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.

I'm home!

Greetings from Israel!  Or should I say, Shalom!

Now that I'm fully awake and feeling a little more refreshed, let me tell you about my travels which were, with the exception of the taxi ride, blissfully uneventful (keep reading for the taxi story).

The flight from Toronto to Tel Aviv was 11 hours, plus however long it took us to leave the airport (deicing was involved) and get to our gate at Ben Gurion Airport.  Needless to say, it was long.  Then the Passport Check was excruciatingly long for no apparent reason.  Long and hot.  I think my backpack gained ten pounds in that line.

Got my luggage with no problem (and it hadn't been destroyed), was able to get a cart for free, and made my way to the taxis.  Now here's where it gets interesting:

I managed to get the taxi with the one driver who spoke no English AND didn't know where the kibbutz was.  It seemed as if he hadn't ever heard of it.  I tried to tell him it was near Rehovot so he put that into his GPS and away we went.  In between saying my mantra "Trust the driver, trust the driver" while going around sharp turns near other cars, I thought "Well, if he drops me at Rehovot I guess I'll just have to find another taxi.  Or call my mom's friends who live there.  One way or another I'll get there, no need to worry.  Beseder."

Once we got near Rehovot there was a sign for Na'an (where my Kibbutz is) which he pointed out then put in his GPS.  Still, he ended up asking four or five other drivers if they knew how to get to the kibbutz and FINALLY we made it.  Thankfully, he only charged me the fair to Rehovot which was about $34.  Not too bad.

I was only the second Ulpan student to arrive, though as of last night there were seven here total, including myself.  One girl is from Germany (though originally from Russia), and she speaks rather fluent English.  She recognizes a need to work on it more so she's glad I'm here to practice with, but she's quite comprehensible.  There's a group of four from Argentina who speak Spanish almost exclusively.  One of the boys among them speaks enough English to converse and he's acting as a sort of translator for the rest of them.  Later yesterday evening another girl came from Zurich, Switzerland, whose English is also pretty good.  She even speaks a little French and some conversational Hebrew already.

This morning a French girl came and I'm told she doesn't speak any English, so hopefully I can meet up with her soon and introduce myself.  I'll get to practice French and she'll get a translator - a win-win in my book.

(Oh, that reminds me.  I met a lovely French Canadian woman in the Toronto airport and we had a pleasant conversation entirely in French.  I'm kind of glad we didn't sit near one another on the plane, though, because my brain would not have lasted 11 hours in a foreign language.)

As for the kibbutz itself, there's little to report.  From what I can tell it's a pretty big space with the Ulpan situated at the furthest point from where I came in.  I've only seen a couple kibbutz workers other than our Ulpan director.  Overall, things are pretty quiet where we are.  And I'll admit, it's not quite the idyllic Garden I had created in my mind; it reminds me rather of Camp Interlaken - muddy but fresh, the buildings old and filled with a miscellany of furniture and other items, none of them matching but creating the type of atmosphere that gives true meaning to the Hebrew phrase "Beseder" ("it's okay/alright").  For those who don't know, beseder perfectly characterizes the Israeli persona.

I don't get the Internet connection in my room and I forgot to bring my camera with me to the moadon (lounge, though I don't know if that's a direct translation) so I'll upload the pictures of my room later when I tell you more about the kibbutz itself.  In the meantime, just imagine something tiny.

SURVIVOR: Sky Edition

Okay, so it's not that bad, but let me detail the beginning of my trip.  You might find it interesting:

My plane was supposed to leave at 2:00 PM from Chicago so I planned to arrive before 11:30.  We arrived when I'd hoped, I said my goodbyes with my family, and went to the Air Canada Check-In desk.  While waiting for the gentleman I noticed that my flight had been canceled along with the one immediately preceding it.  Oh boy, I thought. I have to get to Toronto to make my connecting flight with Lufthansa and it's not that long of a layover.  What to do?

Well, G-d bless that kind man.  He put me on the next flight (which was -- conveniently for me -- delayed by an hour) and changed the rest of my itinerary so I could take a direct flight from Toronto to Tel Aviv on the same airline.  PLUS I have an awesome window seat with, I am told, nobody nearby!  Whether or not that will remain true by the time I board the plane is questionable, but at least it's not a packed flight.

Yet another blessing in disguise.  Thank goodness I got to the airport so early :)

I spent the flight working on my latest crochet project and listening to a kind gentleman who loved to brag about himself and his children, then successfully made my way through the Toronto airport upon disembarking.  I've not been in many airports, but I must say, this is a pretty nice one.  Very easy to get through, lots of signs, and includes a restaurant with a fantastic grilled veggie sandwich.  C'est magnifique!  (That was a nod to the French Canadians.)

I can tell I'm on my way to Israel because of the many people sitting around waiting for this flight, there are a fair number of Orthodox Jews, plus a few others who are just probably Jewish.  There's a girl nearby, looks to be my age, and I wonder if she might be going on the same trip I am.  Hey, it's not an impossibility!

Oh goodness, there are two guys in front of me who just opened the largest Toblerone bar I've ever seen.  I hope they don't notice me salivating.

I love people watching.

P.S.  Daddy, you were right.  It wasn't because of the weather that they canceled the flights.  The gentleman I sat next to on the last flight said it was almost definitely because they had too much spare room on each of the flights, so they canceled two in an attempt to move everyone to the surrounding flights, thereby maximizing the use of space and minimizing unnecessary flights.  Makes sense to me.