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.

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.

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!

We drew pictures of our Sukkah and the person we would want to join us. I, of course, picked my aba. 

Paper chains decorating our sukkah.

Jewelry on Jaffa Port.

Jaffa mosque.

Patient surfers waiting for the waves from the Mediterranean. 

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. 

This One's for You, Mom

I've gotten requests to update my blog but I'm just not sure what to write about. Writing about my day to day life seems superficial and self absorbed. I want my writing to have substance and depth but I can't seem to get out of my thoughts long enough to figure out what they mean or how I could even begin to articulate them. I don't understand my thoughts, let alone know how to make others understand them. I think that may have a lot of do with my feelings of isolation here in Tel Aviv.

Our group went on a day trip to Jerusalem last week and I was reminded of what initially drew me to Israel. There is a unique energy to the Old City, an energy unique to one of the holiest places in the world. People walk through the streets with a sense of purpose, firmly grounded in the ethereal. Their higher purpose and unrelenting faith is intoxicating and desirable and, when surrounded by the reality of a Torah observant lifestyle, makes me consider my own options.

I've recently started spending time with another American on a different MASA program who shares my dreams/fears of abandoning the secular and diving in completely to a life of religious observation.  We discussed our shared belief that it isn't so much a conscious choice one makes, but a undeniable, overwhelming force that redirects and redefines your life in every way imaginable. I can pinpoint several moments over the past few years in which I've felt this force, not strong enough to make me completely alter my current lifestyle, but enough so to make me uncomfortable and begin to explore the idea. Each of those moments forces me into a deeper level of introspection, with the most recent affecting me so much so that I chose to spend an extended period of time living in Israel.

I suppose my last experience in Israel influenced me to create unrealistic expectations for this trip. Every moment of my Taglit trip was soulful, spiritual and purposeful. Visiting a place and living in it are two entirely different things, and shame on me for not having the foresight to realize that. I have spent most of my 5 weeks here feeling empty and upset that I am unable to feel with the same passion as I did earlier this summer. After the day in Jerusalem, though, I realized that I still do possess those feelings but it is my responsibility to search for them. Life in a VERY secular Tel Aviv is beautiful and holds the possibility for many new experiences. I need to let go of my expectations and enjoy the opportunities I have living in a provocative and exciting city. I also need to embrace the force that is slowly directing me towards a life of religious observation and take it upon myself to become educated and explore a seemingly surreal reality that may one day become the only reality I wish to entertain.