Survival

Whenever something goes really wrong with a reservation or service, it is frequently too easy to shrug it off and say “Well, it is Israel…” For example when Anne’s family, like my family, had complications with the car rental agency, Anne’s natural response to her parents was, “Well, now you have seen the real Israel.”

Similarly, when something really strange happens, or we see someone doing something really strange, we also attribute the occurrence to the fact that we are in Israel. For better or for worse, it helps me take things with a grain of salt when I put it on Israel’s tab.

Example? Last Saturday I was reading on the beach with Lauren and Anne when a French film crew set up shop merely a few meters from us down the beach to conduct and interview with someone seemingly important. That in itself is not so strange. A few moments later a man with long curly hair sat beside us who’s entrance was a line asking us if we have ever seen the Israeli Survivor TV show. After we told him that, indeed, we have never seen an episode he proceeded to tell us that he was the first contender eliminated but the show was “fixed”.

…Of course he would have won the competition had there been no politics involved because he was the most fit for the competition blah blah blah. Of course. He then turned to Anne and asked her, quite sincerely and with a thick Israeli accent, “Anne, can I survival you?” I don’t think he realized the grammatical mistake he made, but everything about this exchange made me burst into laughter. And it continues…

Moments later one of the many people who walk up and down the beach with a cooler strapped to their chest yelling “Vanilla, chocolate, limone…” to sell their delicious ice cream loot they carry all day comes and sits with the three of us plus The Survivor. What? We don’t know him. Finally Lauren sits up, looks around, and asks the question running through all of our minds: Are we on TV right now? What is going on? Of course I bust into more raging cackling laughter, we pack up our bags and call it a day. Only in Tel Aviv.

Anne's Womanhood

Passover vacation began on an upbeat with Anne’s Bat Mitzvah. People gave us funny looks when we out that night celebrating Anne’s entrance to womanhood as if to say, “She’s 13?” Nevertheless Anne, who didn’t have a Bat Mitzvah during the lovely years of middle school, read beautifully from the Torah in front of the southern wall in Jerusalem last Thursday. Her mom, dad and grandmother planned to visit during our vacation, so they were able to celebrate and say a few words as well. Their speeches, I must admit, were much funnier than I remember parents’ speeches when we were 13.

While I am not usually very moved by prayer or services, something in particular struck me about this service: the entire service was conducted and led by our friends, people our age. The “congregation,” so to speak, consisted of 30 or so 20 something year olds, the Otzma staff, and Anne’s family. Jenny conducted, and we all stepped up to lead various prayers in English and Hebrew. It was by no means a perfectly rehearsed flawless performance, but it was our effort at keeping tradition alive without the help of professionally trained leaders. I find something very special in seeing my friends read from the Torah at our age because our moms and dads aren’t “making” us at this point; it’s because we want to.

We celebrated over lunch at a themed restaurant in the Cardo where we all wore costumes of robes and togas and blew the shofar. And again that night at Rusty James, a fun dance bar tucked under the bridge where HaYarkon meets Ben Gurion.

Welcome to Tel Aviv

Passover vacation has arrived, and as excited as I am to have little obligation other than sleeping in, playing on the beach, and enjoying Tel Aviv, I am a bit panicked that it is already the end of April. Seriously?

In just a few weeks I will be on a plane back to the States for a short visit home before staffing a Birthright trip at the end of May and coming back to Israel for an open-ended period of time. Conveniently I will be able to attend Miss. Julia Buckner’s wedding in Cape Cod and I could not possibly be more excited. I feel like I should use an exclamation point at the end of that sentence to express my excitement, but it feels too forced. You probably get the gist…

Now for a bit about my time in Tel Aviv. We moved in to our apartments at the beginning of April and it was already hot. Perhaps unseasonably hot. Our living arrangement is by far the nicest accommodations that I have had, and that says a lot. We are three ladies living in what is essentially a low star hotel. Anne and I live in one bedroom and Serena lives on the pull out couch in the common room which doubles as a “kitchen”. Our kitchen is a four foot long counter with a sink and a transportable stove burner. One burner. No worries, it is more than sufficient. We live on the northern end of Ben Yehuda in an adorable and safe neighborhood. Our street is dotted with comfortable cafes, sushi restaurants, art galleries, ice cream shops, and five minute walk to the beach. Also the gym I joined, Pure gym, is not more than four long blocks south of our residence.

I love this gym. The people who workout at Pure are insanely fit and I’m slightly intimidated, but it is inspiring and pushes me to work hard. There are DJs on the cardio floor and even a DJ for my kickboxing class. By the way, kickboxing class has an entirely new added element knowing that the teacher was a badass (for lack of better word) fighting soldier in the Israeli Army. Not that I asked him what he did in the army… I’d rather just think that way.

I spend my time interning at Save a Child’s Heart, a magnificent organization which brings children from all over the world to Wolfson hospital in Holon for various surgeries and care to treat congenital heart conditions. The office is attached to a large house in Azur where the children reside before treatment and while recuperating. The children come from literally all over the world. From Vietnam, Ukraine, Eritrea and the Palestinian territories just to name a few places. Because of the large financial burden and lack of space, not every child’s mother comes along. As a result, mothers take responsibility for several children from their respective countries. For example, if four children come from Kenya, one mother might cook, clean, and care for all four of these children for weeks or months until they are all ready to return home together. That said, people from around the globe live together in this very house in close quarters simultaneously.

A few days ago I was in the house playing a revised version of soccer with a few little boys. One little one from Iraq, one from Kenya and one from Zanzibar. With no common language amongst us we played until exhaustion and boredom was written on their little faces. The child from Iraq just ran around yelling “One, two, three, four, five,” in random outbursts, the child from Kenya was sporadically yelling “balagan” which is Hebrew for big mess. The whole time I was trying to teach the kids not to use their hands while playing soccer by holding my hands behind my back and saying outloud, “No hands.” It is unclear to me if they understood, but it resulted in the little Iraqi child yelling the following stream repetitively: Balagan! One, two, three, four, five! No hands!” These children might be the model for us to follow to learn how to coexist and learn together…

In terms of Israeli non-profits, I hope this organization receives the most publicity possible. Out of the 1848 children who have received care since SACHs beginning in 1996, 828 of the children have been from Palestinian territories. Considering that the next highest receiving country is Ethiopia which accounts for 345 children since SACHs inception. Clearly, I would recommend anyone who is looking for causes to donate money to donate to SACH. Or to get involved in any way possible whether by raising awareness or organizing a fundraiser.

SACH right now has an international photo exhibit in circulation which can be transported to any location interested in hosting it. For more information click on the “From Art to Heart” emblem from the mainpage (saveachildsheart.com).

More to come later…

Gabby's Visit.

Gabby emailed a few weeks ago telling me that she was coming to visit me in Israel. Truthfully, I didn’t really believe her until emailed me her flight itinerary. Actually I held my breath until I saw her walk through the arrivals gate at Tel Aviv airport. The fact that news broke out on the shooting in Jerusalem just before her parents drove her to Newark airport didn’t give me any boosts of faith. It’s easy for me to say that I feel very safe walking around the streets in Israel, but another for someone who has never been here before to understand that feeling.
So she landed. Shortly after, her distant (very distant) relatives who live in Lod picked us up at the airport and drove us to our destination: a lovely beachfront apartment in Tel Aviv with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Mediterranean. (Thank you Ora and Moshe.) I must admit that I did not realize how meager my housing in Haifa is until I spent many nights in luxurious, civilized habitation. I guess one just adjusts.

Gabby came along on an Otzma fieldtrip during which we learned about the life of minorities in the north. She was a trooper as I threw her to the wolves- into a pack of 45 Americans with extremely strong personalities. We hiked outside of Haifa, visited a Druz village called Dalyat AlKarmel, stayed on a rundown Kibbutz, visited a yeshuv settled amidst Arab village neighbors, and even met with college students in an Arab village called Sachnin. I have never felt as unwanted and out of place as I did in Sachnin. We met with a group female students under the auspices that we would ask any questions we wanted about what it’s like to live as minorities (Arabs) in a Jewish country. I guess I was expecting a little bit of fluff and a shared dream of peace in these tension-stricken boundaries. Speaking euphemistically, my expectations were not met. In short, in their opinion, they want their land back and they want the Jews out. Not only do they want the Jews out, but they couldn’t care less where they go or what happens to them/us. I could write an entire blog on this two hour experience, but suffice it to say that it was not an uplifting conversation.

After subjecting her to a few nights in Haifa so that I could volunteer, we ended the week with a few more nights in sacred Tel Aviv in true vacation form: relaxing on the beach, drinking coffee… on the beach, shopping in adorable boutiques on Diezengoff and Shenkin Street, laughing myself horse, and dancing until we stumbled home with aching feet in consequence for wearing high heels. Have I mentioned my excitement to move there in a few weeks?

Gabby’s visit was magnificent on several accounts. Firstly, it was special to play hostess on her first trip to Israel. I clearly talk about how much I love being here all the time and I could finally exhale when she said that she loves it here, too. It was exciting to show a close friend from home the life I have built for myself here. It reminded me of when Rob came to visit me in Charlottesville and I got to show him the little niche I carved for myself. Most importantly, it can never be overstated how refreshing it is to spend time with old friends who mean the world to me. To not feel the need to explain myself, to have the ability to reference something from five years ago, and to be with someone other than my mom or dad who might have insight into my future endeavors.

I have been a little bit blue (understatement) since Gabby left, and I feel more assured than ever that going home for Julia’s wedding in May is the right decision. I wouldn’t miss it for the world and I cannot wait to spend time the three of us together.

I also am quite sure that I will spend the summer in Israel- preferably working in Tel Aviv. Any ideas or suggestions are, of course, welcome.