Bystander Effect

While riding the bus the other day, the bus driver asked if everyone was getting off at the central bus station, which is the last stop on the route. A few people replied yes. This caught me by surprise. If this question was asked in America, you would get some grumbles but definitely no definitive yeses. Definite answers are a part of Israeli culture, as well as stating their opinion. You want to know how to get to Ben Yehuda Street? Five people will tell you six different ways. And that is just asking for directions.

This got me thinking. Is the bystander effect lower in Israel? The bystander effect occurs during an emergency and people choose not to intervene. Kitty Genovese opened the eyes of many psychologists after her murder in her apartment. While she was yelling for help, the other tenants assumed that somebody else was going to help and because of this nobody helped until too late. 

If people in Israel tend to express their opinions more frequently and more often to strangers than Americans then it would that they would also run to an emergency situation and see what is going on. I can tell you that when one car is pulled over on the road, there is usually another car near it and somebody talking on the phone. Sometimes there is an accident, but most of the time it is not. This rarely happens in America. If your car breaks down you have to go fend for yourself. But here, as long as you don't enrage the other person, they treat you like family. You don't have a place for Shabbat? Tell the next person on the street and they will happily invite you over. Need a ride to the next town? Hop in. Because of the group-centered culture, people are more likely to help each other. 

Familiar Strangers

You know those people you pass everyday, but don't know? Those are your familiar strangers. It may be that you know the kind of coffee they get. Or it might be that you they wear blue only on Thursdays. Or it might be that lady with the curly hair that you pass everyday. You don't know them. You know almost nothing about them, and yet you see and remember their face. They have no importance in your life, but at the same time you wonder "where are they going? what is on their to-do list?"

Everyday when I go to work, I pass multiple people. Some are people who I will never see again. Children, adults, cats. But lately there have been three people who I consistently see on a daily basis. There is the lady that walks her cat and slowly admires the rising sun. There is the lady who is wearing pastel pink sweats (yes, everyday) and begins her walk in Sachar Park. Then, there is the guy at the crosswalk on his bike. Because the crosswalk lights stay on red for so long, I usually see him. He regulates my time. If I don't see him, I need to sprint to work. If I see he hasn't crossed to my side yet, I know that I have a lot of time left.

It's amazing that eventhough you don't know anything about these people and you only see them for a few seconds a day, that your brain is able to remember and recognize these faces. There are a million people in the world. The fact that this three pound muscle is able to remember is amazing.

In the kindergarten, a specialist comes in for Music. She is blind. I think that it is good for the older kids to know that there is a working and functional blind adult in their vicinity. While she only comes in once a week and stays in each classroom for about half an hour, the kids are still able to recognize her voice (which, by the way, is decent. She can actually sing which makes a difference since none of the rest of us can). As a blind person in the community, she does not have familiar faces, but rather familiar voices. But all of us have mixed up another's voice. Half the time when I talk to my family, I have to say it's me and not my sister. I have had conversations though where people thought I was my sister. Some times vision is the most helpful despite that the visually impaired have better tuned hearing than the seeing.

So, while familiar strangers are not very important in our lives, it makes life easier. If the cashier knows you always give correct change and you are short by a few cents (or agurot) they will let it slide. Or if the familiar stranger spills something on you or steps on your foot by accident, it makes it easier to forgive them because you know that it's not the norm.

But then after awhile it gets awkward. There comes a point when you recognize them and they recognize you. Do you say hi? Or just go along like normal?

University Taught Me Something

The past few days, all seven kids have been crying during nap time. Usually it's the same two kids that cry and that is easy to deal with. However, suddenly this week, everyone has decided that they will cry during the first half hour of nap time and then maybe they will go to sleep.

Most parents know that when a baby is crying at the beginning of their naptime it is because they do not want to go to sleep, no matter how tired they are. However, after self-soothing, they are able to calm themselves and eventually fall asleep. There is one boy who is a little over a year who likes to be cradled and rocked all the time, even when he is awake. Sometimes, when he is exhausted, he is able to fall asleep on his mattress without any swinging. Anyway, the moment he starts to cry, the new staff member runs over to pick him and put him in the swing. Or if someone else is crying, she will pick them up and hush them. From experience and classes, I know that it is better to let the babies cry for a little bit so they can learn to sooth-themselves and then after a little bit try to calm them. This method does not work every kid, but for over time, the child will gradually learn to calm himself.

The child that constantly likes to be rocked is blind. He is able to see different colors and flashes of lights, but not much more than that. He has his favorite toy that sings and flashes lights. It is like a pacifier. If he is not playing with his toy, he will cry unless there is someone with him to say "you toy is in front of you" or unless he is able to feel someone's presence. He likes to be hugged and kissed and picked up. My theory is that because he is blind and unable to see, he is literally lost in his own thoughts and his own world. (Whether or not babies have thoughts is a different issue). He feels alone and unstable. I imagine it is like waking up disoriented. Being held allows him to be more in touch with reality and to know that he exists. That people care. The swinging and cradling also allows him to be able to know that he is alive. Even last year the girl that was totally blind always cries unless she was rocked back and forth. The boy from last year who was mostly blind didn't like to sleep because he probably felt that he would be lost. Their feelings are completely understandable.

In addition, the kids' morning play usually consists of building blocks (both literal blocks and metaphorical ones that will help them develop their skills) and Legos. I know the reason the kids are playing specifically with these toys is so that they can develop their fine and gross motor skills. Because they are so little and their hands are so little, most of them have very little control over putting the block into a specific area and usually "get one in" by luck. But because I know that these toys are supposed to enhance their skills, I will usually find a toy that will help them practice their skills instead of toy that just sings and makes other animal noises.

There are many other things that I learned in university that I would not have known otherwise and the skills that I learned have helped me work with the kids more than I think.

Step by Step

I recently started at a job at the same place I volunteered last September. The kids, of course, have grown. They can now walk by themselves and have a conversation. Although they don't remember me because of their age, it is still great to see how far they have come in just six months. For an adult, six months is no improvement at all. Full rehabilitation takes longer than that, but these kids have acquired a language and are able to walk around and play.

On my first day, I was asked to come in to welcome the kids when they arrived. One girl arrived and I couldn't believe how she has grown. Last year, the teachers worked with her to keep her bald head from going to just the right side. When she was laid down now, her ginger hair contrasted with the blue mat and she was able to turn her head to both sides, though she still favored the right side. In contrast however, one of the girls just turned three. She can't stand, nevermind walk, nor can she talk or really do much of anything. I'm not sure exactly what she has (I think cerebral palsy), but she is severely developmentally delayed and no matter how much therapy she has, she will never be a "normal" child.

In the day to day learning, we don't see the improvement of the children. Even talking begins slowly. First there is the "bababa" sound which goes to "abba" (father) and then two word sentences and eventually full chatter. However, this process doesn't happen overnight, but rather about a year. Working with the children everyday, you don't see the small skills they acquire so that they are able to go on with the next step. It is only when you look back that you can see how much a child has learned.

One of the hardest things about making Aliyah is the language. Sometimes I feel like I am on the same page as the two and a half year olds. I know words and I can put together sentences, but I don't always understand the words that everyone is using. It feels like I am not learning any more Hebrew, but then there will be a day when suddenly everything is in Hebrew or I do a task that I previously would not have been able to do. For example, I went to the bank (which is a whole different system than the US, but that's a different story). I asked the teller if he spoke English to which he replied only a little. Since I had already been waiting for 45 minutes, I didn't feel like waiting more so I gave up and spoke Hebrew to him. (Side note: He was surprised I was from the US...Last time I checked I have a strong American accent. Oh yea, plus I asked if he spoke English. Is that not a clue? I speak Hebrew sometimes and the clerks automatically switch to English.) I succeeded in my task and was proud that I was able to do this in Hebrew.

A few weeks ago, I went to the Golan so here are some of the Pictures

Kapparot Kapparot

The night before Yom Kippur begins, there is a service called Slichot in which you ask individuals for forgiveness. Like all services, there was one held at the Kotel, the Western Wall.

On a normal day, the Kotel is crowded. There are the tourists who are seeing the Kotel for the first time. There are residents who are praying for a loved one. There are religious clans who are trying to complete the rest of the afternoon service in peace without tourists pushing them out of the way. Everyone is there for something different, whether its praying or awing. No matter who you are, though, there is a separation between men and women.

On this day, however, thousands of Jews flocked towards the Kotel at 11:30 at night. It was controlled in such a way that there was one way in and one way out. No other quarter was opened and all the shuks and restaurants were closed. Except for the ones in the Jewish quarter because Jews are always hungry. Throughout the main streets of Jerusalem and in the Old City, people were yelling "Kapparot, Kapparot" and chickens resided on the tables. Kipparot, which comes from the word "Kippur," means atonement. Tradition says to swing the chicken (or you can choose to use coins) around your head three times in order to rid of all sins. I did this unknowingly when I was stopped on the street and asked to give money to the poor. The rabbi said a blessing and swung the money around me three times.

I eventually made it down to the Kotel. For those who have been to there, there was no room to move from the beginning of the stairway/Menorah, but after pushing my way through, I made it to a spot where I could see and hear. There was a screen and a microphone so the prayers could be audible, but not understandable. In front of the Kotel were thousands of Jews praying to be absolved of their sins. I could literally see the black and white wave of shuckling (moving the body as one prays). I didn't know the people next to me or the people in front of me. But we were all Jews, American, Russian, Israeli. Secular, religious, ultra-orthodox. Together, we were at one of the most holy sites in the world and to be apart of it is just indescribable. This is why I love Israel. This is why I made Aliyah. Thousands of Jews together in one place all asking G-d for one thing. It is here that am proud to be Jewish.

For Yom Kippur, I went to a Sephardic synagogue. Besides some of the differences in the tunes, the only real difference from an Ashkenazic service were some of the prayers. However, some of the prayers that I did not recognize, I have come to like. Another difference that I keep seeing year after year is that there is more enthusiasm in the prayers. There may be a few pages of mumbling (that's where I usually kept getting lost), but as soon as a big song starts, the whole congregation puts their whole heart into it and belts it out so that the notes echo off the walls and can be heard from a few blocks away. And because there are four synagogues in the square, each prayer can be heard sequentially thus a continuation of prayers and notes are carried throughout the town.

Definitions

A while back, I read an article that said that Rosh Hashannah conists of just as much praying as it does eating. However, it depends on where in the world you are and what denomination of Judaism you are.

In the United States, Rosh Hashannah consists of going to synagogue, eating, and seeing family. If I am in the US during the holiday, my family goes to Erev Rosh Hashanna services and then eats a dinner of sweet foods to bring in the new year. The next two days are going to synagogue, eating a big lunch, and then seeing cousins. If Rosh Hashannah falls on a weekday, I take the day off from school and make up the work later. For, while I am observing the Jewish holiday, the rest of the world is going on about their business.

In Israel, my experience has been different every time. This time, I went to someone's house for the evening meal. Like last year, there was a small seder to bless certain foods such as pomegranate seeds, dates, and peas. However, unlike last year, the family said the prayers, ate, and moved onto the next blessing before everyone had received their share. The next morning, I went to services at an orthodox Sephardic synagogue. The lady I sat next to knew immediately that I was not a native because it took me two tries to get the right Machzor (prayer book used to Rosh Hashannah) and still did not succeed. So, she let me look on with her. Afterwards, I went on a hike at Ben Guvrin where there are multiple Byzantic caves to walk through. That night, there was no big meal and no family came over, which was very different for me. The next day, I went to the adventure park right outside Ramat Gan.

I am struggling with this, though. I did not feel this way when I went to the caves. Obviously G-d did not strike me down for not going to synagogue, but I felt like something was missing from the day. Maybe it's because I wasn't with my family. Or maybe because it didn't feel like Rosh Hashannah for me. There were families having barbecues in the park and cars filled the highway, but for me, this was just like Shabbat. I think part of it is that I have a certain expectation about Rosh Hashannah and certain prayers that I look forward to on this holiday. However, maybe because that was not fulfilled the feeling that something was missing evolved.

I hope to find that missing piece on Yom Kippur.

For now, here are some pictures

Yad Vashem

This week, I finished my visit with Yad Vashem. I stook my time reading all the plaques and looking at the pictures. I could feel myself losing focus and because I wanted to be able to absorb everything, I left after learning about Hitler's power and the rise of Nazis. Afterwards, I went to the Hall of Remembrance where the names of each concentration camp are laid out. It wasn't until the next day the I learned about the fate of two of the camps. Belzec had only one survivor and that Chelmno only had three survivors. These two facts had a big impact on me. Survivors I have heard speak were in Bergen-Belsen, Auschwitz, Dachau, or Treblinka. It never even occurred to me that these two camps, which I don't recall learning about by name, would have so few survivors.

In addition, one of the posters included information on the Nazi's next move. However, the war luckily ended before they could be put through. The plans included, by country, how many Jews they wanted to kill by the end of the next year. Most of the countries were in the hundred thousands. There was one country, I can't remember which one, but I think it was somewhere in Northern Europe, where the number listed was 200. The fact that this number even made the list is incomprehensible. They were so into their goal that everything mattered. Even this one little country.

One last thing that I had only heard small details about is the Einsatzgruppen. One specific operation killed over 30,000 Jews in two days. Or, a whole city completely wiped out. One SS officer wrote a letter to his wife and son that the first killing was hard, but after that it became habit. Habit! Everything I have learned about the bystander effect and group mentality in terms of the Holocaust is completely wiped away. Telling people to dig their own graves and to undress near it so that they will fall right in when they are shot is beyond inhumane. That's not group mentality, that's your own mind becoming insane.

The Nuremburg Trials were supposed to convict Nazis. One time when I learned about the Holocaust, my teacher asked us if the factory workers making Zyklon-B should be put on trial. Or if the train drivers. Technically, they didn't point the gun, but both workers had a big part in killing the Jews.

Though Yad Vashem is depressing, there is a certain spirit that I felt as I walked back outside after going through the museum. The inside of the building is full of dark terrible nightmares describing slaughters and mass murdering. But outside, the golden sun shimmers off the building. A garden winds through the Jerusalem forest towards Mount Herzel. The triangular building over looks Ein Kerem. I walked outside into the conclusion. It's very hard describe. I have been to the museum in DC and while the museum is good you don't get the same sense of pride as when you walk out the doors. When you walk out onto the DC streets you continue living as an American. But stepping out into the Israel air, you are continuing life as a Jew.

Your Epidermis is Showing!

My thought process: It's hot out today. I'll wear these shorts and a tank top. But I'm going to the city center, I always feel so uncomfortable. I'll put a t-shirt over my tank top.

Fast forward a few hours: I go through the entrance of the supermarket. The guard gives me the go ahead to enter the store without checking my bag. As I am picking out apples, a different security guard comes up to me and tells me that they saw me on camera and that I am not dressed appropriately. I'm wearing a t-shirt and shorts, but apparently my shorts are too short. I am given a scarf to wrap around my waist so that my knees aren't showing. As a side note, I was not the only one in this situation. There were a few other women (and only women) who were also given scarves.

Yes, I am in a religious neighborhood. But I'm picking out apples from a bin, not from the Tree of Life, but the way that I was approached made it seem that way. If I'm in the parking lot of the store, the same people who saw me inside will see me outside and see the way I am dressed. It is my belief that on a hot day, I can wear shorts and a t-shirt in all different colors. If you are a religious woman (by which I mean a Black Hat), it is your belief to wear long skirts and long shirts in either black, grey, or blue. Just because I choose to express myself differently does not mean that my right should be taken away when I go food shopping. 

But wait.

There's a sign in the front of the store that asks customers to dress appropriately because this is specific supermarket is a religious one. This company only owns a few other stores in the country, maybe two or three. So I should dress like they want me to...right?

( pictures )

Tasting America and Israel

As I waited to get onto the plane for the second leg of my Aliyah flight, there were two people to check the tickets. One line was fuller than the other and of course I was in the fuller line. The other one was empty and the check-in lady told people to go to her side. The lady a few people behind me, an American, and I both stepped to her booth at the same time. There was an exchanging of "go, no you go, no you." before I finally stepped forward to end it. I felt that this was perfect in giving me my last taste of America. There was no pushing, no shoving, but rather a politeness factor.

After arriving in Israel, I went to the Ministry of Absorption to gather my teudat oleh (my ID indicating that I am new in the country). This sounds like it should have taken no more than five minutes, which technically it didn't. However, we had to wait for every person from the previous flights and my flight to get their ID cards. So about twenty people. Then we had to wait for the bus to drive everyone back to the airport and pick up luggage. But finally I was in Israel and on the drive home, the sun set over Jerusalem.

The next few day then consisted of setting up everything you need to live. But I was not able to sign up a cell phone or a bank account or ulpan until I received my teudat zehut (my permanent ID). In the meantime, I investigated the banks and cell hone companies. There are two major banks in Jerusalem and a few other ones that are not as prominent. In the end, I just chose a bank where the people were the nicest. Though at the one I chose, the teller told me that I wasn't allowed to open an account unless I lived in that neighborhood, but he would allow it this one time. For cell phones, the first place I looked, the seller wouldn't give me any discounts as an oleh (immigrant) which I am entitled to, until the person I brought with me told him that he himself, has this company. Then all of a sudden, the seller started taking discounts, but he also stopped talking to me. The second place I went, which I was reluctant to go to in the first place because it's logo gives an expensive look, was immediately nicer. They offered me a discount when I showed my ID, they told us to sit down, have some water (which they do literally everywhere there is business to be done. This happened at the bank too), and discuss my options. Because this company was nicer and actually talked to me as well as inexpensive, I chose them.

After waiting an hour at the Ministy of Interior (Misrad HaPanim), which was a quick name, parents name, prove you're Jewish and were born (all of which I needed before making Aliyah), I opened a bank account and received a cell phone. Oh, but then I had to go back to the Ministy of Absorption to tell them my bank account number and cell phone, but I need to make an appointment. And I found this out after waiting an hour in line.

Except for the red tape, everything else is going great. On Friday morning, I could really feel Shabbat in the air. Black hats were scurrying, cars were bumper to bumper, and everyone had somewhere to be. For the weekend, I went to the beach, which was absolutely gorgeous. Afterwards, I went food shopping and since it was hot outside I was wearing a tank top (a real tank top, not spaghetti straps) and shorts. When I walked in, the guard told me that because my shoulders were showing, I had to wear a scarf over my shirt.

First of all, my shoulder were mostly covered. It was the kind of shirt that stretch at the shoulders. Second of all, this was food shopping. I understand if it was a holy place, but last time I checked Pastafarians don't care whether or not my shoulders are covered. I took the scarf off later and no one bothered me, but still.
And by the way, Pastafarian is a real religion recognize by the government.

Pictures should be up shortly.

Waiting is Patience

There is a psychology test called The Marshamallow Test. This measures how well children can delay gratification. Children around the age of four are given a marshmallow. They are told that if they can wait twenty minutes they will get two marshmallows instead of one. The study looks at temptation and gratification. Those who wait the twenty minutes are said to be able to delay gratification better than those who eat the marshmallow before the time is up. The findings suggest that those who are able to wait the five minutes and delay gratification end up doing better in school, form longer lasting friendships, and overall more successful in life.

As a human race, we all find waiting hard.We wait in line. We wait for the mail. We wait for vacation. These are short-term waits. Most of us just grow impatient and afterwards complain about the elderly lady who paid for her purchase all in pennies. However, we wait eighteen years to be an adult. We wait sixteen years to finish school and get a degree to work. We wait to have a family. We wait so long we never think it is going to arrive. Knowing that something you want is close and only one this stands between you and your goal is so irking. You just want to skip the steps and go directly to the goal. You think that skipping over these steps can't make that much of a difference, right? Imagine skipping over childhood. You wouldn't know how to function in society. Or going right into the workforce. You'd have no skills. So, as impatient as waiting for something is, all the steps need to be completed and are necessary in reaching your goal.

Right now I am waiting to go to Israel. I am trying to be patient and wait for all the right documents to come in, but it is hard. I just want to fly there myself, literally. Use my two arms to fly over there now. Swim across the cold Atlantic and be there. But instead of wasting that amount of time and money, I am waiting. Patiently. But patience wears low. For trying to not think about Israel only makes me think about it more.

Like the White Bear experiment The more you are told not think about something, the more likely you are to have it stuck in your head. Ever hear of "The Game" ? The loser is the one who thinks of The Game first and thus loses for thinking about it.

Prove it

Part of the aliyah process is proving that you are Jewish. This can be done in few ways. In my case, it's either my parents' ketubah (marriage certificate in Hebrew) or a letter from the rabbi. Being that the Ketubah is permanently in a frame, I opted for the letter. It's a simple statement saying that I was born to a Jewish mother and so I am halachikally Jewish.

This got me thinking. Who is "more" Jewish? The person who was born to only a Jewish father and knows all the rituals of Judasim? Or a person who was born to a Jewish mother, but knows nothing of the customs. That is to say, shouldn't a person who is spiritually connected to the religion be more accepted as a Jew than the Jew who has no spiritual connection?

I have many friends who are Jewish through their father. They know the customs and laws and are very involved in synagogue. They know Hebrew and go to Shabbat services. They are obviously very devoted to their Judaism. However, it is in my opinion that if they are that devoted towards the religion then they should respect the laws. I have made it clear in previous posts that it is my personal opinion that I think that people who are born Jewish through their father should go through a conversion process. However, if you tell me that you are Jewish I'm not going to ask you "through your mother or through your father?" It's disrespectful. If you consider yourself a Jew, then I do too. I will not disregard you as Jewish if you tell me your father is a Jew and not your mother, but just don't tell me you are half-Jewish. Either you are or you aren't.

I also have friends who are Jewish through their mother, but know nothing about Judaism. They never observe any of the holidays, the only Hebrew word they know is "Shalom", and don't give much thought to the religion in general. Well, obviously these people are Jewish, right? According to the Torah, yes.

But I'm not so sure. More religious people may think that I am "less" Jewish than they are and that hurts. When I would walk through the shuk in my jeans and tank top, the glares I would get from religious Jews said "I am more superior than you because I follow the correct laws of Judaism." But that's stupid. I consider myself Jewish despite that I don't follow all the laws of the Torah. I can't go and give someone who less religious than me that same look. I know how it feels. How can I tell someone they are not of the religion they grew up with? To tell them that they can believe all the stories in the bible and go through all the rituals, but not consider them a Jew? How can I do that? Judaism entails many different laws and everyone observes them differently. I have no say in anything. You can do as you please and if you feel you are Jewish then my all means go ahead and be as Jewish as you want. For the only one that can truly judge you is G-d.

Listen to Your Heart

For half of my childhood, I was questioned by by peers. "What are those triangle cookies?", "What's matzah?", "You only get 8 presents?". It's gets exhausting and annoying to have to answer these questions. When I moved to a more Jewish town, the questions changed from "eww, that's gross" inquiries to "I genuinely want to know" wonderments. While it was still somewhat bothersome to always have to explain why I was taking a day off from school, I was more ok with answering these questions because in return I would ask my friends of other ethnicities about their own culture. We traded information because we wanted to know not because we wanted to tease.

Everyone wants to be different. But then when we are different, we feel offended that people can't understand that our differences is what makes us unique. We tease and mock others who are are outside the group of conformity and yet we continue to say "I am different." But really, we're all the same. We want to be different, but not too different. We want to stand out from the group, but we don't want to be in the fringe. So while being Jewish has given me a sense of uniqueness, there was always a part of me that wondered what it was like to be in a place where the rules of religion were understood.

And for me, that place is Israel.

Living there for four or six months at a time just doesn't give me the sense of belonging. I still feel like a visitor no matter how well I know my location. And so, I am about to do what will hurt my family the most.

A move to Israel.

How am I supposed to explain that moving to Israel is something I need to do? If I don't I will regret this for the rest of my life. There are proven studies that say you regret inaction more than actions. So, even if I do end up hating life there, at least I tried. I had the guts to move to a different country. On the other hand, life is short and this is the time of my life when it's ok to pick up and go. It's ok to take adventures. There's nothing holding me back. Family will always be here and I will always love them and I will always be thinking of them. It may seem like I am abandoning the family I have known for almost 23 years, but it's not abandonment. I'm not leaving the US without looking back. I am tucking them in my backpack to pull out at any time. Trust me when I say I will be thinking of everyone. I will be feeling guilty for missing certain events. But, family will always be important. My mother taught me that.

I want to move to Israel for a million reasons. I can't explain every single one. I have tried hard in previous posts to illustrate exactly why I love Israel. Life in the United States isn't terrible. I have a good life. I had a good education. I am cultured and traveled. I have always known when the next meal was. I have always had a roof over my head. I have had parents who love me and support me. I am lucky to have been born in such a fortunate family. But that's just it. Sometimes you have to do something out of your comfort zone in order to fully appreciate what life has given you. I understand that it's not just my comfort zone I am walking out of. It's all of my family's and friends' comfort zone and it's this, that I think hurts them the most.

I know my move will be hard on my family, but I hope they understand that this is something I want/have to do.

My First Jew

When I go into a new environment where I don't know the people, I take off my Star of David necklace. You never know what people's perception of Judaism is and I don't want to upset anyone. Saying this, I recently started wearing my necklace to work because I felt comfortable enough around my coworkers. I never said I was Jewish (Except after mentioning that I worked in Israel for 6 months. Then someone asked me.), but my identity could be seen in my necklace.

Anyway, a few days ago the following conversation took place:
Coworker: You're Jewish?
Me: Yea
CW: By race or religion? Or both?
Me: Both.
CW: Oh. I've never met a Jew before. You look like any other white girl t'me. I've got these stereotypes and would have never guessed you were Jewish.
Then a customer came in and our conversation was interrupted.

I've never met anyone who has never met a Jew. To me that feels weird. I grew up in a town where much of the population was Jewish. I grew up in a state where, though there is antisemitism, it is not as great as other places in the United States. Being Jewish is my identity. It's part of who I am and when someone has never met anyone with a part of my identity it makes me feel both uncomfortable and exhilarating. I have the power and privilege to show this person what and who a Jew can be. But because I am his representative, it puts a lot of pressure on me. Do I have enough knowledge of Judaism to explain customs and ways? Do I know the right explanations? Do I know the answers to the whys? Unconsciously, this person that has never met a Jew is watching my every move. How I act and react towards others. How I dress. How I move. Everything. I know that some people live sheltered lives, but I know for a fact that this person has "been around the block." But not to have met a Jew? At the age of 20-something? In Massachusetts? That's hard to believe considering the amount of diversity in the state. And yet it's true.

How am I supposed to respond to someone that says "I've never met a Jew before." I've never climbed to the top of Mount Everest. What's your point? That's what I want my response to be, but in reality I know that it can't. I know that I need to show this person that the negative stereotypes of Jews are not necessarily true. I need to show them that Jews are a people. A person. It doesn't and shouldn't matter my religion or race. I'm a human being and my Judaism just happens to be part of my identity as much as being female or white.

Pull Me Closer

There was a bombing in Jerusalem. Not somewhere outside Jerusalem. But in the city. Across from the central bus station. Because I lived in this city for five months, this is very real to me. It's not some far away city. It's not a small city that I passed through. It's not even a city that I toured for a week. This is a city where I got to know the people and feel the essence. A place where I walked up and down the streets until I no longer needed a map. I place where I was no longer a visitor. I was there and I have an exact picture of the street. I became a part of Jerusalem and a piece of Jerusalem.

I have friends who are currently living there. Some of them are still working at their internships and take the 74 (the bus route that was hit). My friends from work take the bus to and from the central bus station after work.  No one I know was hurt and everyone is ok. There are people there that I care and worry about when things like this happen. However, events like this build a community bond. This is why Israelis know their neighbors and are so friendly with each other in the private of their homes. Because when someone needs help, you can't rely on foreign allies to help. Being across seas only adds to the distance and only helps with rebuilding. You need a neighbor and a friend, or even a stranger, to rely on because if something happens you have help.

While this does shake me a little bit, it also pulls me closer to the country.  I have a need and a want to be there. I want to be in the middle of the action. To know exactly what is going on. American news sources over exaggerate the events so how do I know what to actually believe? Never for one moment was I afraid or scared of an attack. The fear of a terrorist attack is part of the Israeli lifestyle. You have to take the good with the bad. However, while an event like this is higher in Israel than the United States, statistically, there is a small chance of getting hurt. "Only" 30 people were injured and one was killed after being severely wounded, but in a country of 7 million, that's almost nothing. The statistics of getting hit by a car crossing the street is higher.

Simplicity

I miss Israel. That's a fact that everyone knows about me. Sure I miss hearing Hebrew swarm my ears and the Jewishness of the country. It's more than the connection I have with Israel, though. I miss the simple things of Israel. I miss the essence of the country. The details that make Israel what it is.

I miss the juice stands that squeeze of fresh orange, pomegranate, and/or carrot juice. The guys behind the counter, whether old or young, were always friendly despite my indecisiveness. They always complimented my friends and I, but not in a creepy manner. In a genuine "I'm Israeli so I notice American  girls" kind of way. That still sounds creepy, but you have to be in Israel to understand. Hence, my point of why I miss the country.

I miss the Jerusalem stone roads that I always slipped on. I miss walking to the bus stop with the sun rising over the Old City and sparkling against the Dome of the Rock. I miss the bus drivers and their crazy driving. I miss the honking. The shuttling to Tel Aviv every weekend via Sheirut. I miss the beach (though I think that's mostly a general thing because it is so cold here!) and the tire playground. I miss the cafes. I miss the Aromas and the Angel Bakery. I miss the kindergarten. I miss my misinterpretations. I miss the Israeli accent. I miss the "telawivtelawivtelawiv" of the sheirut drivers at the Tachanat Mercazit (Bus Station). I miss the sea of black, also known as the religious. I miss the pita. The hummus. The tahina. The falafel. The chocolate and its spread. The persimmons and the fresh fruit.

But most of all, I miss the silence of Shabbat. I live in the suburbs so everything is always still and silent. But there is no way to describe the busy, overcrowded, overpopulated, pushing and shoving citizens of Israel right before the beginning of Shabbat. As soon as sundown sets, it's like someone put a silencer on the country. You can see families at their kitchen table saying prayers over candles, wine, and challah. From my window in Jerusalem, I could see into the apartment complex next door and every Friday I would see a father blessing his little girl. Everyone in Israel is with family and friends. No one is worried about anything except what to eat for dinner. The closest you get to this warm fuzzy feeling of familial ties is Christmas of Fourth of July. You don't (or at least I don't) even get this feeling on Shabbat in America. There's just an essence about knowing that everyone else in the country is doing exactly what you are doing at exactly the same time that gives you a sense of security and warmth.

It's Not the Same:Hummus and Pita

I've been home for a while now and Israel is visible in my room. Maps of Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and Haifa hang limply on my door as if to remind me that, though they are not the real thing, if I can close my eyes, I can still see remnants of my time in Israel. Experiencing the culture of Israel gave me a chance to reflect on the positives and negatives of America. Now, don't get me wrong. I love America and am very lucky to be born into such a great country (especially now when there is chaos all over the Middle East), but there are certain things about Israel (like besides everything) that I like better and Israel. For example, the food. There is no way I can eat American pita, hummus, or surprisingly, cottage cheese.

While Israeli pita is sold in supermarkets, it is still not the same. It doesn't have the fresh smell of flour and yeast that wafts not only up and down the aisles, but also lingers on your hands for hours afterwards. My nose doesn't tingle with delight when I choose a bag of pita in the supermarket. As I pick up the pita, I can't feel the heat as it warms up my hands. The pita is not fresh and does not beg to be eaten at that moment. There are no the dew drops on the bag thus instead of ripping open the knot, you place it neatly into the carriage.  You don't hear Americans yell "Wow! 5 sheks (roughly $1.50) for 10 pitas?" In America, you can't taste the oil and the floury thickness of the bread. You taste a flat round pancake that is easily severed in two. So, I am stuck with a circular piece of bread. And to dip in what? The hummus in America is not even close to the taste of hummus in Israel. There is an ingredient missing. Lemon juice? Garlic? Tahini? I don't know, but either way I refuse to eat it because the taste is so dramatically different. My tongue tell me that I am eating an entirely different condiment. In order to remedy this problem, I have resolved to make my own, which tastes 100 times better than American hummus and while it is not close to Israeli hummus, it's more of a chickpea concoction than the Sabra brand is. And then there's the cottage cheese, or as they say in Israel, Coh-Tij. I don't know what it is, but the cottage in Israel is...creamier. Milkier. Just more...edible.

Ok, so maybe I'm snob when it comes to food (I am certainly enjoying my Starbucks now), but you don't know the differences until you have tasted them. It's like eating American cheese all your life and then going to France and eating Brie. You can never go back. Or like eating supermarket brand chocolate and discovering that Hershey and Nestle exist. Or even pizza. Store bought pizza is ok, but Italian pizza is the real prize. The food is better an ocean away because it isn't processed as much and no one cares about eating healthy. Ok, that sounds wrong. What I mean is that people eat based on what their body tells them, not society. They will eat white bread, 3% milk, 5% yogurt, cottage cheese and sour cream, 25% cheese. Yet despite what may seem like unhealthy food choices, there are very few overweight people in Israel (and in the Eastern Hemisphere, in general). When I first arrived in Boston, one of the first people that I saw was overweight. It's kind of a shocker you don't realize. People in Europe just aren't fat. And it's because the food is more natural in those countries. If I really knew what I was eating in the US, I'm pretty sure I'd throw up Though Food, Inc. and Supersize me did a good job on that too. C'mon, America. Isn't it time to start eating organically and not the GMO crap?

It's Not the End

My last week and a half in Israel consisted of exploring the country and hanging out with friends.

I went to Chevron with a friend from the program. I looked at the website beforehand to see what kind of tour it was going to be. Apparently, though, I was the only who did not get the memo to wear a long black skirt and a black shirt. I was in jeans and a pink jacket. I stood out like the smell of fish at the shuk. Our first stop was Rachel's tomb, where we entered the West Bank. The bus drove between two tall cement walls. While I felt isolated, I knew how much these walls protected the Israeli people. Rachel's tomb was pure chaos. There was construction on the women's side so the men's side was split for both. Because it was time for the morning service, a lot of religious school groups were there. Just imagine trying to swim through a sea of feisty religious women. It's not a pretty sight. In addition, the 13 year old girls were texting on their phone. I personally felt no connection to this place, but I was respectful. These girls are supposed to feel a greater connection and they were busy texting their friend about some stupid comment.

Our next stop was the actual city of Chevron. There, we saw the tomb of Ruth and Yishai (Jesse). The tour guide didn't say much about the history of them. Nor did he say much at the Beit-Hadassah museum. I learned more reading the captions of the pictures than I did from him. There was no historical context. He didn't explain why Chevron was so important, besides the fact that the patriarchs and matriarchs are buried there. He didn't talk about why the city is split up. He didn't talk about the conflict between the Arabs and Israelis. After a quick break for lunch, we walked to the Machpela, or the Cave of the Patriarchs. The tour guide kept on persisting that everyone would feel a connection to the Seventh Step and I felt guilty for not feeling anything. I mean, personally, I think, the Kotel is more exciting. It was cool to see the temple and the tombs of Avraham, Yitzchak, Ya'akov and Sara, Rivka, Leah, but let's be honest. Do you really think there is a body in these elaborate boxes? It may be the place where these characters were buried, but there's no way of knowing for sure. I felt the historical connection, but the emotional connection was not there. But even if I were to feel a connection, like I do at the Kotel, I wouldn't feel the need to kiss the ground. They were just people like you and me. Sure they were the founders of Judaism, but they were still humans. We were at the Cave of the Patriarchs during Mincha, the afternoon service and one of the Rebbe's was crying as he prayed. I think it's wonderful that you have such a great connection to this place, but it's just a building where the patriarchs are buried...maybe. I guess I don't have that deep connection.

Before I left Israel, last Sunday, I went to a reserve and absorbed the last bits of Israel. I took in the sea and the Old City walls. I closed my eyes and took a picture of the beautiful country so that I can remember it exactly as I see it and feel it. As I flew home on the airplane, we flew over the beach in Tel Aviv. The same one I went to the first day I was in Tel Aviv. For now, everything came full circle for I will be back in this Holy Land once again.

True Love

I have spent hours trying to figure out why, exactly, I love Israel. But it's complicated. There's no specific things. How do I explain the connection I feel with the strangers around me? How do I explain the familial ties? How do I explain the "Jewish Mothers" that pass by me everyday? How do I explain the feeling of Jerusalem versus the feeling of Tel Aviv? The feeling of The Negev and Golan versus the feeling of Eilat and Haifa?

How do I explain my love for the elements in and of Israel? Why do I love Israel so much? It's because of the people and the wildlife. The culture and the attitude. The language and the gestures. The tension and the love. I love its desert life and city life. Its beaches and its high rises. Its holy places and its clubs. Its sites and its views. I love the buses and the taxis. The drivers and the roads. The roundabouts and the pedestrians. The food and the drinks. The alleyways and vast openness of the ocean.  I love the noise of the shuk and the mall and the serenity of the sunsets and the stars. I love the battle between the religious and the secular. I love The hole-in-the-wall place that has the best pita/hummus/ juice/Malawach/ice cream/drinks. The chain restaurants that are just ok. The pushing and shoving. The Jewish Mothers. The timeless schedule. The promptness of the start of Shabbat.

My "Only in Israel" stories help elaborate on why I love this country, but still there is more.

When I wake up in the morning, I feel Israel. It helps that I when I walk to the bus stop, I can see the Dome of the Rock. But even when I was in Tel Aviv, I could feel the hustle and bustle of the city life that is Israel. I can feel the embrace of Israel and the warmth (literally and figuratively) of the country. Walking down the street on any given day, I am likely to bump into someone I know that's not from the program. The man at the juice stand insists I try a different juice than the one I want. The bus driver speaks Hebrew with no accent, but displays his Canadian flag proudly. The beggars on the street ask for more money even after they are given 2 shekels. I don't need to wait in line to get onto the bus, I can just push my way through the stream and be part of the culture.

There are also negatives that I love about Israel. Not knowing the language is the most frustrating thing, but at the end of the day I am always proud of myself for one Hebrew encounter I had. The siren drills that happen and the soldiers on the street are not scary. They are a part of life. The only time I felt afraid was when I was in Sderot, but even then I knew the program would keep us safe. They told us exactly what to do in case of an emergency, but they also said that nothing would happen. Whether or not that was a lie it calmed my fears as well as anyone else who was freaking out.

Secrets of Israel

When a tourist comes to Israel, they do not see the individuality of the country. They see only the face of Israel and not the heart. When they come to Jerusalem, they head straight to the Kotel, the Western Wall. In Tiberias, it's the Kineret. In Haifa, the Bahaii Gardens are the main attraction. Tel Aviv attracts beach goers and Beer Sheva, the hikers. While these sites are necessary to visit, it is also important to realize the uniqueness of the country.  Israel is more than just tourist sites and "The Jewish State." The first time I visited Jerusalem (both on Birthright and on Career-Israel), the tour guide told a story that until recently I did not completely understand. That is to say, I comprehended the idea, but never put it into practice for more than a few seconds.

A tour group had stopped in front of an important site. The tour guide said them, "see the man on the bench? To his left you will see battlefield on which many men died. On his right you will see the graveyard of those men. Above his head you see a great maple tree. This tree was planted in honor of the men and the plaques that begin starting at his feet were put down to commemorate those men." The man thought to himself. "Maybe someday, the tourguide will say 'You see the tree that grows maple leaves and the battlefield where men died? The graveyard and the plaques? Those aren't important. You see the man on the bench? He is what keeps this city alive."

The point of the story is, as a tourist, to stop what you're doing and look around. Not at the sites, but at the people because it is the citizens of the town that continue to keep the sites as they are. They are the true heart. While I try to absorb the "real" city of where I am, you can't really know how that person lives until you talk to them. I may stereotype the yeshiva boys walking on Yafo Street as boys who sit and study Torah all day, but then when you see a team of them playing soccer and high-fiveing one another, that's the real Jerusalem. The cafes on the beach may be expensive, but seeing families park their blankets on the sand every Shabbat and friends relaxing in the water, that is the heart of Israel.

If I mention "Israel" to you, you will most likely imagine an image of the Kotel and Jerusalem stone. But what about the neighborhoods of Israel? The ones that aren't tourist attraction? The ones where people work day-in and day-out and live in a home. The small towns of Israel also make up the character of the State, not just the famous attractions. The small town of Yavneh is composed of a generation of fighter pilots. They settled in this town because it was an open space for the planes. The random sites on the side of the highway are also important to absorb, but to get out on the side of a highway and click a picture is not climbing inside the "real" Israel. It is simply being a tourist. However, snapping a picture and driving through random streets because they look interesting or stopping on the side of a road because you see an old military base, that's what it means to know the heart. Tourists don't know that the hole-in-the-wall restaurants are usually the best ones. Just the other day, I went to a juice stand off Ben-Yehuda street. It looked a little sketchy, but then again so do a lot of the stores on the that street. I asked for a juice with all different fruits, but I wasn't sure what I was getting. In the end, it was the best juice I've had in Jerusalem.

This juice experience tells me how much I have to learn about this city, but as I learn about it, I keep the heart of Israel with me. Last week, I went to the Temple Mount, where the famous golden dome shines as a symbol for Jerusalem. While waiting in line for security, a Bar-Mitzvah was passing through. The klezmer music echoed off the lime stone and eyes turned to watch the boy make his way to the Western Wall. A few days later, I went to Tiberias to Chamat Gadera, the hot springs. It was surprisingly crowded given that it was rainy and that it was Shabbat.  But either way, this natural jacuzzi was filled with only Israelis so while this may be a tourist site, it is a favorite of natives. (pictures here)

Yes, you read that correctly. There was rain last weekend in Tiberias and rain, thunder and lightening, and hail this weekend in Haifa. This week's storm, unlike last week, was wild. The streets were filled with water as the rain spattered onto the roof. Hail knocked on roofs and indented cars. 10 minutes later, after some chicken soup, the clouds cleared, the sun shone, and the water disappeared from the streets. As if it never rained at all.

Do You Understand?

Most of the kids in my class are over one. But the age range in that one year is very drastic. The 14 month old can't talk yet nor can he sit up, but that's mostly because of his cystic fibrosis. The 15 month old can sit up and walk if you hold her hands. She can also say "et zeh," the Hebrew version of "that." The 18 month old can walk and, as us teachers like to say, eats like a prince. He always wants to wash his hands and when he eats most of his food actually ends up in his mouth. The other 18 month old is blind so she can't walk by herself yet, but she is able to talk and complete words. The 21 month old is the most independent one year old I have ever encountered. She walks, she is learning to talk (her favorite word? Todah? And yes, that's phrased as a question), and she can "pretend play." The other two kids in the class are 2 or 3, but developmentally they are where the one year olds are.

This week, the 21 month old  did the cutest thing. She took a doll and carried it over to the high chair and tried to strap it in. She dragged one of the stools that the teachers use to feed the kids and mimicked us. She took the doll out and burped it and then wanted to change it's diaper. This is our routine for the kids: After breakfast we change their diapers.

This got me thinking. How much do babies actually understand? We'll tell her to go wash her hands, but is she just not listening or does she just not understand? How much are they paying attention to what adults do? Who/what do they choose to mimic and who/what do they choose to ignore and why is it this way? When do babies start understanding commands and "do" what they're told? They may repeat "Dooby" (teddy bear), but do they actually know what that word means? Are they able to comprehend that everything has a name?

These kids all know exactly what they want. The 18 month old will put his hands up wanting to be held. Or the 15 month old will point to the playground and start crying. Do they want "Maym" because it's instinctive to want something to drink? Or do they want "Teh" because they know it tastes good?

On a separate note, for New Year's Eve, I went to a friend's apartment, but with no Ball Drop, no freezing my butt off at First Night, and so few people celebrating it, the night really felt like any other Shabbat night. When one of my friends, who was at work, called me to wish me Happy New Year, he said "Shana Tova." For a moment I was so confused. Shana Tova? That's September. But that's how you say "happy new year" in Hebrew. New Year's Day, my friend was driving home to a town near Tel Aviv so I went with him and saw friends in Tel Aviv. It was a great start to a new year.

The Negev pictures are up. The first few are of the crazy sandstorm we had a few weeks ago. Enjoy!