As I mentioned in previous posts, I have been sick for over a month. Because of this, I have had numerous doctors appointments, blood tests and uncomfortable procedures. They've provided no answers and the result has been, both physically and mentally, draining. I haven't spoken in much detail about what has been going on (due to the gross nature of my symptoms), though I'd be happy to do so on an individual basis. I have spent the past month feeling acutely ill, isolated and afraid. I have been unable to attend study days, group trips or volunteering placements. Sick in bed is not how I imagined I would spend my time in Israel.
I have made the very difficult decision to leave Israel early and return home to Colorado on Sunday. I'm not happy to leave, but cliche as it sounds, my health comes first. I think returning to my home, surrounded by my support system and navigating a familiar health care system will help my mind and body heal. I will be very sad to leave Israel, but I know that this will not be my last time here. I'm not really in a place where I can offer an articulate and well written synthesis about my time here. I don't know that I'll ever be able to put my experiences into words. Nor do I think I will ever be able to definitively say that Israel has impacted me in "this, this and this" way because I think it will continue to do so for the rest of my life. I plan to keep this blog going- Perhaps "Holy land to Home land"?
I appreciate all of the support I've received and I'm very sad to leave the incredible places and people that have been a part of my life for such a short time. I'm trying to remind myself of the valuable lesson I wrote about in my last post- I have control over how I react to this situation. So with that in mind- My heart is filled with so much gratitude and love for the experiences I have been given and I am so excited to move forward with new knowledge and a positive outlook, ready to face the next adventure.
November 16, 2011
November 14, 2011
Peace shall be his legacy
I was fortunate enough to be able to attend the memorial service for the 16th anniversary of Yitzhak Rabin's assassination this past weekend. It was a very beautiful ceremony in Rabin Square with over 10,000 people in attendance. The weather was perfect, milder than it has been the past week and the crowd was a fascinating representation of the Israeli population. In the past, the memorial service has brought close to 20,000 people into Rabin Square, an impressive place, and even more so when it is filled with politically charged Israelis. There were only several thousand people there when we arrived and Elin, my madrichah, expressed her disappointment in the turnout and told me that she didn't want my thoughts towards Israel to be negatively impacted. The furthest thing from my mind was the "poor" turnout. In fact, the Americans in our group had just been discussing how we had never really been at an event like Rabin's memorial. Israel is so small that people from all over the country can gather and experience significant events all together.
Part of the Tikkun Olam program involves taking classes about different Israeli issues. An ongoing theme through several of our classes is the concept of "the anachnu" or "the we". Simply put, it's the sense of community and togetherness that connect the people of Israel. It is a concept I am struggling to understand. I was raised in a culture that encourages fierce competition and independence (although without deviating from the socially acceptable path). I love the idea of the anachnu. It sort of reminds me of summer camp. I like that everyone is connected, invested in and committed to working towards creating the best Israel, the strongest future they can collectively build. It seems beautifully simplistic and optimistic. Unfortunately, summer camp comes to an end, fall sports season begins and those best friends forever (and ever and ever) now face each other on the lacrosse field and human nature seems to trump the sanctity of BFF bracelets.
How American of me. But Israel seems to make it work. I just don't get it! I see it daily in small ways and analyze it in my various classes, but nothing makes it more apparent than when I'm standing with 10,000 Israelis, peacefully celebrating the incredible life of a fellow Israeli. There were thousands of high school scouts, many of whom were probably in preschool when Rabin was shot, old hippies, families sitting close together, young activists, soldiers in uniform. People from all over the country came together, put aside politics (for the most part) for one evening and chose to celebrate the things they share, including, above all others, a love for their country. It's a different kind of patriotism from the "cheer obnoxiously during the National Anthem, slap a THESE COLORS DON'T RUN bumper sticker on our pickup trucks and start a movement where we want to stop paying taxes" patriotism in America. Israel has it's own set of problems, but the country must be doing something right...
Now time for my favorite part of my blog- Reasons why I love the ARDC! I've started teaching the Advanced English class there once a week. My students are 5 middle aged men from Sudan. They are some of the kindest, most polite, well meaning and appreciative people I've met- and that's saying something because I find almost everyone who comes in to the ARDC to be absolutely wonderful. They are very sweet to me, but take their learning seriously and have no problem telling me when they don't like my activites. I think I've finally gotten an idea of what they want, so we usually sit together and read a news article, define new vocabulary, and then discuss what we read. They are thoughtful and provide an insight unique to any I've been exposed to before. It's very comfortable to sit in a college lecture, surrounded by your peers and discuss what people in Africa need to do differently to control the population growth. It's much more challenging to speak to individuals who are from that culture, listen to them share their stories as both parties tiptoe carefully in an attempt to address the issues without insulting or placing a value judgement on the others lifestyle. I'm not working with children anymore, either. It's harder, not to mention uncomfortable, to offer shallow and diplomatic answers in an attempt to ease tension without offering real solutions. Thankfully, these men handled our discussion very well and I was excited to being searching for next weeks news article.
This part is going to sound silly.... I know that a lot, if not most, of the news we read is bad, sad, depressing, makes you question your faith in humanity, ect. We sort of know what to expect when we log on to our news site. Something about these men makes me want to shield them from the bad news. I don't want my class to be 2 hours of despair. Many of the news articles I read involved countries in NE Africa or the struggles individuals face as they seek refuge in other countries. It seems terribly insensitive of me to bring these kind of articles in. After searching for an hour this week, I settled on an article about extinct rhinos- mostly just bad news for those rhinos.
Meeting with these men really puts things in perspective for me. They have faced unknown hardships beyond what I could ever imagine. Their lives are so much more difficult than my own. We sit together for several hours a week, all in Israel, but myself by choice, because I could afford the luxury of taking time off work to volunteer and live in a place that I chose, and them, refugees who fled their war torn home, left their families and friends, in search of security and prosperity. We sit together, sharing our lives for a brief moment in time, and despite the fact that our lives couldn't be more different, it feels very normal. Their kindness, good humor and optimism remind me that how we view our situation, how we react to circumstances, is completely within our control. Life is as good or as bad as we decide it is, and if these men can decide that life is pretty good, I can do that too. I always find myself walking home from the ARDC smiling, buzzing with a sense of purpose and contentment and admiring the beauty that surrounds me.
Part of the Tikkun Olam program involves taking classes about different Israeli issues. An ongoing theme through several of our classes is the concept of "the anachnu" or "the we". Simply put, it's the sense of community and togetherness that connect the people of Israel. It is a concept I am struggling to understand. I was raised in a culture that encourages fierce competition and independence (although without deviating from the socially acceptable path). I love the idea of the anachnu. It sort of reminds me of summer camp. I like that everyone is connected, invested in and committed to working towards creating the best Israel, the strongest future they can collectively build. It seems beautifully simplistic and optimistic. Unfortunately, summer camp comes to an end, fall sports season begins and those best friends forever (and ever and ever) now face each other on the lacrosse field and human nature seems to trump the sanctity of BFF bracelets.
How American of me. But Israel seems to make it work. I just don't get it! I see it daily in small ways and analyze it in my various classes, but nothing makes it more apparent than when I'm standing with 10,000 Israelis, peacefully celebrating the incredible life of a fellow Israeli. There were thousands of high school scouts, many of whom were probably in preschool when Rabin was shot, old hippies, families sitting close together, young activists, soldiers in uniform. People from all over the country came together, put aside politics (for the most part) for one evening and chose to celebrate the things they share, including, above all others, a love for their country. It's a different kind of patriotism from the "cheer obnoxiously during the National Anthem, slap a THESE COLORS DON'T RUN bumper sticker on our pickup trucks and start a movement where we want to stop paying taxes" patriotism in America. Israel has it's own set of problems, but the country must be doing something right...
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| Fountain in Rabin Square |
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| Graffiti tribute |
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| Memorial on the site of Rabin's assassination |
Now time for my favorite part of my blog- Reasons why I love the ARDC! I've started teaching the Advanced English class there once a week. My students are 5 middle aged men from Sudan. They are some of the kindest, most polite, well meaning and appreciative people I've met- and that's saying something because I find almost everyone who comes in to the ARDC to be absolutely wonderful. They are very sweet to me, but take their learning seriously and have no problem telling me when they don't like my activites. I think I've finally gotten an idea of what they want, so we usually sit together and read a news article, define new vocabulary, and then discuss what we read. They are thoughtful and provide an insight unique to any I've been exposed to before. It's very comfortable to sit in a college lecture, surrounded by your peers and discuss what people in Africa need to do differently to control the population growth. It's much more challenging to speak to individuals who are from that culture, listen to them share their stories as both parties tiptoe carefully in an attempt to address the issues without insulting or placing a value judgement on the others lifestyle. I'm not working with children anymore, either. It's harder, not to mention uncomfortable, to offer shallow and diplomatic answers in an attempt to ease tension without offering real solutions. Thankfully, these men handled our discussion very well and I was excited to being searching for next weeks news article.
This part is going to sound silly.... I know that a lot, if not most, of the news we read is bad, sad, depressing, makes you question your faith in humanity, ect. We sort of know what to expect when we log on to our news site. Something about these men makes me want to shield them from the bad news. I don't want my class to be 2 hours of despair. Many of the news articles I read involved countries in NE Africa or the struggles individuals face as they seek refuge in other countries. It seems terribly insensitive of me to bring these kind of articles in. After searching for an hour this week, I settled on an article about extinct rhinos- mostly just bad news for those rhinos.
Meeting with these men really puts things in perspective for me. They have faced unknown hardships beyond what I could ever imagine. Their lives are so much more difficult than my own. We sit together for several hours a week, all in Israel, but myself by choice, because I could afford the luxury of taking time off work to volunteer and live in a place that I chose, and them, refugees who fled their war torn home, left their families and friends, in search of security and prosperity. We sit together, sharing our lives for a brief moment in time, and despite the fact that our lives couldn't be more different, it feels very normal. Their kindness, good humor and optimism remind me that how we view our situation, how we react to circumstances, is completely within our control. Life is as good or as bad as we decide it is, and if these men can decide that life is pretty good, I can do that too. I always find myself walking home from the ARDC smiling, buzzing with a sense of purpose and contentment and admiring the beauty that surrounds me.
November 5, 2011
Attitude Adjustment
For those of you who know me (and more specifically- my immune system), it will come as no surprise to you that I've been sick for the better part of the past three weeks. During this time I've spent countless hours in bed, alone with my thoughts. I've analyzed every thought, action, reaction, expectation and emotion I've experienced over the past two months. I've become so good at (over)analyzing that I can often remove myself from the process and observe myself doing it, resulting in an interesting perspective and the ability to analyze my analysis. This hyper awareness is so much a part of who I am that I struggle to stop and actively experience and appreciate my surroundings. I've had a hard time feeling happy since I've gotten to Israel and so much of that has to do with the fact that I've been so deep in my thoughts that I haven't allowed myself to enjoy the reality of my life right now.
I've never lived abroad, or even traveled abroad, so even though I "knew" things would be different here, I never could have prepared myself for just how different everything is. As a person with high expectations and a constant pursuit for perfection, facing a situation so unlike the one I created in my mind is terrifying. Acknowledging the reality, failed expectations and all, can be devastating. It results in the obsessive introspection mentioned above. I could have allowed my experience here to be defined by the first two months of maladjustment and next three months of analyzing my initial reactions. Thankfully, the Tikkun Olam staff is so incredible, my volunteer coordinator in particular, who encouraged me to take advantage of the times I was feeling healthy and go explore and do things that make me feel good.
I finally got a break from feeling poorly (although not before I had my first experience with the Israeli health care system and their "english speaking" doctors) and decided to venture north to the nicer part of Tel Aviv. I met with a Tikkun Olam alumni I had been emailing with (thanks to our program director, Moshe) who had experienced many of the same difficulties I have been expressing during her time in the program. Despite feeling miserable, confused, lost, isolated, ect her first few months in Israel, she actively chose to make her experience better and it was such a positive change that she made Aliyah after she finished the program. It was overwhelming to feel so validated and something about discussing our shared experiences allowed me to let go of some of the disappointment I've been feeling. We also had a similar emotional timeline, with her making big changes at the beginning of the third month and it was just the push I needed to make those changes myself.
Over the past several days I've gone out of my way to spend time with people I enjoy being around. I'm engaging in thoughtful conversation, going on bike rides, exploring the streets of Tel Aviv, and baking, a lot of baking. I believe that people are capable of change. I'm not sure that I believe I am. I think I will always be analytical, obsessive, have high expectations and be prone to disappointment. I don't adjust well to change or allow it without significant resistance. I'm terribly emotional and particular and will often allow my moods to overcome me. These are things I know about myself, things that I've stopped trying to assign a value to, but have simply learned to be conscious of while going through my life. But I'm seeing a new side of myself. I know it's only been a few days, but my willingness to take ownership of my experience, to acknowledge my unreasonable expectations and move forward, my eagerness to engage in this reality and shape it into something distinctly positive, and my ability to remove myself from my inner monologue and be present for all of these things, allows me to smile and take pride in my personal growth.
I know this is a lesson I will have to learn many times over. I can't imagine that I'll always be brave enough to place myself in new situations, adventurous enough to explore the chaos, humble enough to be aware of my own shortcomings, or resilient enough to work through them. I don't know that I'm any of those things now. I don't know what I am. But I know what I want to be, so I'm doing my best to just be.
I've never lived abroad, or even traveled abroad, so even though I "knew" things would be different here, I never could have prepared myself for just how different everything is. As a person with high expectations and a constant pursuit for perfection, facing a situation so unlike the one I created in my mind is terrifying. Acknowledging the reality, failed expectations and all, can be devastating. It results in the obsessive introspection mentioned above. I could have allowed my experience here to be defined by the first two months of maladjustment and next three months of analyzing my initial reactions. Thankfully, the Tikkun Olam staff is so incredible, my volunteer coordinator in particular, who encouraged me to take advantage of the times I was feeling healthy and go explore and do things that make me feel good.
I finally got a break from feeling poorly (although not before I had my first experience with the Israeli health care system and their "english speaking" doctors) and decided to venture north to the nicer part of Tel Aviv. I met with a Tikkun Olam alumni I had been emailing with (thanks to our program director, Moshe) who had experienced many of the same difficulties I have been expressing during her time in the program. Despite feeling miserable, confused, lost, isolated, ect her first few months in Israel, she actively chose to make her experience better and it was such a positive change that she made Aliyah after she finished the program. It was overwhelming to feel so validated and something about discussing our shared experiences allowed me to let go of some of the disappointment I've been feeling. We also had a similar emotional timeline, with her making big changes at the beginning of the third month and it was just the push I needed to make those changes myself.
Over the past several days I've gone out of my way to spend time with people I enjoy being around. I'm engaging in thoughtful conversation, going on bike rides, exploring the streets of Tel Aviv, and baking, a lot of baking. I believe that people are capable of change. I'm not sure that I believe I am. I think I will always be analytical, obsessive, have high expectations and be prone to disappointment. I don't adjust well to change or allow it without significant resistance. I'm terribly emotional and particular and will often allow my moods to overcome me. These are things I know about myself, things that I've stopped trying to assign a value to, but have simply learned to be conscious of while going through my life. But I'm seeing a new side of myself. I know it's only been a few days, but my willingness to take ownership of my experience, to acknowledge my unreasonable expectations and move forward, my eagerness to engage in this reality and shape it into something distinctly positive, and my ability to remove myself from my inner monologue and be present for all of these things, allows me to smile and take pride in my personal growth.
I know this is a lesson I will have to learn many times over. I can't imagine that I'll always be brave enough to place myself in new situations, adventurous enough to explore the chaos, humble enough to be aware of my own shortcomings, or resilient enough to work through them. I don't know that I'm any of those things now. I don't know what I am. But I know what I want to be, so I'm doing my best to just be.
October 26, 2011
Heartbreak
Several days ago I had the most exciting and fulfilling experience. The ARDC, my favorite volunteer site, is assisting many of the refugees that are registering for the green card lottery to the US. The United States issues about 50,000 "diversity visas" a year for citizens of countries who are underrepresented in immigration rates. It is not a terribly difficult process, but the requirements are very specific, so the volunteer staff at the ARDC have several days during this month where refugees can come in and apply, with our assistance.
We registered only a couple dozen applicants the first 2 days. Word began to spread and when I showed up for my regular shift on Sunday, I couldn't even get in the door of our building. Hundreds of people were crowded in the street, the alley of our building, the stairwell and our office. Because we assigned everyone a number, I can say with confidence that there were over 400 people at the ARDC seeking our help. As can be expected, it was a balagan! We were unorganized, understaffed and completely unprepared for such a large crowd. There was plenty of yelling, directing into lines, number assignments, threats to call the police or close down registration and, (it's worth saying twice) yelling. It was utter chaos- but there's nothing I love more than organizing chaos. It wasn't pretty, but we registered over 300 people for the lottery in about 7 hours. The remaining 100 with numbers already assigned, and the 100+ that has come in without numbers, were told to come back on Wednesday, when we would be back, and with a better plan. Although I usually only volunteer 4 hours a week with them, I agreed to come in on Wednesday and help out again.
I went home exhilarated after a 14 hour day. I like being busy, feeling useful and doing things that really do matter. I thought about all of the people I sat with that day. Many of them made a difficult choice to apply without their family, essentially denying their existence. To complete your applicant, you must submit a passport photo of all of the dependents (spouse and children) you're claiming. Since many refugees left their home country without their families, they do not have access to these photos. One loophole is to claim no dependents. By registering without them, they forfeit the opportunity to claim them if they were to win the lottery and receive a green card. I was shocked by how easily they made such a concrete and final decision. After considering it further I realized that, for many of them, denying their family on paper was the only way they could pursue the possibility of a better life for them in reality.
I went to the ARDC today, excited and ready for another full day of work. I was surprised to find things outside a bit calmer than they were on Sunday and was even more happy to find the stairwell and office almost empty. It seemed that they had created and implemented a better system than the one we were using. After sitting down at the front desk, I was informed that we had stopped registration for the day, a mere 30 minutes in. Many of the volunteers upstairs in the office were upset because our manager, who had not been there on Sunday to assist us in any way, walked in today and decided it was too chaotic and canceled registration. The police had been called and we were waiting for the street to be cleared before we could leave. I was under the impression that it had been an empty threat, similar to the ones we issued on Sunday, but the more time we sat in the office, the more clear it became that this was very much the reality of the situation.
I was angry with our manager for coming in and deciding it was too much, when it seemed much more organized than the previous session and, especially, because he had been of no assistance to us, even when we called and asked for his help. I sat for quite some time, hoping that someone would come up the stairs and tell us that all was resolved and we were going to resume registration. No one came and eventually I was kindly told to go home. I walked downstairs, considering whether or not I should express my disappointment in the manager. I opened the building door and saw several police officers yelling instructions to the crowd of refugees, explaining that there was no registration, the office was closed and that they needed to leave immediately. I had to wait for the crowd to clear, and as I stood in the alley, I watched as several hundred people processed the news that their chance to go to America, which was already microscopic, has vanished completely. Several people I had personally told on Sunday to come back today tried to get my attention, searching for recognition in my face. I realized that we had unintentionally chosen their fate on Sunday. Perhaps not as dramatic as life and death, but in a sense, between a possible livelihood and a dead end.
Tears began to sting in my eyes and I tried to stop them from rolling down my cheeks, knowing it wouldn't help the situation at all. As the volunteers began to emerge from the crowd (having tried to do their best to peacefully sending the refugees on their way), I saw them same emotions reflected in their eyes. The landlord of our building approached our manager and began yelling at him, making it very clear that a crowd like this was never to be outside the building, implying eviction if there was ever a similar situation. The manager turned to me for a moment, and to my surprise I saw the same emotions, the same devastation, and the same sense of helplessness in his face. I realized that he had been painted as the villain, responsible for yanking away my newfound sense of purpose and passion, but he too, so much more than me, had been disempowered by someone above him. I shared an empathetic half smile with him, walked through the crowd of people with my head hung low, and allowed the tears to fall freely as I biked away.
We registered only a couple dozen applicants the first 2 days. Word began to spread and when I showed up for my regular shift on Sunday, I couldn't even get in the door of our building. Hundreds of people were crowded in the street, the alley of our building, the stairwell and our office. Because we assigned everyone a number, I can say with confidence that there were over 400 people at the ARDC seeking our help. As can be expected, it was a balagan! We were unorganized, understaffed and completely unprepared for such a large crowd. There was plenty of yelling, directing into lines, number assignments, threats to call the police or close down registration and, (it's worth saying twice) yelling. It was utter chaos- but there's nothing I love more than organizing chaos. It wasn't pretty, but we registered over 300 people for the lottery in about 7 hours. The remaining 100 with numbers already assigned, and the 100+ that has come in without numbers, were told to come back on Wednesday, when we would be back, and with a better plan. Although I usually only volunteer 4 hours a week with them, I agreed to come in on Wednesday and help out again.
I went home exhilarated after a 14 hour day. I like being busy, feeling useful and doing things that really do matter. I thought about all of the people I sat with that day. Many of them made a difficult choice to apply without their family, essentially denying their existence. To complete your applicant, you must submit a passport photo of all of the dependents (spouse and children) you're claiming. Since many refugees left their home country without their families, they do not have access to these photos. One loophole is to claim no dependents. By registering without them, they forfeit the opportunity to claim them if they were to win the lottery and receive a green card. I was shocked by how easily they made such a concrete and final decision. After considering it further I realized that, for many of them, denying their family on paper was the only way they could pursue the possibility of a better life for them in reality.
I went to the ARDC today, excited and ready for another full day of work. I was surprised to find things outside a bit calmer than they were on Sunday and was even more happy to find the stairwell and office almost empty. It seemed that they had created and implemented a better system than the one we were using. After sitting down at the front desk, I was informed that we had stopped registration for the day, a mere 30 minutes in. Many of the volunteers upstairs in the office were upset because our manager, who had not been there on Sunday to assist us in any way, walked in today and decided it was too chaotic and canceled registration. The police had been called and we were waiting for the street to be cleared before we could leave. I was under the impression that it had been an empty threat, similar to the ones we issued on Sunday, but the more time we sat in the office, the more clear it became that this was very much the reality of the situation.
I was angry with our manager for coming in and deciding it was too much, when it seemed much more organized than the previous session and, especially, because he had been of no assistance to us, even when we called and asked for his help. I sat for quite some time, hoping that someone would come up the stairs and tell us that all was resolved and we were going to resume registration. No one came and eventually I was kindly told to go home. I walked downstairs, considering whether or not I should express my disappointment in the manager. I opened the building door and saw several police officers yelling instructions to the crowd of refugees, explaining that there was no registration, the office was closed and that they needed to leave immediately. I had to wait for the crowd to clear, and as I stood in the alley, I watched as several hundred people processed the news that their chance to go to America, which was already microscopic, has vanished completely. Several people I had personally told on Sunday to come back today tried to get my attention, searching for recognition in my face. I realized that we had unintentionally chosen their fate on Sunday. Perhaps not as dramatic as life and death, but in a sense, between a possible livelihood and a dead end.
Tears began to sting in my eyes and I tried to stop them from rolling down my cheeks, knowing it wouldn't help the situation at all. As the volunteers began to emerge from the crowd (having tried to do their best to peacefully sending the refugees on their way), I saw them same emotions reflected in their eyes. The landlord of our building approached our manager and began yelling at him, making it very clear that a crowd like this was never to be outside the building, implying eviction if there was ever a similar situation. The manager turned to me for a moment, and to my surprise I saw the same emotions, the same devastation, and the same sense of helplessness in his face. I realized that he had been painted as the villain, responsible for yanking away my newfound sense of purpose and passion, but he too, so much more than me, had been disempowered by someone above him. I shared an empathetic half smile with him, walked through the crowd of people with my head hung low, and allowed the tears to fall freely as I biked away.
October 18, 2011
Welcome Home, Gilad!
Today was an incredible day for many people, both Israelis and Palestinian. In exchange for the release of Gilad Shalit, an IDF soldier held captive by Hamas since 2006, Israel is freeing 1,027 Palestinians and Arab Israeli prisoners. Everyone has their own opinion and I wouldn't dare speak for the people of Israel, but I read an interesting piece today that has influenced my thoughts about the swap- Read it Here.
Yesterday, I was speaking with some friends, both Israeli and American, and we were discussing the publicity around Shalit's captivity compared to that of POWs in America. While it was almost impossible to go a day without thinking about Shalit here in Israel, we often don't even know the names of many of the POWs in the States, let alone the conditions and circumstances of their captivity. I am beginning to understand the intensity of this Israeli and Jewish sense of community.
It is a thrilling revelation for several reasons- Being here for Gilad's release, watching the nonstop news coverage, crying as I saw pictures of him and his family, discussing the events with others, allowed me to actively engage in the dialogue of Israel. So many conflicts here are beyond my understanding, have gone on too long for me to understand their depths, but I am familiar with Shalit's captivity and got to experience the news of the deal and the release along with the Israeli people. I felt a sense of inclusion and connectedness as I developed and shared my own opinions with those around me. Another reason is that, although I don't understand it fully, and likely never will, this is the first time that I've acknowledged a difference between the people living in Israel and the Jewish people. It's a difficult distinction to come to terms with, and one I've struggled with the most being here. I imagine that exploring this issue, which is something I intend to focus on during my time here, will be cause for much introspection and alteration of expectations. I'll be sure to write more about it as more thoughts develop, but simple acknowledging the difference is a huge step for me.
I spent yesterday hiking in the Golan Heights, doing a hike I did during Taglit. Thankfully, it's a beautiful hike and I was happy to do it again. It was refreshing to get away from the city. I don't think I really appreciated living in Colorado, where it is remarkably easy to escape city life and surround yourself with nature. Spending even a day in the mountains has left me feeling more grounded and content than I've felt in several weeks.
Yesterday, I was speaking with some friends, both Israeli and American, and we were discussing the publicity around Shalit's captivity compared to that of POWs in America. While it was almost impossible to go a day without thinking about Shalit here in Israel, we often don't even know the names of many of the POWs in the States, let alone the conditions and circumstances of their captivity. I am beginning to understand the intensity of this Israeli and Jewish sense of community.
It is a thrilling revelation for several reasons- Being here for Gilad's release, watching the nonstop news coverage, crying as I saw pictures of him and his family, discussing the events with others, allowed me to actively engage in the dialogue of Israel. So many conflicts here are beyond my understanding, have gone on too long for me to understand their depths, but I am familiar with Shalit's captivity and got to experience the news of the deal and the release along with the Israeli people. I felt a sense of inclusion and connectedness as I developed and shared my own opinions with those around me. Another reason is that, although I don't understand it fully, and likely never will, this is the first time that I've acknowledged a difference between the people living in Israel and the Jewish people. It's a difficult distinction to come to terms with, and one I've struggled with the most being here. I imagine that exploring this issue, which is something I intend to focus on during my time here, will be cause for much introspection and alteration of expectations. I'll be sure to write more about it as more thoughts develop, but simple acknowledging the difference is a huge step for me.
I spent yesterday hiking in the Golan Heights, doing a hike I did during Taglit. Thankfully, it's a beautiful hike and I was happy to do it again. It was refreshing to get away from the city. I don't think I really appreciated living in Colorado, where it is remarkably easy to escape city life and surround yourself with nature. Spending even a day in the mountains has left me feeling more grounded and content than I've felt in several weeks.
October 13, 2011
Sukkot
I, like majority of the people in my program, have been sick for the past week. I wasn't feeling much better today, but was starting to get a little bit of cabin fever and decided to wander around Jaffa today with my friend Nikki. Today was the first day of Sukkot, which meant that most of the shops were closed. The city felt more quiet than usual and it was a wonderful day to explore.
I have the next week off for Sukkot and am eager to travel around Israel. On the agenda- Camping in the Golan, Shabbat in Jerusalem, and possibly diving in Eilat. I'm looking forward to having some free time to meet up with some friends who I haven't had a chance to see yet. It will be nice to have a week off. We've been going hard and I've needed some time to stop and think about what I've experienced so far. I don't have any revelations yet, but will be sure to keep everyone posted once I fully grasp religion and the conflict in the Middle East. Don't hold your breath! For now, here are some pictures of the past week. I'm hoping to get some cool pictures of the sukkahs around the neighborhood!
I have the next week off for Sukkot and am eager to travel around Israel. On the agenda- Camping in the Golan, Shabbat in Jerusalem, and possibly diving in Eilat. I'm looking forward to having some free time to meet up with some friends who I haven't had a chance to see yet. It will be nice to have a week off. We've been going hard and I've needed some time to stop and think about what I've experienced so far. I don't have any revelations yet, but will be sure to keep everyone posted once I fully grasp religion and the conflict in the Middle East. Don't hold your breath! For now, here are some pictures of the past week. I'm hoping to get some cool pictures of the sukkahs around the neighborhood!
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| We drew pictures of our Sukkah and the person we would want to join us. I, of course, picked my aba. |
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| Paper chains decorating our sukkah. |
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| Jewelry on Jaffa Port. |
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| Jaffa mosque. |
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| Patient surfers waiting for the waves from the Mediterranean. |
October 8, 2011
Yom Kippur
Today was one that I will remember for a long time. Yom Kippur is indescribably different in Israel than it is in the States, but I am still compelled to write down my observations, both to share with those who read my blog and for my own records. I chose not to go to services Friday night and opted to spend the evening reflecting about the past year, allowing myself to think about the things I have worked hard to block out- failed relationships, my fears about my post collegiate future, the death of my grandmother. It was emotional and necessary. My time in Israel has been exhausting and I've often ignored intense emotions or thoughts that I felt I just did not have the strength to tackle. This Yom Kippur was much more introspective than most in the past.
My two Israeli roommates turned out apartment into a bit of a hostel, with 8 of their friends sleeping in our living room. I thought it was crowded when it was just the 7 of us! Many of the Israelis chose not to fast, and nothing makes a fast harder than watching people eat food right in front of you. They all seemed very perplexed by our (the Americans in the program) decision to fast. We began discussing the differences between America and Israel during the High Holidays. Jews in the States have to actively engage in the holidays, through observing traditions, going to services, ect. It was always important for me to fast because it was my way of recognizing the importance of Yom Kippur while the rest of the world continued to go on as normal. Here in Israel, the world came to a screeching halt for the past 24 hours. There was no denying the importance of this day, even to the most secular.
After a day of reflection, I decided to go to the Saturday evening services, not because I especially wanted to, but because I felt a sense of obligation to observe in the traditional way. I had been told that the city shuts down, no cars on the roads, everyone dressed in white and riding their bikes. Even though I had expected to see that, I don't think anyone could have described, or that I could have understood without experiencing it myself, the peaceful silence that swallowed the city. During my hour long walk from south to central Tel Aviv I saw one car (a police car) on the road. Children and adults alike rode through the streets; several people had put couches on the roads and lounged around in the middle of intersections; the stoplights were all turned off. I suppose the city wasn't completely silent. Children were yelling and playing, families talking, dogs barking, but there was an unusual sense of calm in the air. There is something startling about a city of 400,000 people from all different backgrounds slowing down to acknowledge the importance of Yom Kippur and respect the people in the city who choose to observe it.
I continue to search for a way to describe it, something comparable in the States, but I cannot think of an occasion where everyone would stay off the roads and spend the day engaged in quiet reflection. With all the talk of Colorado's first snow, I think that maybe it's a bit like that. The sense of peace and calm that comes with sitting in the mountains, listening to the snow fall, blanketing the ground and drawing us into a quiet place of contemplation. My Yom Kippur was not snowy, and in fact, quite balmy. But, despite being in a hot, hot city, I felt a sense of tranquility usually reserved for snowy days in my Colorado Rockies. I know that tomorrow will be back to business as usual here and I'll go back to loathing so much about Tel Aviv, but just as I remember my first time at the Kotel as being the moment I fell in love with Jerusalem, I do believe that my love affair with Tel Aviv began today. Here's to an incredible 4 months, אהבה שלי.
My two Israeli roommates turned out apartment into a bit of a hostel, with 8 of their friends sleeping in our living room. I thought it was crowded when it was just the 7 of us! Many of the Israelis chose not to fast, and nothing makes a fast harder than watching people eat food right in front of you. They all seemed very perplexed by our (the Americans in the program) decision to fast. We began discussing the differences between America and Israel during the High Holidays. Jews in the States have to actively engage in the holidays, through observing traditions, going to services, ect. It was always important for me to fast because it was my way of recognizing the importance of Yom Kippur while the rest of the world continued to go on as normal. Here in Israel, the world came to a screeching halt for the past 24 hours. There was no denying the importance of this day, even to the most secular.
After a day of reflection, I decided to go to the Saturday evening services, not because I especially wanted to, but because I felt a sense of obligation to observe in the traditional way. I had been told that the city shuts down, no cars on the roads, everyone dressed in white and riding their bikes. Even though I had expected to see that, I don't think anyone could have described, or that I could have understood without experiencing it myself, the peaceful silence that swallowed the city. During my hour long walk from south to central Tel Aviv I saw one car (a police car) on the road. Children and adults alike rode through the streets; several people had put couches on the roads and lounged around in the middle of intersections; the stoplights were all turned off. I suppose the city wasn't completely silent. Children were yelling and playing, families talking, dogs barking, but there was an unusual sense of calm in the air. There is something startling about a city of 400,000 people from all different backgrounds slowing down to acknowledge the importance of Yom Kippur and respect the people in the city who choose to observe it.
I continue to search for a way to describe it, something comparable in the States, but I cannot think of an occasion where everyone would stay off the roads and spend the day engaged in quiet reflection. With all the talk of Colorado's first snow, I think that maybe it's a bit like that. The sense of peace and calm that comes with sitting in the mountains, listening to the snow fall, blanketing the ground and drawing us into a quiet place of contemplation. My Yom Kippur was not snowy, and in fact, quite balmy. But, despite being in a hot, hot city, I felt a sense of tranquility usually reserved for snowy days in my Colorado Rockies. I know that tomorrow will be back to business as usual here and I'll go back to loathing so much about Tel Aviv, but just as I remember my first time at the Kotel as being the moment I fell in love with Jerusalem, I do believe that my love affair with Tel Aviv began today. Here's to an incredible 4 months, אהבה שלי.
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