To the apartment

 

Tuesday:

I woke up early, hoping to break the habit of sleeping past everyone else in the house. Between the daily sounds of sheep and cows I also heard what sounded like a marching band or parade. At first, I thought it was a recording being played over an intercom, but I was later corrected that it was the local schools celebrating Chanukah. When we drove around the Moshav on our way to the bus stop, children were dressed in costume- perhaps for a school play. Around the surrounding shopping areas one could see a seven-foot menorah ready for the holiday lighting. Unlike America, where Christmas and holidays explode out of the seams of every shop, home, and public area, Chanukah modestly shows it’s presence here. It is another night of family, candlelight, and food.

We arrived at the bus stop, and waited for bus 826 – a number I will very familiar with by the end of my stay in Israel, as it is the one bus that goes from the moshav to tel aviv. The bus was comfortable, like a grey hound from home. Yardena sweetly pointed out all of the interesting places along the way. An hour and a half later we arrived in Tel Aviv. My adventure there at night did not give the towering buildings and the bustling streets of the city justice. The difference between Tel Aviv and Sede Yaakov (the moshav) is comparable to the difference between the Connecticut country and New York City. One place you raise a family and the other you meet all kinds of walks of life. I am so happy to have a quiet place to retreat to each Shabbat, away from such over stimulation.

After the bus we took a taxi to Bnei Brak, where my new apartment is. My future roommate, Ayelet (ah-yell-et) is a sweet Canadian and studying at the university. She was not able to meet, but my landlord, Yossi, was waiting for us. The building was concrete and maybe only three levels high. The bottom level was shared between the entrance to the apartments and a falafel shop. Yossi, a religious man, but not quite a black-hatter, had a keepa that nearly covered his head. We said hello, and Yardena leaned over and whispered that he is the type of religious man who does NOT shake hands with women. Although I knew there were such men, and that the chances of meeting one were very high in Bnei Brak ( a notoriously religious area), I was startled and for the rest of the apartment visit. I was scared to be within a foot of him. This was a rather large feat because the apartment itself was maybe 20x20. Despite it’s very small space, the apartment would be fine for the short time I planned to stay. Yossi then led us to the place where we would sign the contract. Nothing like partaking in a legal transaction that is entirely in another language to get your gears going! Without fail, however, Yardena was my savior. I could tell by the tone of her voice, as she furious spoke Hebrew to these men, that she was protective of me. After a lot of talking, some translating, and dispute about paying in dollars versus shekel we finished.

Still on the move, Yardena and I took a taxi to Bar-ilan to meet a woman, Judy, who works at the president’s office. The campus was massive and beautiful. Students were everywhere, some spoke English and others Hebrew. Cafes, restaurants comparable to panera were scattered at the entrance. We ate, waiting to meet Judy. When she finally arrived we sat down to speak over some details. It was mainly a social visit. I learned about her British background and how she came to live in Israel, with a husband who can’t stand the place! I had hoped to meet with the professor I would be researching with, but his curt emails and finalized schedule made it impossible.

After our meeting we decided to make the journey home, a 10 minute cab, two hour bus ride, and 15 minute car ride finally got us back to light the first candles for Chanukah with Orly, Shookie, Yardena, and I.

Monday Monday

The fire in my belly to learn Hebrew continues to burn more ardently every day. The more I am not a part of this world, forced to be an outsider by language, the more I want to break through the barrier. I ask a lot of questions, and repeat everything. The words I can say in Hebrew include; Hello, Good morning, good night, yes, no, excuse me, thank you, califlower, cabbage, broccoli, I have, I had, good, very, you, I am full, water, one, two, three, and some other ones. As of now, my only full sentence is, I don’t like mangos. After downloading some Hebrew apps on my iphone I hope to start learning more conjugation of key verbs like to want, to go, to have, to like, to be able, to eat, and to know.

The events of Monday: In the morning- my morning but a farmer and his wife’s midday- Yardena took me to a spot that is famous for its wild flowers. Unfortunately, when we got there we discovered that in the winter hardly any flowers are in bloom. Only a steadfast few were left, and I made sure to take a picture of each. Even lacking in flowers the walk was amazingly beautiful. The path was saturated with tall trees creating the canopy above, and lush grass that is usually speckled with flowers in the spring. Beyond the trees and grass were farmland and open space. We could see bright white rock and tall evergreen trees called, oren. The beauty of Israel is so well preserved in the lifestyle of the people. So much land is dedicated to farming, that some segments seem untouched by man. After our short hike/walk, we returned home and Shookie offered to give a tour of his fields, with our accompanying translator, Yardena. There was a lot of land to see, and even more vegetables. At one point we ran into his workers harvesting some fennel. Excitedly Shookie pulled the car to their side and had me leave the truck. He spoke loudly, and pointed at the workers. Yardena told me he wanted me to watch how the workers harvest. I watched as these women in headdresses, long sleeves, pants, and gloves took a small serrated steak knife, and as if cutting through butter sliced the fennel from its root, removed the first layers, and then shortened it’s leafy branches to about an inch. All of this action happened within 15 seconds. Shookie spoke again, and Yardena said that he wants to know if I could do it. Being the hot-head that I am, I lept at the chance- huge mistake. I asked for a knife and one of the workers handed me one. I stalked my prey, as everyone stopped and watched. I pounced, swinging my weapon into the air, and … BAM. I got stuck perhaps a few inches into the vegetable. Panicked, I started sawing. Even this didn’t work so I ended up ripping it out of the ground. I hear laughter coming from all sides as I hold up a mangled mess. Disappointment flashed in Shookie’s eyes, and I knew that he was not happy at the outcome. He took it and the knife from me and cut into pieces, which he handed to me, Yardena, and some for himself to eat. No more helping on the field for me I supposed. But I have a new found respect for those petit women on the fields. Under those layers I imagine rippling abs and bulging biceps. After this Shookie and Yardena take me to see a statue dedicated to one of the first gaurds of the Israeli valley. The statue was created in 1940, and is placed ontop of a hill overlooking the entire moshav. We arrived there as the sun was setting, and the light hitting karmel mountain, the hills, and the rolling fields, was breathtaking.

Key moments: During our walk, Yardena and I had a wonderful heart to heart. We are having more of these everyday, which make me feel so loved. I’ve never met anyone so motherly and warm as she is. I think she is starting to think of me less as a guest, and I like that.  Can’t forget me destroying a fennel. And I joined Orly’s yoga class for the evening. She did very well trying to translate the instructions for me. And finally, I had the pleasure of meeting Dahlia, a beautician of Yardena’s. She is full of life, and as soon as I walked through the door she grabbed my chin telling me how beautiful I was. Without a doubt, she is one of those people that not only light up the room, but sweep away the cobwebs and dust that distinguish your own light so that you may feel like you brighten the room as well.

Saturday, the day of sabbath. Shabbat Shalom! Thursday evening and Friday mid-day cars fill the streets as people try to reach their destination before 4pm on Friday. Israel is hushed and sleeps from sundown Friday to Saturday night as shops close and people no longer drive. Each week, a day is dedicated to pure, unadulterated relaxation. Society actually condones not doing anything all day, what a wondrous place. Traditionally, this would also mean stopping the use of electronics and the turning off any device or producing any work for any creature or potential work for yourself (ie no horse back riding and no bicycle riding, in case the bike breaks and you have to work to fix it). A sabbath day was just what the doctor ordered on my part! These last few days have been a whirlwind of sights, smells, and events. 

Beginning from Wednesday, my last blog, I had slept nearly 12 hours the day after traveling. Wednesday night was jetlags opportunity to give me a good ole fashion suckerpunch. No matter how comfortable I was, I couldn't sleep. Finally at 8am, I dressed and by 10am Yardena was ready to take me to Rosh Hanikra Grottoes, a cliff off the Mediterranean sea located at the border of Lebanon and Israel. Thousands of years of storm, salt, and water have modeled this chalk rock paradise. The crystal and sapphire blues from the water emphasize the white pigment of the rock that it beats into submission. The contrast is awe-inspiring, and makes me envision a yacht sailing this coast, it’s colors complimenting the scenery. The dissolved white rock exposes black bits of shell and mineral that either we forced into place or are now being slowly exposed. A cable car from the top of the cliff lowers down to the entrance to the tunnels. Within them you can see that water is the most amazing, majestic, and powerful force in nature. During the British occupation of Israel the site was created into a railroad track that also went through rock. Lebanese sabotage discouraged its use until it was declared a historic and nature site.  An ancient legend describes a young girl despaired over her upcoming arranged marriage. For liberation, she jumped into the sea from the cliff’s edge. To this day her sighs can be heard riding the waves into the tunnels.

Although excited and refreshed by the beauty of the Grottoes, my exhaustion would not be abated. On our way home we stopped at a shop for lunch, where I ate my weight in fish, hummus, salad, and other delicious plates. My body led me to bed, once we arrived home and I slept for some time.

Friday I learned more about the Moshav and the farm that Yardena and Shookie own. Yardena showed me some new developing homes that were very similar homes in the United States. “America is here!” she declared. I laughed, because it was true and sad. America is what so many people and countries compare themselves too. Now, here in the Moshav, houses that are atypically big for the area and have a very different design from the cube-style that is already present are being built. Erez, Shookie’s son from a previous marriage, showed me the sheep and the neighbor’s cows and chickens. The conditions were less than idea, and most definitely not organic. I was happier being a vegan when I saw how things were done. Now, don’t take this the wrong way, it wasn’t obscene, but I not ideal. I thought to myself, if this were an ideal situation every person would own one cow for milking, a few sheep for wool, 2 goats for milk, a few chickens, and then grow all their own vegetables. Perhaps just an ideal for me. Later, Saul and Orly came over to take out an ATV looking car around the fields. The landscape at the base of Karmel mountain, which is in the bible, is breathtaking. It is scattered with olive trees, wheat, vegetables, and oren trees. The sky was blue and the ground was lush. After our drive it was nearly the beginning of Shabbat, and in the distance the cars were lined bumper to bumper trying to get to their destinations before sundown. Orly and Saul planned to go to one place that Shabbat does not touch, Tel Aviv. A friend was having a birthday celebration, and they wanted me to join. At first I was apprehensive, even though I had become somewhat accustom to people speaking Hebrew instead of English. I went anyway. Anything that is scary is worth trying at least once!

Tel Aviv is like any major city, tall building, restaurants, high fashion, and taxis everywhere. The friends slowly came together, and without them noticing they all became so loud that they only way to talk to the people next to you would be to yell. I felt lost in a sea of screaming Russian monkeys. Yet I was not left alone in my own thoughts for too long, after dinner the mingling began and I discovered that nearly everyone could speak English. The other interesting dynamic was that everyone there was either married or engaged (excluding myself and one other). In Israel, Orly explained to me, the order of becoming an adult goes like this: first, grade school; second, high school; third, army; forth, one-two years to work; one year to travel (usually India, South America, or Australia); fifth, start a four year college. By the fifth stage the women are 28 and the men are 30. So, I was by far the youngest, but I was also one of the few with a degree already and not hitched. I had never ‘gone out’ with a married couple, let alone two married couples, two fiancées couples, and one serious relationship couple. We went to a club, where garden lights covered the ceiling and were turned on and off with the music. Also there was a DJ, lasers, and many many people. As I first entered, I laughed out loud, yet the blaring house music made it impossible to hear the sound, so I only felt the vibration in my vocal chords. There were hundreds of people just standing, like sardines in a can. No one was dancing, bobbing maybe, but not dancing. It was hilarious. Especially because if you watched carefully you would see all the young men watching women like hawks. I could hear the narrator of Planet Earth in my head, British accent and all, “Here the male awaits the female approach. He watches, hoping to catch her eye. Alas, the female blatantly ignores his desperate stares to subtlety show her disinterest… Oh, it looks like this male thinks that bobbing will attract her eye…. And she… No, this male will not procreate today.” We had more drinks, ‘danced,’ and somehow when we left it was 3am. We walked back to the original apartment, but lost some drunkards on the way, one of which was our shelter for the evening. Unable to find this lost soul in the city that never sleeps, Saul, Orly and I decided to make the drive home to sleep in the beds most familiar to us. By 5am I was in bed.

Now, Shabbat, the day of rest and sleep. Hallelujah!   

I hope I'm adding a new blog...my internet has decided to format everything in hebew ...

Second day in Israel and adventures need to be shared. First, we have to begin the story from the beginning of the journey, as every good story is told. The first flight from Denver to Philadelphia is rather uneventful. A standard three hour ride, besides the man next to me who does not read, sleep, or do anything but holds on to a black leather sleeve for the entire flight. In my mind he is a air marshal, or CIA agent, or maybe some neurotic person afraid of flying. I also notice that when we land, usually the moment everyone brings out their cell phones to call a loved one, friend, or business he does not. In fact, he does not call anyone even as I watch him exit the plane. It is very strange, especially since I notice the marriage band around his finger.

In the Philadelphia airport I meander around, hoping to produce enough circulation to my legs so that on the ten hour plane ride I will not keel over in pain. I walk from shop to shop, then finally give up by plopping down in a airport bar blasting Kelly Clarkson on the speakers. I order a small meal and try to use the internet on my phone and laptop. While both of my devices are failing, a man next to me inquires, "can you get internet?" I say no and then try to act really interested in the menu. Somehow he gets my attention again and we begin talking about how he is coming from Scotland and works doing this or that... I get bored and thank him for keeping me company. Aside: Do men always try to speak to women in airports? I mean, when I travel I go grunge, not even grunge chic, like some girls do. Baggy pants, defunked hair, glasses, no makeup and most likely smelly. Yet, without fail I have always been approached by some man at an airport. Ladies! if you need a man quick, hop on over to your neighborhood airport. They are literally waiting for you. 

I digress. Finally, it is time for my plane to Tel Aviv. Of course, this gate alone has another security check point. We go through this and wait. I am placed at my seat by a young girl and her father who complain about not having an aisle seat. Now, I had the aisle seat, but I couldn't muster the courtesy to offer it to them. After what happened next, I'm glad I did not. At the plateau of our ascent, dinner is served. Options: pasta, chicken, or kosher chicken. Actually, to get the kosher chicken you had to special order, but for some reason by the end of the plane (where I was) they ran out of regular chicken and pasta so only kosher chicken was left. For those who are unaware, a kosher chicken would have had better living conditions, been killed in a 'humane' way, and prayed over by a rabbi (those are the only differences). Well, as the flight attendant tells us that there is only kosher chicken I hear my neighbors, the man and daughter, speaking furiously in hebrew. As the attendant hands them the meal, the man yells loudly saying that they do not eat kosher. "No kosher, we don't eat kosher" He doesn't know english very well, because this is all he can get out. Even when the attendant tells him they have nothing else he keeps yelling "something else!" Finally, they bring some other food which they traded with someone who didn't want them to yell any longer. It was crazy. After that I was afraid to talk to them, so I kept to myself for the rest of the flight. 

When the plane landed, I followed the crowd to a checkpoint. Here, I waited in line to speak to a person and to stamp my passport. Prompted before for this interaction I knew I was not supposed to mention work, but only student research. The man behind the window knew english but his accent made it difficult for me to understand. Thus, every time he asked a question I asked, "I'm sorry?" It was a magical interaction, during which I was convinced he was about to press some type of intruder button under his desk and a swarm of israeli solider would interrogate me. But the questions were over fairly soon, and I was ready to get my baggage. Unfortunately, my baggage was not ready to reciprocate my desire. The machine was broken and we had to wait an additional 45 minutes. 

Once with baggage I came out the doors and see my cousin, Yardena waiting with a single rose, a small balloon saying "I love you" and a piece of paper down the side saying, "welcome." We embrace and make our way to the taxi. Names are difficult to catch in Israel. Maybe if they were written down they would be easier, but mainly I don't think the sounds register with me. So this taxi driver, whatever his name must have an accent because I can at least identify hebrew when it is spoken, but when this guy talks he might as well be moaning. He never seems to actually say a full word. Yardena and the taxi driver talk as I try to not sleep. As we pull up to her house I feel sleep's weight on my eyes. We go inside, where her husband (Shukki) comments on how many bags I have. He doesn't speak a lick of english, but my body language skills help me translate a lot of his comments.

In the kitchen Yardena has placed in front of me a plethora of food: vegetable soups, bread, cake, hummus, and salad. I slowly eat each bite. It is only 5pm, but it feels like 5am. I polish off the soup and work on the salad and hummus. The tastes tingle on my taste buds and fill my belly. Yardena's daughter, Orly, arrives and hugs me tight. We had bonded as children and I can tell that even with years and miles between us we still have this bond. We are able to catch up for a bit, but by 8pm I am so tired I finally go to sleep. I wake up 14 hours later.... 

Yardena is surprised at my ability to sleep so long and says we should go to the store to get me an israel cell phone. We go to the bank for her, then to the mall/shopping center for the phone and groceries. Interesting thing, first there is a guard and metal detector outside the doors. Second, you have to pay five shekels to use a shopping cart. We get the food and the phone, all of which Yardena will not let me pay for. It is middle eastern costume to treat you guests like kings and queens, and man is it true! I hope to be pulling my weight a bit more as the days pass but for now, it is nice. 

This afternoon and evening I was introduced to the sheep livestock. Shukki, with Yardena translator, showed me how they separate, breed, and feed their 700 sheep. As girly as it sounds, the baby lambs were the cutest. One even suckled on my finger. Poor things are taken from their mothers at birth and feed through a mechanical nipple. 

Then Orly wanted me to visit the dance class she teaches in the basement/built studio. To have a bit of fun she decides to tell her students that I am a famous dancer from the US and manager of my own studio. Also that I am visiting to get ideas for my own dancers. These 9-13 year old girls eat it up, and for the remainder of the class are so preoccupied by my presence they start to give Orly a hard time. I maintain as serious of a composure as I can. But by the end the girls are asking me to dance for them, or that next class I make a dance for them to dance. Orly whispers to fake a knee injury, but these little ones will not let up. We finally say that I may make a dance for them next time, which really means Orly will make a new one. I hope I don't have to preform. My dancing career has been a sad and limited one, and I'm sure these girls would see right through any mis-matched dance I tried to do. All I can imagine is me doing my darnedest at interpretive dance, which I always found to look rather goofy and easy. But I'm sure I could not be serious enough to do such a thing. 

The day ended with Orly, Yardena, Shukki, and Saul( spelling? Orly's husband) and me at dinner. Of course there was lots of food and not enough me to eat it. Now, it is very late and I have more adventures to have. So goodnight, Liela tov!

The Day Before Any Journey is a Confusing and Suspenseful Day

It's the day before I leave, and although the light in my room indicates that the day has begun I try to squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I can linger in the peaceful moments of sleep just a little longer. Yet, the gears have already started turning and my mind is quickly full of worrying thoughts - did I over pack? under pack? did I forget something? I run over checklists, goals, and regrets in my mind. I think that today, as a last, deserves some kind of special recognition. Mainly it will be full of trying to say goodbye to all the people who deserve goodbyes. I try to compose their meetings in my mind. Some will cry, others will embrace me, and some will mask their farewell in a parting gift of wisdom.

Suddenly, I find myself annoyed at the whole thing. Perhaps I hate goodbyes or think it's unfair that time and space can come between friends and loved ones. The words good and bye don't seem to embody what I feel for the person I am waving to. What about, 'You are wonderful as you are' or 'I know you will always be a part of my life' or 'You are important to me.' Just maybe it's that moment of parting I do not like. Have you ever noticed it? You have been talking as always, but then the time for leaving approaches. As you both realize it, a certain twinge sparks in my belly. I feel responsible for the meaningfulness of the moment. I want it to be memorable, but I don't want to become upset. After some words are spoken we start creating space between us. There! This is the moment I hate. It crashes in on me and I ask, when will I see this person again? A huge change is occurring and now I am forced to see it. I hold my barrings as the world I know cracks and falls. My ground disappears and I cling to the last bit of my world. Then, I fall. Hurling through the unknown, like Dorothy and Toto in the twister, I am brought to a new world. The lolipop gang won't be meeting me, but perhaps some heavily armed Israelis will. Yipee!

I have always enjoyed the saying that 'endings are usually sad, beginnings are scary, but it is the middle what counts.' This is what I am feeling, I believe. The more I partake in any type of ending here I also instigate more beginning. Sadness and fear, that sounds about right.

Finally, on the last day there is feeling of hope. Hope that the journey will be safe, fun, and worthwhile. Hope that in a new place you can become a little bit better than you were before, maybe obtain a goal or solidify an old one. Hope that you will have great joy, stories, and friends. Hope to continue to express your caring for those at home. Hope that your future during and after the trip will be bright. Finally, hope that all the troubles burdening to you at home will be lifted from your shoulders and that by some grace of yoda will be resolved without you (this last one is just for myself and my fellow control freaks).

Ah ha! The twinge in my belly subdues as I imagine that this journey will afford me the opportunity to love myself just a little bit more. And that is worth any distance.