| April 2007 |
[Apr. 18th, 2007|09:43 pm] |
The Girl Who Split in Two
A trip home is an emotionally draining experience, no matter where you consider “home” to be. If you don't know where home is, it complicates the matter further.
Patricio and I spent the last month in the U.S. 10 days in Miami with his father's family and two weeks in Chicago with mine. We also got legally married in Chicago because I refuse to go through the Orthodox rabbinate here in Israel which is notorious for being discriminatory and racist particularly against Russians, and Israel has no other option for marriage. So now, 3 months before my wedding, I am married.
I came to two heartbreaking conclusions on this trip: 1. Visiting Chicago, while comfortable and familiar, does not feel like coming home. 2. Our future is probably there.
I don't even know where to start with the jumble of thoughts and feelings in my mixed-up, jet-lagged head. I apologize if this entry turns out non-sequential or if it in the end it doesn't make sense at all.
Most shlichim would probably advise against visiting the Diaspora motherland so early in the Aliyah transition process. But I no longer listen to the advice of shlichim, whose best-interest do they have in mind? Mine or that of their cause? I am no longer naïve enough to believe that the best interest of the individual is ever a Zionist motivator.
So most shlichim would probably say that the reason for my conclusions and for my fragile emotional state is just that I have not fully adjusted to Israel before coming back for a visit. I however, think it is probably because 8 months ago I made a choice to live a 12-hour airplane ride from the place where I grew up and from my family. All the people who encouraged my Aliyah said that I should learn to live my own life, that I am not obligated to live near my family, that if I don't do this I will regret it forever (which is definitely true), that these days with internet and skype it's easy to stay connected. But what they didn't consider is the stuff you miss while you are gone. When I returned, I found that my grandparents look older, one of my grandfathers seemed so fragile that I was nervous when I hugged him not to squeeze too hard, my friends seem thinner, and older, and many are married, my 12 year-old brother is a half a head taller than me and has a girlfriend. And while yes I did see them once this year, and I will see many of them again in August, the two years that I have been away in Chicago (last year in NY), I have missed these many years of their lives. When did Solomon get so tall and become mature enough to discuss politics, perform as Elvis in a school play (which I missed) and carry on a relationship with a girl?
Of course my families (both sides managed to agree on this!) spent the whole time manipulating, bribing, commanding, tempting and guilting me into coming back. Material motivations never worked well on me (“ you could get a job starting at ...., you'll never make that in Israel”), time pressure works a little better (“if you want to have kids soon, and you should, you'll be 26 next fall, you need to be financially secure, and how will you ever do that in Israel? You need to decide where you want to live immediately {i thought i had decided that last August?!?}, most of your friends have masters degrees and careers and own property already...), war scares work better (what if Iran becomes nuclear, you still going to be a hero then? Err.. no promises). But none of these things were real motivators, in fact mostly they made me hesitant to come back and be under the family's control again, but what effected me was seeing how people are changing, and I am not there.
Also, my husband affected me. Having made aliyah 3 years ago and lived far away from his family this whole time, I could see how being with his father and then around my big fat Russian family affected him. All the attention and loudness and pulling that overwhelmed and stressed me, made him come alive again. He said that he feels he has had to become hard in Israel, learning to live completely alone without relatives, as he also has no one in Israel, and he was teary eyed at all the grandparents feeding us and doting on us, the brother and sister hugging him and hanging on his neck, the parents dishing out advice and manipulation in one breath. He had missed all those things and now that he has “made it” to some extent in Israel, he doesn't feel it's worth it to live so far away anymore. I on the other hand have not made it in Israel in any sense yet.
As for me, the relatives were overwhelming and I was stressed to the point of hysteria, dying to get away and have some alone time, but when I hugged my fragile grandfather and said bye to him in the parking lot of a Chinese food restaurant where we had had our final lunch before we left, I got in the car and cried hysterically. I also cried when my brother gave me a drawing he did as a wedding gift, when my sister asked what kind of dress she could wear to be flower girl, when my mom stood at the entrance side to security at the airport until all we could see was her hand waving up in the air because there were so many people between us, when my brother said that he wants a happy sister as his bar mitzvah gift, when my dad was cold and distant like he gets when he doesn't want to be emotionally involved, when my grandparents made a video of all our marriage festivities and showed them to us so proudly on the last night there, when Patricio's dad and step-mom told me how happy they were that I was in their lives and that I was a daughter to them now. I cried so much that I felt like maybe it didn't count anymore, I cried so much that maybe my tears were no longer legitimate, like the girl who cried wolf.
But the final straw was the flight back to Israel. I spent the whole flight convincing myself that coming back to the States was the right thing to do. I mean, how could I forgive myself if my grandparents die, my brother grows up, my parents get old and I wasn't there for any of it? And what did I have to come home to in Israel, anyway? A room in an absorption center with a shared bathroom and no kitchen? A balagan that I complain about without end, a job that I hate? And all that countered against all my Zionist guilt... what about insuring that my kids would grow up Jewish? What about living in the only country that I would ever call my country? What about returning to voluntary exile? Why should Israelis live under the constant threat of terrorism and I, who have now chosen to become an Israeli, return to a comfortable safe life in the States?
What I was unprepared was the rush of emotion as the plane descended into Tel Aviv. I was overwhelmed by all the memories of landing in Israel, the 6 times that I landed dreaming of someday being on a one-way ticket there, and the final time that it was. I remembered all my hopes and dreams and that desperate desire to stay and the fighting with bureaucracy to prove I'm Jewish, and with family when I was making Aliyah during the war and the thought of leaving my land that I love and my country that I sometimes hate, was so horrible that I cried again (surprise!) and was so tired.
And to my greatest shock and horror, when the sheirut pulled up to Dor v'Dorshav and we got out with all our suitcases, I smelled the Jerusalem air, and the birds singing (which I still hear now as I type this at 4 AM), and came into our one tiny room in our absorption center (which I had dreaded returning to), I felt home. I think for the first time in my life, I the peace of coming home. And the happiness and relief was intertwined with guilt and sorrow and after a month of restlessness, I fell into a deep sleep.
This all would be so much easier if I had felt the disappointment I always felt when returning to Chicago from travel. I have been searching for home my whole life, and it's so ironic that now that I finally feel at home, I will probably be leaving it soon. It's also ironic, that while I have spent the last 8 months complaining about every little thing in this awful country, now that I know my time here may be limited, I cry yet again because I love it so much and I will miss it more than I could ever express with words. I will spend the rest of my life sadly painting my memories of Israel. I told Patricio that he needs to prepare for a life of listening to me cry, either because I miss my family, or because I miss Israel. And all those things I was complaining about all the time, I loved to complain about them because I was finally happy, and Russians are taught from an early age never to be too happy, so I had to complain and so I did. But maybe I should stop now and actually enjoy my time here, because at some point we will return to Chicago, so we will not become hard and family-less, and so in the meantime I will enjoy every minute, every frustrating second that I have here at home. |
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| February 2007 |
[Feb. 22nd, 2007|07:19 am] |
Where is the Israel of Ari Ben Canaan?
Yesterday I got the flue. Today I went to the doctor. On my way to the doctor’s office, I ran across the street, nearly getting killed by oncoming traffic in order to catch the #14 Bus which only comes every half hour at best. The driver of the bus watched my life-threatening act of desperation with amusement, but when I finally arrived huffing and puffing to catch my breath at his door, he just shook his head with arrogant disapproval and drove off without opening the door to let me on.
And so, after yelling all sorts of profanities, stupidly waving my middle finger after the quickly disappearing bus, sniffling, and trying to blink back my indignant tears of self-pity, I walked, with my fever aches and all to the doctor’s office AND back, rather than get on another bus.
This whole incident affected me much less than similar incidents when I first arrived in Israel. I think I am getting used to it, which makes me kind of sad. I always thought that Israel was supposed to be the place where everyone cares about each other and takes care of each other… at least that’s what I wanted to believe before I moved here. Aah, disenchantment, you tricky fucker.
Why does it seem to me that among Israelis everything is so one for one and none for all? I thought that that was the idea with America… a capitalist society, do it yourself and don’t expect anyone to do it for you, sink or swim… but here, where the government is certainly more socialized, no one is going to die from not being able to pay for healthcare, (though they may die waiting for service…), and generally people are warmer once they get to know you, once you are more than a face attached to a stereotype, once you have a name… but until they know who you are, people are just so damn mean! It’s like they enjoy making things as difficult for others as possible… and why?
I thought that in a country where no one really has a whole lot of money, many problems would be eliminated… but when people don’t have money, do they stock up on power instead? Is that what’s happening? No one has a flashy watch or car to show off with, so they show their power? Even if it’s in the form of not opening a bus door? How sad is that? Maybe that’s human nature and fighting it is futile.
But on the bright side, it seems to be only the people that have been here all their lives that are so bitter and mean. The anglo-immigrant community is quite opposite of that. I am not saying that I love every oleh I have ever met, but I would say that overall people are community-oriented and friendly. Maybe it’s because most of us don’t have family to count on, so we stick to each other, or maybe because most of us came here out of some sort of naïve idealism… but whatever it is, I sure hope we can influence some of these Israelis… some part of me, somewhere underneath the thick layers of bitterness and cynicism, still wants to believe in the Israel of Ari Ben Canaan… where people believed in the land, in eachother and in their ability to build something amazing here, a light onto the nations… not a country where a bus driver will prevent a sick person from getting on a bus just because he can. |
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| January 2007 |
[Jan. 16th, 2007|01:18 pm] |
In Search of Home and Inspiration
In my first entry, so very long ago, I asked what you do the day after you land? The truth is, you sleep. But the day after that, you get on a roller coaster scavenger hunt of visiting bureaucratic offices, setting up a phone account, attending intensive Hebrew classes for five hours a day, opening a bank account, getting lost, taking the wrong buses, getting yelled at in a language you don't understand and desperately searching for a job. Five months later, you step off the ride. You are exhausted and drained. The last of the ecstatic haze wore off while you were waiting in line at the misrad ha'klita.
You get off, take a breath, and survey your situation. You find that you are employed adequately if not satisfactorily, you can find your way around the maze of cobblestone streets, you know which bus lines take you to all the major places you ever need to go (market, work, ulpan, city center, back home), you can ask directions on the street in Hebrew, on a good day, you can even give an out-of-towner directions (in Hebrew!), on the best of the days, you can yell at someone in Hebrew, but you can't read a newspaper or understand the television (and you still don't know how to turn it on because why bother?). You have many new immigrant friends. You speak to them in English, but you squeeze Hebrew words into the sentences for good measure. You are living daily life in Israel and you for the last five months you have felt.... nothing, because you have had no time to feel.
In my case, I also got engaged in the process, for good measure.
Now, you finally have time for that long overdue breath of Jerusalem air and you are in a panic. Why are you here?? Five months without Zionist propaganda, without shlichim pushing their agendas, without anti-antisemitism, without identity questions... and you realize, you have a very nice life here, but you have no fucking idea why you came.
And that my dear friends, is where I am now. There are things I love, really truly love about life in Jerusalem. I love the coffee shops, I love the olim, I love the hippie-wardrobe, I love the hills and the frozen yogurt. But I have not felt truly inspired since before I moved here. Or maybe I have, but I can't remember. I spent my whole life being inspired by Israel, looking at Israel from a distance, dreaming of Israel, idealizing Israel, fantasizing about Israel, convincing myself that Israel is my true homeland... and now I am in Israel and I have no energy left to feel inspired or fulfilled.
I liked the idea of Israel as home. It certainly made a lot of sense in the context of the immigrant narrative of my life. It was a nice Zionist idea. The truth is, I certainly don't feel at home. No place that you have only spent 5 months in is home. Chicago sure feels a hell of a lot more like home. The office in my parents' home with the windows facing the yard and the squirrels and chipmunks scavenging between the trees and the sound of the rain outside and my Dad playing solitaire on the computer... that's home.
Idealism is terrific in theory, but home is a whole different ballgame. And inspiration... perhaps it's no longer relevant. Wow, what a cynic I am. I think from now on whenever Jewish Agency pseudo-journalists attempt to use me for their Zionist propaganda, I will just refer them to this entry. That may be just the inspiration I need... |
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| The Israeli Passel |
[Oct. 5th, 2006|03:27 pm] |
Yesterday Timna and I were asked to come speak to this year's Zionist Seminars teams. They are the Israeli students that will be going to the States and Canada this year to meet with American students and help them cultivate meaningful and personal connections to Israel. They have developed very interesting and thought-provoking workshops to run with their American peers. One of them is called the “Israeli Puzzle”, but the Israelis misspelled it as The Israeli Passel. I giggled just because of the funny spelling, but my friend Timna who has a much more extensive vocabulary than I in English as well as Hebrew of course, pointed out that the world passel also has a meaning. The free online dictionary defines passel as a large quantity or group, but Timna explained to me than it is commonly used to refer to a noisy and rambunctious group, such as “a passel of brats.” This to me seemed much more appropriate to describe Israel.
So, to make up for not writing for a few weeks, (please forgive me!!! I promise to do better from now on...) I now present you with an update from the Israeli Passel.
I wake up at about 730 AM in my lovely room in my very American absorption center. Hazily I remember my battle with a mosquito throughout the night and examine my body for battle wounds. My phone rings (Ikea tune, same as every one else in this country... which of course means that any time it rings in any public place about 50 Israelis start searching through their bags. I could change my ring of course, but who am I to break the mold?) It's my wonderful fiance, who left about an hour ago to go to jail, i mean work, calling to make sure that I was up. So sweet!
I stumble out of bed, grab my bathrobe and towel and basket of toiletries and make my way down the hallway to the communal bathroom I share with 4 boys. I get in the shower, first opening the window in it to hang my towel and robe over it (they haven't come up with hooks in the actual stalls yet, so this is the only way to avoid walking out naked to get my robe or towel from the hook outside the shower). How I will open a window in the shower stall while naked and freezing I have not yet figured out. I turn on the water and watch the little zoo of bugs and flies fly away from the stream. They usually don't sit on me, but just on the walls of the shower around me. Being a person that never went to summer camp, I find all this more challenging than amusing, but definitely a bit of both. Anyway, it's too early for hot water (the heater is soler powered so there's only hot water later in the day) so I freeze my butt off and take the quickest shower ever.
Then I get dressed, put on my purple fogs (fake clogs) can't live without them, and go to Ulpan, or Hebrew class. Do I feel like battling the bus system today? (refer to Anna's List of Things I Don't Get About Israel).. no, not today. So I walk 45 minutes up the hill. It's good for my butt. During the walk I angrily remember the night before. On a shuttle from Tel Aviv, an Arab man sitting next to me spent the 45 minutes trying to feel me up and making clicking and hissing noises at me while the two Russian men sitting on either side of us in the back of the van pretended not to notice. I envision scenarios in which i am not so polite and American and I scream, or punch, or stab, or shoot the evil man. Yea... next time, I swear. Well, the truth is that next time I will not get in a van if the only seat is in the very dark back between all men, but being that I come from the civilized world, I did not think about it as being felt up on the bus is not something that ever happened to me in the States.
Screw it, I am too late to walk. I hail a taxi, but he already has a passenger in it. He picks me up anyway, assuring me that it's very close, he'll drop her and then me. On the way to the first destination we get stuck in terrible traffic, making me another 20 minutes late for Ulpan. Then the driver has the audacity to ask me if I mind walking a little bit, YES I mind! I'm laate! So he drops me closer, but still a good two blocks from my destination and charges me about twice as much as it should have cost because he figures from my American accent that he can get away from it, and he can. Wearily I give him the money which I really can't afford, but after the night before I really don't feel like arguing with a man while in his car and under his control to some extent. He wishes me a hag sameach (happy holiday), I tell him up yours and slam the door.
With firsts clenched and teary eyes I walk into class and sit in my usual seat between two new friends. They catch me up on what i've missed so far and I spend the next 4 hours mindlessly repeating Hebrew words and daydreaming about the bagel in my purse. I would love to eat it, but I got yelled at for eating in class last week. I have a college degree yet I get yelled at for sneaking little pieces of a bagel that don't bother anybody.
During the break I sit with my American buddies from class. We all bring food and share it. Today Anne made brownies... where do they get all this free time? My class clique includes Anne, a hippied-out environmentalist who makes all sorts of organic food for us to share, Rebecca a super duper left-wing activist who is here for the year to write her thesis on reforming the American Jewish community to be less supportive of Israel (in the states I would have HATED her), Deborah, a school teacher from New York who was on my Aliyah flight, Avi, a religious Jew also from NY who was also on my flight, Jen a gorgeous brunette from Arizona who just made Aliyah and lives in the same absorption center with me, and then there are a few Australians, and a girl from Peru and a German guy who sometimes join us. Then there's baruch, the most annoying guy ever. He is in his 50's I think and tries really hard to be our friend. Sometimes he joins our circle and starts preaching about something or other. He is famous for interrupting people in class and being way too loud. You have to be a little crazy to make Aliyah I think, but he really pushes the envelope even in that department.
After Ulpan there are a variety of options, usually I have errands to run, or a job to go look for, or someone to meet. Today, I have a doctor's appointment. I walk uphill in the heat through the center of town and up to King George street to catch the 14 bus. I think I can feel my teeth sweating. There is a huge "passel" waiting for the bus. Little Russian ladies with big boobs and carts fool of groceries, a few soldiers smoking, and a bunch of random others. I wait for the bus which does not come for 45 minutes. I elbow and push and bite and claw my way through the crowd and onto the bus ( i think i actually punched an old lady on crutches, come on not really, but you get the idea). I get on, flash my monthly pass, the driver doesn't see me do it and starts yelling at me, i flash it again and he keeps yelling. Why? Why yell? Clearly I have a monthly pass, I have it out, so I must have shown it to you, why do you still have to yell in a language I don't understand? But Israelis love yelling.
So I push my way to the back of the bus and start my favorite game which I have endearingly named, Are you the terrorist? It's stupid and irrational I know, but I can't help myself. That is what I do during my time on the bus. I look at every single person and picture where they could be hiding the bomb... is it that baby stroller, that back pack, the big black coat and hat? It's a stupid game and I wish I could stop, but I'm addicted. And seriously, what am I going to do if I spot someone who really is a terrorist (not that I would ever know)? What yell? Hold my breath? Close my eyes and hope to disappear? The bus is so crowded there is absolutely no chance of escaping.
Anyway, while I am playing the game, I realize that the bus has not moved in 20 minutes. There is a screeching baby on my left, some weird religious guy with bad teeth on my right, people everywhere, I cant see out the windows. There must be a suspicious object on the road or something. So while the bus isn't moving, it becomes clear to me that there is no chance of making my appointment. I call the doctor's office and cancel and I try to get off the bus by my house, but the asshole driver refuses to open the door for me no matter how much I bang on it and yell “NAAAAAG!!!” (driver!!!) like a true Israeli. I think he's still pissed about the monthly pass thing and so I have to get off at the next stop and walk back, with my teeth sweating and all.
As I walk back I call Patricio sobbing about how this is a primitive, third-world, middle eastern, shithole full of stupid provincial, barbaric people. “They think they're western and a modern democracy?” I ask him, “their president is on trial for rape!!!!!” I try to remind myself what Zionism is again and why I came here as I wipe the snot from my face and in that wonderful mood I meet Timna to go train the Zionist Seminars for next year.
Why don't you just come back if it's so terrible you ask me? Well, because this may be a middle eastern passel with a really long way to go before it becomes a modern developed country, but it's our passel and honestly, they could really use some more idealistic, POLITE, civilized Americans like us around here. Maybe our good manners will rub off on them, and if not, at least I will get plenty of good frozen yogurt in tansit. |
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| They think they're a modern, western country? Seriously? |
[Oct. 5th, 2006|02:08 pm] |
Anna's List of Things I just Don't Get About Israel...
1.Why is it necessary to pee on the floor in public bathrooms? Is it so much harder to aim here than anywhere else in the world? And ladies, why in our bathrooms too? Are your anatomies designed differently than mine? I'm confused...
2.Why do Israeli women wear pants two sizes two small, forcing their sides and stomachs to bulge out so even if they are quite thin they look fat... perhaps they have no other choice? refer to next question.
3.Why is a size large barely big enough for an anorexic twelve-year-old?
4.Why do bus drivers think they drive race cars?
5.Why, why, why, why, why, why can't the same society that came up with ICQ instant messenger and the world's most advanced cures for cancer figure out the art of forming a line? Why when you need to enter a bus, or a store, or anything else, does it become a life-threatening, elbow or be elbowed, use anything you have (including big Jewish boobs) to push old ladies, small children, polite Americans, and anybody else not yet evolved enough to survive here out of your way? Darwin's Law for Israel: survival of the rudest.
6.Why is blond synonymous with hooker?
7.Why is turning on a television here more complicated than finding a cure for cancer? (seriously it requires at least 3 remotes and 7 buttons to push and in a very specific order, otherwise no tv for you!)
8.Why can't people clean up their dog's shit? Do they think it's a pleasant gift to leave for the next person walking down the sidewalk or through the park? Look what my baby did today...
9.Why do people care sooo much about your business? Just because I sat next to you on the bus, does not mean that I want your advice or life insights, nor do I want to tell you my life story... and I don't want to hear yours! Why do people have opinions about everything and everyone? And why do they feel it necessary to share them all the time?
10.When you say, clearly, in Hebrew, “i don't understand Hebrew” why do they think that if they speak louder (not slower mind you) that suddenly a light bulb will go off in your head and you will know exactly what they are saying to you?
11.Why are taxi drivers Israel's equivalent to used car salesmen? Why do I have to struggle to not get financially raped every time I take a cab? If you establish a price before you take the ride, it will surely be much higher than if you ask for the meter, but if they use the meter, you are almost guaranteed an unrequested tour of Jerusalem as they take you to your destination in the longest, most round-about way possible.
12.Speaking of taxi drivers, why do they use their passengers as audio-diaries? Just because I didn't' feel like waiting 30 minutes for a stomach churning roller coaster bus ride, so I decided to spend the money I don't have on a taxi, doesn't mean I took it to hear your life story, or tell you mine!!!!!!!!!! Plus, I don't speak your fucking language!!!
13.Why does a washing machine or a refrigerator or a blow dryer cost more than a mortgage?
14.Why yell?
15.Why if there is a whole empty street, do you have to come stand next to me to have your cigarette? Am I wearing a sign that says “Goal in Life: Die of Lung Cancer”?
16.Why haven't they discovered screens for windows?
17.Why do the mosquitoes have as much chutzpah as the people? They're not afraid of us, it's amazing... like it is their right to drink my blood for dinner and I have no right to complain about it.
18.Why are there up escalators but no down escalators? And where are the stairs? Maybe jump down?
19.What's Zionism again?
20. Why in the biggest city in the country, where almost no one drives and almost everyone takes the bus, do the buses only run every 30 minutes? And you never know exactly when they're coming, so it's kind of the luck of the draw, you miss it, you've got a half hour of trying to avoid chit chat with the strangers at the bus stop ahead of you.
21.Stay tuned for many, many more to come... |
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| My ceiling collapsed |
[Aug. 30th, 2006|10:15 pm] |
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And speaking of dangers in Israel, last night I was in a deep un-Anna like sleep when I was rudely awakened by a thunderous crash. My boyfriend, sleeping peacefully next to me, tried to convince me that I was just having a nightmare, until through our respective sleepy hazes we discovered that the ceiling in my room had collapsed, luckily on the other side of the room... missing my bed by about a foot. Anyway, please see the corresponding picture in the gallery, it is modeled after Reuters, a role model for honest journalism. |
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| Aha! A profound moment |
[Aug. 28th, 2006|01:22 pm] |
My first profound moment, or maybe it is not profound, maybe I am just super duper happy.
Since I don't have internet in my apartment, and my new job is from home and requires email, I am now sitting at a coffee shop on Emek Refaim, a busy street right near my home. Around me are all sorts of Israelis...many Americans, some sabras, religious, secular, pregnant women, hipppies with sketch books... I am drinking a "cafe afuch", basically a capuccino, eating a huge tuna salad, and working on a caricature for my new job on my laptop. And then it hits me... my dream was always to be an artist living in Israel, and here I am! My every dream has come true...
And as per the question about the "love birds", everything is wonderful in that department too. On Friday night, P. and I went to a dinner at a Rabbi's house in the old city of Jerusalem. This Lebavicher rabbi, who made Aliyah from Gary, Indiana 22 years ago, organizes dinner at his house every Shabbat for young olim from all over the world. There were people there from the US, Argentina, Brazil, Peru, Russia, Ukraine, and France. Aside from some crazy right-wing discussions during which I fought to keep my mouth shut (you can't wake up a sleep walker, it's just kind of creepy when there are like 7 sleep walkers together...) it was a lovely evening. Afterwards, since we were in the neighborhood (aaah, Jerusalem!) P. and I decided to stop by the Western Wall. So there we were at 2 in the morning at the holiest place in our religion, like it's normal to just swing by there... it turns out that the middle of the night is a wonderful time to go by the kotel because it was almost empty. So we sat there and talked for 3 hours. 3 hours, in the middle of the night, just sitting by the place that millions of people all over the world pray to someday see... is this really my life?
And what is it like dating someone from the other hemisphere of the world? Well, I tried to tease him the other day by telling him the story of a friend of mine whose strange Argentinian roommate liked to get naked in front of her and wax her biccini line... and he answered me that with all due respect, it was an American oleh who protested the disengagement from Gaza last year by lighting himself on fire alive... err, point taken.
And so, life continues in this totally bizarre, beautifully crazy little country. |
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| Wanted: profound moments... |
[Aug. 27th, 2006|01:41 pm] |
Ok, ok. I know, I have not written since I got here... I know, very uncool.
I guess I was intimidated by the blank computer screen because I felt if I had no amazingly profound experience to share with you, then I shouldn't write.
Everyone told me when you make Aliyah, the first six weeks every little thing becomes a moving emotional experience. I can't say that this is the case with me.
I have yet to have one of those "aha" moments where the heavens separate and your head fills with sentimental music and you break down crying because the beauty of the moment overwhelms you and it all suddenly makes sense.
Nope not for me. I am much too busy trying to find my way around the endless maze that is Jerusalem, trying to explain in my broken hebrew what I need to a colorful array of shopkeepers, bus drivers, waitors, immigration couselors... last Shabbat we went to Tel Aviv to the beach and I almost started crying when I really had to use the bathroom, but couldn't figure out which was for men and which for women and couldn't remember how to say men and women in Hebrew. These little things are my version of moving Aliyah moments.
The truth is that I am just very happy, in a very undrammatic, calm, sleeping 12 hours a night, un-Anna-like way. It feels pretty normal and wonderful to be here, except the little can't find my way and can't communicate with people around me thing.
But there are some experiences that I guess are unique to those of a new immigrant to Israel... for example Friday I was at the shouk (open air market) and I was standing in line (which in Israel gets you nowhere) and in front of me was such a splendid assortment of characters... a russian woman with yellow hair and and pink lipstick, an ethiopian with some sort of tribal looking tattoos on her face, a black hatted super-duper orthodox man, a grungy hippie with dreadlocks... and it hit me that they're all jewish! that was weird.
Oh! And for those of you who are scared of suicide bombings, there is a much more frightening reality here in Israel. Israeli bus drivers are maniacs. The other day I got on the bus and just as I was aiming my ample rear end into an empty seat, the bus made a crazy fast turn and I suddenly found myself face to face with an astonished older woman. In another half-second I realized the source of her astonishment, somehow I was sitting on her lap. I laughed for the rest of the day every time I thought about it.
Oh yes! And I found a job! I am going back to my roots and will be drawing freelance caricatures for an online caricature company. I feel very lucky because I think I have beat every record in terms of finding a job in your field after immigrating to a new country.
Ok, from the holyland, this is new olah hadasha, Ukranian, American, Isaeli, Anna. I promise I will write more frequently from now on. All my love to everyone! |
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| Postcard from the Edge |
[Aug. 20th, 2006|01:17 pm] |
Jon Jew dies and receives a choice to go to Heaven or Hell.
First he choses to check out Heaven. In heaven he finds clouds and angels playing harps and beautiful peaceful people floating around. It looks pretty good.
Then Jon Jew goes to check out hell. The devil welcomes him in and there he finds him beautiful sandy beaches with palm trees. Beautiful women playing volleyball in string bikinis. Men floating around in a crystal clear pool sipping on cocktails.
So Jon Jew choses Hell. The devil opens the door and he enters to find burning fires, eternal woe and torture. Shocked and disappointed, Jon Jew turns to the devil and says, “ but I was just here and it was so beautiful...”
The Devil laughs and answers,”then you were a tourist. Now you are an oleh chadash (new immigrant).”
The Jewish Agency for Israel, an organization that helps Jews all over the world move to Israel, runs a program called B'bayit b'achad, or “at home together” where they set new immigrants up with Israeli families or volunteers to take care of them. So they sat me down a few weeks ago to ask me exactly what kind of family I would like to be connected to.
Aliyah Shaliach: Would you like a family or a single person?
Naïve Excited Me: Family
Aliyah Shaliach: But if we could not get a family, if it had to be a single person, would you prefer a boy or girl.
Slighty Skeptical Me: Definitely girl.
Aliyah Shaliach: Russian or not?
Skeptical Me: Not Russian please.
The following day I receive a phone call, “Shalom, my name is Sharona, I am calling from Israel from the B'bayit B'yachad project. We are very excited to have found a connection for you. Can you talk now? Yes? Great, we will three-way the call. Yes? Great, are you ready? Good. Now let me see, Jenya are you on the line? Single, Male, Russian Jenya picks up the phone and our conversation switches into Russian.
Single Russian Male Jenya: Nu, Anna, you have questions for me or something? I don't completely understand what they want from me.
Slightly Amused Anna: Umm, no I guess no particular questions.
Single Russian Male Jenya: So where do you live now? New York? So what's so bad in New York that you want to come here? We're all trying to go there.”
I write this as I am flying somewhere over the Atlantic about to start my new life. Last night, spending one last night in my roommates' apartment, I was attacked by my four huge black suitcases. They surrounded me in the living room and started asking me questions, simple questions, like why are you leaving your life and family and moving to a foreign country tomorrow? And I couldn't remember. So I sat there in the dark staring at my suitcases and with them staring back, daring me to unpack and call the whole thing off. Anyway, I have always been pretty good at staring contests, so here I am somewhere over the Atlantic and with the naughty suitcases stored safely somewhere underneath the plane.
Yesterday I had to cancel my phone service. I informed them that I would be traveling outside the service area and wanted to leave a forwarding address so they would be able to send me my last bill. The woman on the other end of the line struggled as I dictated the name of my new street “Dor Dor V'Dorshav.” Then when it came to say Jerusalem, we had a problem. There conversation went something like this:
Verizon: Where is Jerusalem?
Me: You mean what country?
Verizon: Well, I know it's somewhere in the far east, but...
Me: It's in Israel.
Verizon: well yes, I knew that. But our system does not seem to take Israel as an destination, perhaps I could send your last statement somewhere near Israel....
Me: Well yes, let me see, perhaps I could walk over to Egypt or maybe Lebanon and pick it up...
And so it appears, I am moving some where in the “far east” where Non Russian Israeli families turn into single Russian men who are not entirely sure of why anyone would come there. But I am sure that my future is in Israel, or I was for the last two years. Suddenly though, when you are on an airplane and the perfectly good life you know is behind you, your exciting but uncertain future is ahead of you in a country where you don't even speak the primary language, where up until yesterday there were non stop Ketusha fireworks, and all those idealistic and ideological feelings, notions and beliefs start to feel very abstract and the fact that you are landing in Israel in a few hours with only your suitcases and fuzzy memories of some sort of ideological beliefs becomes much more concrete. And yet I can barely sit still in my seat, I am that excited.
So you land, you cry, you hug, you dance the horah, you breathe in. What do you do the next day? |
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