Settling in: Final thoughts

Well, it took me five days to get motivated enough, but my bags are unpacked, my clothes are put away, and with the exception of a few notebooks and miscellaneous papers, everything is in its place.  I even took a break to eat a thoroughly non-Israeli lunch: a peanut butter and jelly with banana sandwich.  I am officially home.

My melancholy of a few days ago has subsided a bit, especially after celebrating a joyous occasion with a huge portion of my close and extended family yesterday.  I have spent time with most of the close friends I missed so much while gone, and I've even been accepted back at my summer job which I'll start on Wednesday.  All in all, I'm feeling a little less "out of it" and a whole lot more "part of it."

There was also an innocuous moment a few days ago when my dog decided 6:30 am was the perfect time to wake up.  At her whining command I got out of bed and followed her downstairs to the door.  Normally I would just open the door for her, let her do her business, then let her back in, but that day I decided to go outside with her.  At that quiet early-morning moment, I stood, breathed, and was washed over with a scent I had forgotten I loved so much.  You know how it smells early in the morning, when the dew is just getting warmed by the sun and the grass is particularly green?  It's a smell associated with that special feeling of being awake just before everyone else, when the neighborhood is still quietly clutching to the final moments of a dream.  It's a smell associated with summer and a frolicking dewy-pawed dog, fewer obligations and walking around barefoot.  It's the smell of home.

I breathed slowly and deeply as I tuned my senses to all the things I didn't realize I had missed and finally felt truly happy to be back in the comfort of this particular home.

In some ways it's hard to believe I did what I did - traveled across an ocean, lived nearly half a year in a different country with different languages, learned and worked alongside people from around the globe.  I look back and wonder "Did this really happen?  Or was it just a dream?"  But my e-mails and Facebook conversations in Hebrew, the pictures filling my hard drive, and this blog are all evidence of my journey.  They are also reminders of what I am capable of and that maybe the world isn't quite so terrifyingly big after all.

But for now, my journeys as a temporary kibbutznikit are over, so I think it is the perfect time to thank you for reading this and joining me on my journey.  I may not know you personally, but knowing you read this, even occasionally, gave me something of a feeling of purpose.  At the very least it's nice to know someone is interested in what you're doing.  I hope throughout it all you learned something and smiled a bit, and maybe it even gave you the extra little push you needed to go on your own adventure.  Lech lecha.  Lechi lach.  Lechu lachem. לכו לכם

I do have one final request of you, though.  Some have recommended I continue writing and I must admit, I do enjoy it.  What do you think?  Should I keep blogging, throwing my thoughts into cyberspace for the benefit of anyone with a few spare minutes in their day?  I'd love to hear from all of you, so please feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you think!

Until next time (whenever that may be), להתראות, au revoir, goodbye.  It was wonderful traveling with you :)

I'm home!

Back when I first arrived to Israel I published a post with the same title, so it seems only fitting that now, having returned to my first home, I do the same.

I've been at this home for slightly over 30 hours now and I'm not sure if it's jet lag or weird body rhythms that has me up at 6:30 in the morning.  It should be noted that on my last day in Israel I also woke up earlier than necessary, so I'm not sure if this is entirely the fault of travel.  Either way, I'm not quite as rested as I would have hoped and I'm still feeling the effects of not sleeping more than 30 minutes the day I traveled.  I may be due for a nap today.

People ask me if I'm happy to be home and I respond that I'm happy to be with everyone again.  But home?  For five months my home was on the other side of the world.  Is it weird to say I'm homesick?

Coming back into town, walking into my house, even seeing my family again, it was almost like I never left.  Sure, the paint on the bathroom walls have changed since I left, there's a new rug in one room, new lawn chairs, and my dog is a bit scruffier than when I left, but nothing significant has changed.  It's almost as if I put my real life on hold when I flew across the Atlantic in February and now that I'm back I can just start again right where I left off.  No big deal, right?

Except it's not so simple.  I'm restarting my "real" life with a new language on my tongue, new memories behind my eyes, and new experiences reverberating through my body.  Everyone is more or less as I left them but I just got back from a life-changing experience.  How do I just "start again" with all that in me?  I want to tell everyone, to share my excitement, but without people near me who have had a similar experience I don't know exactly what to do with all the memories roiling around in my head.  I never realized that returning to normal would be such a daunting endeavor.

What will I do without hearing at least four languages every day, or without speaking at least three?  How will I feel when, because of social custom, I won't get a kiss on the cheek when I say hi to an old acquaintance?  And then of course there are all the challenges associated with returning to a country where, as a Jew, I'm the minority, which never really bothered me before but there's something indescribably cool about saying "Shabbat Shalom" to the stranger who picks you up when you're hitchhiking on a Friday afternoon.

I will admit, though, I'm glad to be in my bedroom, in my house, in my town.  I'm glad that I just answered the phone and the receptionist making the call was nice, courteous, and understandable.  I love that it's a little cooler and I'm not suffering even without the air conditioner on.  And, of course, I am immensely thrilled that yesterday I spent hours with some of my best friends, talking about boys and family and life and trying our hardest to make up for all the hugs we couldn't share for so long.

Homesick at home?  An interesting predicament, but if I've learned anything in the last five months it's how to deal with interesting predicaments.  Luckily, unlike in Israel, this time I'm surrounded by all the loved ones I missed so desperately.

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The Photos page has been updated with an album of pictures from my last few days in Israel.  Enjoy!

Plane ride musings

In some ways, a long plane ride is a perfect way to transition from one experience to another.  As the plane gained speed down the runway I wanted to scream “slow down!” like I did the first time I rode the log ride in the Wisconsin Dells.  I distinctly remember us in our little fiberglass log, slowly climbing, climbing, higher and higher, ever nearing our impending fall, and all I could think about was how terrified I was of falling, so I tried desperately to plead with anyone who would listen to stop the ride!  Let me off! 

But the plane was cleared for take off and in the air we went. 

So many miles in the air, so far away from the cities and fields and streams and deserts of either of my homes, it’s easy to feel disconnected from them both.  Sitting in this metal cocoon shooting through the sky, distance is created for me, an ending made and a different life renewed.  I am leaving Israel.  I am going to the United States.  I left one life behind and am on my way to continue the one I put on pause five months ago…

…from before I fell in love.

I’m not that old, so it goes without question that I remember the first time I fell in love.  I remember how terrified I was to utter those words to that boy but how satisfied I was once I heard it and how I silently let a tear or two drip down my cheek when he said it back that night over the phone.  I remember how, for the first time, I really trusted my gut and let myself express what my heart was trying desperately to tell my brain through its pulsing Morse code.

Now I’ve fallen in love a second time and not with a single person but a whole society, a country.  In five months (or more if you include my first trip there), I fell in love with tall, dark, and handsome men.  I fell in love with wide-eyed black-haired women.  I fell in love with frolicking care-free children.  I fell in love with old, wrinkled, smiling faces who’ve weathered war and peace and cared for so many children as their own.  I fell in love with strangers on the street and taxi drivers and produce sellers and security guards.

And I think they love me, too.

I suppose it doesn’t matter how or with whom you fall in love because the feeling itself comes from the same place – somewhere deep and secretive, rarely revealed but always waiting to be seen.  So why don’t we let it free more often?  Because it’s terrifying.  Just when you think you have it all figured it out, Love sneaks up on you and messes things up, puts thoughts in your head to which you never paid heed, and shakes your world just enough to make you lose your balance.

Then again, common sense should tell me that like any new relationship this is just infatuation, pure and simple, and when I get home I’ll realize where my heart really lies and leave it at that.  I’ll continue living my life as I’d planned it originally: become a high school music teacher, marry a nice Jewish boy from a suburb with a strong Jewish community, have a few kids, and spend all the major Jewish holidays and celebrations with my family.

Then again, man makes plans and God laughs.

A whirlwind end to the trip of a lifetime

In the spirit of full disclosure and record-keeping, I present to you a summary of my final travel experiences in Israel.  I’m not even going to pretend to lie and label it a “short” summary.  Hah!  Brevity has never been my strong suit.

Friday morning I finished packing and met a friend for a goodbye lunch then left the kibbutz around 1:30 pm.  A man stopped for me outside the kibbutz and brought me straight to the train station, talking to me in Hebrew the whole way and complimenting me on my own apparently-impressive command of the language (“Five months?  How wonderful!”).  My distant cousin (second cousin once removed, to be precise) picked me up from the train station, along with her mom and brother who arrived on the same train.  Her mom and brother live in the U.S. but had come to visit in Israel, and that night for dinner we were joined by the other sibling and his boyfriend.  As it turns out, not only do I have family in Israel but they have three adorable children whose grandmother lives close to where I go to school.  Needless to say the distant family is not so distant anymore.

I spent Shabbat with my family, playing Monkey in the Middle with the young girls (which is called “hamor b’emtzah” – “donkey in the middle” - in Hebrew), spending some time at a nearby kibbutz’s pool, and sharing a mix of Hebrew and English with them all.  Saturday night we all went to a bookstore then got ice cream and I took pictures of the kids. 

Sunday morning my cousin took me to the bus stop and I rode a bus PACKED with soldiers going back to their bases after the weekend.  Now, when I say packed, I mean there was only enough room for me to stand in the middle of the isle.  Thank goodness Israeli bus drivers can’t go longer than an hour and a half without a break; instead of spending all three hours standing in the middle of a mass of sleeping soldiers, I was able to get a new spot sitting in the isle next to the bus driver – much better situation for my motion sickness.

I got to Kiryat Shmona where an exuberant lady from the busy rushed me around and helped me find what bus I needed next then sat me down where I needed to be and told me to wait, the next bus would be there in 45 minutes.  When the bus came I found five other girls who were going to the same state park as me – known as “The Banias” – and I tagged along with them from the kibbutz that was our starting point.  From Kibbutz Snir we walked the three km to the Hermon Stream Nature Park and Reserve, rested a bit and ate some lunch, then went through the park where we saw a most beautiful waterfall.

After leaving the park I hitchhiked back to Kiryat Shmona.  Again, the man who drove me was incredibly nice (if not a little sketchy), and before dropping me off exactly where I needed to be he gave me his phone number with the strict instructions to call him should I need any help at all.  I didn’t, but the offer was appreciated.

I spent the night with a guy I found through CouchSurfing.  He is a 27-year-old student, hiker, traveler, and mountain climber, and greeted me at his door with a hug.  I made myself at home, took a shower, we talked, then I took a nap while he studied for his exams this week.  We prepared a stir fry to share for dinner, talked some more, then I passed out from exhaustion.

Monday morning I took an 8:00 bus from Kiryat Shmona to Tel Aviv (three hours, this time with a real seat) and walked around the city for seven hours.  I went to a hummussia and hung out there for about an hour since I got into a conversation with a young guy from Darfur who recently came to Israel to go to school.  I also spent some time in Shuk HaCarmel where I bought a touristy t-shirt, helped some non-Hebrew-speaking women buy a ½-kilo of figs, and met a guy who just came back from a couple years in Lebanon teaching history and who will be going to the same university as me in the States next year.

When the train landed me back in Rehovot last night I was absolutely exhausted and I called the couple who I’d planned on staying with that night, the son and daughter-in-law of a couple I know on the kibbutz.  Well, they were all going to their parents’ for dinner and betach (of course!) I was invited, so I went there and feasted on homemade pizza and cheesy potato salad with one of my adopted families.  Since all my luggage was at their house anyway (his son hadn’t picked it up since I dropped it off there on Friday), I stayed with his parents instead.  His mother kissed and hugged me and took plenty good care of me, his dad gave me practical advice on traveling around the globe, and when I left they made sure I knew that if I’m ever in Israel with my own family we are all invited for dinner at their house.  You hear that, Mom and Dad?  You have a dinner invitation in Kibbutz Na’an.

Finally this morning, after a hearty breakfast and last goodbyes, my favorite taxi driver and friend picked me up and drove me to the airport where we exchanged thank you’s and I’ll miss you’s and tentative plans to get together when he’s vacationing in the U.S. next month.  That one might actually come to fruition!  Either way, we’ll be friends on Facebook and I know that the next time I’m in Israel he’ll be the first one I call when I need a ride.

And that was that.  I got in the airport, through luggage and passport control and security, and I got on a plane.  And miraculously, the plane is not over capacity even with all my memories and emotions from the best five months of my life.

In honor of America's Independence Day

Despite the many wonderful adventures I'd like to recount on this, my last night in Israel, I feel it appropriate to share something I wrote privately prior to Israel's Independence Day:

At home the 4th of July takes on a pluralistic atmosphere, insomuch as it appeals to the patriotic, the capitalistic, and those who may only be celebrating a day off work.  On that day and the weeks preceeding it, a zealous patriotic pride grips the country, wraps it up in an American flag and instills in everyone a sudden, urgent desire to consume hot dogs and apple pie.  At night, fireworks light up the sky and sparklers illuminate children's smiling faces while their proud, patriotic parents crack open a beer.

Now, I love the 4th as much as anyone -- I love the fireworks, cotton candy, barbeques and flags.  I love the family, the community, the ease of it all.  But until now I've never stopped to think about what we're actually celebrating.  In the 250-plus years since Thomas Jefferson and his cohorts signed their names, we have forgotten that Great Britain had anything to do with it.  Certainly we hold no grudge against them, as well it should be.  So I doubt most of us have any real throughts of "independence" while we munch on Lay's Potato Chips, and when the word "freedom" indubitably flows through our consciousness, I don't think anyone is considering the question "Freedom from what?"

How lucky we are to live in a country where we need not fear another country's controlling use of force or power over us.  It is far more likely for another country to worry about their freedom from us than vice versa.  But with the privelage of long-held freedom comes the responsibility of not taking it for granted.  After all, what good is freedom if you cannot appreciate it?  What's more, what good is it if you don't even know what it means?

I think we have reached a point in our country's history where we have forgotten what freedom actually means, leading us to throw the word around with careless abandon.  I believe we need to re-examine our freedom and, perhaps, redefine it in this generation so that we might truly have something to celebrate not only for one day in July, but always.

With this in mind, I still hope everyone in the U.S. can celebrate a wonderful Independence Day complete with the three staples of any holiday: family, friends, and food.  Love your freedom, live it up, and enjoy the fireworks!

Oh the strangers you'll meet!

Last night was "Layla Lavan" - the White Night festival in Tel Aviv and Yafo which celebrates its UNESCO-given title as the "White City" with live music on open stages throughout the cities, along with art exhibits and a plethora of events.  The timing couldn't have been more perfect for those of us on the Ulpan who took our final exam yesterday and felt unquestionably deserving of a night of frivolous, careless abandon in Israel's party central.

Despite the fact that I am not the frivolous, careless abandon kind of person I succumbed to the peer pressure and joined my classmates on the bus we ordered to take all 25 of us to Tel Aviv.  To be entirely honest, I didn't enjoy the celebration all that much, but the following story deserves special recognition:

Having gotten separated from the few friends I had been sticking to, I found an unassuming spot on the edge of the beach and sat, half hoping my friends would come find me, half hoping to be invisible to the drunk and overconfident Israeli bachurim.  I started talking to someone when another guy about my age noticed I was speaking English and asked me where I was from.  He and his black friend (that is significant) were from New Jersey and had recently arrived in Israel with the tentative plans of volunteering on a kibbutz for the summer.  So we got to talking and I was enjoying the company of these two kind strangers when suddenly the black guy asked if I liked Disney movies.  When I said "of course!" he broke into song with a number from Aladdin and, without request or hesitation his friend and I joined in.  After a rousing rendition of "A Whole New World" we switched to "Part of your world" from The Little Mermaid, the black guy and I doing a fabulous impromptu duet.  Now, I emphasize his ethnicity because I found it rather humorous that I was sitting on a beach in Tel Aviv at 4:00 in the morning, singing Disney songs with a stranger from New Jersey who was half rapping some of the lyrics.  I'm sure Walt would've been thrilled!

His friend was feeling a little left out so for his sake we started singing "American Pie," which we and the people immediately surrounding us were thoroughly enjoying, until we got to the line "And moss grows fat on a rolling stone," after which we stopped, completely unaware of what followed.  None of us could figure it out.  We tried desperately and managed to muddle through a couple other lines here and there before succumbing to our bad memories, singing the chorus once more, and calling it a night.  We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways, never to meet again.

That single moment was, without a doubt, the most amazing and fun part of my whole evening in Tel Aviv, and I couldn't possibly let it go unrecorded. 

A Last of epic proportions

As promised I am reporting on many of my significant Last Moments, and yesterday I had yet another Last Moment of the most bittersweet sort: my last rehearsal with The Band and our first and last live performance as a group.

Since my second week in Israel I have been playing regularly with a group of four guys known to me as "The Band," for lack of a more interesting name (though we have kicked around a few ideas to amuse ourselves).  My involvement with them began in a moment of pure serendipity, and what started as a lead guitarist's enthusiastic snap decision became the basis of a family that reunited once every week to jam and bring Leonard Cohen, Jefferson Airplane, and Stealers Wheel to life in Israel.  (For the beginning of the saga, read here.)  

Every week (barring holidays or scheduling conflicts) we get together for about three hours to practice our repertoire and have some fun.  It's funny to say we're "practicing" because to me that suggests that we're practicing for something.  Yet in the time I was with these guys we never performed gigs, so our "rehearsals" were more like structured jam sessions that, without admitting it, allowed everyone to forget about anything that was going on in their week and just enjoy themselves with some good friends, good music, and a bottle of wine.

Not only did the guys open me up to a genre of music I've never really listened to all that much, but it opened me to a musical world I've only ever gazed at from afar.  I have always been involved in music - orchestras, concert bands, marching band, musical pit ensembles, quartets - but I've never been in a band.  I've never jammed with drums and bass, never really improvised, and certainly never sang into a microphone that wasn't connected to a monitor with scrolling words.  Nope, for all my musical involvement, I had never had the quintessential rock band experience until coming here.

But like I mentioned, The Band never did gigs, so maybe I was getting an incomplete rock band experience.  Well, we couldn't have that, now could we?  In the week prior to our last practice we suddenly all got an e-mail from our bassist saying that in honor of my last time with them, we were going to put on a short performance for friends and family.  Nothing too special, just something to celebrate and commemorate our hard work and to wish me farewell.

I should have assumed that nothing would go smoothly that night.  We got there late, started setting up, and when the guitarist asked me to tune for him first the top E string broke, then after quickly changing it and retuning it, the low E broke.  Go figure!  But with luck like that we were sure to have a good show.  And we did :)

More people than I expected showed up; we probably had around 20 audience members in the room, including about six from the Ulpan plus our director.  The show went great and the audience even called for two encores which had us playing for nearly 50 minutes, which is a lot for a short concert on a kibbutz at 10:00 at night.  

It was exhilarating.  I'm no stranger to performance, but like I said I've never performed vocally in front of a microphone (karaoke notwithstanding) and y'know what?  I like it!  I'm still not confident that my voice is anything worth applauding over, but boy was it fun!  And because I wasn't looking at sheet music I could actually connect with the audience in a much more personal way.  I didn't care if it wasn't perfect, didn't care if it was a little out of tune or if maybe we weren't perfectly together.  And when I played piano and messed up on one of the chords, big deal!  This kind of truly carefree attitude is something I have been missing from my classical training in which it's easy to lose the feeling amidst the perfection.  Oh, and I even got to improvise a bit.  (Wow, doesn't take much to excite a trained musician, does it?)

Parting from them at 1:00 in the morning was where the "bitter" of the "bittersweet" really came into play.  In the past five months I have not only played piano and sung with the guys, but I have become part of their group, accepted and loved, let in on the jokes, respected for my musical input, and, in short, become their friend.  I even wrote a song for them that unfortunately we didn't have time to play, so we pledged to hold onto it until the day when I come back to Israel.  Someday, somehow, I will find myself back in this country and when I do, I'll come back to Kibbutz Na'an on a Tuesday evening around 9:00 and probably find them playing the same songs we played last night.  And when I come back, even if it's only for that one night, we will jam together again.

Sand through an hour glass and other over-used metaphors

With only seven-and-a-half days left in this country things are rapidly winding down and all the Last Moments are waiting there turn to be noticed and commemorated.  Last Saturday marked my Last Shabbat on the Kibbutz and my Last Opportunity to Go to the Club (which I had every intention of doing but ended up missing completely), last night was [probably] my Last Time Shopping in Rehovot, today marked the important and emotional Last Class with Our Teacher, and there are many more Last Moments ahead of me.  Each one will get their moment in the spotlight where it is potentially overly-cherished, celebrated, and wished farewell.

Saying goodbye to our teacher today was a fairly significant one of the Lasts.  Though we have a few more hours of class before our exam on Thursday our teacher will not be with us for them as she is flying to the U.S. with her son for a couple months of site-seeing and frivolity, so today we celebrated.  We bought her a hilarious thank you/parting gift, I wrote her a special card of my own, and she baked us a cake.  We took pictures, some girls shed a few tears, and we said our goodbyes.  It truly was one of those moments that renewed my faith and desire to be a teacher.

Thursday will be my last full day on the kibbutz and Friday I plan on leaving to travel a bit more before I leave.  Yet despite the fact that the next few days will be filled with packing, organizing, arranging, then traveling, hiking, hanging out, and more traveling, I have surprisingly few things on my mental list of Things I Want to Do Before I Leave Israel.  I suppose that's a good sign indicating that I have, in fact, experienced a lot while here and I'll be ready to go home without feeling as if I missed out on too much.  With the exception of eating at another hummussia and visiting the Banias before I leave, I don't feel there's a lot I absolutely have to do before I leave.  All in all, I'm feeling very fulfilled.

Additionally, one reason I don't feel the urge to do more here may have to do with the incredibly strong force that is homesickness.  Even now it's hard for me to believe that I picked up and flew away from my family and friends for so long, and the allure of seeing them again so soon is almost too much to bear.  Generally speaking I didn't suffer from great bouts of homesickness.  With the exception of the holidays and my birthday I usually kept busy and enjoyed myself enough to justify being so removed from normal life, but when I allow myself to stop and think about it the distance is almost too much to bear, especially when it comes to my friends.  Sure, I've made friends here, but nobody compares to my amazing group at home.  Ya hear that, girls and guy (you know who you are)?  We're only a week away from the most epic reunion we've had yet!

I know this is a short post (Who just exasperatedly said "finally"?), but rest assured there will be more posts coming in the following days.  After all, I have to give each of those Last Moments their well-earned minutes of fame, right?

I'm not alone

I recently discovered a blog written by a women named Maya who made aliyah (moved to Israel) and writes about "How to be Israeli," giving tips and stories and fascinating insights into life in Israel and all its quirks.  (This is the blog that had a post about Israeli pickles which I referenced in my last post.)  She started the blog in 2009 and unfortunately hasn't written since last December, perhaps because she finally feels completely Israeli.  Congratulations to her!

I find her blog hilarious and intriguing because she writes about many of the same things I've either written about or thought.  When I read a post about how to drive like an Israeli entitled "Everyone ELSE on the road is an idiot," I kept mentally pointing at the computer screen while my inner dialogue shouted "That's so true!  That's exactly what they do!"  I may have even legitimately laughed out loud.  Her list of Things *NOT* to do if you want to seem Israeli made me chuckle and then feel a little sheepish as I realized I've actually done some of those things (ignorant American tourist that I am), and her post entitled "How do you pronounce שופרסל?" seemed to read my mind as I, too, have been wondering how to pronounce the name of the giant grocery store chain for five months.

In addition to her sense of humor and fluid, conversational writing style, I love her blog because when I read it I feel like I'm sharing an inside joke, laughing and wondering about all the curiosities of Israeli life from that unique perspective of an outsider spending some time as an insider.  It also gives credence to the things I've been noticing and questioning as if to say "Yeah, I saw that, too.  And I totally know what you're talking about!"

Hers is not the only blog of this sort.  A number of months ago I came across comedian Benji Lovitt's blog that makes a very similar commentary on Israeli life minus the "How to."  His yearly list of things he loves about Israel is especially hilarious to me.

Unfortunately, I realize that many of these things I'm finding hysterical and spot-on are things I may not be able to share with my family and friends who haven't been in Israel, much like how people outside Wisconsin simply don't get what's so important about cheese curds and bubblers (talk about a couple things I definitely can't get in Israel).  In coming here, temporarily living here, and finding my way around this vibrant, hilarious, and confounding culture, I feel as if I have been initiated into a not-so-secret society.  And with that membership comes access to all its inside jokes.

The thing I wonder, though, is if Israelis recognize this or if this is one of those things that only visitors and olim chadashim (new immigrants) talk about.  Do Israelis joke about their own tempers and lack of customer service?  Do they laugh about things that seem inherently funny to me, like English words and names adopted by Hebrew and used in their signs, like the Israeli fast-food chain Burgeranch?  (Never mind the fact that Israelis probably don't know what a "ranch" actually is, and they certainly don't have them here.)  There is no doubt that Israelis have a sense of humor and are constantly making fun of themselves and their lives, but I wonder if, for instance, a native Israeli would read blogs like Maya's and Benji's and find the same humor that I do.

If the blogosphere is any indication then there is a fairly significant community of non-native Israelis who like to comment on Israeli culture.  Apparently I'm not the only one who finds this country fascinating and worth writing about.  Little did I know that when I came here I would not just be joining the community that is Israel, but also the community of non-native Israelis and foreigners who love this country and notice all its faults, foibles, and feats with a loving and accepting eye.

I also wonder if this kind of community exists for new immigrants to other countries.  Are Hispanic immigrants to the U.S. laughing in Spanish about all the funny things in American culture?  Have Americans living in Europe created online communities to discuss and commiserate over those things that are shocking to the American system and psyche?

Or is Israel just that awesome?

Newsflash: Israel isn't paradise

For nearly five months I have regaled you all with stories of glorious experiences in this country, opportunities that I have sought or have seemingly been handed to me on a proverbial silver platter.  Between great food and kind strangers, breathtaking nature and a language that never ceases to amaze me, this experience has been better than I ever could have imagined.  But I don't want anyone to get the mistaken idea that Israel is a Gan Eden-esque paradise with people breaking into song on the streets (they're more likely to break out into arguments), so I present to you yet another list: Things I won't miss when I leave Israel (listed in no particular order).

Things I Won't Miss When I Leave Israel*

1. Bathrooms - I firmly believe Israelis have a lot of their priorities in order - artificial pleasantries low on the list while helping out a stranger is toward the top - but apparently bathrooms haven't even made it on the list.  Maybe I'm just a bathroom snob, but clean bathrooms are one of those little things in life I've learned to count on.  But with the exception of a few over-priced hostels, fancy restaurants, and private homes, good bathrooms in Israel are a rarity.   Especially in public transportation centers, usually they're small with disgusting floors, toilet seats that can give you hepatitis just by looking at them, and no hot water or soap in the sinks.  Toilet paper is a godsend, and believe it or not, sometimes you have to pay for these conditions!  Forget the shekel, where's the nearest bush?
2. Pickles - That's right, I will not miss the pickles.  More importantly, I am really looking forward to some good ol' Milwaukee's Baby Kosher Dill Pickles.  Apparently pickles here are traditionally made from small gherkins and pickled only in saltwater, and I just plum don't like them.  I must admit, I never thought I would actually miss pickles.
3. Intersections - I have yet to figure out exactly how intersections in Israel are engineered, but it makes getting to an opposite corner of a large intersection a time-consuming endeavor.  You see, in the middle of each major street there is a median, and on that median is a walk signal which means that on a single road you have to wait for two walk signals (and yes, you'd better wait for them if you're at all interested in making it to the other side).  If luck is with you both signals will be green at the same time, but otherwise, well, have fun waiting.
4. The Israeli concept of "waiting in line" - Rather, the nonexistent concept of "waiting in line."  You've heard me say that Israelis are impatient and nowhere is that demonstrated better than in any situation where you might expect people to wait in a line - ticket counters, getting onto a bus or train, getting food in the chadar ochel.  Once I had to buy a train ticket at the train station and there was one person in front of me and an old lady behind me.  The moment the person in front left, the 80-some-year-old lady cut in front of me then, mid-transaction, turned around and muttered an unapologetic "Slichah" (Forgive me).  I know that America may be full of false sincerity and superficial manners, but I kind of prefer that when it comes to queues.
5. Customer service - Again, this doesn't seem to rank high on Israeli's priority lists.  Besides, Israelis tend to show you exactly how they feel and if the girl behind the counter at the convenience store making minimum wage isn't interested in her job or her customers, she's not going to put on a smile just to make your Bisli-shopping experience a little more comfortable.  Unfortunately this mindset also extends to restaurants, shops, banks, phone companies, etc.  Oh gosh, could you even imagine the DMV?  The horror!
6. Tile floors - Whether it's because of the heat, the sand, or both, Israeli homes are devoid of carpeting.  Many people have area rugs, but the floors themselves are always tiled or made of some other cold, hard material.  Sure, it's reasonable, but I miss carpeting!  I miss walking around barefoot on fuzzy textures, and I miss not feeling sand under bare feet.  Israel, thumbs up for pragmatism, thumbs down for comfort.
7. Israeli bachurim - That is, guys about my age.  Cocky, over-confident, and ready and willing to hit on anything with a pulse.  I'll admit, the first couple times guys hit on me here I thought I was hot stuff, thinking "Wow!  He's interested in me? Well then, I'd better not turn this opportunity down!  Who knows when this will happen again?"  Turns out that if you're a girl under the age of 30, that opportunity can happen any time you're in public.  Case in point, a guy tried to get my number as I was getting into a taxi.  And it wasn't the taxi driver.  Furthermore, chivalry is utterly ignored here (probably because it doesn't get a guy very far with bullshit-intolerant Israeli women).
8. Ugly cities - Sure I enjoy the amenities of cities like Jerusalem, Haifa, and Tel Aviv, but to be quite honest, there are large portions of every major city that are just plain ugly.  Even the nice areas are replete with abandoned, crumbling buildings covered in graffiti.  It's one of the reasons I don't like spending time in the cities, though admittedly I've never been much of a city girl to begin with.  I've heard, though, that it's not entirely because of laziness to tear them down; apparently any time anyone does a construction project in Israel that would entail digging, there's a significant possibility they'll dig up something of historical or anthropological significance and when they do they have to stop construction, wait for someone to do an archaeological dig, then continue.  Like earlier this year when they were digging up a road in Jaffa and they found remnants of an ancient cistern or aqueduct.  It can end up being a waste of time and money, but that's the price you pay for living on ancient land.
9. Heat - Bet you didn't expect that one, eh?  I come from a cold state that celebrates sunny days and spends most of its year under cloud cover receiving some form of precipitation or another, so imagine my discomfort when in May all precipitation stopped and we were left with humid, boiling temperatures that will only get hotter as the summer rolls along.  Additionally the recommended amount of water per day is 3 liters at minimum, which if I were to even attempt would have me going to the bathroom a few times every hour.  Thank goodness for the lovely mazgan (air conditioner) found in most rooms.  But not all.
10. The incredible sadness that is missing my friends and family - Yeah, yeah, I'm getting sappy.  For as much as I love Israel and my time here, an 8-hour time difference and over 6,000 miles of distance makes for one very homesick traveler.  I have some friends I haven't had more than two conversations with since I've been here and some I haven't talked with at all.  And holidays are the worst because, as I've discovered, it's not where you celebrate, it's who you're with that makes it all worthwhile.  This is, and always will be, my greatest pull away from Israel.

So there we have it.  And y'know what?  This was a really challenging list to make and even required help from my roommate to come up with an even ten.  I can assure you, my list of things I will miss is significantly longer, but I'll save [some of] that for another time.  At least now you know Israel isn't entirely perfect.

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*I have deliberately ignored that whole "Our neighbors want to destroy us" issue.  It's not that I'm ignoring the elephant in the room, but that really it hasn't dampened my spirits while here.  Score one for carpe diem philosophy!

The Many Faces of Israel

Just when I think I know what Israel looks like, I travel to some new corner of this unbelievably tiny country and discover some new facet of its incredibly varied landscape.  I love those moments!

Today the Ulpan had its last day trip, this time to the furthest reaches of the country.  We left the kibbutz shortly after 6:00 AM and drove north, stopping once for a picnic breakfast before arriving in Metula, the northernmost moshavah (like a moshav but even more closely resembling a small town).  In Metula, which is essentially nestled in the borders of Lebanon.  Not necessarily the most comfortable situation, but at least they've got border patrol to help make sure no unsavory people wander into their pretty moshav (and I'm not talking about the Lebanese - there are unsavory Israelis, too).

Nahal Hatzbani

We spent very little time there before heading to Nahal Snir, also called Nahal Hatzbani (the latter is the Arabic name) where we hiked along and through the river on a short path.  I think it took us less than a couple hours but it was fun and absolutely beautiful, yet again.  This time the river was much larger and stronger than the ones I've been on previously, and had a number of small waterfalls feeding it from the sides. This was the kind of place I would love to see with a little more solitude.  Maybe someday...

Jordan River

After taking a dip in the river at the end of the trail, we went back to the bus, changed quickly so as not to drench the seats, then made the short drive to the Jordan River for kayaking.  With the exception of one itty-bitty little fall of about a meter, the river was wide and calm and rather forgiving when most of us had no idea how to paddle the large rafts.  I'll admit, I thought my paddling skills were pretty decent considering my experience paddling canoes from my camp days, but a raft is not a canoe and four people in a boat is different than two.  Alas, we did get turned around a couple times.

Upon reaching the finish line we piled out of our rafts and kayaks and enjoyed a lunch buffet of salads and fresh pizza cooked on-site.  Our Ulpan director is all about surprises and we were all content with this day's tasty surprise.  So we sufficiently stuffed our faces, changed into dryer clothes, then got on the bus and fell asleep for the three-hour ride back home.

The Cottage Cheese Lesson

As my time left in Israel ticks away at a rate which I am convinced is faster than three months ago (thank you, Warped Perspective), I like to reflect on my experiences and make lists of the plethora of new things I've done, things I've enjoyed, people I've met, and so on.  One of my mental lists is "Foods Israel Taught Me to Love," and I would like to share this list with you, in all its glory.  Enjoy!

Foods Israel Taught Me to Love

1. Cottage Cheese - I'm told the dairy products and white cheeses in Israel are better than they are in the U.S., but I come from the Dairy State so I feel this is a blasphemous presumption.  Still, I never dared to try this lumpy stuff when I was at home but was convinced to try it here.  Turns out I love the stuff (5% is my favorite), and I'm warned I will be disappointed when I go home.
2. Peppers - I don't know why, but I never really appreciated red, orange, and yellow peppers at home. I would eat them, but I would never choose to put them in something on my own.  I just didn't enjoy them as much.  Now, however, I love peppers.  One of my favorite things to do is slice them up and saute them with olive oil and a little salt and eat them just like that.  Maybe it's just that I never cared for green peppers, which are significantly less tasty.  When I get home, no more of this "saving a couple cents on the cheaper green peppers" business.  Bright, colorful peppers all the way!
3. Israeli Salad - Keep in mind that this list is about things Israel taught me to love.  Ever since my taste buds have accepted vegetables as a permissible food group, I have learned to enjoy salad in one form or another.  Generally speaking I don't like lettuce (tastes bitter to me), so I can usually only enjoy a regular salad with at least a minimal amount of salad dressing.  Traditional Israeli salad, on the other hand, is made with a base of finely chopped tomatoes and cucumbers tossed in olive oil, then people add what they like.  I have decided that not only have I become a master of making Israeli salad but that mine is the best (please ignore the yelling Israelis behind me - they don't know what they're talking about).  In addition to the necessary tomatoes and cucumbers, mine must have yellow, red, or orange bell peppers and a little bit of onion, plus salt and pepper.  I can make a full plate of this stuff in a little over five minutes if I have a good knife (still working on cutting my time), and this is a staple I will be adding to my diet in the U.S.
4. Regular, unsweetened yogurt - The trick to enjoying this is mixing it with honey.  At the beginning of the Ulpan I found a big jar of unused date honey which I quickly appropriated as my own and use to make a breakfast of unsweetened yogurt with granola.  Add some finely chopped apples or pears and I have myself a most delicious and healthy breakfast.
5. Shakshouka - Admittedly there was no teaching involved in this one aside from the lesson of its existence.  How is it that I'd never before heard of such a simple recipe?  Chopped tomatoes, peppers, garlic, onions, and spices to make a sauce, then crack an egg into the middle of it and let it cook.  Fifteen minutes for heaven in a sauce pan.  
6. Tea - A year ago I hated tea.  Every single tea I ever tried I thought tasted like, well, hot flavored water, and that was not appealing to me.  Last semester I found an herbal tea that I fell in love with, but only because of its intense flavor and scent.  In Israel (and the Middle East in general), not liking tea is a sin even greater than not liking coffee (no matter the temperature outside), so in order to avoid the looks of shock and disgust upon turning down an offer for a cup of tea with dessert, I tried more.  As it turns out, it is actually quite permissible to add sugar and, if it's black tea, milk.  Tried a bit of that and Voila!  Another beverage in my diet.
7. Nana - Also known as spearmint, fresh nana leaves are added to either hot water or lemonade to make some amazingly refreshing drinks.  Though I like mint I never liked mint leaves in anything, but that's because the mint at home is usually peppermint.  Spearmint, on the other hand, is one of my favorites, and I love using it here.  Now to find a spearmint plant at home... At least I know that Wissotzky offers Nana Tea which, if not found in stores, I can order online.
8. Halva - I remember trying this sesame dessert once at home and hating it, but that was probably around ten years ago and I figured it might be worth trying again.  And y'know what?  If you can appreciate the somewhat gritty consistency it's actually really good.  Dangerously so.  The scale can attest to that.
9. Grated Tomatos - Yup, you read that right, and it's exactly what you think it is.  Take a few tomatoes, cut them in half, then run them up and down the side of a box grater.  What you get is a tomato-y pulp which is really good on its own or spiced with basil.  Unfortunately, the only contexts in which I've eaten this glorious condiment were with malawach and jachnun, and I'm not sure I'll be able to get those in the States.  But I'm sure I'll find some excuse to make grated tomatoes.  Maybe with blintzes?  A light tomato sauce for pasta?  A new chip dip?  Condiment for scrambled eggs?  The possibilities are endless!
10. Hard-boiled eggs - Just because this list needs an even ten, I'm including this.  I think this is one of those situations where my taste buds just changed, but Israelis love their hard-boiled eggs and now I do, too.  Interestingly enough, despite the fact that they often have hard-boiled eggs in their diet, I have never seen egg salad here.  Go figure.

So there we are, my list of 10 Foods Israeli Taught Me to Love.  Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go devise an intense workout plan and diet for when I get home...

Jump in!

In an effort to get as much out of my last few weeks here, a friend and I went on a great trip Friday afternoon through Saturday to the Nahal El Al (El Al Stream) in the southern Golan Heights, near the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee).  On Friday we rented a car, drove to a campsite near the hiking trail, pitched a tent and enjoyed a dinner of grilled hot dogs and peppers with a bottle of wine and a loaf of challah (it was Shabbat, after all), and copious amounts of conversation ranging a wide variety of topics both erudite and mundane, philosophical, introspective, and just plain fun.

Mapal Shachor

The next day we had a light breakfast then packed up and headed to the beginning of the Nahal El Al trail.  Being a weekend the trail was packed with hikers and families seeking a dip in the cool waters of the stream.  We started by descending into the river's ravine then hiked along its bank - fighting thistles and reeds the whole way - until we reached the first of two waterfalls, the Mapal Shachor (Black waterfall).  The area surrounding the pool was crowded with people and we eagerly joined them, though had to scale a rock wall to do it (thank goodness for metal handles driven into the stone).  My friend wasted no time in wading into the frigid water, and I hesitantly followed him.  Finally he convinced me to jump in, so I stripped to my swimsuit, left my camera at a safe distance from the water, and after a little more convincing, submerged.

It was freezing, but absolutely wonderful.  Do you know, this is the first time I have ever swam in a waterfall-fed pool of fresh water?  It was amazing!

I made the jump!  (Even though my
friend couldn't get evidence
of the jump itself.)

We got out, dried off a bit, then continued on our hike until we reached another deep pool further along the river.  Here, the best way in was to jump from the rocks on the side directly to the middle of the pool which was just deep enough to do a decent cannonball.  Again, it took a little convincing, but I managed to add yet another first to my growing list of experiences in Israel: jumping into a natural pool from a rock ledge.  Not very high, but still an accomplishment and worthy of comment in my mind.

After drying a bit on the hot, white stone ledge and talking with an Israeli hiker, we picked ourselves up and kept going until we reached the Mapal Lavan, the White Falls.  This was a significantly more impressive waterfall in terms of its height, but had less shade surrounding it in comparison to the Black Falls.  To reach the pool below we had the convenience of stairs that had been carved into the descending path, and when we got to the bottom we found a spot to enjoy a lunch of peanut butter, fruit, granola bars, and tuna.  A lovely combination, don't you think?

Mapal Lavan

After the White Falls we turned around the way we had come and without stopping the return hike was very short.  But we were tired and we had a three-hour drive ahead of us (which turned into more because of heavy traffic).

The entire weekend I couldn't stop thinking about how happy I was to be experiencing all this.  Hiking, swimming, seeing waterfalls, road-tripping - all these things I never do at home.  Why is it that it isn't until I travel halfway around the world that I push myself to have these experiences, many of which I could have at home?  I can only hope that I continue to push myself to explore more of my own home once I return and discover similarly wonderful things.

Like a dream

Out of nowhere a triple realization struck me with a force and clarity I could not have anticipated:

In one month, I will no longer be in Israel.

In one month, I will be home.

In one month, I will no longer be home.

In the last couple weeks I have met new people and had wonderful experiences that have lifted my spirits and given me yet more reason to love this already astounding adventure.  A few weeks ago a new girl about my age moved to the kibbutz and joined us at the factory and we immediately became friends.  A few days later I met a girl at the pub who is originally from Canada but just finished her Israeli army service and also lives on the kibbutz - yet another new friend.  I met a wonderful guy hitchhiking and thanks to him got my opportunity to see an Israeli wedding - new friend number three (and possibly more).

I intend to pack as much as I can into these remaining four weeks.  Planning on hiking in the desert this weekend, I'll hike at least twice more in the Golan Heights, hopefully at least one more trip to Jerusalem and Tel Aviv each, and I have to get to Safed yet.  And while I'm doing all that I will be cramming in every last bit of Hebrew knowledge I can while I'm still surrounded by people speaking it.  I will also continue to try every new and unique food and dessert that I can because life is too short to say no to good food from another country, gosh darnit!  So what if I'll have to work extra hard to get rid of its not-so-wonderful effects on my tummy?  It'll be worth it.

Even after four months here, I have moments where immense feelings of gratitude rush through my thoughts, my feelings, my veins, and I am filled with the breathtaking realization that I am living a dream.  Two years ago while sitting in a hotel room in Jerusalem toward the end of my Birthright trip to Israel, I wrote in my journal that I would come back to Israel someday.  I also wrote a prayer that this would not end up like the many similar promises I've made to myself throughout my life, but that this would come to fruition and that I would actually follow through.  As I talked about this dream more, voicing it to friends, family, and acquaintances, it became increasingly more concrete and blurred the arbitrarily imposed lines between reverie and reality.  At every step of the pre-journey journey - applying and getting accepted to the program, finalizing details, buying my plane tickets, getting my visa - I got a little more excited and renewed my own faith in my plans.  And at every step, I thought to myself "I can't believe I'm doing this."

A couple weeks before I left I spoke to a friend on the phone and with apprehension, trepidation, and excitement in my voice I asked him, "Who is this girl?  This person who, in two weeks' time, is hopping on a plane alone to fly to another country for five months?  This surely isn't me."

But here I am, flesh and blood, mind and heart, sitting in 28 degree (82 degrees F) weather, looking out at hibiscus bushes and a tree with purple flowers, listening to bird song occasionally accompanied by the soft rustle of leaves in a breeze, enjoying a calm day before we celebrate the holiday of Shavuot, and the thought that permeates my mind is:

"I am so lucky to be living my dream.  I am in Israel, and I love it."

Who knows where my path will lead?

Alas, this dream will come to an end in precisely 28 days and I will be on my way back home to be with the family and friends I miss so much.  But at the same time I am flying towards one home I will be leaving another - a paradox of the most heart-wrenching sort.

People keep asking me if I'm planning on making aliyah so that I can live in Israel and to every one of them I say "I don't know."  I know I will go back to the U.S. in July and graduate with my degree next spring.  But quite frankly, I know nothing after that.  I refuse to let myself make plans because the reality is that in my time here I have fallen in love with this country in new and profound ways that will ensure it always has a role in my future.  The trouble is I don't know exactly how.

One of the many things I have been learning here in addition to Hebrew, Israeli culture, and how to make the perfect Israeli salad is how to trust, how to have faith, which surprisingly is something I severely lacked throughout much of my life.  Despite the fact that this has not been a specifically religious experience (if my difficulties keeping Kosher here are any indication), I feel it has given me the opportunity to grow as a Jew and, more importantly, as a human being.  I feel more calm, more secure, more trusting that while perhaps not all things can be explained, some things do in fact happen for a reason.

So even though I don't know exactly what will happen in the future, I'm okay with that.  And since I don't know, I guess I'll just have to enjoy every last moment of this dream before I step on a plane and wake up.

Kol chatan v'kol kalah

Wow, Israeli weddings are crazy.  Colorful, extravagant, boisterous, full of amazing food, and crazy.  That is, if the one I went to on Thursday night is any indication of the norm.

Quick back story:  I met a guy last Friday who invited me out with him, and when we were trying to set a date I said that I was free on Thursday but he told me his best friend was getting married that evening.  Lucky for me he invited me to come as his date, and I'm very glad I accepted!

The moment I saw the bride and groom in their waiting/green/pre-wedding room (really don't know what it should be called) I knew this would be quite an experience.  The bride's dress was replete with sequins and Swarovski crystals (real or not, don't know) and the groom - also dressed in traditional white - had eye-catching designs and silver embroidery throughout his outfit.

The rabbi was late and the ceremony didn't start until after 9:00 pm, but once we got the word that everything was ready we made our way to the roof of the banquet hall where a giant chuppah (wedding canopy) and stage were set up on the Astroturf-covered ground.  Food was being grilled and heated around the perimeter and people milled about, talking and shmoozing contentedly.  I was incredibly thankful for the gold and black dress (from a friend), black and silver shoes, and gaudy earrings I sported because the guests were dressed to their best.  Women had their hair done, sparkles and shiny things were nearly blinding, and I don't think the word "cotton" could be found as a primary fabric on a single person's outfit.

What happened next is utterly inexplicable to me, which means it will be impossible for me to explain to you.  Jewish wedding ceremonies by their very nature are short - typically 15 minutes at minimum - and additional length is dependent on whether or not there are speeches or other additions to the standard ceremony.  This particular ceremony was on the shorter side, but what it lacked in length it made up for in special effects and pomp: giant shofars, sparklers, synthesized background music, their own talented Mizrahi singer (Middle Eastern vocal genre), the whole nine meters (totally getting into this whole "metric system" thing).

Me with the bride!

Once the small wedding party was situated where they should be under the wedding canopy, guests who were standing alongside the stage jumped onto it and stood right alongside the cameramen whose large lenses were only a couple arm-lengths away from the couple.  We all had our cameras and phones out, taking pictures and video as the ceremony hectically progressed.  Occasionally I looked out at the rest of the guests and noticed that many were not paying attention to what was going on with those two people dressed all in white.  Thus I came to the following conclusion about this particular wedding:  The ceremony, the actual marriage was not the most important part of that evening.

Following the ceremony we departed and regrouped on one of the floors of the banquet hall where we were greeted by the newlyweds and their families, along with music, lights, cameras, and tons of tables laden with an extensive variety of salads and appetizers.  We sat and started digging in, then when we saw the couple dancing some of us joined them on the dance floor.  I ate, I danced, came back and ate some more, went to dance again, and sometimes went back to the table to rest or talk to my date's friends.  Surprisingly, even though I had already eaten salads and fish and chicken kabobs, more food was brought to me every time I sat down!  It just kept coming!  And it was all incredibly delicious.

We danced and enjoyed ourselves until the DJ stopped the music around 1:30, at which point we were all far more exhausted than we let ourselves believe.  I left with my date, the newlyweds, and the bride's sister, dropped them off at the bride's apartment in Ramla, then got a ride back to the Ulpan.  What a night.

I was told that if I ever had the opportunity to go to an Israeli wedding I absolutely had to and I'm very glad I went, but I must admit that this is not the kind of wedding I would ever want for myself.  In telling another friend about it she aptly described it as more of a "production" than a celebration, and she was absolutely correct.  The focus was not on the joyous marriage between two people in love but rather on the experience, the music, the lights, the special effects.  I didn't feel there was anything innately intimate about the wedding and, most significantly to me, I didn't feel the emotion I thought I might.  I always get teary-eyed at weddings, but aside from a moment or two during the ceremony I felt nothing of that sort.  I was a little disappointed in that respect.

Of course, I understand that weddings are different for everybody and Israel is also not the same as the U.S.  I would love to see more weddings in Israel to get a better feeling for the traditions of the general populace and see how they compare to one another.  Some people told me that this wedding is standard in some ways among the Sepharadim in Israel while others said it was more over-the-top than most, and I know that it's impossible for a single wedding to be an example of all the weddings in a particular country.  As such I ask that you do not form an opinion of all Israeli weddings based on my recounting alone.

Overall, I'm incredibly happy I went and had that fun, exciting experience.  Add that to the long list of things I've done in Israel that I never expected to do!

Dear God, Where's my skirt?

On Friday I decided to go to Jerusalem to spend Shabbat in the Old City at the same hostel I stayed at the last time I was there.  I felt a strong need to get off the kibbutz and enjoy a more spiritual and religious Shabbat than I've had in a while, plus the allure of the Ashkenazi foods I grew up with (gefilte fish and kugel, to name a couple) was incredibly tempting.  (For as much as I love the food of Mediterranean Jews, the Eastern European stuff will always hold a special place in my heart.)  So I packed my bag quick, hitchhiked to Rehovot, and hopped on a bus to J-town.

After stopping at the shuk and also buying a new pair of cheap brown sandals to replace my way-past-dead tan flip-flops, I walked to the Old City, bought some bread from a vendor, and managed to make it to the hostel without getting lost!  Huge accomplishment, if I do say so myself.  As I expected, the moment I walked in I was greeted with warm smiles befitting the return of a good friend more than the entrance of a stranger.  I picked out my bed, got myself comfortable, schmoozed a bit then went to get ready for Shabbat.

That's when I noticed that disaster had struck.

After making my bed I had taken out the one skirt I'd brought with me - one of the beautiful, silky wrap-around skirts I'd bought since coming to Israel - and spread it on the bed in hopes that it might de-wrinkle a bit.  I'd gone downstairs and when I returned to take my shower, my skirt was gone.

Now, I know that I have a penchant for misplacing things, forgetting what I've done with something, or other similar acts of mental clumsiness.  But I searched high and low for that skirt, on every visible public surface of that hostel, under beds, and through all my belongings (which amounted to one lightly-packed backpack), and it was absolutely nowhere to be found.  I talked to every single person in the building asking if anyone had seen it and with the exception of the one girl who saw me take it out of my bag, all answers were negative.

If the last time I was there was any indication of the norm, then I had no reason to feel that either I or my belongings would be at risk among such generously warm-hearted girls.  In fact, once they heard I had nothing to wear for Shabbat, two girls dressed me up like a doll in a black skirt, black shoes (since my new brown sandals couldn't possibly work with black), a beautiful azure blue shirt, and a necklace to match.

But their kindness did not negate the fact that I was upset over losing my skirt.  And unfortunately, it tainted my entire Shabbat experience.

Yes, it's just a skirt.  It's a material possession, and not even an expensive one at that.  It's more or less replaceable, and it's not as if it had significant sentimental value, other than being something I bought myself in Israel.  Being a person who doesn't buy a lot of souvenirs, that was important to me.  And not knowing where it is, if someone took it or if I absentmindedly put it somewhere else is challenging for me to handle.

Still, I tried to enjoy myself.  I made a new friend before dinner Friday night and we went together to a family's house for some wonderful food and warm companionship.  But in this ultra-Orthodox community, I wasn't entirely comfortable with the man of the house.  His wife was absolutely lovely and often chided him for bringing up topics or making comments on things that might have been better left unsaid or ignored, but I felt ill-at-ease with my impression that he thought I was new to religious Judaism and somehow ignorant of the customs.  Far from it - just because I'm not an orthodox Jew doesn't mean I don't know the blessings, the rituals, the rules.  Secretly, I was offended.

The next day we ate lunch with a most eclectic group of ultra-Orthodox Jews.  The wife - a happy, smiling, loving woman who loved bright colors, art, and sequins - was very much into Jewish mysticism and seemed to connect every aspect of her life to spirituality and God.  Some of her guests were equally esoteric while others were more interested in pragmatism, though all seemed impassioned and excited to be living lives founded in unwavering faith in God.  Though the woman's smile and spirit were contagious, I felt challenged by the way even the most seemingly mundane things were given a spiritual significance.  Additionally, when I tried to offer my own opinions or potential reasons for religious experiences, she doubted them and almost immediately countered with explanations she considered more correct, more true.  Perhaps she was right, but I was silently defensive and I began to recognize in myself a distinct unwillingness to accept the outlook and way of life she represented.  (Click here to read about my observations of the dichotomy between pragmatism and spirituality in Judaism.)

And throughout it all, I could not stop thinking about that stupid skirt.

One of the beliefs members of the ultra-Orthodox community often hold is the concept of fate, predestination, and that all things happen for a reason. These are concepts I have always personally had trouble accepting for a variety of reasons.  But if I put aside my walls and barriers and unwillingness for a moment and think as they do, I can ask the following questions:

Why did my skirt go missing?  And what am I to learn from it?

For the last few years I have been making a conscious effort to calm myself in the face of trifling upsets, to go with the flow a bit more and make clear distinctions between what truly matters and what is simply not worth worrying about.  Intellectually-speaking, I know that losing that skirt is not really that important.  It wasn't a prized possession of significant monetary value, it wasn't a gift or memento from a long-lost friend, nor did its existence in my wardrobe make any real difference in the grand scheme of things.  And losing that skirt provided strangers an opportunity to act in kindness and generosity - in a word, a mitzvah (good deed).  Looking at it that way, perhaps it was a good thing I lost that skirt.

But similarly, in the grand scheme of things, why would God not want me to have it?  Did he feel I only need two instead of three?  Or maybe he has better fashion sense than me and it was actually ugly or made my butt look big.  

You see where my skepticism of this philosophy starts kicking in?

By the end of Shabbat, I was feeling worn out and frustrated, upset and even angry that the weekend I had been looking forward to turned out to be so much less than I expected.  But as I contemplated it all on the bus ride home, it occurred to me that the events of the weekend had revealed my own insecurities and defenses, things that I still have to work on in order to become a kinder, happier, and more open person.  Isn't that what we should all be working towards, religious or not?

How's Israel?

My favorite question, and the hardest to respond to, this is the one thing my friends and family are sure to ask every time we talk.  "How's Israel?"  How can one possibly respond to that succinctly?

I realize most of my posts of late have been about holidays or history (or both) with little description of the daily activities that make this experience what it is, and some of you may be reading this thinking "Sure, that's all well and good, but how's Israel?"

(At least I like to pretend that's what you're thinking.)

Before answering that question I have to make one very simple but very significant distinction:  Israel is not the same as the Ulpan - they are two different worlds entirely, complete with different languages, types of people, experiences, and various other qualities, separated by this thing called a "kibbutz" in the middle.  To give you an idea of the differences, a simple list should suffice:

Ulpan (based on averages and overall impressions)
Primary Languages: Spanish, English
Median age: 18 years
Popular music choice: Kumbia, Latin pop
Free time activities: sunbathing, partying, napping, yelling
Most common meals (outside of dining hall): anything heated up from a frozen package (schnitzel, pizza, etc.);     pasta; rice; hard-boiled eggs; anything with chocolate

Israel
Primary Languages: Hebrew, English (Arabic and Russian, too)
Median age: 29.4 years
Popular music choice: American pop, Mizrahi, anything on the Galgalatz radio station
Free time activities: having not spent too much time off the kibbutz, I'm not so sure.  Napping?  Shoe shopping?  Yelling?
Most common meals: hummus; falafel; shawarma; Israeli salad; schnitzel; anything with chickpeas, sunflower seeds, or sesame; hard-boiled eggs; anything with chocolate

As you can tell, there are some similarities between the two.  In either case you can generally count on some amount of English by most of the population, schnitzel and chocolate are loved by all (though not at the same time), and yelling seems to be something of a favorite pastime for Israelis and Ulpanistim alike.  But the two are definitely different and at times - when I'm in class or at lunch or sitting in my room blogging - I am convinced the Ulpan is not even part of Israel, and that it is not until I get away from the Ulpan, cross the kibbutz, and step off of it that I enter into the country I thought I'd been in all along.

I am feeling the undeniable urge to be brutally honest and the truth is, I'm getting a little sick of the Ulpan.  Don't get me wrong, I love my teacher, my work, and learning a new language, but learning, working, eating, and (trying to) relax[ing] with 24 of my not-always-closest-friends is getting a little tiring.  Alright, a lot tiring.  I'm sure you can understand such frustrations, especially coming from the unsociable nerd I am.  (I still don't understand how Kumbia and cheap Vodka are still so appealing to some of my comrades.)

Israel, on the other hand, is awesome.  It's getting hotter so I am incredibly thankful that the kibbutz pool is open and I've been making great use of the area roped off for laps.  I am still in love with the rude and gruff Israelis who surprise me at every turn and I'm looking forward to doing more traveling in my last seven weeks in the country (wow, can't believe that's all that's left!).  As my Hebrew improves I get increasingly more eager to test myself among the natives, and my favorite compliment is, unquestionably, "You've only been here over three months?!  Mitzuyan!  Where did you learn Hebrew before?  You didn't?  That's impressive!" . . .or any variation thereof.

I'm happy with the things I've done, the people I've met, the experiences I've had in Israel thus far.  Let's add some of them up, shall we?

• Been to the Tel Aviv Opera
• Saw Victor Wooten perform in Tel Aviv
• Hiked two portions of the Israel Trail
• Stayed in hostels in Jerusalem and Haifa
• Been through at least four "Old Cities" (Jerusalem, Akko, Yafo, Ramla)
• Bought three wrap skirts and two pairs of Thai Fisherman's Pants (which I'll just refer to as "Israeli pants" even though they're not)
• Eaten plenty of falafel, shawarma, pita, and hummus, but I'm nowhere near done tasting all of that
• Traveled to and stayed in a few kibbutzim and moshavim around the country
• Met, talked to, and befriended complete strangers
• Hitchhiked
• GOTTEN TAN!  BY ACCIDENT!

The kibbutz itself has also afforded me some wonderful experiences, such as meeting Shoshi and her family, and more recently the Nadav family, all of whom feed me gratuitously and offer me unsolicited hospitality in ways that only Israelis know how:  "Just come over for some nes cafe any time you want!"  And just in case my mom or any other Jewish mommies back home are worried I'm not eating enough, fear not: the Jewish imahot here wouldn't dare let such an atrocity happen.  (I've come to terms with the fact that I've got some serious gym-work ahead of me when I get home.)

Another wonderful kibbutz surprise:  On Thursday night I went to the pub (which I just about never do) and serendipitously met a Canadian girl turned Israeli who just finished her army service and is living on the kibbutz for another month before going home to visit, then moving to Jerusalem.  Turns out she's been here the whole time, at least when she wasn't on her base, and I never met her!  Well, I suppose it's not that much of a surprise; after all, it is a pretty big kibbutz and she was only home on weekends.  Anyway, she's a little older than me and, well, I think I made a friend :).  (Funny how no matter what age I am a new friend always makes me a little giddy.)

And these recent kibbutz surprises come right when I needed it most, just as I was reaching my threshold of patience for the Ulpan and some of its members.  I guess if you're patient enough, some of the things you need in life can find their way to you.  You just have to keep your eyes, mind, and heart open.

So how's Israel, you ask?  

It's wonderful!

Just as long as I don't have to spend too much time on the Ulpan.

Israel- Defying the Odds

I fully admit this video is entirely about bragging rights. Feeling pretty proud of this country I'm in :)

The New and the Old - Tel Aviv and Yafo

In case I hadn't already figured it out, I have firmly come to the conclusion that it is impossible to see even a single Israeli city in one day, let alone two, even if it is meticulously planned out and run by expert Israeli tour guides.  On Tuesday we had our third tiyul - trip - this time to Tel Aviv and the neighboring city of Yafo (Jaffa - like the oranges).  We went to Independence Hall, saw many "firsts" of the area and the country (first kiosk, first train station, first Jewish neighborhoods, first movie theater, etc.), went to Yafo and walked through the Old City, saw remains of an Egyptian tomb (Egyptian dude moved to Yafo a long long time ago), learned about Greek, Jewish, Christian, and Arab influences on the city, ate at Doctor Shakshouka (awesome!), shopped in the Shuk HaPishpeshim (flee market), saw Rabin Square in Tel Aviv and learned about assassinated Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, then got on the bus and came back to the kibbutz.

Whew.

Here are some of the basics that you should know about Tel Aviv and Yafo:  Tel Aviv is the second largest city in Israel but is the most cosmopolitan.  Similarly, though Jerusalem is the capital city, Tel Aviv is the artistic and economic center of Israel.  It is home to skyscrapers, beach-front hotels, markets and malls, theaters and concert halls, corporate offices, R&D centers, and a vibrant 24/7 social atmosphere for Israelis and tourists alike.  It was built on the outskirts of Yafo (Jaffa, in its common English transliteration), a predominantly Arab city, and today Tel Aviv and Yafo are part of a single municipality.  Tel Aviv-Yafo population: 404,000 (5% of the total Israeli population).  Population of greater Tel Aviv Metropolitan Area: 3,206,400 (about 42% of the total Israeli population).

Forefront: Old
Background: New

Tel Aviv's name has an interesting etymology combining the old and new in a couple of different ways.  The name was chosen in homage of Theodore Herzl's book Altneuland - "Old New Land" (Herzl was the founder of modern Zionism and a primary figure in Israel's modern history).  When the book was translated to Hebrew, the translator opted for a more symbolic rather than direct translation of the title and chose the name of a city that also happens to be mentioned in the Bible.  The name itself is difficult to translate to English because although "Aviv" is simply "spring," a "tel" is a formation that is unique to Israel.  It is a hill that has developed from the recurring construction and destruction of civilizations built one on top of the other - new on top of old - in layers.  Thus it was a fitting title for the translation of Herzl's book because the antiquity of ancient civilizations is juxtaposed against the youthful revival of spring.

Tel Aviv and Yafo are almost complete opposites in a variety of ways including history, religion, and architecture.  While Tel Aviv is a bustling metropolis, Yafo maintains its old winding alleyways and stone buildings, vast flea market (another skirt and pants for 75 shekel!  Woo!), and slightly slower-paced life.  Yafo also has a strong Arab population as it has for much of its history.  History, too, is a significant difference between the two cities; Tel Aviv was founded in 1909, but stories of Yafo go back to antiquity in both the Bible and Greek mythology.

I could talk a lot more about the tiyul, but I have to admit that while I do enjoy Yafo, yesterday's trip wasn't quite as enjoyable for me as our two previous ones.  Yes, Tel Aviv has a lot to offer (like the Victor Wooten concert I went to on Monday night), but I'm not much of a city girl and I prefer the art galleries and winding stone roads of Yafo.  And I can't quite put my finger on it, but for some reason I have something against touristy destinations and the tour groups of foreigners that frequent them.  Nevermind the fact that I am a tourist and was part of a tour group yesterday, nevermind that I love Israeli tour guides, and let's forget entirely that were it not for tourists, non-Hebrew speaking Anglophones wouldn't be able to go to restaurants around the country.  Yes, I realize I'm being a big ol' hypocrite, but I suppose I'd just rather be surrounded by the natives than people like me.

Still, despite the plethora of tourists and the inevitable "sheeple" (sheep + people) feeling I get whenever I'm in a tour group, I really did have an enjoyable time.  Like I said, lunch was amazing, I bargained for some more Israeli clothes, and I got to see and learn about one of Israel's most interesting cities.  All in all, a pretty good trip.  :)


P.S.: The Photos page has been updated with a link to the album featuring my pictures from our trip.  Enjoy!