Bridging the Gap/Furthering the Gap?

Picture 45 overenthusiastic American twenty-something year olds intertwined with 70 more than overenthusiastic Israeli twenty something year olds in a dining hall banging on tables, clinking their glasses with spoons, climbing on seats and chanting at the top of their lungs. To some people this might sound like a huge balagan (chaos), but to some this scene might be easily recognizable just by my description. Yes, this is a description of previous campers chanting the birkat hamazon, the prayer after a meal. It’s arguably an inappropriate way to say a prayer… but an accurate description of the tradition at many camps and a tradition that hits close to home for thousands and thousands of Jewish Americans who attended summer camp or youth group conventions. Apparently it is a tradition familiar to many Israelis who travel to the US to work at sleep away camps for the summer. I cannot begin to explain to anyone what a special treat it was to meet Israelis who have this special secret incite into the lives of campers from all over the country: to have experienced the euphoria and elation created within, and only within, camp gates.

Although I was there just a few months ago, I forgot about the magic of camp until this past Friday night when Otzma spent Shabbat with 70 or so Israelis who spent last summer working at American sleep away camps, and plan to return this year. This Shabbat had something magical about it- the memories and the energy of camp. The silly competitions at meals, song circles around a guitar, and making new friends. The fun, however, came in tandem with heavy conversations regarding topics such as life decisions, Jewish identity, and -of course- politics.

On the one hand some such topics showed me that despite so many obvious differences and a great distance between us, we (Israelis and Americans) are just alike. On the other hand many responses and comments made me feel completely estranged and far away from Israelis seemingly just like me. To the point that it made me doubt what I am doing and why I am spending a year here at all. Some of these comments were made out of heated moments or ignorance, but even acknowledging that fact I couldn’t help feeling pushed away.

Multiple times per day I think about what I will do when the program ends in June. Will I return to the states? Am I ready to go back to school? What type of job should I look for if not school? (Suggestions are welcome here.) Frequently I feel guilty thinking about returning to America. Why did I have the luxury (as I see it) of being born in America? Do I have a duty to move to Israel? Will I be more fulfilled or happy if I stay here? What will my contribution be on either continent? I can’t tell if spending time with my Israeli peers made it seem like a more viable option, or pushed me to let my return flight home in June stay as it stands.

Swim lessons = life lessons

(The community center where I work with new immigrants is pictured above on a freezing rainy day!)

I thought volunteering on the pediatric oncology floor was emotionally challenging, and it is. But today I stepped out of my comfort zone a bit further and experienced more heartache than I have in a good while.

This morning I went to teach swim lessons at the Leo Beck Community Center, where I teach twice a week to children or considered both “regular” and “special”. On Tuesdays some of our classes have “special” children with relatively mild physical or mental handicaps. Thursday mornings, apparently, are reserved for children with extreme debilitative disorders. Most of these children cannot speak, move on their own, or communicate for that matter.

This morning I held Ronnie, a nine year old boy the size of a one year old baby, whose legs and arms are essentially permanently tucked into fetal position, ribs are deformed and jut out of his tiny torso, and (according to the teacher) might not live much longer. The hour dedicated to these children is considered hydrotherapy. For example, the goal with Ronnie is to try to help him have any movement in his legs and arms. I was horrified to snap a little limb of his and sick to my stomach with fear holding such a life in my arms. On occasion he seemingly used all the strength he could muster to bend his head down peering straight down into the water. Other times, the closest thing I sensed in the vein of communication, he completely relaxed his neck resting the back of his head on my arm as I circled the pool carrying him along on his beck.

The terrifying climax occurred when a more mobile girl, Hadar, jumped and splashed us which I guess caused Ronnie to swallow a tad of water. I have never seen such a violent attempt at heaving. His tiny little body flexed and his arms even extended by his own volition. It is amazing how the body responds and expelled the water from his system before he relaxed and floated along some more.

I was so far out of my comfort zone and spent most of the time thinking about what the families of these children must experience. All the time, love, emotions, struggles, doctor’s appointments, special care etc… What must it be like? It almost kept me from realizing that spending one hour in the water might very well be the highlight of many of these children’s day. This morning presented me with many theological, philosophical, medical and ethical questions. Not questions I feel like exploring in a public forum, but surely one could imagine what they might be. I do not know how politically correct my words and thoughts above are, so please do not be offended...

First Thoughts on Haifa...

I feel a bit uprooted since arriving in Haifa. I guess, despite the fact that most people choke thinking about the idea of living in Beer Sheva, I made this city in the middle of the desert my home. I took advantage of the fact that I knew the names of the cashiers at the supermarket, I recognized the people walking their dogs in our neighborhood, and bumped into the same faces time and again while exploring the university area’s nightlife.

From my understanding the numbers in Haifa and Beer Sheva are close- both around 200,000 people- but Haifa feels much bigger, much more spread out, and much more intimidating to conquer and learn. Not to mention much more intriguing in itself. After all, Haifa has mountains and the sea, the shrine of the Bahai religion, Christians/Moslem Arabs/Jews living intertwined with another, culture, and restaurants devoted solely to the art of sushi. A US Navy ship even greeted us kindly in Haifa's harbor upon our arrival (pictured above). Our "three bedroom flat" they gave us is remarkably better than the decrepit rooms we expected. I might have even used the word "amazing" to describe it to my friends living in other cities. I might have been grossly over-exagerating by using the word "amazing" but it's all relative. Besides, it's a short walk from the bottom of the Bahai Gardens (pictured below) and location is everything, right? I clearly look forward to all of the opportunities Haifa holds before me.

I spent my first day volunteering at the Meyer Children’s Hospital (part of Ram Bam Hospital) of Haifa. Spending a few hours in the oncology department sent me on a rollercoaster of emotions and exposed me to conversations I can’t imagine being accessible under any other circumstances. The oncology department has two floors due to construction. The two floors, one for outpatient treatment and one for overnight patients, have their own area designated for teaching space, games and arts and crafts. Obviously I endured conflicting emotions processing sadness and pain being with children fighting sickness and the pleasure I received from making these same children laugh or helping them complete an art project.

Day one: I volunteered on the outpatient floor where I did not interact with a single Jewish child. Not by choice, but because every single child who came into the classroom happened to be an Arab child from a Palestinian territory somewhere- be it Janine, Ramala or Gaza. Perhaps this was just by chance, but the point that I’m trying to make is that a huge percentage of the patients in this department are non-Israeli Arabs and I was shocked to see Israeli hospitals treating non-Jews who live in the territories in such big numbers. Is this because of the picture painted by media or because I misunderstood the facts?

Sadness and happiness were compounded with frustration and confusion because again I experienced a language blockade. Yes, that is beyond a language barrier. At this point I have a grasp on basic conversational Hebrew… but in this instance both English and Hebrew got me nowhere; these children spoke only Arabic. Luckily children have a universal language of smiles and gestures, and in case you didn’t know: holding out a coloring book and markers means, “Want to color?” in all languages. After spending a chunk of time with little ones, I acknowledged the “too-cool” teenager sitting on the computer who pretended like he didn’t care whether or not he had anything to do with us. However, the look on his face when I first spoke to him had “I want affection, too,” written all over his face... As did how quickly he turned his chair around and neglected the computer for the remainder of the day- except for when he decided to show me Arabic music videos online. Saala and I spoke a sticky concoction of Hebrew, English, and hand gestures. In case you are wondering: Manga means mango in Arabic.

Towards the end of the day (yes, still the first day) a well dressed guy around my age escorted his five year old brother into the classroom. After an attempt to speak with him in Hebrew, he asked me in good English to speak with him in English because this is what he studies at university. If I could think of onomatopoeia for confusion or put an icon for the reader to click on that makes the sound of extreme perplexity… that would be placed precisely here. Somehow within only a few minutes our conversation went from light and friendly to borderline uncomfortable questioning, and I mean me asking questions about his circumstances.

What is it like for you to travel from the Palestinian territories into Israeli borders? Do you have to obtain permission to travel to Israeli hospitals? What is life like where you live? He explained to me that only he and his mother are allowed to accompany his little brother for treatment, and they must reapply for permission periodically. I asked him if once in Haifa he is allowed to go to restaurants or shops nearby the hospital, and he explained to me that he is, but he has no desire. What frustrates him the most is that he cannot travel from Janine to Ramallah or Jericho, or any other Palestinian city without interrogation. We spoke about his studies, his desire to study in the states, and the privileges that come with living in a safer more well-to-do territory, and then we were interrupted by a call for treatment. I hope to see him again.

I also worked side-by-side with Fadia, another volunteer who is a Lebanese Christian girl living in Israel. She studied for one year in the USA and one year in Canada visiting family members. Fadia told me bits and pieces of life and oppression in Lebanon towards the Christians who live in southern Lebanon and Israel’s role in protecting them. She explained to me that the Christian Lebanese love Israel for helping them and the dynamic between Israelis and Christian Lebanese living here in Israel; in a weird way Israelis must be good to them because they collaborated with Israel during the war. Her family cannot speak directly to the family still living in Lebanon because the government will find out and make life difficult. Instead, they hold three way conversations via Canada in order to speak with one another.

I closed the day by going with people on my program (Otzmaniks) to an event hosted by university students in Haifa. They created a program called Student Village which entails students living in a poor neighborhood and immersing themselves in the community in exchange for a small scholarship. One part of the commitment is a weekly gathering either for discussion or activity. We attended a drum circle where first we learned to play and then we listened to the instructors’ music. I think Haifa will provide plenty more interesting experiences down the road…

Lintz Family Does Israel

After arduous conversations over who will visit who and on which continent, Howie, Mom and Dad departed Charlotte east bound for their first adventure to Israel and a reunion after the longest stretch of time we have ever gone without seeing each other. Sitting outside of the arrivals gate I watched many families reunite before seeing my own. So many children burst out of the gates galloping towards grandparents they seemingly hadn’t seen in ages with recognition I would expect only within the capacity adult minds. I guess the heart is full of its own senses and wonders. Flashing in neon green letters I read on the electronic chart that the flight from Atlanta had landed at Ben Gurion airport circa 5:51pm and it was a matter of moments before I saw my own family after four months of phone conversations- doing the best we could do to paint pictures of our lives and own adventures. Finally they walked through the gates with pieces of luggage neatly stacked on a rolling cart; one compact suitcase each plus a gargantuan duffle full of my winter clothes and miscellaneous items I miss from home [sans Chloe]. (Thanks Mom and Dad- this couldn’t have come at a more perfect time as it is quite cold in Haifa.) Off Dad went to pick up the rental car, and off we were to our hotel in Jerusalem- a forty minute drive that between my navigation skills and Israel’s well marked roads took us nearly an hour and half.

It is amazing how little time the four of us spent backtracking and filling in gaps of the past few months. We make an effort to communicate over email and phone, but it must be the phenomenon of what happens when you are with people you love and have known your whole life… just pick up as if no time has passed. Okay, it might also be partly because I was a bit of a slave driver who jam-packed our itinerary with a plethora of activities and little sleep built. Thus, all conversation time was clearly needed to process history, politics and thoughts on all that we were seeing and doing, right? I guess all of my Taglit Birthright Israel experience has paid off because tour guiding came quite naturally to me. I know not everyone will read the entire blog entry… so in one sentence: This was the most magnificent Lintz family adventure (including Elizabeth) I can recall and I only wish Philip could have been with us. I use the word “adventure” because I think that true travelling is not a vacation at all. The way we have learned to let each others’ neuroses, faults and habits go in order to appreciate and enjoy our time together made the time that we had unforgettable. We filled our time in the car- road trip after road trip- with questions and conversations about Israel, the upcoming American elections, Jewish peoplehood, history, opinions, future plans, and adoration. I always tell people that my parents and brothers are wonderful people, but I have a new New Year’s resolution: to embody even a small fraction of the selflessness, generosity and love that my family exudes and reaches out to even the most perfect stranger.

So, off we set to conquer Jerusalem. We visited Har Herzl- a military cemetery and memorial, Yad Vashem- the Holocaust Memorial and museum, and a cute café called Anashim in Ein Karem. The next day we had a true Israeli experience when our rental car wouldn’t start and we were bullshitted (sorry Mom and Dad but I must use that word…) by the company for hours before behaving Israeli-like right back, handing the keys over and getting a new car from a new company. While spending several hours in the garage of a hotel could be considered a waste of time by some, I think that in a weird way the Lintz family enjoyed the challenge of reading each other, collaborating in fighting The Man, and seeing how we have all grown or changed a bit. I know for sure that Mom and Dad got a kick out of seeing me argue (borderline screaming) with the employee who was sent to jump start our unjumpable battery. I guess I forgot to explain to them that Israelis yell *a lot* and that when he was done hearing my voice he would make it very clear. This whole yelling thing became a bit of a game between the four of us and while it was frustrating it was almost fun in a way. We spent the next day with Elad, a tour guide I found on Facebook (seriously) and who I would recommend to anyone visiting Israel. He took us to the City of David, around the Old City and the Western Wall, showed us the sites and filled in gaps that tour books won’t. It was also a magnificent opportunity for my family to speak about Israeli society and politics with someone other than me- particularly an educated and thoughtful Israeli gentleman. For a never-ending conversation ask my dad these two questions: How did you enjoy driving the Ford Mondeo? Can you tell me what an upstanding young man Elad is? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

We finally made it to our desert destinations: Ein Gedi, Masada, and the Dead Sea. Followed by adventures northbound to the captivating site of the Kineret (Sea of Galilee) where we stayed in a lake front cottage with a breathtaking view from our patio on Kibbutz Ein Gev. Surrounded by Golan Mountains and hills, the day was so clear we could see the city all the way across the lake from us. I have not quite embraced the extent to which we lucked out with weather. For ten days, in the end of December no less, we had not one bitter cold day or drop of rain. Continued northbound to checkout Mount Bental, an old army bunker from which you can see Syria and Lebanon and which previously served as a critical power point in order to survey the neighbors and protect Israel’s fresh water source, the Kineret. On to Rosh HaNikra, a cliff at the Lebanese border on the Mediterranean where ancient merchants (and the British in the early 1900s) ran an old transportation route from Lebanon through Israel, down to Egypt and onwards. We made a quick stop in Haifa, and spent a leisurely afternoon in Ceasaria (another grand establishment created by Herod in ancient times) on the coast before meeting Elizabeth in Tel Aviv.

Having Elizabeth, the closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister, with us made the whole trip feel like home, and the fact that her trip coincided so perfectly with ours was such a treat. We couldn’t have spent Shabbat any more gloriously than we spent our Saturday venturing south to the Negev where we visited Sde Boker and Machtesh Ramon, the largest non-crater crater in Israel. That sounds weird, but it is a natural phenomenon that exists only in Israel. In three places in Israel erosion and water carved out mammoth craters. En route back to Tel Aviv we stopped in Beer Sheva to show the family my residence for the last four months at the absorption center and spent a couple of hours at my friend Tal’s apartment drinking coffee and discussing (once again) American politics, school systems, and Israeli culture. We spent our final day in Tel Aviv exploring the market in Jaffa, wandering around modern and hip Sheinkin Street, looking at the city from the 49^th floor of the Azrielli towers at sundown and visiting with Michal. It wouldn’t have been a complete Lintz adventure without a hectic departure full of tears and “I love you”s. Luckily I had two more days to explore Tel Aviv with Elizabeth- including New Year’s Eve- and off she, too, returned to the States after just a few more tears. Just a few, I promise. And ‘zeh hoo’ (that’s it) folks. A not brief digest of a wonderfully splendid visit with my family… and more to come about my first few days living in Haifa.