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.

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?

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.

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.

Empty chairs at empty tables

In the musical Les Miserables, Marius sings a melancholy song to a simple melody bemoaning the loss of his friends.  In the middle of a revolution, the middle of war, he pauses to reminisce about those who have gone, leaving memories and empty chairs behind.
____________________________________________________________________________

Tonight is erev Yom Hazikaron, the evening of Israel's Memorial Day for fallen soldiers, and unlike the colorful and triumphant Memorial Day of the United States, Israelis throughout the country are mournful, contemplative, melancholy, and reminiscent.  The evening began with the sound of the siren at 8:00 PM sharp and the entire country stood at attention.  As the sirens wound down at 8:01, the ceremonies began.  As always, this kibbutz's ceremony was marked by the arts - music, dance, and film - and in addition to honoring all fallen soldiers, it was a memorial to all the members of our kibbutz who died fighting for Israel.

The ceremony was short, lasting less than a half hour, but the evening was far from over.  While some kibbutznikim said their goodbyes and began walking home, many others turned toward the gallery next to the dining hall where there was an exhibit of banners with photographs and information of all of Naan's fallen soldiers.  But the true reason people came was to sing.

The room was set with rows of plastic chairs, and once people got their coffee, tea, and a little nosh (snack), quiet descended as the chairs were filled.  Someone approached one of the microphones at the front, gave a little speech (none of which I understood), then handed the microphone to another kibbutznik to lead the first song.  We each had booklets with the lyrics to the songs, but most people didn't need them.  These were old songs, memorized from little on, possibly even carried with them from birth.  The words lay not only in their minds but in their hearts, and each Israeli in that room undoubtedly felt the words with their being.

For each song a member of the kibbutz was prepared to lead it from the microphone with a piano accompaniment.  We let the soloist sing the first line or two before joining, often quietly and timidly as if each person were saying their own solemn prayer.  For an hour we serenaded one another with songs of loss and longing, of hope and heartache.  Sometimes people sang, sometimes they listened, and sometimes we all let ourselves fall silent while the voice of an angel beautified our pain and sorrow, lifting it to a place of peace we surely could not reach alone.

As I glanced around the room I felt the complete and total significance of this experience.  This was a communal therapy session, a moment for shared grief and memory, catharsis through song.  And during one particular melody I was reminded of that scene in Les Miserables and I realized I finally understood it.

I thought about how drastically different this Memorial Day is in comparison to the United States.  In Israel, I see none of the hubris, the brazen pride, the celebration.  Instead of praising the soldiers who made it home the focus is on those who can not be there to sing with us, on those who made it possible to sing even sad songs.  When all the songs had been sung I spoke with a friend on the kibbutz and he admitted that Israel is probably the only country in the world whose memorial day is so melancholy.  Really, how can it be otherwise when every single person in the country has been touched by war?  When every person in the country knows someone who has died.

Tomorrow morning there will be another siren, another ceremony, again all throughout the country.  Like on Yom Hazikaron leShoah, the radio stations and television channels will be somber.  It will be a day devoted to mourning brave citizens and bemoaning the wars that made this day a necessity.  While we work or study the first half of the day (for life must go on), we will remember - zocher - and pray for a day when the memory of the past is not accompanied by an equally fearsome present, a day when we can stop adding names to the lists of soldiers killed.  We will remember and we will pray for peace.

The Kosher Dilemma

I interrupt the Northern Travels Saga for the following commentary.

Growing up in a small town, I was used to having to work to maintain a Jewish identity and lifestyle.  I took for granted that my family kept Kosher and celebrated all the holidays while our minuscule Jewish community remained dedicated to our old synagogue.  As the only Jewish student in my class in my city and perhaps in a 20-mile radius, I was used to being the representative Jew.  In fact I relished the opportunity to be the example for my heritage and answer the questions of classmates and teachers.  Plus I'll admit, I liked the bragging rights that went with taking days off for all the major Jewish holidays.

As I grew older and began comparing my Jewish experiences to those of friends in larger cities I become increasingly aware of the challenges we faced and had been overcoming for years.  The sheer fact that my parents drove more than an hour just to buy Kosher meat (and sometimes three hours for Pesach shopping) - while normal in my reality - was beyond comprehension to friends who lived in the very cities to which we traveled.  Without Jewish classmates to commiserate about the challenges of Kashrut, I taught all my non-Jewish friends about the Kosher symbols on food packages, the rules of separation, the answers to their many "what if" questions.  "What happens if you accidentally eat something that isn't Kosher?"  Answer:  "I get struck by lightening."

Just kidding.

(I think.)

Though I never considered my experience more difficult than for other Jews, it's true that it can be hard to be an observant Jew, and the ordinarily basal act of eating is one of the greatest challenges.  Every single packaged product I buy in a grocery store must have a hechsher, Kosher symbol, stamped on it.  When I cook, making an entirely dairy meal devoid of any trace of meat (or vice versa) is habit.  And though I will eat at non-Kosher restaurants, I'll never order anything with meat, and I've learned to ask about even the tiniest details like what kind of stock is used for the soup.  But instead of complaining about these seemingly trivial matters, I take pride in living my life this way, continuing the traditions that have been passed to me through my mother, from her mother, through endless generations of Jewish women and families.

Still, it's not easy.  So you can imagine my excitement about being in Israel where Kashrut is taken for granted because unlike anywhere else in the world, it is the norm.

Most restaurants are Kosher, and even those that aren't certified as such are almost guaranteed to be using Kosher meat.  Almost all the meat found in standard grocery stores is likely to be Kosher (although pork is sold, too), as are the dry foods, candy, canned goods, and other packaged products.  And whether or not Israelis intend to eat Kosher, many of them do by default.  In a sense, Israel makes it easy to be nonobservantly observant.

I have noticed, however, that in some ways keeping Kosher in Israel is harder than I thought.  It's easy to forget to look and just assume.  But even then, it's a much easier task than in the Diaspora, and especially in comparison to a small town in the Midwest.

What I never would have expected, though, is how hard it is to keep Kosher during Pesach.

As if the rules weren't strict enough, during Pesach we up the ante and proclaim that what was Kosher the rest of the year isn't quite Kosher enough for this week-long holiday.  In order to fully remember our slavery in Egypt and our freedom today, we do not eat anything that is chametz including (but not limited to) leavened foods that are explicitly forbidden on Pesach.  While this includes standard carbohydrate items such as bread, pastries, pasta, cereal, granola, crackers, and others, it is also expanded to include any foods that were eaten during the rest of the year.  As a result, people who keep Kosher lePesach (Kosher for Passover) do not use anything that was opened or used before Pesach, they buy all new food, and even use different dishes, utensils, and kitchen appliances (blenders, mixers, etc.).  By being so stringent, one can be certain not to accidentally consume chametz on Pesach.

My entire life I have observed Pesach in the traditional manner of my family.  In the weeks preceding Pesach we clean the entire house - Spring Cleaning with a deadline, as my Mom has always called it.  She is particularly careful about cleaning the kitchen, including inside the cupboards and drawers and on all the top shelves that we can't reach anyway.  Two or three weeks before Pesach my mom starts doing her Pesach shopping which includes about 20 boxes of matza plus all derivations of the square tasteless cracker (matza meal and matza flour), pounds of chicken or turkey to serve at the seder, baking necessities (oil, butter, margarine, etc.), and every other staple kitchen food.  Oh, and eggs.  Lots of eggs.  A veritable gross of eggs.  (No exaggeration.)

And a couple before Pesach, the kitchen gets the final touches, the counter tops are covered, the chametz dishes and food is packed up and moved to the basement only to be replaced by the full set of Pesach dishes, most of which spend more time out of the cabinets than in as my Mom doesn't seem to stop cooking the entire week.  By the time we sit down for the seder, nearly everything in the kitchen has been replaced.  Let the matza-eating begin!

In my small room on the Ulpan at a non-religious kibbutz I did my best to reenact the ceremonial Spring Cleaning.  I wiped down every surface and cupboard, went on a search and destroy mission to capture the dust bunnies under my bed, and washed the floor with a full bucket of water.  Our Ulpan mom was kind enough to clean one of the floor's refrigerators for me and the one other girl who keeps Pesach, and I, too, went on a Pesach shopping spree the day before the holiday began, re-buying some basic items such as olive oil, salt, and strawberry jelly, and of course the requisite box of matza.  I added that to the plasticware I bought earlier, stashed my chametz in a cabinet, and felt ready for Pesach to begin as I sat down for the seder last Monday night.

I had hoped that even though the majority of the Jewish population in Israel is secular or non-observant, Pesach might be a little different.  I know a number of American Jews who don't keep Kosher the rest of the year but are zealously careful about their food and kitchens for Pesach.  And since Kashrut is easier in Israel, I thought certainly there would be a good number of people keeping Kosher lePesach.

Wrong.

Here I am, a Jew in Israel, and I'm still the minority.  It's an interesting sensation, to say the least.

My colleagues on the Ulpan have mostly been raised as secular Jews and as such, most of them are entirely unaware of the rules of Kashrut on Pesach, so it shouldn't surprise me to find them all eating cereal, pasta, and other foods that are distinctly chametz.  But I was a little more shocked at some Israelis' reactions when I told them I couldn't eat with them because I keep Kosher lePesach.  Some made light of it, some seemed not to understand it at all.  When conversing with those that don't keep Kosher for the holiday, I could read the ever-present question behind their eyes: "Why do you do that?"  And deeper down, I speculate that perhaps they were wondering, "What's the point?"

That's a good question.  What is the point?  Why put myself through this every year?  And in Israel, why bother?  What's so special about maintaining a unique Jewish identity in a Jewish country?  Besides, it would be easy enough to not eat bread, but worrying about the dishes, too?  Is it really so big of a deal?

Regardless of whether it's Jews or Christians asking, Israelis or Americans, friends or acquaintances or strangers, my answer will be the same.  To me, it is absolutely important, no matter where I am or how hard it is.  To me, observing these rules and traditions is what makes me Jewish and connects me to the broader global Jewish community.  When I eat matza instead of bread, I am acting upon a cultural memory of slavery and simultaneously rejoicing in my freedom.  I am so free I can choose to eat this crumbly, uninteresting sheet of burnt flour!

Nobody ever said being Jewish was easy, but I'm glad for the challenge.

חג שמח לכולם

What would Tevye think?

I thought my family's seders were big, but Kibbutz Naan has put things in perspective for me.  30 isn't so big.  1,100 is big.  Very big.

Last night was the first night of the holiday of Pesach, or what most of my friends know as Passover.  It is a seven day holiday, though outside of Israel - the Diaspora - Jews celebrate an eighth day.  Similarly, though there is always a seder - a large meal and ceremony that retells the story of the Exodus from Egypt - Diasporic Jews also have a second seder the next night.  A traditional seder is organized into segments filled with symbolic foods, stories, and gestures which all serve to remind us that we were slaves in Egypt and were freed, a prelude to the true beginning of the Jewish religion and people.  There is, of course, a grand meal in the middle of the seder which in my family has always consisted of poultry, brisket, chicken soup with kneydlach, mashed potatos, salads of every variety (except pasta), gefilte fish, charoset, and at least enough horseradish for my aunt's and cousin's traditional horseradish-eating contest.  First to cry loses.

But this year I am in Israel, and what's more, I am at Kibbutz Naan, home of the largest seder in Israel.  Miss this?  Well, seeing as my Mama's matza balls were nowhere in sight, I couldn't possibly miss it.  

And to think, we thought cramming 30 people into a dining
room was challenging!

The seder was set up in the Ulam Sport, meaning roughly "huge giant sport building," which is basically a basketball court and bleachers.  Still, big enough for a seder of this size.  The walls were draped with paintings of people and flowers, some artistically depicting our slavery in Egypt while others displayed larger-than-life flowers and other spring scenes.  Long tables filled the room, leaving  space only for a few isles and a large bimah, stage, in the center.

As if the guest list didn't tip you off, Naan's seder is anything but traditional.  Not only do they have their own hagadah (the small book used for the seder) tailored to fit the needs and aesthetics of a non-religious kibbutz, but their seder is a celebration of the talent and beauty of their members.  Instead of the traditional family-style seder where songs are sung off-key and the retelling of the Exodus might pause to answer questions and debate contemporary politics, each song in this seder was performed by a choir of children or adults, and accompanied by a band.  Some portions featured choreographed dances and skits from the students, portraying aspects of our slavery or freedom (the high school girls' dance depicting the burden of slavery and their celebratory timbrel dance were two of my favorites).

I can only imagine what Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof would think of such a breach of the cultural Jewish norm.

Though the songs and narrations were entirely in Hebrew, I was able to follow some of it, at least enough to get a general idea of what was being said.  In a traditional hagadah, the retelling of the Exodus is almost secondary to the descriptions of the Passover traditions and the arguments among the Rabbis of Old regarding how and why and what is meant by this, that, or the other thing.  But in the Naan hagadah the story of the slavery, the Exodus, the crossing of the sea, and even reaching Israel 40 years later is told and recreated in song and dance.  In some ways, I almost preferred this since I felt it made the true reason for Pesach and this meal more significant.

Now, I say "almost preferred this."  Sure, I had a wonderful time, and my ears loved the sound of Pesach songs in four-part vocal harmony accompanied by piano and brass instruments.  I loved seeing the children dressed in costume and depicting Chad Gadya and the Four Sons.  I enjoyed the ruach (spirit) and joy, and the food wasn't bad either.  But it wasn't home.

I missed the blue Maxwell House Haggadah stained with maror and wine from decades of use.  I missed my Mom's juicy charoset, a mix of apples, nuts, cinnamon, and a little extra wine to make Papa happy (they didn't even HAVE charoset!).  I missed the karpas part of the seder where my cousins and I eagerly dip red potatoes in salt water and use that to temporarily satisfy our hunger until we get to the Festive Meal (even though we're supposed to be remembering our salty tears throughout years of bondage).  I missed the family contests and traditions that have absolutely nothing with remembering the Exodus and absolutely everything to do with celebrating our quirky nature and love for one another.

And because I'm in Israel, even temporarily, I will not be celebrating the second seder, the more intimate one which I would normally celebrate at my house with my immediate family and various members of our town's Jewish community.  When I would in other years have been in the kitchen all day helping my mom chop vegetables, wash dishes, and set the table with our finest china and silver, today I am, well, blogging.

Normally Pesach is one of my favorite holidays, but this year as I celebrate it in the Holy Land only 45 minutes from the Jerusalem we pray every year to return to, all I can think about is how I wish I were celebrating it with the people I love the most.  Like a giant magnet, Tradition is trying its hardest to pull me in the direction of my family during this most celebrated of holidays.  So instead of saying "Next year in Jerusalem," I proclaim "Next year with my family, wherever that may be."  

Sabbath-induced Zen

In an effort to find a better Internet connection, this post is coming to you from outdoors in the middle of the kibbutz after dark, where I have found a previously undiscovered FOUR BARS OF INTERNET CONNECTION!  Now you know where I will be for all future Skype dates.
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Growing up, Shabbos was always about going to shul (synagogue) on Saturday morning, hoping to make the minyan (quorum required for certain parts of the service), then relaxing the rest of the day while my parents took their requisite Shabbos Afternoon Naps.  When I was at camp, it was about dressing up on Friday evening, taking pictures and giving every single person on the machaneh (camp) a Shabbat Sha'hug.  It was also about singing extra loud, enjoying the extra long Shabbat menuchah (rest time), and writing a few extra letters to friends and family.

In the last few years I have gradually ratified my personal meaning of Shabbos.  I began to refuse to do school work or check my e-mail in order to better sanctify this one day of rest.  I have also started to avoid handling money or riding in cars so that I know - and everyone around me knows - that this day is important to me.

 In Israel, Shabbat has added significance: for many people, Friday afternoon through Saturday is the entirety of their weekend, which means that for some, Saturday is their only opportunity to travel, go somewhere fun, or just get away.  This explains why even though public transportation does not run on Shabbat (per Jewish Rabbinic law), there are still plenty of cars on the streets.

Last night I went to services and had dinner again at my adopted family's house.  After the other guests had left, I stayed up with my Israeli mom and found out that she actually came from a very religious family.  In fact, she's the only one of the four daughters who is not still religious.  I shouldn't say she's not religious, though.  She's just not Dati, orthodox.  She does keep Kosher, and she still has a very strong connection to G-d and her religion.  She just firmly believes that there is more than one way to be a Jew.  And I love her all the more for that.

Today I went to the morning services on the Kibbutz for the first time.  I'm sorry to say, but I don't know if I'll be going back.  I felt more like a spectator at a men's private function, allowed to sit in the back row only if I promised to be quiet (which wasn't too much of a problem since despite the fact that I know the service very well, I was lost half the time).  For the first time in my post-Bat Mitzvah life, I actually kind of wanted to leave the service early because I truly felt I wasn't getting anything out of it.

After services ended around 10:00 am, I went back to my room, grabbed a book, my crochet project, and a towel, and laid out in the sun for a few hours.  Then I made myself a quick lunch, tuned a guitar, and found the perfect place to spend the rest of my afternoon: underneath a young olive tree, surrounded by waist-high grass (or thigh-high for you tall people) and clover with yellow flowers.  With no one around, I could focus intently on the sounds of the veritable menagerie of birds hidden nearby while basking in the mottled sun peaking through the olive branches.  I read some more, serenaded myself, and possibly napped.  Or meditated, I'm not sure which.

We are told that Shabbat is a day of rest where we should not do any work.  By rabbinic standards some of my activities were, in fact, work, but quite honestly, I don't remember the last time I was this relaxed.  It was a beautiful day.

Days like this make me wonder about what all those rabbinic laws really mean, and what G-d actually intended.  There are days when I can't help but notice all the things I do that would be considered a breach of the Sabbath in a more religious home.  Then there are days like today when I am fully immersed in nature and Creation and I am, for a moment, convinced that this is what is meant when we are told to "keep the Sabbath holy."

I suspect that with each week, month, and year that passes, my interpretation of Shabbat will change to fit ever-changing circumstances.  I hope that I am open to that change and am always able to come away from my Sabbaths feeling energized and refreshed for the week to come.

Home away from home

No matter where you are in the world, a Jewish mother is a Jewish mother to everyone regardless of familial affiliation.  For those who are unfamiliar with Jewish mothers, here are some basic rules and guidelines:

1.  Never say no to an offer for a meal.
2.  Never say no to an offer for more food at said meal.
3.  Never say no when offered a ride home at night because "It's dark out and I'll  never forgive myself if something were to happen!"

Last night I went to Friday night Shabbat services where I sat next to the same woman from last week (whose name I've only heard once and have since entirely forgotten).  Middle-aged and very kind, she asked me about my week, told me about her husband who works in China and had just returned home for the week, mentioned her job as a lawyer, and invited me for dinner, all before services began.  After services she introduced me to her husband and we walked to their house on the kibbutz.  I talked with the husband for a bit and he told me about his job in pharmaceuticals and how he recently started working in China - four weeks there, two weeks here.  He seems to like it, though.

At their house we found their daughter and son-in-law with their own adorable six-month-old baby who was apparently fascinated by me.  "Ani chadashah!  Mah?  Mah?" I said to him while he continued to stare at me with the most intense and inquisitive gaze I've ever seen on an infant.  We waited patiently for the other guests to arrive while Mrs. Kind Israeli Woman finished the salads.  Her daughter told me that as a student of the current Ulpan, I should consider myself adopted.  Apparently with every Ulpan (and there are two per year), this woman brings home at least one or two students and "adopts" them into her family, offering them a meal any Shabbat they don't have other plans.  One of the other guests coming that night was adopted from last year's Ulpan at this time and had since made aliyah (moved to Israel and become a citizen), and the daughter told me about one of the first adopted girls who, fifteen years later, has a husband and child and still keeps in touch with this family.

By the time we sat down for dinner there were nine of us, including another couple (another daughter and son-in-law?) and their son (not the adopted one).  Dinner itself was a spectacular feast of various salads, two rice dishes, stuffed peppers, beef, chicken, and probably a few other things that I didn't see across the table.  We sang Shalom Alechem, made kiddush and hamotzi, then dug in.  It was glorious!  I didn't realize until that moment how much I was missing a good home-cooked meal.

I was thankful to have the ex-Ulpan guy there since he grew up in Australia and thus had no trouble speaking English with me.  Meanwhile, everyone else spoke Hebrew and despite the whole five days of classes I've had so far, I could barely understand a word.  That's alright.  It was enough for me to be in their presence.  On Shabbat.  In Israel.

After dinner I helped clear the table with everyone else, then we sat down for a dessert of fruit salad, nuts, cookies, and rugelach.  Per Israeli custom on Shabbat, the TV was turned on.  I watched a couple news segments in between talking to Mr. Australia-turned-Israel, who told me some fascinating things about Israeli politics, social structure, and customs.  And he told me about the amazing phenomenon whereby Christmas and Easter go completely unnoticed.  He's making a convincing case for making aliyah. ( But don't worry - my degree would be worthless here, so I'm not really considering it).

My attention back on the TV, I noticed how wonderfully strange it was to hear news casters signing off with a Shabbat Shalom on national television.  Once the news was over, the channel was changed to the Israeli version of Saturday Night Live.  I thought "Oh goodness, everyone will be laughing but I won't have a clue as to what's going on."  Wrong!  Sure, maybe I couldn't understand the words, but the make-up, music, backgrounds, characters, and mannerisms were hilarious in and of themselves.  If Israelis know how to do anything, it's make fun of themselves, and they did a fantastic job.  There is also no such thing as being "Politically Correct," which means they have no problem making fun of their Arab neighbors as well.  I can't wait until I can understand it!

Even though I was less than a ten-minute walk from the Ulpan and the worst that could happen to me is to be jumped on by a large dog (which happened the other night with a dog twice my size), I couldn't back out of being given a ride back.  I also have an open invitation for any future Shabbat dinner, so I'm sure I won't be a stranger in their home.

I'm told that of all possible landings in Israel, landing on a kibbutz - and this kibbutz in particular - is one of the softest.  I'm thankful for that.  I'm thankful for the community, the strangers who quickly become relatives, the watchful eyes and helpful hands, and the knowledge that whenever I really miss home there are many in close proximity that are willing to take in an extra daughter.

Ani ovedet b'noiy, b'ulpan kibbutz Na'an!

Ani Nashira, v'ani lomedet ivrit b'ulpan kibbutz Na'an.  Ani lo olah-chadasha aval ani teyeret me'artzot-habrit.  Gam, ani talmidah v'ani gar b'kibbutz.  Ani ohevet ha'ulpan po!

Translated:  I am Nashira, and I am learning Hebrew at the Ulpan on Kibbutz Na'an.  I am not a new immigrant, but I am a tourist from the United States.  Also, I am a student and I live on the kibbutz.  I love the Ulpan here!

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And so begins my introduction to conversational Hebrew.  We have finished our second class, have learned the answers to basic questions we will likely be asked by Israelis (What are you doing in Israel?  Where are you from?  Where do you live?  Etc.), have learned a few extra words here and there as well as the singular pronouns, and we've started working on the alef-bet (alphabet).  We have class every day so I have to make sure to study a little every day in order to ensure I retain the newest information as completely as possible.  Thus far I think I'm doing well except I occasionally forget the smaller words or prefixes for things like "from," "at/in," "who" vs. "what," and a few others.  

We started learning with transliterations in whichever phonetic system worked best for each individual depending on their country of origin and we're just starting to learn the alef-bet.  It seems odd to me but instead of learning it from beginning to end in a song or other such device, we're learning it in sections.  I'm not quite sure how the letters are grouped, but I think it has something to do with the shape of the letters as written in the standard handwritten form.  Another oddity is that what I've always called cursive is apparently print and vice versa, but what it's called doesn't really matter as long as I know what I'm looking at.  

I've already learned the alef-bet and know how to read and write (albeit slowly at times), so thankfully my teacher gave me a different worksheet to complete while everyone else was finding all the letters of a particular sort in a large grid of letters.  My task was to read two passages of a few sentences each in Hebrew (without the help of vowels for most words!) then respond to questions based on information given in the aforementioned sentences.  And guess what - I did it!  Only had one spelling error and a grammatical error.  WOO HOO!

Of course, learning isn't all that we do.  As you know, I'm here to work as well, and work I shall!  I have been given the task of working in the garden (which is more or less what the Title says), and I must say I'm quite happy with this assignment.  I get to work outside, move around, lift things, make things prettier, and do this all alongside two kind classmates and our boss, a very conversational man who encourages us to learn not only about gardening, but about the kibbutz, Israel, and Hebrew.  And, after only a few hours working in the sun I have a definite tan line on my shoulders and neck.  The only significant downside to this is that work starts at 6:00.  In the morning.  Yeah, it's still dark then.  And because I'd like to eat a little breakfast before I leave at 5:45 with the other girls I wake up at 5:00 a.m.  It's not that I don't like being up that early because really, I love being awake early in the morning.  I just don't like the act of getting up, and I don't trust myself to do it consistently.    

We were scheduled to work until 1:00 p.m. and though we were let out a little earlier today, we still had a break for "breakfast" around 9:00.  Now, breakfast for Israelis is not like breakfast in the United States.  As far as I can tell, things like pancakes, waffles, and even bowls of cereal are a little out of the ordinary.  Vegetables, on the other hand, are highly qualified for a fantastic breakfast.  So we sat down at a table in the gardening office/lounge/kitchen and spread in front of us was an array of cottage cheese, chocolate spread (think Nutella minus the hazelnut; they love this stuff), butter, bread, and fresh uncut tomatoes, onions, cucumber, and avocado.  So I took some vegetables and cut them myself, following the example of the other gardeners, mixed it with some salt, pepper, and the greatest olive oil I have ever tasted, and voila!  Israeli salad for breakfast!

Other than work and class today, I also went for a 30 minute jog.  Well, sort of.  It was a mostly jog/part walk, and I managed to get lost in the process.  This kibbutz keeps getting bigger every day!  I really don't like jogging but it would definitely be worth getting into since I won't have a steady exercise regime otherwise.  Let's just hope I get better with practice.

Pardon the extremely non-chronological nature of this post.  I hope I didn't confuse anyone too much.  Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day (which has, thankfully, gone completely unnoticed here).  

Shabbos - Kibbutz style

I'm writing this Saturday evening after having spent a relaxing shabbos sleeping and walking around the kibbutz - with my camera this time.  I met a lovely kibbutznik who made aliyah not long ago and is originally from L.A., and she showed me and Esther around a bit.  I'm sure she'll read this, so I'll make sure not to say anything bad about her.  Haha, don't worry, I don't have any bad words to say about her!

Going from L.A. to Kibbutz Naan is a significant change for her.  Things here are at a much slower pace, much more intimate, and also a little more invasive.  But she did talk about all the wonderful aspects of the kibbutz and even put its privatization in a very positive light.  Up until now, I've regarded that shift as a negative thing in the history of the kibbutz movement, but she said that without it there is no room for entrepreneurship or, to an extent, significant personal fulfillment.  She finds that the option to work outside the kibbutz and live for oneself is appreciated, not only by her but by many in the kibbutz.

She had some wonderful stories to tell as well, and I learned things about the kibbutz (both good and not-so-good) that make it seem even more alive.  For instance, as we walked through her neighborhood, she commented that the architecture of the buildings is indicative of the many layers of Israeli and kibbutz history.  Case in point:  Many of the older homes have newer kitchens that have been added at the back because 30-40 years ago everyone ate together in the cheder ohel (dining room), so there was no need for private kitchens.  In addition, many only had one bedroom because all the children on the kibbutz would live together and raised as such.  It is not to say that the kibbutzim are deteriorating.  Far from it; they are thriving and changing with their people, adapting to new necessities as they arise.

She also told us about many of the Francophone kibbutzniks that will undoubtedly find Esther and even said she'll try to get me in touch with the music director here.  YAY!

But enough about today.  Undoubtedly it is last night that will interest you the most.  

I went to evening services and heard a speed of Hebrew that rivals a Chasid's conversational English, put within complex rhythmic and metrical patterns for melodies I've never heard.  I could barely move my eyes quickly enough to follow along, much less move my lips, but it was a lovely experience.  There weren't many there - we just barely had a minyan of men plus six women and a couple children, and in many ways it reminded me of the small congregations I know and love.  Inside jokes, respected elders -- a small but loyal family.  I might be reading too much into it, but hey, nobody's stopping me.

Afterward we had dinner with some of the gang from the Ulpan, then I went to sleep at 8:00.  Why would I sleep at 8:00, you ask?  Because I had to prepare myself for the mother of all parties.  

Kibbutz Naan is home to one of the largest and most popular clubs in all of Israel.  It has two dance areas, one with hip hop and an awesome light/strobe system, the other with rock music of Israeli, American, and some Latin descent.  Both areas have bars, and there are guards and security personnel to be found in each area.  At the peak of any Friday night there may be upwards of 700 to 800 people there, dancing, smoking, and some passing out.  I have also learned that Israelis give a new meaning to the phrase "Jewish Standard Time" (the phrase that explains why Jews are usually late by 30 minutes or more to any event).  Our Ulpan director told us that if we got there at 11:00, nobody would be there.  So we planned to leave our rooms around midnight.  When we arrived it was already busy, but by 2:00 a.m. I found myself dancing on the edges of the thickest, most dense crowd I've ever been in, with the possible exception of the lines to the women's bathroom at Summerfest concert.

I finally left with a few of my friends around 3:30 a.m., exhausted and sweaty but content.  Those of you reading this who are above the age of 35 will be happy to know I consumed very little alcohol and it was easily matched, if not outweighed, by the water I drank.  This is certainly not something I'll do every week, but it was definitely an experience worth having.  

Still discovering

I have limited time in which to reveal to you all the myriad things I've experienced in the last day and a half, so here goes:

Yesterday was cold.  No, really, it was.  Windy, almost-rainy (though it finally poured overnight), overcast, etc.  Yeah, definitely cold.  I know, you still don't believe me.

Yesterday evening I went to Rehovot again with a big group and while they all went to Kanyon Mall I went to Bank HaPoalim, which I believe is one of the largest branches in Israel.  And let me tell you, on a Thursday evening on the day everyone's salary is paid it is BUSY.  My bank trip ended up being nearly 45 minutes long, after which I ran the six or seven blocks in drizzling rain back to the mall to meet everyone.  Then I bought the most sugary tea I've ever had from a group of young girls who were trying to raise money.  I gave them 4 shekel because their English was so good and they were really adorable.

Before I went to the bank I found a guard at the mall who, incidentally, spoke French and gave me directions.  Mom, I wanted to call you right then and there to tell you how neat it was to be speaking French with an Israeli guard, but I had to run and knowing I'd report it here I decided against it.  I hope you don't mind.  But I'm very glad I chose French back in 7th grade even though you thought Spanish would be more useful.

Speaking of Spanish, we now have four people from Argentina, I think 11 from Uruguay, and one from Costa Rica.  Plus there's a Portuguese-speaking girl from Brazil who just made aliyah, lives outside the kibbutz and will be joining us for classes.  The final count also includes two Canadians, two Germans, one Swiss, one Belgian, and four Americans.  Majority language: Spanish.  Other languages: German, English, French, Portuguese, plus a little Russian from one girl and Dutch from Esther, though I've not heard her speak it.

Last night I went with everyone to the Kibbutz pub and paid far too much for a wine cooler, played a game of pool and chatted.  I met a kibbutznik named Roni who works at the factory and speaks little Hebrew, but he's nice.  He even noticed me today in the dining hall and said hi.  I'm meeting people!

Today the teachers came to place us into one of two levels of Hebrew classes, and I'm in the beginner level, which I expected.  I'll have my first class on Sunday and find out what job I'll have then, too.  I'm hoping to work in the garden.  I hear it's the dirtiest and possibly hardest work, but I'd love to work outside regardless. In fact, I'd like some hard manual labor.

This afternoon was free again, as has been the norm the past week.  So while my roommate took a nap I walked around the kibbutz for about an hour with the very nice dog in the pictures.  I finally found out her name is Laplan (or is it Laplam?) and she came with me nearly the entire way, which was fun.  The sun was out, too, and the wind died down a bit so it was really quite a pleasant walk.  Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera with me but if it's still nice tomorrow I'll go around again and take pictures of some of the other places I discovered.  This really is quite a large kibbutz and has a lot to offer.

I stopped at the kibbutz boutique/cafe as well and found some adorable clothes I would love to buy, so I might also return there later.  If I understand it correctly, there are to adjacent shops: one is a regular boutique and the other is a second-hand store.  Which can only mean one thing:  THRIFTING!  Friends of mine would be so proud (you know who you are).

There is a synagogue here and Mincha/Maariv services start in half an hour so I have to get ready.  Until next time, be well and Shabbat Shalom!

"Woke up, it was a Chelsea morning..."

I'm not sure what a Chelsea morning is, but maybe this is it.  Crisp, cool, but with the promise of a clear day.  Birds singing, some squawking, and the far-off sound of human activity first embarking on the world.

And a lovely talk with my parents, the first significant conversation since my arrival. :)

I woke up at 6:00 am Israel time to speak to my parents at 10:00 pm Wisconsin time - dedication!  And definitely worth it.  Even though I've got plenty of time this afternoon to sit on the computer if I so choose, it was nice to get out of bed and start the day before everyone else.  Hey, just because I'm still in my pajamas doesn't mean the day hasn't started!

Last night we had a nearly two-hour meeting to go over all the various details of the program for which I took notes in French and repeated in thirty minutes to Esther.  I shall now add "Translator/Traductrice" to my resume.

I was also awoken a little past midnight to the loud music and party-like atmosphere that seems to accompany the Argentinians.  Sorry guys, but I had to tell you to shut up.  It was just too much, and the second night in a row, no less.

But today is a new day, fresh, beautiful.  Despite the blue skies and palm trees in my photos, you should know that it is still a little chilly.  Here I am in a thick sweatshirt and demi-gloves and I'm cold.  In the middle of the day it'll start to feel like a Wisconsin spring but it cools off greatly at night.  Basically what I'm saying is you can still be jealous, but not quite as jealous as you thought you had to be :P

I'm sorry, that was mean of me.

But you can't blame me for gloating!

Anyway, in other non-weather-related news, the teachers will be here on Friday to determine exactly which of the two levels of Hebrew each person should be in.  As for myself, I'm assuming I'll be in the beginning level because even though I know the Aleph-Bet (Hebrew alphabet) and how to write it, I know nothing about the grammar.  I suspect that after two weeks in the beginners class I'll be right at the same place as everyone else, and I fear that if I were to start in the advanced class I'd have a few gaps in my education.  I'm told, however, that I should trust these teachers, that they're quite skilled in what they do and know precisely how to work with a multi-lingual group.  From what I gather, the classes will be taught immersion style: entirely in Hebrew.  Wish me luck.

As for the jobs, we will get our assignments once they know which level of classes we'll be in, because the schedules for the two groups will be opposite one another.  We will have lessons five or six days a week (depending on the work schedule and other factors) and work about three days a week. On the days without work we'll have the entire afternoon free to do homework, study, get ready for the next day's class, and (if there's time) relax a bit.  Not sure how much time I'll have for blogging once the program really gets going on Sunday, but similarly there won't be much to report once our schedule is set.  But don't worry, I won't skimp on the details of whatever job I'm given because I'm sure my parents and many other people are waiting impatiently to see if I'll be doing the kind of manual labor that a city girl (really?  Manitowoc?) has never done.  I think they underestimate me.  They, apparently, just want to see me shoveling animal poop.

Other than that, not much has been happening.  Still waiting for a group of 11 people from Uruguay to arrive. Once everyone's here I'll give you the final count complete with nationalities.  Are you surprised to know there are only five Americans total out of nearly thirty?  Apparently we're not the greatest thing on Earth.  Who knew?

All ethnocentrism aside, things are just lovely here.  And I'm so glad to know that my friends and family are reading this, too.  I miss you and love you all!

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.