December 2007 Archives
The romanticized idea of traveling to Israel for a year seems noble and exciting to people who live outside of the land. It is interesting to hear Israelis react to our program. At MADA, most of the people I work with wonder why I chose to pay to come to this country, when they are all dying to leave. The lack of 'patriotism,' if it can be stated that way, is surprising. I suppose our Jewish schoolteachers neglected to inform us about the difficulties inherent in Israeli life, other than joining the army. With political scandals nearly every week and a severe lack in central authority, the Israeli government has failed to provide for its people. Interesting, since we are all Jews and should be concerned with the well-being of our people as a whole. Instead, we find ourselves discriminating against each other based on our origin, skin color, and income.
It is difficult to work at MADA. I thoroughly enjoyed my first shift, but I must recognize that I did not have many challenging tasks. Surely, the next two months will bring me experiences that I will remember forever.
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Yesterday I got my Mom's Hanukkah package in the mail. Among other things, there were eight small gifts wrapped in Hanukkah paper to remind me of a holiday that brought my family together just one more time.
Back in my childhood it was Barbies and Tamogachis I dreamed of - at one point I even desired and for Hanukkah, obtained contacts. This year however proved to be different, the Hanukkah present I wanted the most ended up being a gift I didn't even know was coming.
That something was a Hanukkah package sent to me from MY temple filled with a Hannukiah, a few iced and quickly devoured cookies, and some classic gelt. There was a small gift tag written with beautiful handwriting that read:
To: Shulamit
From: Your Temple Family
This small and oh so exciting package made me feel recognized and loved. I just kept repeating, "I can't believe the sent a package all the way to Israel!"
As soon as I could I called my sister who I knew received packages while in college and even she acknowledged that she did not receive any packages of this sort when she went on YC.
But now my sister and I both receive packages from our temple and these small trinkets around the holidays are more than just cookies and cards. These packages remind us that our home and family is never far away and no matter where we go, be it Boston or Israel, our faith will follow close behind.
CHAG SAMEACH!!!
P.S. The best gifts of all are those that you are not waiting for or wanting. They are surprises that bring genuine joy in your life and a smile to your face. Thank you to my temple for accomplishing both tasks!
Now is the time of transitions
In dance teams, transitions during a dance are supposed to be smooth and only slightly noticeable as the entire team moves from one formation to the next.
Transitions on Year Course are not either of those things.
They are a big balagan - a mess and a huge deal because it begins the realization that three months have passed. And now we are moving
Why? It feels like orientation was yesterday and not I am rechecking lists I filled out for my "new" apartment three months ago.
In this short and oh so long span of time I have had many adventures, spontaneous nights, and weekend gatherings with many friends in apartments that shrink as sleeping bags begin to create makeshift beds on cold tile floors.
I am going to miss the "me" time I got every morning as I walked from my bus stop to the rescue center. Every morning I craved a longer bus ride so I could be graced with a few more songs from my IPOD. Oh the things I crave - longer bus rides, weekends with friends on cold tile floors, easy transitions, more time in Netanya.
And so these transitions is wanted, no doubt, however, I know a part of me will always live in 77 Weitzman. Multi-colored wall boards, a freezer that sticks, and a leaky sink will be missed.
My transition is marked with my removing my glow-in-the-dark stars from my cupboard and then my green-foamy-wall-thing. Then with putting away my multi-colored organizer which housed odd items from face lotion to post cards sent by my mother. Finally with my last day of work - a day that was supposed to be full of scrubbing sea turtles but was in turn graced by rain. The archetype that symbolizes starting a new and washing away what once was. Our last days were spent as a closed weekend without any travel just us and our apartment. Maybe the closed weekend was meant to provide closure before our second major transition this year on year course.
For now, I try to not take my days for granted and I am mentally preparing myself for a needed and unwanted change. A transition so unlike those I was used to in the day sof my dance team, so not smooth, so very noticed, and so unrefined.
Transition. Change. Whatever. It must happen.
"If I forget thee, Jerusalem
Let my right hand be forgotten"
These words, written in the book of Psalms, now resonate within me more than ever. I remember the first time I visited Jerusalem. I was 9 years old and hardly in touch with the 2000-year-old struggle to return to this city. However young and naïve I was, I felt something when I touched the Kotel's ancient stones, and to this day I remember the contents of the first note I pushed into its cracks. And though the old city is still a large part of what I love about Jerusalem, I have come to know this place, as much as I could in three months, and have developed for it a more concrete love. .jpg)
Not unfittingly, Jerusalem is often referred to as the most "American" city in Israel. English can be heard almost everywhere, American clothing and products can easily been purchased and one is almost always bound to run into a friend or relative from home. Initially, this "Americanization," as some may call it, was disappointing. But after living here and having much time to consider the situation, I see something special in the internationality of Jerusalem. People from all over the world, especially young people, come here for a holiday, a summer, a year or a lifetime.
Back home in Indiana, it was hard for me to find people who shared the same love and passion for the Jewish homeland as I did. Never in my entire life have I been surrounded by so many young Americans like me, who care enough about this place to interrupt whatever path they have chosen to spend time here--learning, studying, traveling or volunteering. Jerusalem is, essentially, the meeting place for Jews from all over the world.
A few weeks ago, we were presented with the opportunity to attend a rally for missing soldiers from the Lebanon war. People from my program and countless other programs and schools came from all over the country to attend. I had only been to one rally before. In seventh grade, my classmates and I took a bus ride to Washington, D.C., for a rally in support of Israel. As we chanted, jumped around, danced and listened to speeches, I felt an overwhelming sense of unity. There we were, hundreds of thousands of strangers standing together and making public our support for the Jewish homeland.
Jump to now--I'm older and am living on my own in the place I had rallied for years ago. Rather than simply banding together for Israel in the U.S. capital, I'm now banding together with Israel in the Jewish capital.
We walked into the building and I immediately noticed that the majority of people were on long-term programs in Israel, such as Year Course. Initially, I'm disappointed that it's not a more exclusively Israeli event. But as the people began to crowd in, I realized that this was why we were there--to come together, as foreigners, and learn about current Israeli issues.
During the rally, we listened to a number of speeches from prominent members of Israeli society, people working for the safe return of the soldiers, and friends and family of the imprisoned. At one point, Carnit Goldwasser, the wife of Ehud Goldwasser, one of the kidnapped soldiers, took the podium. As she approached the stage, the entire crowd stood in applause and solidarity.
I remember Carnit's words, "I am not naïve...each night as I turn off my light I wonder, Does Udi (Ehud) have a light in his room?" I shivered at these words and could feel those around me shudder as well. She explained that in Israel, specifically in the army, there is a notion of "Kol Yisrael Chaverim," which means, "All of Israel are friends." Even with the violence and fear we are often faced with, we are all in this together. She left us with the thought, "If you all go back to your homes and think of how you can help [the missing soldiers], then I have done what I meant to do."
The fact that this event took place in Jerusalem made it all the more meaningful. For so many years, the Jewish people were forced to rely on the leaders of our many countries and groups to protect us. Now, here I am, living in Jerusalem, rallying for the protection and return of those soldiers who protected us.
I will soon be leaving Jerusalem to embark on the "Israeli experience" component of my program. Though I'm excited to get to know new people and a new place, I know I'm not done with Jerusalem. There is so much more for me to uncover. And unlike many things in life, it does not loose its spark with time, but rather ignites and feeds the flame within. Now, after three months here, I can wholeheartedly write the words, "Oh, Jerusalem, I promise never to forget thee."
Young Judaea Year Course: Check out our Program in Israel
About a week ago, I was asked to volunteer a small part of my time picking oranges for hungry families for the organization Table-to-Table. I was happy enough to do so, recalling the one time I went apple picking with my family and remembering how much fun it was.
We took a bus to the orange orchard, and once we got there, we were promptly dropped off and left by ourselves. There was a large pile of crates, and each person, or every few people, would grab a crate and walk into the orange groves. It was a busy scene. Oranges were being flung overhead everywhere, and many were testing the ripeness of the oranges firsthand. My two friends and I took a crate and wandered to a less-populated area (where we wouldn't be casualties in the orange wars) and began picking the fruit. As I tossed the oranges into the crate, I watched them rise and rise until it was overflowing with delicious fruit, soon to be tasted by those less fortunate than we. The process continued, crate after crate successfully being filled. I found myself wishing that my volunteering had the concrete results orange picking did.
Ever since I saw the many volunteer options available to me at my Year Course orientation, I knew that I wanted to spend my time working with Israeli children and teaching them English. I wanted to be involved with kids who could benefit from my skills as a native English speaker. When I found out I was placed in an elementary school (after two weeks of suspense!), I couldn't have been more thrilled.
The lovely school to which I was assigned to work at for a three month period was called Katzenelson Elementary School. I was full of excitement to meet the kids and optimistic that I would be the one to make them understand English. My first impression of the school, on our visiting day, was that it was very...purple. The exterior was painted a delightful light purple that made me smile whenever I saw it. The kids, as far as I could tell, were energetic and friendly--perfect to teach.
Then the big day arrived: our first day of teaching. I volunteered with two other girls, Hannah and Anni. We were excited and nervous for our first day in the classroom, but I was ready to make my difference in the lives, or at least in English, of the students. For the first class the three of us split up. Because I knew Hebrew and Anni and Hannah didn't, they were sent to a sixth-grade class (because they know more English), and I was sent to a fourth-grade class with Svetlana, the other teacher. 
The girl I was working with was called Ofek. She was a cute 9-year-old girl with no comprehension of the English language. And when I say no comprehension, I mean that she could barely finish singing her ABCs, let alone write the individual letters. She didn't know letters, sounds or words. She didn't understand the difference between vowels or consonants. All she had was a packet with worksheets of the letters. She worked diligently on that packet, not really understanding it. I felt like I was being asked to teach her the entirety of the English language from scratch.
For the rest of the day, there was a pattern to the kids I taught. They were always the kids who barely knew any English, and those who did know some only knew it in a limited capacity. I worked on little exercises that Svetlana suggested, but I still felt defeated. They might be able to do a few simple exercises, but in the big scheme of things, what did that mean? They were still nowhere near close to grasping the language.
But then something amazing happened. I was with Ofek one day, maybe two weeks later, and she was working on her worksheets. Just on a whim, I pointed to a word in an exercise and asked her to read it. The word was "cab." She had already done worksheets on "A," "B" and "C," so I thought it would be worth it to give it a try. She stared at the word for what seemed like forever, so I decided to try and help her.
"What sound does 'C' make?" I asked. "K..." she said. "What sound does 'A' make?" I continued. "Ah..." she said. "What noise does 'B' make?" I finished. "B..." she said. "Az mah ha'milah?" So what is the word? She sounded it out and sounded it out and sounded it out until she finally spit it out. "Cab." Cab. She had read a word!
Ofek had done something I thought would be impossible for her. She had made a big step. A giant step. Then I realized she had only read one word. That's where my thought process changed, right there. Because for Ofek, it was not only one word. It was an advancement I thought could never happen. It might as well have been the entire English language.
Picking oranges is easy. You watch your labor come to a profit. I saw the oranges I picked, carton after carton full of oranges, and I knew they would be helping people. Working at a school is a lot less concrete, but as I learned, not at all less rewarding. Because even if the only thing I ever did there was help some child do his or her homework or teach a seemingly hopeless girl to read a word, I know I did my job. They might not know English well, or barely even at all, but if I made anything easier for them, well, then I made my difference.
Young Judaea Year Course: Check out our Program in Israel
After several weekends of staying in Jerusalem to rest up or traveling to see Year Course friends in other cities, I decided to spend a Shabbat hiking in the Negev desert with a small group. The whole experience was unforgettable, from the beautiful views, to the unbearable daytime heat, to the wild ibex, to the unbearable nighttime cold, but what made this trip special were the different encounters we had with members of the wide spectrum of people we met during our journey.
Right before I stepped on the bus in Be'er Sheva to Sde Boker (the field school and army base where we began our hike), I said, "Very nice!" to a young sabra (native-born Israeli Jew) headed the same way because he was wearing a Borat T-shirt. Soon after we exchanged high fives, I learned that Avishai, who was taking a few American girls from a different program on a similar hike, recently hung out with my friends from camp who live in Rechovot. This meeting, along with my encounter with American students on the previous bus, strengthened my notion that in this country, most people are connected through one mutual acquaintance.
Speaking of that notion, as we arrived in Sde Boker and were asking one another which way we should go, an American Tzahal soldier helped us out and ended up talking to us about her position in the army and her life in Israel. It turns out she is the first cousin of my "Zionism in the Arts" teacher. Weird.
In addition to hiking, camping and chillin' over this tiyul (hiking trip), all of us were kind of freaking out about where we wanted to spend the next three months of our lives--the "Israel experience" portion of Year Course.
As we walked through different areas of the never-ending desert, asking everyone we met which option they thought we should choose, I slowly became conscious of the fact that I was living an incredible Israel experience as we progressed through the trail. The realization that this trip, this desert and this country is truly special sunk in slowly in the Friday afternoon sun as we greeted mountain bikers and fellow hikers with a "Shabbat Shalom."
When we reached our destination for the night and set up camp on the semi-flat area between peaks, we saw a family who also came to camp out in the desert for the night. We decided to invite our neighbors to recite the Shabbat prayers as the sun set. They happily obliged, and we said the blessings together. Without making this gesture, we probably would not have been able to cook our pasta, because Israelis, who are generally more skilled than Americans, were easily able to light the burner with which we spent way too much time struggling.
Everywhere in Israel I feel a special connection with just about everyone I meet. There are people from countless countries who speak countless languages, but I seem to always feel comfortable talking to the other Jews I run into.
On Saturday morning, we stopped at a welcoming yet freezing natural spring and spent about an hour laughing and swimming with a large group of pretty old, pretty strange hikers. We walked for about a half an hour more and stopped again when we found some natural shade and some younger, but not as lively, Israelis to hang out with. Using the bartering system I learned during my Sukkot music festival, we offered our trail mix and received delicious coffee in return.
It felt like we had already experienced, eaten, laughed and hiked so much, but there were still kilometers to go. Nearing the end of our excursion, we ran into, much to our surprise, a genuine Bedouin tent that housed a woman with her two young girls. She told us several times in a mixture of Hebrew and Arabic that most travelers don't give her money, but rather Bissli or Bamba (Israeli snack food) for her children in exchange for her authentic pita, za'atar (a spice mixture) and tea. Our nuts and sunflower-seed oil sufficed, and we enjoyed another rest as well as some familiar hospitality, albeit Bedouin rather than southern.
At the end of the trip, as we saw busloads of Tsofim (Israeli scouts) arriving to Sde Boker, I learned that wherever you go in this land, there is always something special and interesting and always something to be proud and happy about. All that Israel has to offer never ceases to amaze me, and I can't wait for what lies ahead.
Young Judaea Year Course: Check out our Program in Israel
