January 2008 Archives
Then you say to yourself, " Oh my g-d, I am actually on Year Course."
A moment doesn't hit me often, but when it does, it is an eye opening and surprisingly humbling feeling.
They have occurred on buses I have taken into Tel Aviv for one reason or another and during the ocassional moment when the fun just feels too good to be true.
And moments have occurred when I'm surrounded by friends doing even the most mundane tasks whether it be at work or sitting in a lecture. Because lectures are only fun when surrounded by year course friends with cell phones in hand listening to ridiculous stories professed to you in a dramatic manner.
It also happened to me once as I was walking from my apartment to somewhere else in Holon. I looked at the sky and saw it in all its pristine blue glory. Cloudless and clear, it was a sight to see and something to be thankful for. The weather was cool but the sun was shinning and its rays beamed heat that warmed my (in desperate need of some vitamin D) skin. It was just one of those moments when you are thankful for your presence and the state that you are temporarily in.
Temporary - 5 more months
And every day holds the opportunity to have a "moment"
Perhaps these moments are just points of realization that I am growing up and maybe even . . . . maturing
As of a few days ago, I have been in Israel for four months. It seems impossible, really, that I am approaching the midpoint in my trip. Even the vocabulary I use to describe this experience is inadequate. "Trip" sounds temporary and unremarkable, "vacation" is simply a fallacy, and "sabbatical" denies the hard work I've put into this place. It seems as though I am among a select few who truly understand the reality of participating in Year Course. No matter how I try to explain it, in any language that I speak, I can never convey the emotions of my situation.
With the year's progress, I become increasingly engrossed in the development of my personality and that of my friends. Walking back from the bus station with one of my roommates tonight, I realized that the old sayings are correct and appearances are not always valid. The case is especially true in two instances: with family and new friends. On the one hand, my family struggles to maintain their hold on me, while friendships remain flimsy and in their initial stages. As the weeks progress, so will my realizations.
I was walking with my friend Hannah to the mall one day when she mentioned going to Tsfat for the weekend. She asked me if I wanted to come, and I eagerly accepted. My roommate was off to Ra'nana to visit family, and I had no other plans. I asked her what we would be doing and she said, "I have no idea! We'll see when we get there." I've never really travel spontaneously, so I was excited and a little bit nervous.
I woke up Thursday morning feeling really tired. I didn't even want to go to Tsfat anymore; I was content to just relax in the youth hostel. But at lunch, Hannah told me we were taking the Jerusalem bus to Tsfat in a few hours, so I needed to get packed and ready.
The first hitch was that Hannah decided to give blood right before we left. Don't get me wrong; giving blood is a wonderful thing. But it's not so wonderful right before traveling. It's also not so wonderful when the one giving blood is prone to fainting. So that derailed us for a bit, but we weren't deterred!
We reached the central bus station in Jerusalem at around 6 o'clock, not too far behind schedule. We needed to find nourishment and buy our tickets. Nourishment was a no-brainer: Aroma (a popular Israeli coffee shop), obviously. The tickets were a little bit more difficult. We waited in line and waited in line and waited some more, until the teller finally told us that we had to wait at a bus stop outside and buy a ticket on the bus. No problem. We trekked outside, asking more directions from every third person we met until we finally found the bus stop for Tsfat.
We sat and ate and waited. And waited. 7:10. 7:20. 7:30. No bus. Hannah asked me, "Maybe we should take a sheirut (shuttle)?" I didn't want to leave because I knew the second we left the 982 would pull up to the stop. 7:40. I reluctantly walked away with Hannah, but first forced her to buy a candy bar to boost her sugar. As she was purchasing the chocolate, lo and behold, the 982 showed up (a full 45 minutes late, I might add)!
We scrambled toward the bus along with everyone else. It's funny that in Israel you can be positive that you were at the front of the line, but then five seconds later, you wonder how you ever got to that conclusion because now there are 20 people in front of you. We managed to board the bus only after everyone else. We walked on slowly, tiredly, to absolutely no seats. Not one. We looked at each other, squatted down on the ground and attempted sitting in the aisle, careful not to touch (and therefore disrespect) any of the religious men who seemed to be prevalent in our area of the bus.
The bus ride was very long, to say the least. But we arrived safely at Ascent, the Kabbalah-centered youth hostel where we stayed for the night. There's no way to describe the wonderful feeling of arriving at your destination after a hectic journey!
The trip only got better from there. We walked around Tsfat and were extremely lucky to have a Kabbalah lesson from one of the rabbis at Ascent. We were also hosted for Shabbat dinner and lunch the next day by one of the families in the community. Throughout our adventure in Tsfat, we met many other kids our own age, including soldiers, yeshiva boys and seminary girls.
The trip was frustrating and difficult at points; things didn't go exactly as planned. The timing was off and we had to deal with surprises and unexpected challenges, but in the end, that made our trip even better. Even now, as I'm recalling the less-than-pleasant circumstances of our weekend, I don't get annoyed; I just laugh at it all. I know how lucky I am to be in Israel on a program where if I want to go visit Tsfat for the weekend, I'm welcome to do so. This is the time to go see, touch, smell, feel, taste and explore Israel, and I can't wait for my next adventure.
Young Judaea Year Course: Check out our Program in Israel
A little over two weeks ago, I left Jerusalem with eight others from Year Course and headed to Arad, a small city that sits on the border between the Judaean and Negev deserts, to work at the nature reserves of Ein Gedi and Masada. As we drove along and most of the people on the bus began to drift off, I sat watching the scenery change. As the stone walls of Jerusalem turned to farmland, rolling hills, small neighborhoods and finally the desert, I thought, "Now there's no going back."
I have always had a certain, shall we say, fascination with the desert, and had this far-out idea of how it affects people. I had read so many books and accounts of people going to the desert to "find themselves," and I pictured my new life much like that--me sitting alone in the wilderness contemplating my existence. However, that night when we unloaded our stuff and moved into Merkaz Klita Yafit, an absorption center for new olim (immigrants to Israel), I knew my experience in the desert would be so much more real than I could have imagined.
My day-to-day activities vary, but each morning at 6 a.m., my roommate Stacey and I wake up to catch the 6:40 bus from Arad to Ein Gedi. There, we work on the nature reserve doing everything from restoring ancient terraces to cleaning up the grounds. We are given plenty of time to hike and enjoy the views of the Dead Sea and the Jordanian mountains.
So most of our time is spent outside of where we live, and consequently we don't spend much time getting acquainted with the place. But last week our madricha informed us that we would be commemorating the last night of Hanukkah by lighting candles with the group of 50 Ethiopian Jews that lives in our building.
As we entered the room, everyone clapped and invited us to sit with them. Our madrichim addressed the room and explained the significance of us, Americans, and them, Ethiopians, coming together as Jews in Israel to celebrate this festival. We lit the candles and said the blessings together in Hebrew and in their native Ethiopian language, Amharic.
Afterward, the Ethiopians stood up and sang us two songs, one they had translated from Amharic to Hebrew and another in Hebrew. Meanwhile, the boy sitting next to me was translating everything into English for me. They seemed so excited to be with us and continuously reiterated how much they appreciated us coming to be with them.
I had always seen the Ethiopians walking around the building, and what I noticed most about them was how they always wore their kippot and always greeted us with a shalom. They have been in Israel for only a few weeks but are already learning Hebrew and attempting to integrate into this eclectic society.
The next day we returned to work at Ein Gedi, and once again got home at around 5:30. But instead of moseying off to our rooms and napping, we hung outside with our fellow building mates. Since then, we have had several choppy conversations in Hebrew and English with the Ethiopians, and now also the Russians in our building.
People always say, "No matter where you go, people are people." I always considered this statement to be somewhat true, but never until now could I have pictured myself becoming close friends with people I always felt so withdrawn from in my American bubble.
After living for a few weeks in the desert, I have realized that I will probably not attain enlightenment or finalize all of my philosophies on life. But what I do know is that I'm experiencing what it's like to live in a remote corner of the world with people who come from many other corners of the world. I think I will learn even more about myself by learning from, and about, the many others who have, like me, chosen to make a new, somewhat temporary life here. Though the desert may seem like a barren place, the few people who live here bring in enough life to fill the empty space.
*Yes, this title is a reference to the Counting Crows album. If you haven't heard it, we recommend checking it out!
Young Judaea Year Course: Check out our Program in Israel
As the weather here got colder, my life went through several drastic changes as well.
I spent my first three months on Year Course in Jerusalem, staying in a multi-million-dollar hostel with 150 other Year Coursers, taking classes during the day and going out at night. There was so much excitement and so many things to do that I could rarely even find time to sleep, and my body and wallet were both about to burst.
Two weeks ago, I woke up in the familiar, comfortable confines of the Judaean Youth Hostel in Givat Masua for the last time as a resident. After a long day of packing, goodbyes and traveling, I went to sleep in the hostel's polar opposite, the Mamsheet Camel Ranch, a Bedouin hospitality center in the middle of the Negev desert. Though it was only a two-hour drive from my old home to my new one, I was soon thinking, "Is this the same country?"
As I slowly got used to living at the ranch, the answer proved to be yes, but in a completely different context. The Israeli Jews here communicate the same way, raising their voices during what seems to be a petty argument, then immediately laughing and hugging each other. I still rarely understand what's going on when people around me are talking, but now most conversations are in Arabic, not Hebrew. So many people still wear FOX sweatshirts, and the drink of choice at just about any time of the day is Nescafé.
Instead of simply jumping on the 13 or 20 bus straight from the hostel to go out with friends or get a good meal, transportation has become quite an ordeal. I have to get a ride to Dimona, the closest town to the ranch, and wait for a 40-minute bus to Be'er Sheva. From there, it's probably another two hours to get to Jerusalem or Tel Aviv.
I see almost as many tour buses here as I did in the capital, but here tourists are not on those buses to see ancient holy sites; they're here to go on a ride with camels, drink coffee and tea and eat shawarma, getting the complete Bedouin experience from genuine descendants of the Arab nomads who used to wander the Holy Land. When these unsuspecting people hear my American accent, it amuses me almost as much as it confuses them.
Since I moved to the desert, I've been asked, "Do you have any Bedouin blood?" And my boss was asked if he employed any English-speaking Bedouins. Day-to-day life is extremely different. Instead of waking up and going to class, I wake up and spend my day leading camels on tiyulim (trips) near the ranch, setting up meals, serving food and cleaning up trash. My free-time activities now include hilarious language-barrier-affected conversations with Bedouins and watching countless movies with my one friend living at Mamshit with me.
Although I will be isolated from the rest of the program for the next three months, I'm sure I'll learn a lot and it will be an unforgettable experience. How many people can say they spent three months living with Bedouins and camels in the middle of nowhere?
Young Judaea Year Course: Check out our Program in Israel
