights precisely for this implicate right to just live life. This is not to say that the war goes unnoticed and ignored. Here, it doesn’t need to be discussed. It is on everyone’s mind all the time, either in the forefront or the background, as a dull, painful reality akin to Groundhog’s Day in which every war is the same in the havoc it reeks. That is what is both truly inspiring and scary here. The patriotism is unparalleled and inspiring, but regretfully the result of one endless battle for the right to exist as a people free of the persecution that being Jewish has carried throughout history.
What I see here that perhaps you don’t: the mind numbing fear that comes with eight years straight of rockets falling on Sderot and the panic of living so close to an enemy that specifically targets civilians. Detailed news and biographies on the soldiers that have died and the images of the pain that goes along with Israeli losses. The unexplainable understanding that “others in Israel have paid the price, and now it is our turn” (as in the words of the father of one of the soldiers). The national silence that followed announcement of a ground offensive as everyone began to anticipate the casualties that would certainly follow. The tears of a country that then mourns each and every loss, no matter how small the numbers may seem in comparison.
Other things that unfortunately few see: the risk that soldiers put themselves in to minimize civilian causalities in Gaza, the Hamas members that begin shooting and run to hide behind children in UN schools, the sadness on the face of Israelis who mourn not only fallen soldiers but innocent civilians, the true restraint that Israel shows despite all international news claiming otherwise, and the unfortunate suffering of innocent people in Gaza stuck in the depth of hell and endangered by their own government.
Some sites and newspapers in case you want some more info:
http://www.haaretz.com/
http://www.jpost.com/
http://www.ynetnews.com/home/0,7340,L-3083,00.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sderot
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUBX8ROqLwE&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygb6VrW8WZw&feature=related
Let’s just say I’ve been toasting a lot more to peace lately.
לחיים
All my life I have lived in the U.S. but have grown up thinking about and worrying about people living in Israel. To watch the news from there always instigated a bone chilling fear in me. I remember faint memories of what I later learned was the Intifada, otherwise distinguishable to me back then as a time in which things in Israel blew up and my worried parents made many phone calls to many people. Then I came to Israel and began to know the people on the other side of the phone—the wonderful relatives and friends who played a big role in my decision to move here, if only to get a small chance to make up for the unfair separation that we all endured. I came back and watched the news with a different outlook, then traveled to Israel in 2006 in spite of Lebanon and watched muted chaos erupt. I learned then that news are not always what they seem, that newspapers may not lie but can spin the truth in many ways, and that Israel suffers privately rather than publicly. That time I saw what war looks like from the inside, but even back then, I knew I was leaving in two weeks. This time around, I am more or less intent on staying (despite many requests otherwise). I have also spent the last two weeks with my brother, who is visiting Israel for the first time and experiencing it, both unfortunately and fortunately, right as a war is being waged. Unfortunately, for obvious reasons; this is not Israel all the time and his viewpoint is influenced by a feeling of fear that did not exist during my first visit. Fortunately, because he isn’t seeing this country through the rose colored glasses of Birthright and is experiencing a reality here that we in the U.S. lack.
In terms of what it is like, that question is a little harder to answer. When people ask, I tell them that I hear the news like everyone else- on the news, in the papers, but not as a true reality I see before me. This is only partially true. My life here right now is much more fearless about the situation here than it is in the U.S. when I am far removed and watching only the news. Here I live my life and see that the lives of those around me are relatively calm, which is a reality I don’t get through the sensational headlines back home. I don’t worry about the war nearly as much as people assume… it is a topic, a big one, but not the only one. The true spirit of Israel lies in this exact attitude, the ability to simultaneously accept reality and refuse to let it take over. Here, I have fun and make a point to. I see it as not only allowable but also essential that Israelis maintain their lives in the realm of normal as much as possible. More than any other state, this one fights precisely for this implicate right to just live life. This is not to say that the war goes unnoticed and ignored. Here, it doesn’t need to be discussed. It is on everyone’s mind all the time, either in the forefront or the background, as a dull, painful reality akin to Groundhog’s Day in which every war is the same in the havoc it reeks. That is what is both truly inspiring and scary here. The patriotism is unparalleled and inspiring, but regretfully the result of one endless battle for the right to exist as a people free of the persecution that being Jewish has carried throughout history.
What I see here that perhaps you don’t: the mind numbing fear that comes with eight years straight of rockets falling on Sderot and the panic of living so close to an enemy that specifically targets civilians. Detailed news and biographies on the soldiers that have died and the images of the pain that goes along with Israeli losses. The unexplainable understanding that “others in Israel have paid the price, and now it is our turn” (as in the words of the father of one of the soldiers). The national silence that followed announcement of a ground offensive as everyone began to anticipate the casualties that would certainly follow. The tears of a country that then mourns each and every loss, no matter how small the numbers may seem in comparison.
Other things that unfortunately few see: the risk that soldiers put themselves in to minimize civilian causalities in Gaza, the Hamas members that begin shooting and run to hide behind children in UN schools, the sadness on the face of Israelis who mourn not only fallen soldiers but innocent civilians, the true restraint that Israel shows despite all international news claiming otherwise, and the unfortunate suffering of innocent people in Gaza stuck in the depth of hell and endangered by their own government.
Some sites and newspapers in case you want some more info:
http://www.haaretz.com/
http://www.jpost.com/
http://www.ynetnews.com/home/0,7340,L-3083,00.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sderot
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUBX8ROqLwE&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygb6VrW8WZw&feature=related
Let’s just say I’ve been toasting a lot more to peace lately.
לחיים
Thursday, October 2, 2008
October already?!
I find that the most interesting points in my life are the ones in which I lose track of both day and time. This has only happened several times—when I am in med school (certainly… interesting), when I am backpacking, and during the past month. As I was about to start writing now, I found myself wondering how long I have been in Israel already. My guess was maybe close to a month, but then I checked my phone to find that, uhhhh wow, it’s apparently October. I am back on the kibbutz after spending Rosh Hashana up north, but will be leaving for good on Friday, when we (finally!) move into our Tel Aviv apartments. So it got me thinking… more than one month has passed, the kibbutz chapter is closing, and I am only now starting to make sense of my time here. Thus I present you, in list form because everyone knows how much I love to make lists, what I have learned so far.
1) I love my freedom.
Before I got here, one of my concerns was how I would deal with the requirements of the program, like being told where to be and what to do, after so many years of being on my own. The answer: badly. I dealt badly. For many, the kibbutz atmosphere promises a quiet comfort in which you never have to lock your door and you know all of your neighbors by name. For me, though, the kibbutz quickly started to feel constraining. I was angered at the prospect of not being able to leave when I wanted to, of having so few options in the Kol-Bo (grocery store), and of feeling like I had traveled all this way but still could not see my friends, family, and boyfriend when I wanted to. In any case, this month has left me with the realization that calling my own shots is pretty high on my priority list right now.
2) Israeli weddings may just be the most fun events in the world.
Maybe it was because people wore everything from shorts and sandals to fancy dresses and everything in between, or because the groom had dreadlocks down to his waist and wore flip-flops. It may have been the four dogs I counted in attendance, the fact that the bride and groom both came over to dance with us on their wedding night, or that not even one person questioned why we were there. Maybe it was the music (which ranged from Shotei Hanevua to Metallica to Trance deep into the night), the beauty of the kibbutz fields in the background, or the way the entire dance floor shook from the sheer number of people that were on it. I’m not sure why, but the energy and happiness that spun both within me and around me that night left me feeling like I had come one step closer to learning to let go.
3) Hebrew is hard. Really really hard.
I’m not quite sure what I was thinking coming into it, but one month later I know way less Hebrew than I thought I would and have developed a quite impressive love/hate relationship with the language. To be fair, I did learn to both read and write and am slowly developing the vocabulary of a three year old. But, Hebrew is still unlike any language I have ever known, which makes my other three a bit of a nuisance when learning this one. It would be great if people wrote with vowels (which they don’t), or if one letter had one sound (is it a P or an F? B or a V?), or even if it looked anything like how I consider letters to look. Instead of words I see boxes or lines or squiggles. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love squiggles, but in this case my language capabilities keep me in a head to head competition with Arnon’s one and a half year old niece as to which one of us speaks better Hebrew. And in case you are wondering whose winning, last week she taught me how to say butterfly.
4) Moving to a country is measured in small victories, the likes of which you would never notice in your own country.
Yesterday, for the first time ever, I had a 3 minute conversation in Hebrew. I understood most of it, and was even able to answer back. This was enough to keep me elated for the past 24 hours. I also got on and off at the right stop, even though, in my attempt to tell the amused bus driver that “I am not from here,” I instead said “I am not here.” To live here means to suck up all my pride, to risk getting laughed at on a daily basis, and to just do it. My friend gave me some great advice last week when he told me that since people were going to laugh at me anyway, I should just speak Hebrew and learn the language. Thing is though… I am not used to getting laughed at on a daily basis, and I am not used to sounding flat out unintelligent. So it is certainly an adventure, and a lesson is humility that I am learning simply because I have no choice.
Mostly though, I am reminded daily now of the type of sacrifices my parents had to make when they immigrated to the States. Prior to coming here, I had considered how hard it must have been to give up your career and your home. What I had never felt before, however, was how hard it was to give up the little things as well. Back home, I feel intelligent, sometimes witty, and in general myself. Here, so far from home, I often feel stupid (because what is more basic than language skills), ignorant (because I do not know this culture), and unable to ever express myself to anyone not speaking English. All of this in a country where both Russian and English are spoken and where I have tons of family, friends, love, and support. I am left marveling at the sacrifices that are made by so many immigrants. Everyday, I am more and more amazed by the strength my own parents and grandparents showed just so that my brother and I could be living life just as we are now. There aren’t enough words to express how thankful I am.
And some more that don’t need explanation:
1) I would sell my soul for most of the milk products here and refuse to stop eating them despite my lactose intolerance. Good idea? Probably not. But it’s no use, I have tried to stay away. I fail, daily.
2) Dogs are a far superior animals to cats. Number of bites within the group from kibbutz cats: 4. Number from kibbutz dogs: 0. Snuggles from cats: cute. Snuggles from dogs: priceless.
3) Three of my four roommates are from Argentina, Puerto Rico, and Spain. Apparently I will be working on my Spanish this year too. Because just Russian and Hebrew would be wayyy too easy.
4) Israel ain’t cheap yo. My contact lens solution costs $30. The cheapest sheets I’ve found so far have been $40. Sigh—should have listened to Arnon and brought literally everything with me.
5) Things I miss: Garnier Fructis, Q-tips with lots of cotton on them, using my stethoscope, big bathtubs and good water pressure, Tiki, and of course all of you back home.
Tomorrow… Tel Aviv. Finally.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Two weeks later...
Contrary to the buzz created in newspapers, life in Israel goes on in much the same way as life in the U.S. People go to work, get pissed off at traffic, cook dinner with their families, and live as everyone else all over does. Occasionally though, something happens to remind me how different life can be here.
A little more than a week ago, two soldiers died in a helicopter accident. It was an odd beginning to our time here and one that seemed to float over us in a way that left me thinking: maybe this is what its like. A dull, marred pain followed by business as usual. The next day, as we were walking to the cow shed to volunteer, our madricha (counselor) told us that one of the pilots was from our kibbutz. To put this a little in perspective: there are over 250 kibbutzim in Israel, and ours is fairly small. Two pilots died and one happened to be from our little area of Israel, less than one week after we had gotten here. Maybe it’s just me, but that’s a little weird. Or rather… what was strange was how usual that seems to be here. Soldiers die in the U.S., but here, in a country the size of New Jersey where Jewish Geography rules the day, everyone knows someone who has died in service.
The funeral was held last Monday here on the kibbutz. I still not entirely sure why, but I chose to go even when everyone else decided that they wouldn’t. For me, it was just clearly evident that I had to go and it would have to be alone. Maybe it was my way of honoring all of the people who has passed from my life in the last few years or honoring all of the soldiers who have given their lives for a country that I love and believe in so much. In any case, I believe that to really get to know a people and a land the way I am trying to, you sort of have to take the good with the bad and share some of the sorrow.
The funeral itself was totally different from the ones in the States. It was on a kibbutz, which I was told makes it very different from other ones in Israel as well. The kibbutz world in general often leaves me wavering between feeling like this is the real Israel and other times feeling like it isn’t Israel at all. It is so generally removed from everything and totally a world unto itself. The funeral was outside, with so many people that even if I had to set a rough estimate, the best I could do would be to say around 500. I was really nervous about going, but no one at any point made me feel unwelcome. On the contrary, all the people I talked said that I was more than welcome there and that they really appreciated me coming. There was no dress code, no dressing in black. Everyone wore just jeans or shorts, which contributed to the eery feeling that this happens way to much. Since I don't understand hebrew, I spent much of the time looking around at the place and the people. What struck me most was the feeling that it was ok--- ok to cry, ok to laugh, and in general ok to feel. The U.S. is such an emotionally zipped up society that it is refreshing to find myself in a place where you don’t always have to smile, where it’s ok to just be sad sometimes. I really hope that my time here will allow me to make that attitude my own. Here’s some info about Yuval… may he rest in peace.
http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?cid=1221142471809&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull
A little more than a week ago, two soldiers died in a helicopter accident. It was an odd beginning to our time here and one that seemed to float over us in a way that left me thinking: maybe this is what its like. A dull, marred pain followed by business as usual. The next day, as we were walking to the cow shed to volunteer, our madricha (counselor) told us that one of the pilots was from our kibbutz. To put this a little in perspective: there are over 250 kibbutzim in Israel, and ours is fairly small. Two pilots died and one happened to be from our little area of Israel, less than one week after we had gotten here. Maybe it’s just me, but that’s a little weird. Or rather… what was strange was how usual that seems to be here. Soldiers die in the U.S., but here, in a country the size of New Jersey where Jewish Geography rules the day, everyone knows someone who has died in service.
The funeral was held last Monday here on the kibbutz. I still not entirely sure why, but I chose to go even when everyone else decided that they wouldn’t. For me, it was just clearly evident that I had to go and it would have to be alone. Maybe it was my way of honoring all of the people who has passed from my life in the last few years or honoring all of the soldiers who have given their lives for a country that I love and believe in so much. In any case, I believe that to really get to know a people and a land the way I am trying to, you sort of have to take the good with the bad and share some of the sorrow.
The funeral itself was totally different from the ones in the States. It was on a kibbutz, which I was told makes it very different from other ones in Israel as well. The kibbutz world in general often leaves me wavering between feeling like this is the real Israel and other times feeling like it isn’t Israel at all. It is so generally removed from everything and totally a world unto itself. The funeral was outside, with so many people that even if I had to set a rough estimate, the best I could do would be to say around 500. I was really nervous about going, but no one at any point made me feel unwelcome. On the contrary, all the people I talked said that I was more than welcome there and that they really appreciated me coming. There was no dress code, no dressing in black. Everyone wore just jeans or shorts, which contributed to the eery feeling that this happens way to much. Since I don't understand hebrew, I spent much of the time looking around at the place and the people. What struck me most was the feeling that it was ok--- ok to cry, ok to laugh, and in general ok to feel. The U.S. is such an emotionally zipped up society that it is refreshing to find myself in a place where you don’t always have to smile, where it’s ok to just be sad sometimes. I really hope that my time here will allow me to make that attitude my own. Here’s some info about Yuval… may he rest in peace.
http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?cid=1221142471809&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Really? I'm here?!
Shalom ☺. Oddly enough, saying that as a greeting is not at all weird anymore. Maybe this means I am on well on my way to becoming slightly Israeli, although I think I have a very long way to go.
So I am finally here, in Israel, in the kibbutz, doing exactly what I have been dreaming about for over two years now. It’s taken me a while to post because the last two weeks have been a whirlwind of emotion. So much has happened that it is hard to believe I have only been here for such a short time. I got to Israel five days before my program started so I could see family and friends and have a chance to take in the idea that I was ACTUALLY for real moving to Israel for a year. Everyone had told me that moving abroad is very different than traveling, and I felt that from the first moment I got off the plane. I’ve been to Israel three times before this, but this time, I got off the plane, and thought… OMG everyone speaks Hebrew… and I don’t speak it at all. The sheer fear and shock took a while to wear off and is still partially there.
Arnon picked me up from the airport (!!five months apart) and then I surprised Jenny at her birthday party. I spent the next five days running and jumping my way through all of Israel seeing family and friends who I haven’t seen for over two years, which again, was full of so much emotion that it is sort of impossible to even begin to put into words. I stepped off the plane and didn’t feel like I hit solid ground for the next three days. It felt as though I had fallen of a cliff and just kept falling and falling while somehow trying to reconcile the Israel I had known two years ago with the one this new version of myself had entered for seemingly the first time. When I finally started eating and sleeping three days later, I realized that reconciling these two worlds would probably take much longer than I had expected. Thankfully I have ten months ☺.
So a bit of background. The program I’m doing is called Tikun Olam Tel Aviv, and its composed of three parts. Part 1 is a month on a kibbutz learning Hebrew and helping out the community (farming, cow sheds, etc) and the other two parts are spent in Tel Aviv doing community service and taking classes on both Judaism and Israeli society. There are 15 people total in the program, which is perfect. The only thing I can compare the first day to is Real World: Tikun Olam. 15 strangers, picked to live together for 10 months (while adjusting to a whole new culture, learning a foreign language, and trying to bypass tons of barriers in hopes of doing some good). The houses in Tel Aviv, which we only spent one night in so far, are actually quite awesome. More about that when I move in, but I was definitely pleasantly surprised.
The kibbutz we are on is called Kibbutz Gal-On and its located in the south between Tel Aviv and Be’er Sheva. This place is so beyond beautiful, I will have to send pictures because words cant really describe it fully. I have missed living outdoors for so long and the sprawling desert fields that encase our (surprisingly) green kibbutz are a welcome change from the DC city life. Our days are spent learning, volunteering, and relaxing as we get to know both each other and kibbutz life. We started ulpan (language class) four days ago and I already have started to read and write!! It’s challenging in a whole new way, but I really love it and am trying really hard to build up my Hebrew (and by built up I mean learn... well, anything). Our teachers are Sharone and Yifat, both around my age and college students up north. The kibbutz is full of stray dogs and cats, most of whom reappear at our dinner table every night. My favorites so far are two cats, whom we named Squirt and Fluffy (pronounced Floofy to sound more Israeli), and two dogs who followed me on my run the other day. We have also made a habit of picking pomegranates off the trees here, one of which I have affectionately named Shmuley. Two days ago, he was found outside and ransomed by a few boys in the group, but now he is safely back in my care. I will send the ransom pics as well, they are pretty funny.
I started volunteering yesterday and was supposed to work in the cowshed (apparently this was an uphill battle, trying to get this as a volunteer job… I just want to milk a cow!!), but there was some miscommunication so we ended up working with Yaron and picking up trash along some kibbutz walkways. Oddly enough, I loved every minute of it—working outside in the Israeli heat has this sort of mystical, calming effect on me. I came here partly to learn how to slow my life down and start living life for the moment. This doesn’t exactly come naturally to me and even here, in the most relaxing place ever, I have been struggling with anxiety. Two days ago I jogged toward the outskirts, stood in the middle of a field, and danced like no one was watching (actually, I realized when I was skipping around—yes, I also skipped—that someone was in fact watching, but no matter). It’s a baby step for me, but atleast it’s a step, and an honest moment of happiness in which I realized that no matter where this year takes me, I will always be grateful to have this chance. Everyday I wake up with the realization that I am one of the lucky few to be living my dream. The question now is, what do you do when your dreams start to come true?
So I am finally here, in Israel, in the kibbutz, doing exactly what I have been dreaming about for over two years now. It’s taken me a while to post because the last two weeks have been a whirlwind of emotion. So much has happened that it is hard to believe I have only been here for such a short time. I got to Israel five days before my program started so I could see family and friends and have a chance to take in the idea that I was ACTUALLY for real moving to Israel for a year. Everyone had told me that moving abroad is very different than traveling, and I felt that from the first moment I got off the plane. I’ve been to Israel three times before this, but this time, I got off the plane, and thought… OMG everyone speaks Hebrew… and I don’t speak it at all. The sheer fear and shock took a while to wear off and is still partially there.
Arnon picked me up from the airport (!!five months apart) and then I surprised Jenny at her birthday party. I spent the next five days running and jumping my way through all of Israel seeing family and friends who I haven’t seen for over two years, which again, was full of so much emotion that it is sort of impossible to even begin to put into words. I stepped off the plane and didn’t feel like I hit solid ground for the next three days. It felt as though I had fallen of a cliff and just kept falling and falling while somehow trying to reconcile the Israel I had known two years ago with the one this new version of myself had entered for seemingly the first time. When I finally started eating and sleeping three days later, I realized that reconciling these two worlds would probably take much longer than I had expected. Thankfully I have ten months ☺.
So a bit of background. The program I’m doing is called Tikun Olam Tel Aviv, and its composed of three parts. Part 1 is a month on a kibbutz learning Hebrew and helping out the community (farming, cow sheds, etc) and the other two parts are spent in Tel Aviv doing community service and taking classes on both Judaism and Israeli society. There are 15 people total in the program, which is perfect. The only thing I can compare the first day to is Real World: Tikun Olam. 15 strangers, picked to live together for 10 months (while adjusting to a whole new culture, learning a foreign language, and trying to bypass tons of barriers in hopes of doing some good). The houses in Tel Aviv, which we only spent one night in so far, are actually quite awesome. More about that when I move in, but I was definitely pleasantly surprised.
The kibbutz we are on is called Kibbutz Gal-On and its located in the south between Tel Aviv and Be’er Sheva. This place is so beyond beautiful, I will have to send pictures because words cant really describe it fully. I have missed living outdoors for so long and the sprawling desert fields that encase our (surprisingly) green kibbutz are a welcome change from the DC city life. Our days are spent learning, volunteering, and relaxing as we get to know both each other and kibbutz life. We started ulpan (language class) four days ago and I already have started to read and write!! It’s challenging in a whole new way, but I really love it and am trying really hard to build up my Hebrew (and by built up I mean learn... well, anything). Our teachers are Sharone and Yifat, both around my age and college students up north. The kibbutz is full of stray dogs and cats, most of whom reappear at our dinner table every night. My favorites so far are two cats, whom we named Squirt and Fluffy (pronounced Floofy to sound more Israeli), and two dogs who followed me on my run the other day. We have also made a habit of picking pomegranates off the trees here, one of which I have affectionately named Shmuley. Two days ago, he was found outside and ransomed by a few boys in the group, but now he is safely back in my care. I will send the ransom pics as well, they are pretty funny.
I started volunteering yesterday and was supposed to work in the cowshed (apparently this was an uphill battle, trying to get this as a volunteer job… I just want to milk a cow!!), but there was some miscommunication so we ended up working with Yaron and picking up trash along some kibbutz walkways. Oddly enough, I loved every minute of it—working outside in the Israeli heat has this sort of mystical, calming effect on me. I came here partly to learn how to slow my life down and start living life for the moment. This doesn’t exactly come naturally to me and even here, in the most relaxing place ever, I have been struggling with anxiety. Two days ago I jogged toward the outskirts, stood in the middle of a field, and danced like no one was watching (actually, I realized when I was skipping around—yes, I also skipped—that someone was in fact watching, but no matter). It’s a baby step for me, but atleast it’s a step, and an honest moment of happiness in which I realized that no matter where this year takes me, I will always be grateful to have this chance. Everyday I wake up with the realization that I am one of the lucky few to be living my dream. The question now is, what do you do when your dreams start to come true?
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