To complete the impression that this is summer camp, I've somehow managed to contract pinkeye. Never in all of my years as an actual camper did I end up with pinkeye, but that lucky streak is over.
For those who haven't experienced the joy of pinkeye, I can tell them that they're really missing out on a great time. First there's the pale yellowy goop that crusts and tries to seal your eye shut while you sleep. Then there's the constant tearing-up and more yellow goopiness while you're awake. Last, just to complete the experience, there's the highly contagious nature of pinkeye, which means you're not really supposed to touch anyone or anything. People who've had pinkeye nudge their chairs just a bit father away as soon as they see your pink, irritated, watery, yellow goopy eye. I'll probably have to wash off the keyboard with rubbing alcohol as soon as I'm done here. I wash my hands so many times a day that they're becoming dry and in need of lotion.
This is all very annoying, and very lonely-feeling, and no one is permitted to give me a hug. The only upside is that I get a day off from work tomorrow (which means I'll get to sleep in, and have time to work on grad school and fellowship apps).
Monday, December 05, 2005
Friday, December 02, 2005
Chodesh Tov L'Kulam!
And a merry rosh chodesh Kislev to all of you!
Kislev always makes me think of my grandparents, a"h.
In November 1932, in a town in Germany by the name of Fuerthe, my grandfather and grandmother went for a walk in the afternoon. At one point in the conversation, my grandfather turned to my grandmother and asked, "Fraulein Strauss, what Jewish month is it?" She replied, "It's Kislev, I think." He then responded, "Then here is kiss, and here is lev (heart). Will you marry me?"
And she said yes.
Kislev always makes me think of my grandparents, a"h.
In November 1932, in a town in Germany by the name of Fuerthe, my grandfather and grandmother went for a walk in the afternoon. At one point in the conversation, my grandfather turned to my grandmother and asked, "Fraulein Strauss, what Jewish month is it?" She replied, "It's Kislev, I think." He then responded, "Then here is kiss, and here is lev (heart). Will you marry me?"
And she said yes.
One Visa Down...
Can someone explain to me how it's already December?
Time flies by so incredibly quickly here. I think the fact that it's still 70 degrees and sunny may have something to do with the fact that I still think it's September. I've been here three months now. I can speak in Hebrew in the past, present and future tenses. I can even give a few commands. I'm learning enough vocab that I'm almost able to express myself and develop a personality in Hebrew. And the ulpan is now half over.
Sometimes I feel like all of this is just a dream. I have these bizarre moments of cognizance, almost as though I'm looking at my life here through a microscope or as though it were a TV show. This is not real life. This is a bubble outside the normal realm of existance. I wonder what I'll think and what I'll feel when I leave the ulpan, or when I return to America. How will I remember all of this in retrospect?
At the same time, so much of my life in America seems like it was a dream. Life here is so different that it makes my life there seem almost surreal. The challenges I faced there are not the ones I face here. When I go back to America, will I think of my life here as somewhat surreal?
Time flies by so incredibly quickly here. I think the fact that it's still 70 degrees and sunny may have something to do with the fact that I still think it's September. I've been here three months now. I can speak in Hebrew in the past, present and future tenses. I can even give a few commands. I'm learning enough vocab that I'm almost able to express myself and develop a personality in Hebrew. And the ulpan is now half over.
Sometimes I feel like all of this is just a dream. I have these bizarre moments of cognizance, almost as though I'm looking at my life here through a microscope or as though it were a TV show. This is not real life. This is a bubble outside the normal realm of existance. I wonder what I'll think and what I'll feel when I leave the ulpan, or when I return to America. How will I remember all of this in retrospect?
At the same time, so much of my life in America seems like it was a dream. Life here is so different that it makes my life there seem almost surreal. The challenges I faced there are not the ones I face here. When I go back to America, will I think of my life here as somewhat surreal?
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Eich Omrim "Gobble Gobble" B'Ivrit?
Happy Thanksgiving to all the Americans in my world.
This is my first Turkey Day outside of America. Have you ever tried explaining Thanksgiving to someone from another part of the world? It's pretty difficult, especially when talking to someone British. They learn about the pilgrims from an entirely different perspective. Their education also places much more emphasis on the diseases that came with the Europeans and killed off the Native Americans. So the Europeans here find Thanksgiving to be a somewhat hypocritical 'holiday'. The Israelis can't understand why Jews celebrate secular holidays. And I've given up trying to explain American football.
We had thought about trying to make Thanksgiving dinner here in the ulpan, but the difficulties proved to be insurmountable. I'm also a bit under the weather today, so I don't really feel like eating much of anything. Still, I wish I could be in Chicago, enjoying my cousin Mike's deep-fried turkey (mmmmm....deep-fried turkey) and spending time with my family.
Time to go nurse my headache and dream of turkey, mashed potatoes, and pecan pie. Gobble gobble!
This is my first Turkey Day outside of America. Have you ever tried explaining Thanksgiving to someone from another part of the world? It's pretty difficult, especially when talking to someone British. They learn about the pilgrims from an entirely different perspective. Their education also places much more emphasis on the diseases that came with the Europeans and killed off the Native Americans. So the Europeans here find Thanksgiving to be a somewhat hypocritical 'holiday'. The Israelis can't understand why Jews celebrate secular holidays. And I've given up trying to explain American football.
We had thought about trying to make Thanksgiving dinner here in the ulpan, but the difficulties proved to be insurmountable. I'm also a bit under the weather today, so I don't really feel like eating much of anything. Still, I wish I could be in Chicago, enjoying my cousin Mike's deep-fried turkey (mmmmm....deep-fried turkey) and spending time with my family.
Time to go nurse my headache and dream of turkey, mashed potatoes, and pecan pie. Gobble gobble!
Monday, November 21, 2005
Love Shack Or Loony Bin?
Today was crazy. There's really no other word for it. Either Friday's full moon took a few days to have its effect on us, or someone spiked the eggs at breakfast, but something just was not right in the Love Shack this morning.
Let's start with the fact that someone stole a laptop, camera and wallet...all from one room, and didn't go into any of the others. The door to the room in question had not been locked; both girls had left their keys on their desks. The thief also took their keys.
Then the 55-year-old Ukranian in my kita, who rarely speaks above a whisper, completey snapped and started yelling at one of the girls in class for speaking to her friends in English while the teacher was helping another student. Yelling wasn't enough, though. The Ukranian then took the girl's waterbottle, and poured water all over her.
And let's not forget the boy who's planning on doing his giur in six months, who showed up this morning without his kippah or tzitzit. When asked why, he answered that he got bored of them. He didn't say this in Hebrew or English, though. He apparently forgot all of his Hebrew and English, and has decided that he will only speak in his native Spanish. "No puedo hablar en ingles," he says to me ("I can't speak Engish.") This would be more believable if he and I didn't study the parsha hashavua every shabbos in English using an English translation. He also refused to speak anything other than Spanish during class, and insisted that either the Brazilian girl or I translate into Spanish for him.
All is quiet at the moment. Either the craziness has passed, or this is just the quiet before the storm. I'm almost afraid to wonder how today could get stranger...unless someone reports having seen elephants sitting down to tea in the middle of the olive fields.
Let's start with the fact that someone stole a laptop, camera and wallet...all from one room, and didn't go into any of the others. The door to the room in question had not been locked; both girls had left their keys on their desks. The thief also took their keys.
Then the 55-year-old Ukranian in my kita, who rarely speaks above a whisper, completey snapped and started yelling at one of the girls in class for speaking to her friends in English while the teacher was helping another student. Yelling wasn't enough, though. The Ukranian then took the girl's waterbottle, and poured water all over her.
And let's not forget the boy who's planning on doing his giur in six months, who showed up this morning without his kippah or tzitzit. When asked why, he answered that he got bored of them. He didn't say this in Hebrew or English, though. He apparently forgot all of his Hebrew and English, and has decided that he will only speak in his native Spanish. "No puedo hablar en ingles," he says to me ("I can't speak Engish.") This would be more believable if he and I didn't study the parsha hashavua every shabbos in English using an English translation. He also refused to speak anything other than Spanish during class, and insisted that either the Brazilian girl or I translate into Spanish for him.
All is quiet at the moment. Either the craziness has passed, or this is just the quiet before the storm. I'm almost afraid to wonder how today could get stranger...unless someone reports having seen elephants sitting down to tea in the middle of the olive fields.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Quick Pre-Shabbos Update In the Life of Me
* We had a tiyyul to the Golan. It was amazing. I have incredible pictures that I will post online as soon as I buy some blank CDs, so that I can transfer the pics from my computer to one with internet access.
* Seven people have now left the ulpan since the first week. One went back to America, one to France, three to Yerushalayim, one to another kibbutz (I think) and one to Bet Shemesh to live with her olim hadashim parents. There was also a Swiss guy who was only supposed to be with us for a month, so he doesn't really count among the people who've left or been kicked out. A new guy from Bulgaria arrived today.
* Today is my maternal unit's 60th birthday. Ahd mea v'esrim! (Bis ein hundert und zwanzig)
* I don't like shabbat on the kibbutz. I only plan to be there the one shabbat a month when I'm not permitted to leave. Last week I was with Eli and Miryam in Tel Aviv. This week I'm in Yerushalayim. (I was going to stay at the Heritage House, but Yankel hooked me up with a friend of his who lives across the street from him in Nachlaot.) Next week, I'll probably go back to Tel Aviv, or possibly to Bet Shemesh.
Most importantly, I'm happy and I'm healthy. More to come (when I'm not racing to get ready for shabbos).
* Seven people have now left the ulpan since the first week. One went back to America, one to France, three to Yerushalayim, one to another kibbutz (I think) and one to Bet Shemesh to live with her olim hadashim parents. There was also a Swiss guy who was only supposed to be with us for a month, so he doesn't really count among the people who've left or been kicked out. A new guy from Bulgaria arrived today.
* Today is my maternal unit's 60th birthday. Ahd mea v'esrim! (Bis ein hundert und zwanzig)
* I don't like shabbat on the kibbutz. I only plan to be there the one shabbat a month when I'm not permitted to leave. Last week I was with Eli and Miryam in Tel Aviv. This week I'm in Yerushalayim. (I was going to stay at the Heritage House, but Yankel hooked me up with a friend of his who lives across the street from him in Nachlaot.) Next week, I'll probably go back to Tel Aviv, or possibly to Bet Shemesh.
Most importantly, I'm happy and I'm healthy. More to come (when I'm not racing to get ready for shabbos).
Sunday, November 06, 2005
A Very Lonely Unbirthday
Yesterday was (would have been) Liz's 24th birthday. It was also her mother's birthday as well. It's been on my mind so much lately, though most of those thoughts are the same ones I've had ever since Liz's health began to deteriorate so rapidly. I had the same thoughts on my own birthday, not knowing that she would be gone only two days later. What is this number, "24"? What does it mean to be 24 years old? It's so young. There's so much that I haven't done. There's no way that I've accomplished whatever it is that Hashem put me here in order to accomplish. Why did He cut short the life of someone so talented, so good, so beautiful on both the inside and the outside, when she would undoubtedly have accomplished so much? The world was a better place with her in it. And why am I still here? What makes me so deserving? Why should I reach that 24th birthday and Liz shouldn't?
I know that I will never know the answer to any of these questions. That doesn't stop me from asking them.
This shabbos was such a strange one for me. In some ways, Friday was more difficult emotionally, as I was dreading waking up on the 5th and remembering that Liz wasn't turning 24 that day. There were very few ulpanistim here for shabbos, which was something of a blessing. I didn't have to talk to people. I stayed home and davened on my own in the morning, because I felt like I just needed the private time with Hashem, my tefillot and my thoughts. After lunch, I came back to my room and learned on my own. Naturally, I cried on my own as well.
It wasn't being on my own that made me feel so lonely, though. It was not having anyone to talk to who was also remembering what November 5th used to mean. It was being 7 hours ahead of Pittsburgh and not being able to call Jon and Veronica (Liz's parents). I longed for the comfort that's only come with talking to my college friends. I wanted Tabitha or Mark or Allan or Paco or Mikey or Macraild or Helen...or any number of my friends from WashU who are on the other side of the world. I wanted my mother and father and brother and sister-type people who know me and love me and have been helping me cope.
I stayed up until it was late enough here that shabbos was over in Pittsburgh, and then I called Liz's parents. Talking to Veronica was everything I needed. Today I got an email from Nisha, one of Liz's high school friends. I need that contact so much these days. Jacque is the only person here who I've talked to about Liz, but it's so hard to convey to a new friend just what someone means to you. Anyone who ever met Liz doesn't need that kind of explanation.
November 5th has come and gone. It's another reason why November is my least favorite month. This shabbos, November 12, is my grandmother's secular yahrzeit. It's something else I can't convey to people who don't know me and don't understand how important my grandmother was to me. I find myself grateful that I have my own room. I don't mind being alone with my thoughts. It's the loneliness that comes from being far away that makes this so hard.
I know that I will never know the answer to any of these questions. That doesn't stop me from asking them.
This shabbos was such a strange one for me. In some ways, Friday was more difficult emotionally, as I was dreading waking up on the 5th and remembering that Liz wasn't turning 24 that day. There were very few ulpanistim here for shabbos, which was something of a blessing. I didn't have to talk to people. I stayed home and davened on my own in the morning, because I felt like I just needed the private time with Hashem, my tefillot and my thoughts. After lunch, I came back to my room and learned on my own. Naturally, I cried on my own as well.
It wasn't being on my own that made me feel so lonely, though. It was not having anyone to talk to who was also remembering what November 5th used to mean. It was being 7 hours ahead of Pittsburgh and not being able to call Jon and Veronica (Liz's parents). I longed for the comfort that's only come with talking to my college friends. I wanted Tabitha or Mark or Allan or Paco or Mikey or Macraild or Helen...or any number of my friends from WashU who are on the other side of the world. I wanted my mother and father and brother and sister-type people who know me and love me and have been helping me cope.
I stayed up until it was late enough here that shabbos was over in Pittsburgh, and then I called Liz's parents. Talking to Veronica was everything I needed. Today I got an email from Nisha, one of Liz's high school friends. I need that contact so much these days. Jacque is the only person here who I've talked to about Liz, but it's so hard to convey to a new friend just what someone means to you. Anyone who ever met Liz doesn't need that kind of explanation.
November 5th has come and gone. It's another reason why November is my least favorite month. This shabbos, November 12, is my grandmother's secular yahrzeit. It's something else I can't convey to people who don't know me and don't understand how important my grandmother was to me. I find myself grateful that I have my own room. I don't mind being alone with my thoughts. It's the loneliness that comes from being far away that makes this so hard.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
A Room of One's Own
Ilana Sheinit (more commonly known in the Love Shack as "Gingi" since people distinguish the two Ilanas by saying "Ilana m'anglia" and "Ilana hagingit") moved out today. Being 27 years old, she decided to leave the Love Shack for the peace and quiet of the giur building. She's actually not sure if she'll be happier there, since it will probably turn out to be too quiet, but she wants to give it a try. I think more powerful forces are at work, and that I'm simply not meant to live with girls named Ilana.
I'm of two minds about having my own room. On the one hand, the privacy will be lovely. No one will be in my room unless I want them to be there. I can close the door and do my own thing. I can talk to my family in the morning and not worry about waking up my roomate. I also pushed the two beds together, and now have a double bed. There are definate perks.
On the other hand, Ilana and I got along very well, and having her as my roomate gave me someone over the age of 18 to bond with. (There are a couple of girls around 21, but they're not really people to whom I feel I can open up.) She's also fairly learned and takes yiddishkeit seriously. We would lie in our beds at night and discuss Torah. No joke. (Ok, so maybe other nights we would talk about shtuyot as well. We are normal, healthy girls, after all). It was really wonderful having someone to discuss and debate with at any given moment. I think I'll have far fewer of those conversations without her living in the same room as me.
(Note on the title of this post: In college, I had to critique Virgina Woolf's "A Room of One's Own". I hated it with a passion, mostly because I found her logic incredibly flawed. I thought the title fit my post better than it fit her book.)
I'm of two minds about having my own room. On the one hand, the privacy will be lovely. No one will be in my room unless I want them to be there. I can close the door and do my own thing. I can talk to my family in the morning and not worry about waking up my roomate. I also pushed the two beds together, and now have a double bed. There are definate perks.
On the other hand, Ilana and I got along very well, and having her as my roomate gave me someone over the age of 18 to bond with. (There are a couple of girls around 21, but they're not really people to whom I feel I can open up.) She's also fairly learned and takes yiddishkeit seriously. We would lie in our beds at night and discuss Torah. No joke. (Ok, so maybe other nights we would talk about shtuyot as well. We are normal, healthy girls, after all). It was really wonderful having someone to discuss and debate with at any given moment. I think I'll have far fewer of those conversations without her living in the same room as me.
(Note on the title of this post: In college, I had to critique Virgina Woolf's "A Room of One's Own". I hated it with a passion, mostly because I found her logic incredibly flawed. I thought the title fit my post better than it fit her book.)
Sunday, October 30, 2005
What I Think About in the Shower
A year and six days ago, Liz was in Chicago with me. Having been given a clean bill of health by the doctors, she came on a celebratory "Woohoo, I'm Done With Chemo!" visit. That weekend also coincided with my friend Michelle's birthday, and so Liz and I went dancing motzei shabbos with Michelle and some other girls. Two weeks after that, Liz celebrated her 23rd birthday. One month after that, the tumors had begun to grow again. Four and a half months after that, I stood by her graveside.
On Rosh Hashana, Kevin mentioned something that has really stuck in my head. It's something I had thought of before, but it stuck me particularly forcibly this year. On the Yomim Noraim, in the Netane Tokef, we say that only Hashem knows what will happen in the coming year: who will live and who will die; who at his appointed time and who before it; who by fire and who by water; who by the sword and who by wild beasts; who from hunger and who from thirst; who by earthquake and who by plague; who by strangling and who by stoning; who shall rest and who shall wander; who will be tranquil and who harassed; who will be at ease and who afflicted; who will become poor and who rich; who will be brought down and who raised up. Looking back on the year that's just ended, it seems so easy to understand this. We know who has been born, and who has passed away. We know who has celebrated simchas and who has suffered misfortune. The Netane Tokef, however, is not about the year that's ended. It's about the year that has just begun. We don't know what the year will bring. How could I have known what 5765 was going to bring? What will this new year bring?
Last year, during the Yomim Noraim, I was praying for Liz's recovery. Only a few weeks after the chagim, it seemed as though those prayers had been answered. During Sukkot, Gila announced her pregnancy. Who could have foreseen that in half a year's time, I would celebrate Azriel's birth and bris, and two weeks later fly to Pittsburgh to mourn Liz's death? It's been six months now. That six month mark coincided almost exactly with the dates last year that Liz had been with me in Chicago. Somehow, it seems particularly cruel. This time last year, I thanked Hashem for her recovery. Everything was fine. She was talking about going back t graduate school. She would have been in school again by now. Instead, I'm mourning her with a grief as raw and painful as it was in April. The only difference is that now it's been even longer since I've heard the sound of her voice.
This coming Saturday would have been her 24th birthday. It weighs on me, and I have no one here that I can really talk to. No one here knew her. No one here can possibly understand what she was to me. Everyone who did know her, and who does understand, is on the other side of the world. I never knew how lonely grief could be.
On Rosh Hashana, Kevin mentioned something that has really stuck in my head. It's something I had thought of before, but it stuck me particularly forcibly this year. On the Yomim Noraim, in the Netane Tokef, we say that only Hashem knows what will happen in the coming year: who will live and who will die; who at his appointed time and who before it; who by fire and who by water; who by the sword and who by wild beasts; who from hunger and who from thirst; who by earthquake and who by plague; who by strangling and who by stoning; who shall rest and who shall wander; who will be tranquil and who harassed; who will be at ease and who afflicted; who will become poor and who rich; who will be brought down and who raised up. Looking back on the year that's just ended, it seems so easy to understand this. We know who has been born, and who has passed away. We know who has celebrated simchas and who has suffered misfortune. The Netane Tokef, however, is not about the year that's ended. It's about the year that has just begun. We don't know what the year will bring. How could I have known what 5765 was going to bring? What will this new year bring?
Last year, during the Yomim Noraim, I was praying for Liz's recovery. Only a few weeks after the chagim, it seemed as though those prayers had been answered. During Sukkot, Gila announced her pregnancy. Who could have foreseen that in half a year's time, I would celebrate Azriel's birth and bris, and two weeks later fly to Pittsburgh to mourn Liz's death? It's been six months now. That six month mark coincided almost exactly with the dates last year that Liz had been with me in Chicago. Somehow, it seems particularly cruel. This time last year, I thanked Hashem for her recovery. Everything was fine. She was talking about going back t graduate school. She would have been in school again by now. Instead, I'm mourning her with a grief as raw and painful as it was in April. The only difference is that now it's been even longer since I've heard the sound of her voice.
This coming Saturday would have been her 24th birthday. It weighs on me, and I have no one here that I can really talk to. No one here knew her. No one here can possibly understand what she was to me. Everyone who did know her, and who does understand, is on the other side of the world. I never knew how lonely grief could be.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Chagim When 'Homeless'
With the chagim over, and the moadon completely empty, I finally have a bit of time to describe the chagim in Israel. There are many other things I also wish to blog: the trip to Yad Vashem, life in the Love Shack, and today marking six months since Liz passed away being at the top of that list. I'll just start with the chagim, and see what kind of time I have before dinner.
This was my first year not being with my family for any of the chagim. Spending Rosh Hashana with the Aaronsons in Bet Shemesh was the closest thing to a Chicago-style Rosh Hashana that I could manage, and it was wonderful. I can't remember ever being in a shul where everyone davened and sang with such kavana. The walls seemed to shake with their voices. It really was beautiful.
Yom Kippur on the kibbutz was everything I needed it to be. I spent most of my time in shul, and my free time on my own, thinking about this, that and the other. Forgive me for not sharing my private Yom Kippur thoughts, but they're really just between me and the Big Guy Upstairs.
Sukkot was both wonderful and disappointing at the same time. It went by really, really quickly. I spent the first yontiv in Tel Aviv with Eli and Miryam, and had a phenomenal time. They have some crazy British friends, and we all know how much I like crazy British people. The only downside is that I somehow managed not to make it to shul in the morning, and so missed Torah and Hallel for all of yontiv. It doesn't feel like yontiv when I don't go to shul. Shabbat Chol Hamoed was a very unique and special one for me. I went to my Yemenite ulpan teacher in Rehovot and spent shabbos with her family. Not only did I speak Hebrew for 90% of shabbos, but I also experienced Yemenite davening for the first time. It takes getting used to, to be honest, but it sounds really cool.
Simchas Torah was in Yerushalayim. Like the rest of Sukkot, it was both wonderful and disappointing at the same time. Not having a shul of my own meant that I didn't really know where to go for hakafos in the evening. My ulpan friends and I all went to Bukharia for dinner, to a meal hosted by the same Gerer chasidische couple that I had two shabbos meals by last August. The meal was lovely: close to a hundred people in a room, and the men were singing the entire time. The only downside is that we had to leave the Kotel before the singing and dancing really got underway in order to get to Bukharia on time, and got back to the Old City after everything had died down. Simchas Torah night for me felt more like a particularly fanstastic shabbos. The morning was a different story. We were directed to a tiny Carlebach shul (sorry, Daddy) in the Old City, and danced three hakafos there, until they broke for kiddush. The women's side was tiny, but we used whatever space we had for dancing. I loved it. Then we went down to the Chabad of the Cardo, where the boys had a great time. Unfortnately for your truly, the Chabad women didn't do anything but sit there and eat. The funniest moment was probably when an old rabbinic-looking person came to the women's side and announced, "We're looking for a wife for David Stern. Any eligible young lady should step forward!" Since he didn't bother pointing out which one was David Stern, though, none of us stepped forward. I spent my afternoon sitting in a park wit Jacque, talking about life, Judaism, my grandmother and Liz. It's probably the first time I've ever cried on Simchas Torah, but somehow it didn't seem inappropriate. All in all, it was a good yontiv...but I found myself missing Bais Abe.
Looking back, I think that what I've really missed is the familiarity of my Tishrei routine in America. I like knowing where I'm going and what I'm doing and where I'm davening. Everything this year was just so different from what I've known. It seems strange to me that I should find anything negative in spending my chagim in the Holy Land. I've wanted this for so long. I think I would have enjoyed it far more if I'd had an apartment in Yerushalayim, and didn't feel like I'd been wandering aimlessly looking for somewhere to go to shul.
This was my first year not being with my family for any of the chagim. Spending Rosh Hashana with the Aaronsons in Bet Shemesh was the closest thing to a Chicago-style Rosh Hashana that I could manage, and it was wonderful. I can't remember ever being in a shul where everyone davened and sang with such kavana. The walls seemed to shake with their voices. It really was beautiful.
Yom Kippur on the kibbutz was everything I needed it to be. I spent most of my time in shul, and my free time on my own, thinking about this, that and the other. Forgive me for not sharing my private Yom Kippur thoughts, but they're really just between me and the Big Guy Upstairs.
Sukkot was both wonderful and disappointing at the same time. It went by really, really quickly. I spent the first yontiv in Tel Aviv with Eli and Miryam, and had a phenomenal time. They have some crazy British friends, and we all know how much I like crazy British people. The only downside is that I somehow managed not to make it to shul in the morning, and so missed Torah and Hallel for all of yontiv. It doesn't feel like yontiv when I don't go to shul. Shabbat Chol Hamoed was a very unique and special one for me. I went to my Yemenite ulpan teacher in Rehovot and spent shabbos with her family. Not only did I speak Hebrew for 90% of shabbos, but I also experienced Yemenite davening for the first time. It takes getting used to, to be honest, but it sounds really cool.
Simchas Torah was in Yerushalayim. Like the rest of Sukkot, it was both wonderful and disappointing at the same time. Not having a shul of my own meant that I didn't really know where to go for hakafos in the evening. My ulpan friends and I all went to Bukharia for dinner, to a meal hosted by the same Gerer chasidische couple that I had two shabbos meals by last August. The meal was lovely: close to a hundred people in a room, and the men were singing the entire time. The only downside is that we had to leave the Kotel before the singing and dancing really got underway in order to get to Bukharia on time, and got back to the Old City after everything had died down. Simchas Torah night for me felt more like a particularly fanstastic shabbos. The morning was a different story. We were directed to a tiny Carlebach shul (sorry, Daddy) in the Old City, and danced three hakafos there, until they broke for kiddush. The women's side was tiny, but we used whatever space we had for dancing. I loved it. Then we went down to the Chabad of the Cardo, where the boys had a great time. Unfortnately for your truly, the Chabad women didn't do anything but sit there and eat. The funniest moment was probably when an old rabbinic-looking person came to the women's side and announced, "We're looking for a wife for David Stern. Any eligible young lady should step forward!" Since he didn't bother pointing out which one was David Stern, though, none of us stepped forward. I spent my afternoon sitting in a park wit Jacque, talking about life, Judaism, my grandmother and Liz. It's probably the first time I've ever cried on Simchas Torah, but somehow it didn't seem inappropriate. All in all, it was a good yontiv...but I found myself missing Bais Abe.
Looking back, I think that what I've really missed is the familiarity of my Tishrei routine in America. I like knowing where I'm going and what I'm doing and where I'm davening. Everything this year was just so different from what I've known. It seems strange to me that I should find anything negative in spending my chagim in the Holy Land. I've wanted this for so long. I think I would have enjoyed it far more if I'd had an apartment in Yerushalayim, and didn't feel like I'd been wandering aimlessly looking for somewhere to go to shul.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
All Joking Aside...
I've been to Yad Vashem once before. It was on my birthright trip three years ago, and it was only a little over a month since my beloved Grandma, a"h, passed away. The timing of the visit to Yad Vashem probably could not have been much worse. Still coming to terms with losing the most important person in my world, I was suddenly faced with photos and mementos that recalled the stories of Nazi Germany that I grew up hearing. It made me even more vividly aware that I would never again hear her tell me those stories, and that she was another part of the Shoah that was gone forever. Another memory, left to others to carry on. I was a complete emotional mess, and it was one of the more horrible experiences of my life.
A few days ago, I found myself in a conversation about Yad Vashem, and I said that I wasn't ready to go back yet. Someday, I said. I think it's wrong to stay away forever. But not yet. Not for me.
Tomorrow, we're being taken on a tiyul (ie, field trip) to Yerushalayim. "Yay!" you might be thinking. After all, why would anyone not want to go to Yerushalayim? They might not want to go if the tiyul is starting off with a visit to Yad Vashem. The thought of going back just pulls up all of my memories from my first trip. It makes my grief over my grandmother feel as fresh and as raw as it was three years ago. But I can't not go. It seems disrespectful to my grandmother, and to every other Jew whose life was destroyed or uprooted by the Shoah, to avoid going back simply because it's painful. It's supposed to be painful.
That said, I'd rather be working in the kitchen tomorrow, shoving kishke up the tuchas of a dead chicken. I'd even rather be stuffing it up the tuchas of a live one.
A few days ago, I found myself in a conversation about Yad Vashem, and I said that I wasn't ready to go back yet. Someday, I said. I think it's wrong to stay away forever. But not yet. Not for me.
Tomorrow, we're being taken on a tiyul (ie, field trip) to Yerushalayim. "Yay!" you might be thinking. After all, why would anyone not want to go to Yerushalayim? They might not want to go if the tiyul is starting off with a visit to Yad Vashem. The thought of going back just pulls up all of my memories from my first trip. It makes my grief over my grandmother feel as fresh and as raw as it was three years ago. But I can't not go. It seems disrespectful to my grandmother, and to every other Jew whose life was destroyed or uprooted by the Shoah, to avoid going back simply because it's painful. It's supposed to be painful.
That said, I'd rather be working in the kitchen tomorrow, shoving kishke up the tuchas of a dead chicken. I'd even rather be stuffing it up the tuchas of a live one.
A Tale of Two Ilanas
When our heroine (giggle, chuckle, snort...she said 'heroine') first moved into the Love Sack, she was put into a room with an 18yr old British girl named Ilana, henceforth called Ilana Rishonit. They got along perfectly well. Indeed, it would have been hard not to, as Ilana Rishonit was scarely ever actually in the room. Still, they became friends and had a good time whenever they happened to be in the same place.
The shifting and moving of boys and girls to and from the Love Shack and ulpan giur caused a vacancy in the room of another 18yr old girl. Ilana Rishonit decided that, given how little she was actually in the Love Shack, it would save her much time if she lived with the other 18yr old girl. This would make it more efficient for them to be typical 18yr old girls together. The moving out of Ilana Rishonit (which, at the time of our story, is only half complete) caused a vacancy in the room of our heroine, which was immediately filled by a new ulpanist...named Ilana. Ilana Sheinit is a 27yr old American. So far, she and our lovely heroine get along just fine. However, it will take our heroine a few days to once again grow accustomed to sharing a room with someone else.
The shifting and moving of boys and girls to and from the Love Shack and ulpan giur caused a vacancy in the room of another 18yr old girl. Ilana Rishonit decided that, given how little she was actually in the Love Shack, it would save her much time if she lived with the other 18yr old girl. This would make it more efficient for them to be typical 18yr old girls together. The moving out of Ilana Rishonit (which, at the time of our story, is only half complete) caused a vacancy in the room of our heroine, which was immediately filled by a new ulpanist...named Ilana. Ilana Sheinit is a 27yr old American. So far, she and our lovely heroine get along just fine. However, it will take our heroine a few days to once again grow accustomed to sharing a room with someone else.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Eighteen Again
For some reason that I just don't understand, everyone who meets me for the first time in this country assumes that I just finished high school. In Chicago, people assumed that I was older than I really am. Now I've suddenly lost six years of my life. At first it bother me, but now I'm thinking of it as a fantastic opportunity. I never got to take a year after high school to come to Israel. Now I can pretend that this is my post-high school year. A few people here have also assumed that I'm a chabadnikit, which I really don't understand. I don't think I have that chabad aura at all. I'm getting a kick out of being eighteen again, but there's no way I'm becoming a chabadnikit (no offense to the chabadniks in the audience, of course). Silly Israelis.
Life in the Love Shack continues to lose its summer campiness. We're getting three new girls next week, though, which will shake up the group dynamics once again. The few guys in the ulpan giur are moving into the Love Shack, in order to make room for more girls, since we don't have space for the new girls. Some of the "older" girls are therefore moving into the ulpan giur. Being one of said "older" girls, I was offered a room in the other building, but I turned it down. As frustrating as the children can be, I don't really want to separate myself from the group that drastically. And, as conceited as this will sound, there are few other people in the Love Shack with the ability to keep the peace. I kind of feel like it's in everyone's best interest if I stay put. That, and I don't want to be so far away from Jacque and Dan-Dan. I'd miss too many funny moments. (Digression: Major shout-out to my paternal unit for giving me such an appreciation of British humour. I'm single-handedly restoring the reputation of America which Dubya has destroyed. Now people know there is such a thing as a clever American.)
Someone told me only a few moments ago that they hate it here, and hate living with all these people and never having the anonymity of a big city. Stranglely enough, I disagree completely. When I want to feel alone, I go for a walk by the cotton fields (very pretty at sunset, btw) or find someplace to lay on the grass and watch the stars. When I want company, I have a house full of people who (surpise!) all like me. I love it here. I walk down the road singing happy tunes, consciously aware of how happy I am. Yesterday I went to Yerushalayim for a few hours to pick something up from someone who's going back to the States on Sunday. He was so unhappy that he's leaving, and I was reminded of last August, when I was at Ben Gurion, on the phone with my paternal unit, crying because I didn't want to leave Israel. I couldn't help but think, "I get to stay! I get to stay!". I thought about it for much of the bus ride back to the kibbutz. It makes me grin every time.
Life in the Love Shack continues to lose its summer campiness. We're getting three new girls next week, though, which will shake up the group dynamics once again. The few guys in the ulpan giur are moving into the Love Shack, in order to make room for more girls, since we don't have space for the new girls. Some of the "older" girls are therefore moving into the ulpan giur. Being one of said "older" girls, I was offered a room in the other building, but I turned it down. As frustrating as the children can be, I don't really want to separate myself from the group that drastically. And, as conceited as this will sound, there are few other people in the Love Shack with the ability to keep the peace. I kind of feel like it's in everyone's best interest if I stay put. That, and I don't want to be so far away from Jacque and Dan-Dan. I'd miss too many funny moments. (Digression: Major shout-out to my paternal unit for giving me such an appreciation of British humour. I'm single-handedly restoring the reputation of America which Dubya has destroyed. Now people know there is such a thing as a clever American.)
Someone told me only a few moments ago that they hate it here, and hate living with all these people and never having the anonymity of a big city. Stranglely enough, I disagree completely. When I want to feel alone, I go for a walk by the cotton fields (very pretty at sunset, btw) or find someplace to lay on the grass and watch the stars. When I want company, I have a house full of people who (surpise!) all like me. I love it here. I walk down the road singing happy tunes, consciously aware of how happy I am. Yesterday I went to Yerushalayim for a few hours to pick something up from someone who's going back to the States on Sunday. He was so unhappy that he's leaving, and I was reminded of last August, when I was at Ben Gurion, on the phone with my paternal unit, crying because I didn't want to leave Israel. I couldn't help but think, "I get to stay! I get to stay!". I thought about it for much of the bus ride back to the kibbutz. It makes me grin every time.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Month In Review
I've been here a whole month now. This is the longest that I've ever been in Israel and I'm so incredibly happy that I'm here. Life on the kibbutz is a bit of a bubble, though I go into Tel Aviv at least once a week, so it's been a fairly easy transition thus far. Still, I find myself falling into a routine with work and class, and I'm speaking Hebrew far more and far better than I would have imagined a month ago.
This is the best decision I've ever made in my life. Every day that I'm here confirms just how badly I needed a change from my life in America and the easygoing nature of kibbutz life is the perfect remedy. I've made friends with people I would never have otherwise met, and, in my quieter moments, I have a chance to really examine the person that I've become and the person I want to be.
That said, life is not pure bliss. I miss my family, and not being able to talk to them whenever I want is very hard on me. I miss my friends, and I wonder what's going on in their lives and whether or not they miss me. And I miss Liz. Somehow, being over here makes her feel even farther away. It's probably because no one here knew her, and in America I had my WashU friends only a phone call away when I needed to speak of her. I have a picture of Liz and me on my desk here, and every time someone asks about the girl in the picture, I have the chance to tell someone else about my wonderful Liz. Most of the time, though, those stories remain locked in my own head, and I have no one to share her with.
Tomorrow I'll go back to Bet Shemesh, and spend Rosh Hashana with the Aaronsons. This is the first Rosh Hashana of my life that I won't be with my family. I knew it would be difficult, but not quite this difficult. Still, I'm glad I'm here. So very very glad that I'm in Israel and that I get to stay here for many more months. I don't know what the new year will bring for me. I know that the past year was one of the most difficult I've ever had, particularly the last half of it. Ending that year in Israel lets me end it on a high note.
I don't know if I'll have a chance to post tomorrow. In case I don't, a shana tovah u'metukah to all of you. May this year bring us together only for simchas, and may I see all of you here in Israel.
This is the best decision I've ever made in my life. Every day that I'm here confirms just how badly I needed a change from my life in America and the easygoing nature of kibbutz life is the perfect remedy. I've made friends with people I would never have otherwise met, and, in my quieter moments, I have a chance to really examine the person that I've become and the person I want to be.
That said, life is not pure bliss. I miss my family, and not being able to talk to them whenever I want is very hard on me. I miss my friends, and I wonder what's going on in their lives and whether or not they miss me. And I miss Liz. Somehow, being over here makes her feel even farther away. It's probably because no one here knew her, and in America I had my WashU friends only a phone call away when I needed to speak of her. I have a picture of Liz and me on my desk here, and every time someone asks about the girl in the picture, I have the chance to tell someone else about my wonderful Liz. Most of the time, though, those stories remain locked in my own head, and I have no one to share her with.
Tomorrow I'll go back to Bet Shemesh, and spend Rosh Hashana with the Aaronsons. This is the first Rosh Hashana of my life that I won't be with my family. I knew it would be difficult, but not quite this difficult. Still, I'm glad I'm here. So very very glad that I'm in Israel and that I get to stay here for many more months. I don't know what the new year will bring for me. I know that the past year was one of the most difficult I've ever had, particularly the last half of it. Ending that year in Israel lets me end it on a high note.
I don't know if I'll have a chance to post tomorrow. In case I don't, a shana tovah u'metukah to all of you. May this year bring us together only for simchas, and may I see all of you here in Israel.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
I Smell Like Chicken
This post was supposed to go up over a week ago, but the Internet in the moadon was down, and this is the first chance I've had to blog. There is so much that I want to say, but I don't want to hog the computer, now that it's finally working again.
Apologies to those of you whose visions of me working in the fields, milking cows, or feeding chickens are about to be dashed to pieces. I work in the kitchen ("mitbach" b'ivrit), and I love it. I work on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays from 7:00 until 2:30ish. Usually I chop vegetables, or shove rice up a (dead) chicken's tuchas, or some other preparatory task. Sometimes I get to crack eggs or scrub large pots. I'm on my feet the whole day. I love it. The people are very nice, and I never get bored. I think I'm one of the few people who's truly happy with my job. The only downside is that I usually smell like chicken fat by the time I come home, and I'm often covered in a few different types of food shmutz. It's a small price to pay.
Life is starting to lose it's "summer camp" glow here in the Love Shack. People are realizing that we're here for 5 months, and we've had a few altercations. It's not too surprising that I usually end up calming someone down and helping to smoothe things over. There's no way that everyone here is going to last 5 months. There are some people who may not last many more weeks. At least when I get weary of playing mediator, I can go into my room and close the nice heavy door. I did that for all of shabbos afternoon.
Overall, I'm incredibly happy here. I'm making friends with some fascinating people from around the world. Right now, I spend a large chunk of my down time with two absolutely absurd British boys named Jacque (pronounced Jack...he's French, but has been living in England for the past few years) and Daniel, aka Danny aka Dan-Dan. I don't think I've ever laughed more in my life. Describing how we spend our time would take far too long, so I'll only say that it includes baked beans, a shopping cart and a small dog.
Apologies to those of you whose visions of me working in the fields, milking cows, or feeding chickens are about to be dashed to pieces. I work in the kitchen ("mitbach" b'ivrit), and I love it. I work on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays from 7:00 until 2:30ish. Usually I chop vegetables, or shove rice up a (dead) chicken's tuchas, or some other preparatory task. Sometimes I get to crack eggs or scrub large pots. I'm on my feet the whole day. I love it. The people are very nice, and I never get bored. I think I'm one of the few people who's truly happy with my job. The only downside is that I usually smell like chicken fat by the time I come home, and I'm often covered in a few different types of food shmutz. It's a small price to pay.
Life is starting to lose it's "summer camp" glow here in the Love Shack. People are realizing that we're here for 5 months, and we've had a few altercations. It's not too surprising that I usually end up calming someone down and helping to smoothe things over. There's no way that everyone here is going to last 5 months. There are some people who may not last many more weeks. At least when I get weary of playing mediator, I can go into my room and close the nice heavy door. I did that for all of shabbos afternoon.
Overall, I'm incredibly happy here. I'm making friends with some fascinating people from around the world. Right now, I spend a large chunk of my down time with two absolutely absurd British boys named Jacque (pronounced Jack...he's French, but has been living in England for the past few years) and Daniel, aka Danny aka Dan-Dan. I don't think I've ever laughed more in my life. Describing how we spend our time would take far too long, so I'll only say that it includes baked beans, a shopping cart and a small dog.
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