Just when you thought it was not developmentally appropriate for adults to tantrum like toddlers....

(segue to public transportation in Israel)

In fairness, I have to paint the background of public transportation commuting in Israel. Mornings generally resemble America before the Civil Rights Movement with colored foreign workers quietly holding up the back of the bus until they all shuffle off at some popular unknown stop. The religious folks pull out their smart phones and mumble aloud their morning prayers. The bus driver typically has an inflated ego and has often times nominated himself g-d, president, and C.E.O of the large vehicle. Events such as kids puking, aggressive battles over keeping the window open or closed, or having the bus break down while you wait in rain for the next one become customary. Of course, at any moment a security officer can board the bus and demand that each passenger dig around for their receipt to ensure the driver is running business appropriately. An elderly man may loose the wheel of his fully vegetable-loaded cart forcing fellow passengers to pull a quick Macgyver move to repair it. And I can only briefly mention without getting choked up, that this is where my 3 month old Sony Ericson Xperia mysteriously disappeared. Sniff Sniff. There is a basic sense of Survival of the Fittest happening at all times by each passenger. In order to survive, you must understand a few basic psychological principals:

Fight or Flight

Everyone, and I mean everyone, young and old alike has at one point felt like Rocky Balboa training for a fight. The fight to make the bus that is. The decision has been made to run behind or alongside the bus with bags flopping, hands in the air, awaiting the ultimate devastation or success of making the bus. Within milliseconds the driver holds your destiny in his hands and contemplates your fate. Fellow passengers observe and wait to see whether you will be granted entrance.

The Jungle Gym

This phenomenon is when your stuck standing on the bus and must grab onto the dangling straps from above to hang on for dear life as the bus' velocity ranges from speeding to a screeching halt and bodies sway like children hanging from monkey bars.

The Sardine Squeeze

This event occurs when the bus is already soo stuffed and the driver stops to let people off and new ones attempt to board. New passengers desperately fight to board a bus that is already beyond its capacity and their asses are just a hair away from being snipped off by the bus' closing doors. Once on board, begging to relieve the body on body pressure commences with pleas to distribute the pressure of the Sardine Squeeze throughout the bus. Those who just begged for entrance now curse the animal conditions.

Seniority Rules

There is typically an unspoken (though at times it becomes quite spoken) code of ethics governing the bus system in Israel. There are 4 coveted handicapped seats reserved for those with physical needs at the front of the bus. During times of the Sardine Squeeze or Jungle Gym those seats, among all others, are eyed by many but chosen by few for fear of violating Seniority Rules.

Once I witnessed an elderly woman verbally and physically bully and completely ridicule a young woman out of the seat to make room for her caretaker. After the shock settled, the young woman complied with the Seniority Rules and made her way to the interior guts of the bus. Most passengers ignored this somewhat typical behavior until about 30 minutes later when the young woman was preparing to exit the bus. With her voice cracking and tears in her eyes, the young woman dared to violate the code of ethics by returning the ridicule. In front of a completely packed and now totally silent bus full of passengers, the young woman looked the elderly woman straight in her eyes and dared to launch into a tirade “schooling” the elderly woman on empathy towards fellow human beings. After a few strong, relentless rebuttals the young woman managed to shut up the grumpy old beast.

Nahag Complex

Nahag (Hebrew for Driver), as I mentioned, rules with authority over his bus. Beyond all assumed power his title carries, his has complete control over how much you will be charged for your ride and whether your ride comes with a complementary individual moral lesson. For instance, the central area of Tel Aviv and the surrounding cities has developed a universal system between multiple bus carriers so that a magnetized card (Rav Cav) can be scanned and the amount deducted from a prepaid card. However, the city is zoned and depending on your point of origin and destination the fares range. After overpaying for 2 weeks, getting yelled at by drivers, loosing my magnetic powers, and getting different responses from each driver I decided to go to the central office. After a discussion in English at the office revealed the cause of confusion is basically related to the intelligence and care of the driver, I now engage in a private chat with the driver before I allow my card to be scanned. I watch to make sure he takes the few seconds to code it properly and I am on my way. While I think I have cracked the mystery of the Rav Cav, my new challenge is to crack the “Cartesia.” After the explanation I still have no clue why I need this AND the Rav Cav. The only consolation is that the office was full of Israelis bringing in their receipts asking for explanations as well.

Moral teachings of the driver typically has to do with Respect. For instance, a group of teenagers beat an older man onto the steps of the bus. They innocently boarded the bus right before they were screamed at for their poor manners. He scolded them, “How dare you board before your elder” and made them step down and wait for the man to board. Oh, and during a Sardine Squeeze, a uniformed soldier dared to speak up from the interior of the bus. “Driver, I don't think there is any more room for people.” Oh shit. Big mistake. The driver glared into his rear-view mirror and in front of everyone belts back something to the effect of “you're 18 years old and your job is to care about serving this country. I will worry about letting passengers onto my bus, ok? I worry about each passenger and you worry about each citizen of this country. How dare you!”

Supermarket Madness (Guest Blog from Devorah)

Tonight Sheree, Indi and I are about to have our first sleepover guests, from our sister and brother in spirit, Lironne and Saar. The last couple of weeks have seen epic battles to overcome dirt, roaches, mold, and the Israeli system, and our bodies are feeling it. We’re getting quite close to having the most adorable apartment in the most adorable neighborhood, with the most adorable dog, and all of that makes us feel lucky and happy every day, (at least most of the day). We decided to make a celebratory dinner, in our big-by-Israeli-standards, uh, let’s say portable oven, (though all appliances are portable here, aint they. Hey Israeli tenants, let's all make a pact together starting today, ready? One, two, three…Leave your appliances when you move!)

 

We went out earlier to get groceries for our little party. My application for a club card at Supersol, a necessity to make shopping significantly more affordable and steer me toward certain brands, required my teudat zehut (Israeli ID) number. So did getting a bus pass, and just about anything else I’ve done here. I’ve never felt so on the grid, but somehow more OK with Israel knowing whatever they feel they need to than I am with the dirt that Facebook, Google and the other cyber overlords can now calculate on me. (wow, some subpar grammar in that last sentence. Forgive me, my now-native-language is not English, my friends). We found these super cute mugs/bowls that we absolutely had to have. Sheree stopped for a second, to remind me that we had to check if they were dishwasher safe. You know, so they could go in her lovely dishwasher…in her townhouse in Highland Park, IL. Oh right, the dishwashers here are colorful, crappy sponges that melt in your hand are just generally much worse than American sponges, for about twice the price and a tenth of the options. Speaking of a tenth, you know what the giant, economy sized pack of paper towels has? Six small rolls. Six. That’s as big as it gets. My Target-Costco American mind can hardly comprehend this.

 

Mugs in cart, we went to the cheese counter, where we tasted cheese and picked our favorites. Having decided on lasagna for dinner, I asked the impatient old Israeli woman if they had any ricotta. “MAH?” (what?) Ricotta, I repeated. “MAH?!?!” Screwing on my best Israeli accent, I tried once more, “rhee-coat-tah” “OH, rhee-COAT-tah!! ZEH, yesh lanu.” (Oh, Riccota, this we have.) Thus a lesson learned – Yes, Israelis may be nice about our American accents, but that doesn’t mean they’ll go out of their way to know what we’re talking about when we don’t make the effort to clench our throats and pepper our speech with ehhhh’s. Once she supplied the rhee-coat-tah and before we could tell her if we wanted anything else, she walked away having decided we had enough cheese, and she had enough of us, for the evening. As for lasagna noodles, there was but one option, Osem. Fortunately, these noodles fit in the one of 2 sizes aluminum pans available, something I’ve grown to not assume will happen around here. We continued down the aisles, getting what we needed. We were laughing the whole time, generally enjoying the experience, and continually reminding ourselves of our growing Israeli-ness. Next time, we knew, we’d bring the small rolling bag that we had taken on the bus to Tel Aviv’s Shuk HaCarmel just a few days ago, to fill with groceries and housewares. But this time, without the roller bag and laden with heavy bags, we took advantage of the loophole available to us when in a jam – smile cutely, act like a lost, sweet American woman who just needs some kindness from a nice powerful Israeli man, and ask for what we want. We requested from the security guard that we be able to take home our plastic shopping carts to carry our groceries. A smile and some broken Hebrew can get a lot done around here, but must be used sparingly. 

The nice thing here is, everyone in Israel gets how hard it is, and sometimes we all come together to get things done. Like the “Nahag Wave,” where a person runs to catch the bus, someone in the back of the bus sees it and yells “Nahag!” (driver,) and the yelled word Nahag is passed up the bus in a wave until it reaches the pretending-to-be-deaf-as-long-as-possible driver. These bus drivers are something. On the hectic and not fun day of moving into our apartment, for no apparent reason my bus pulled over as I tried to speed from Tel Aviv to Givatayim. After multiple people yelled at the driver, the most we got out of him was the word “dakah,” (minute), Several minutes later, his buddy walked onto the bus with a bag of food for him, they chatted briefly, and we were off. But that’s Israel, where the one time schedule you can be sure something won’t happen on is the one it’s supposed to happen on.

 

But I digress. Here we are in our apartment, the baking lasagna full of fresh-picked herbs from the garden hanging out our window, which is happily growing in the December sun. That sure makes the hard parts easy to forget. Lironne and Saar are on their way. There are the most divine French macaroons in our fridge, from the sweet Israeli girl at the fabulous French patisserie just down the street. Life is absolutely wonderful. And really hard, and sometimes completely ridiculous. Enough that the first response I get from so many Israelis when they hear of my solo aliyah is, “WHY?!” We chuckle together. But I think they know. I’m home. And we’re all in this together. And if we can relinquish some control, and most expectations, we can enjoy the crazy wild ride.

Roaches, Mold, Bat Shit Oh No!

The pains of an immigrant. Well officially I'm not an immigrant yet but I think the last month has been the shock wave that I naively thought I had evaded. Nope. This country appears to the international world as though it is a 1^st world developed country, leaders in technology, the military, and innovation yet Israel has recently been reminded me that remnants of it's 3^rd world past still remain.

I've developed a relationship with the entity I call “Israel” and find myself having conversations with her. For example: “come on Israel, it is not normal to have cockroaches living in your kitchen,” or “seriously Israel, why wouldn't you build closets in bedrooms?” or “Israel, installing a bathtub would really solve the whole squeegee-mold issue” and one of my favorites, “Israel, why bother with the no smoking law in pubs and bars if it doesn't really apply?” And I'm just warming up. These are just the ones most relevant to health standards.

To be positive, I LOVE my new apartment and the adorable urban neighborhood Devorah, Indi and I now call home. I have a yoga studio literally across the street, really nice parks all around to let Indi run off leash, the mall in walking distance, trendy boutiques, and cafes that are open on Saturday. Plus the benefit of quiet nights and privacy due to the silence of our graveyard neighbors.

Since I haven't decided how long I will remain in the land of my ancestors, I have embraced the concept of 2^nd hand furnishings. Almost without a glitch, and with Lironne's connection, we managed to arrange movers to make 3 stops to pick up all the necessities before arriving at our new apartment to unload. But wait! The multiple phone calls ensuring that the previous tenants would 1000% be moved out by 3pm (i.e. 15:00 in Israel) resulted in our truck pulling up right behind theirs on a busy street while they were right in the middle of moving out with one elevator and an extremely narrow stairwell. Apparently, their 1:00 scheduled movers just didn't show up so they rushed to find a new one and overlapped with us. If I didn't know where I was, I would think that was a lousy excuse but then again, I can totally see the moving company stopping for a cigarette and coffee break disregarding the time and deciding to go home early. Looking back, watching myself get pissed off in Hebrew was hysterical. Emotion and thoughts have no language, sometimes the nonverbal communication can tell it all. Up until that moment, things had been running as expected cruising through the one-way streets of Tel Aviv in a big truck making U-turns and stopping traffic left and right. Since I not only had to go back and help clean out my first pad AND wake up for work the next morning, Devorah handled the rest of the unloading mission and indirectly prevented my total meltdown.

For some reason, the two single guys who were living in our apartment did a good job disguising the dust, mold, and cockroaches that we've declared war on. So much so that we have staged nightly ambushes by baiting them with just the slightest bit of food, turning off the lights, leaving the apartment and then BAM, BOOM, BANG we go Charlie's Angles on their crustaceous, gross bodies when we return. Though we have warm up exercises for both mold scrubbing and roach ambushing I swear our apartment and neighborhood are amazing. These just come standard in Israel and we are thrilled that we opted for the apartment next to the cemetery with roaches and mold versus the one with an amazing porch covered in bat shit. A girl has to have standards. I now can not only can identify bat shit but know about their shitting habits, who knew?

“Living in Israel is like having an affair with a really hot and somewhat abusive lover”-Dscrubs Matkowsky

2nd stepping stone

10 weeks into the adventure and I'm about to leap onto the 2nd stepping stone.  I've managed to learn how to navigate to and from work where I'm still acclimating to a very different educational system and meeting really wonderful and supportive colleagues.  I've received my first deposit of sheckles into my Israeli bank account and have become "google translater's" biggest fan.  I'll soon be leaving the cozy apartment that was so conveniently located to the beach, open market, and transportation for a larger apartment in a quieter urban town about 15 minutes away.  The 1st roomie, Lironne, has decided to fly solo and roomie #2, Devorah, will be joining me to sprinkle our fairy dust all over Givatayim.  In Israel it is amusing that people travel with their closets (armours) and all household appliances so it looks like Devorah and I will not only master the Israeli Craigslist (i.e. Yad2) for apartment searching but also for 2nd-hand furnishings.  We currently wait for the opportunity to turn over 12 rent checks and sign a lease along with 2 co-signers before beginning to scour the ads.

My Hebrew reading and expressive vocabulary is coming along slowly but surely and being here makes me determined to become somewhat proficient by the summer.  Being a part of the educational psychology department is greatly contributing to professional terminology, practicing yoga helps with anatomy and kinesthetics, and my weekly language exchange helps me tie it all together. 
 I know people say the 1st year is the hardest for an immigrant and so far knowing that have I put my life on hold in Chicago prevents me from being able to think as an immigrant.  The truth is that I would like to give this life a real "go" and have a feeling that once Devorah and I make our new place feel like home, it will be hard for me to return to the States in just 8 short months.  Low salaries and the high cost of living is really the only thing holding me back from jumping in with two feet.

O.K random but I just have to throw it out there.  In Tel Aviv, people's careless habits with animal care (i.e. fleas, dog shit, and homeless animals) in conjunction with my dog's garbage eating on the beach resulted in the discovery of gnarley tapewormies.  Luckily 2 pills later and the critters are gone.  Gross.

The fact that it is almost December and I was walking my dog along the refreshing sea barefooted in a fall jacket can't be beat.  Time to land on the 2nd stepping stone......  

So cliché -so true

So cliché -so true

Fear of the unknown

The only thing to fear is fear itself

It's week 7 on my middle eastern adventure and I'd like to take this opportunity during my hour bus commute to reflect on my accomplishments, progress, and learning thus far. Honestly, this adventure was intended to give me a year to reconsider my priorities and break free from the routine my life had become. I walked into this chapter with an open heart, optimism, and prepared to watch reality and divinity intersect.

I've realized there are two distinct types of people: those who need structure, predictability, and routine to survive and those who feel suffocated by it. It's not to say that people can't switch tracks based on their moment in time and over the past few years I found myself personally questioning the cliché:

“If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got.”

What I had “got” was by no means bad. A meaningful job, a comfortable house and car, supportive family, and terrific friends. Pretty easy really. But I felt the urge to expand, grow, learn and was somewhat stagnant in the dating department. Ok that's an understatement. While I do have amazing friends, I am entering a phase of live where most of them are settled with families and running on children's schedules and I've always found the pickins kind of slim for me in Chicago. So with divine intervention (literally) I was blessed with an opportunity to come to Israel as a working professional (something I always wanted but never thought was possible).

Fastforward to week 7 into the adventure and yesterday marked a milestone. I finally received my employee time card so I am officially “on the grid” at my job. Luckily I was warned about Israeli beaurocracy and came financially prepared with a cushion for a few months. Hopefully, by November I will receive my first paycheck.

I've learned how to have a sense of humor about beaurocracy reminding myself that “this too shall pass.” I've observed Israelis responding in pretty extreme ways so it's comforting knowing they suffer from it as well. I've seen a man scream at staff at the Ministry of Interior over the so called “protectzia” of the number system and young psychologist break down in tears over working for 3 months without pay. I, myself, have left multiple copies of paperwork in three locations (the psychological clinic, the Ministry of Interior, and the city Municipality) hoping to crack through the system. A lot of work for the small amount of sheckles I'm actually getting paid.

And as I wait for my first paycheck to get deposited, I've learned professionally that there is a lot of supervision provided from the city's psychological service clinic. I participate in individual and group supervision where we discuss cases and get input from senior practitioners. I have to admit that I am a little shocked that the small decisions that I used to make independently now have to be cleared through many channels before I can confidently take action. Whereas in the states, I think psychologists follow more of a “sink or swim” approach. I am helping implement an Animal Assisted Activity program at a school for children with severe disabilities and counseling typically developing highschoolers who have recently immigrated from English speaking countries. I even have a student whom I supervise in her practicum for an therapeutic animal grad program. Both of my assignments offer me the opportunity to expand professionally while working in a much less stressful atmosphere.

On an exciting note, in one short week one of my closest friends will join me in this adventure and by December the Chicago gang may all have a totally new living arrangement. While I wait for Devorah's arrival, I am attempting a green smoothie cleanse. Thankfully, the raging headache and fatigue of the withdrawal from sugar, caffeine, alcohol, dairy, and carbs has lifted and on day three I'm feeling fantastic. If I continue to feel this good I will be tempted to stay on this diet/cleanse for a while.

Lyla tov for now

Awakening the sensory system

Yes, after one month of living in the middle east my midwestern roots are still adjusting to the tastes, touches, smells, sights, and sounds of Israel.  They say that the olfactory system is the strongest sense. I'm not sure that my body will ever be able not to cringe at the scents of garbage, urine/feces, exhaust, cigarette smoke, and body odor that line the streets of Tel Aviv.   Rather, I am developing the compensatory strategy of predicting when to hold my breath and breathe out of my mouth.  The second most obvious attack on my sensory system has been through the auditory channel.  My verbal memory is not naturally strong so I have to intentionally remember new Hebrew words, search for their definitions, write them down, and find opportunities to use them repetitively.  Additionally, living in the heart of Tel Aviv requires an adjustment from the silence of suburbia to the horns, chatter, alarms, and animal fights that sometimes wake me from my slumber.  My visual system is learning to keep my eyes peeled to the ground while walking my dog in case a sudden need to dodge feces or an angry street cat arises.  Visually, I am in awe of the Mediterranean sunsets, exotic faces, and Hebrew letters.   I will expand the tactile system to include vestibular sensations and anyone who rides the bus in Israel would agree.  My abdominal muscles and balance are learning to protect my body from the shock of sudden braking or weaving through traffic.  After the purchase of a floormat, dustbuster, slippers, and the station to wipe off Indi's paws, I can occasionally walk barefooted in my apartment.  Living in a sandy urban beachtown with three shedding females makes for sticky floors.  The tastes of Israel are easy to get used to.  While living on top of the open market results in more garbage, street cats, and homeless hanging around it also provides constant access to fresh produce.  It's easy to be a vegetarian here and I happily balance my fruit and veggie intake with red wine and desserts.  Overall, my sensory system has been awakened in both positive and negative ways and my reflexes are becoming more developed.  We'll see what happens when I'm wearing short sleeves in December!!!  

Habit Forming

So they say that it takes 21-28 days to form habits; one more week and I'm there.  Day 14 in Israel.  Really?  I already have my cell phone, bank account, bus card, apartment, dog park, bus line, oh and a job.  My sentence structure is getting a bit more complete instead of the fragments that I arrived with though I'm still far from totally fluent.  I realized that I've overcome some of the anxiety in speaking that I suffered from the first year that I lived here in 1998 but am more than willing to use my English for convenience.  The more confidence I show, the more willing people are to engage in Hebrew conversations with me. 

Working for the ministry of health in Israel is far from north shore district 112.  Every psychologist that I've met has been so warm and helpful showing tremendous patience and support for my Hebrew.  I'm pleasantly surprised when I communicate in Hebrew and people not only understand my message but encourage my progress.  The structure of working here is like going out for a family style meal.  Offerings of coffee precede any professional conversations and genuine freedom and flexibility are permitted.  Literally, I've been given the amount of hours that I'm employed, my placements, and a supervisor but otherwise I'm free to make all of my own decisions.  I should add the disclaimer that we are still in the initial stages of educational planning for the year and the more intense work begins in October.  In the meantime, I am enjoying the relaxed pace and the hour bus commute with wi-fi. 

I feel like the topic of habit forming wouldn't be complete without writing about city living in Israel.  This will be the hardest part for me to adjust to.  Despite the fact that I am living in a $2000 apartment (all inclusive), we regularly sweep up plaster, tolerate the odor of urine, walk by garbage and bums to enter into the building, live in tight quarters, fill our mini fridge with food only for 1-2 days, wash dishes by hand, and cook with a traveling stove top and toaster oven.  I've poured sour milk from two different cartons of milk purchased within 24 hours and drink instant coffee.  We have remote controlled air conditioning units and a balcony to help us regulate the immense sweat incurred throughout the day.  My legs carry me all over town with my dog and up and down 3 flights of stairs multiple times a day (I've got to believe my pants will soon reflect this!).

So my hour bus ride is almost up.  Signing off for now.

   






 

Assimilation

Though it's not totally true, I can honestly say that I think I know what it feels like to be an immigrant to a country.  And yes, it is cheating since I am an educated American English speaking professional in a country where English is practically a 2nd language.  Regardless, each day I understand more and more of the words spoken around me yet need a translator to accurately complete paperwork.

The discussion in one of my meetings at work today, "Dilemmas of new immigrants."  How a propos.  There were no powerpoint presentation or handouts just a group of psychologists connecting on a personal level and sharing ideas.  The group consisted of 2 or 3 Argentinians, 1 Uruguayian, an Israeli, Brazilian, an American/Israeli blends, and me.  I understood over 50% of the details and most of the concepts spoken yet spoke in English since all but 1 understood me perfectly.  In the first week on the job I see that psychologists working for the clinic here are extremely kind and supportive of one another.  People go out of there way each day to introduce themselves to me and ask if I need anything.  Meetings often start with affectionate greetings and inquiries about one another's families and personal lives.  Loose guidelines are given to us as far as placements and hours and otherwise there seems to be quite a bit of professional freedom allowed.  I will go to my 2 schools this week and try to envision the work that I will be doing there.  People seem to be excited about my certification in Animal Assisted Therapy and suggest that I supervise a student who is studying in this field.  It's too bad Indi isn't better suited for the work since dogs are allowed on public buses here (as long as they wear a muzzle).  Perhaps, I'll give it another try now that we're living a different lifestyle and see if we can put her to work.             

Overall, in my first week I have started a job, opened a bank and cell phone account, unpacked, and found a vet.  Next up is to find a yoga studio and Ulpan. 

Thing missed:  curbside recycling (recycling in general), clean streets,  grass for my dog, reasonably priced everything

Things not missed: sticky wax on fruit, driving, junk mail, the stress of north shore school district 112    

Landed on two feet

Phew.  Luggage breezed through El Al security and the really nice ticket agent even waived the $300 overage fees.  Indi was successfully sedated and stuffed into her cage for the 10 hour flight and was only slightly pissed as she rolled up on the conveyer belt in Tel Aviv.  I was thrilled to see Lironne's glowing face on the other side of customs and thankfully all of my luggage fit into her car and she was willing to share the haul up 45 stairs. 

I knew it.  As soon as I landed into that apartment, the weight would be lifted off my shoulders and indeed it was.  I landed right in the heart of Tel Aviv and would begin the transformation from suburbanite into a big city girl.  Day one I met with my new employer and got the run down on what my responsibilities will be.  Everyone was super friendly, welcoming, and patient with my broken Hebrew.  I'll officially start Sunday the 11th of September.  The jet lag didn't hit as bad as the odors of Tel Aviv.  Between the street cats, feces and urine, garbage dumpsters, and sweat I remember that I have come a long way from the immaculately kept green streets of Highland Park.  Each day (multiple times a day) I take Indi to the Mediterranean Sea to play in the sand.  And she too is training her olfactory system to desensitize to the potent odors of Tel Aviv.  I feel strangely at home with local friends to call and a familiarity of the language and geography.  I'm here 3 days and can already taste the joy of a Mediterranean winter.  Each night I sit on my balcony with a glass of wine and my dog observing my new scenery: cats on rooftops, the shuk, people dining, scooters, bikes, and buses galore.  I made it.  I landed on two feet.  Now let the fun begin.  Off to a rooftop party...




 

Nomadic lifestyles

So I've concluded that I would make a horrible nomad since I struggled to pack my belongings for 1 year into my Toyota Matrix.  For some reason, I now have a better understanding of the statement "Americans live big."  We live in big homes with big closets, drive around in big cars, purchase in quantity from places like Costco and Target, eat supersized meals, and shop in stores that carry XXXX large sizes.  And I am an American (born and raised) so I have been subjected to this socialization process however, closing up shop here for a year has raised some questions for me.  I was forced to take inventory of all of my belongings since I needed to account for them for my year abroad and was slightly horrified.  I admittedly found: over 10 pairs of jeans, 10 pairs of black slacks (and white slacks for that matter), a collection of T-shirts that could easily dress me for a month without doing laundry, an enormous miscelaneous category that I prefer to ignore, and just an obscene amount of half used and unopened toiletrees.  This list in nowhere near complete.  This process brought me to some healthy self-reflection and cause for concern over American priorities.  Granted I'm one person who lived in a 2 bedroom townhouse with basement, garage, and huge yard so nothing really made me seem like a hoarder; however my consumerism definitely runs strong.   

Being a middle class American working in a stressful environment, earning a healthy salary just to maintain a mortgage, car, pay off student loans, and be a good American consumer created a busy void.  I had a very comfortable routine consisting of driving my 5 minute commute to and from work and then using my membership to the health club for yoga and spending time at the local dog park.


To Be Continued.............

Bumps and Bruises

So I have 4 days left in the "Windy City" to train like Rocky and lick the wounds I've acquired from all of my self-injurious behavior over the past few weeks.  I know that when you have a lot on your mind, too much to do, and/or act in a hurry you are more likely to make silly mistakes but apparently I am seriously injury prone.  After my first three warnings (including a near fall down the stairs resulting in a puncture centimeters from my eyeball) I thought I was being more aware of concentrating on my physical actions.  That is, until August 1st's innocent attempt to blend my own homemade pesto sauce.  Unlike all the blenders I have used, my mother's immersion blender has no safety feature.  Needless to say I learned a valuable lesson during my emergency room ordeal: "always remove sharp appliances from their electrical source before touching them."  Thankfully, this happened while my mom (a registered nurse) was home and my Blue Cross card was still active.  15 stitches and almost a month later I am able to look at my sliced finger and talk about it.  The nerves seem to be repairing themselves and the jury is still out on the future of my fingernail.  My obsessive wound care with essential oils and mederma seems to be helping the scar heal and I have now become a walking public service announcement for blade safety.

While my blended up finger was the most painful of the injuries, I still have a frightening record that I've accumulated while packing and moving around like a nomad during the last few weeks: a blood blister from squeezing my finger in clippers, slamming a door on my finger, dropping a box on my toe, banging and bruising my leg in some mystery injury, and the slip down the stairs with accompanying eye puncture.  Dare I drive across the country and fly across the world with my dog next week?   

The answer:  The King Spa, Chiropractor, Massage Therapist, and Mediterranean Sea 

 



  

If you were stranded on a island what is the one thing you would take with you?

So I have royally failed at my attempt to add weekly entries to this blog.  However I will waive the self-inflicted punishment because in lieu of blogging, I have been writing my final paper for my animal assisted therapy program which I will present in Denver on the 25th.  Additionally, I have been facing the most daunting task of fitting my material life into 2 suitcases.  This task has forced me to question my attachments to the physical world.  You know the age-old question, "If you were stranded on a island what is the one thing you would take with you?"  I feel like I have been answering this question in my quest to pack for a year.  The only difference is that it is 2 suitcases not "one thing" that I am taking with me and I will not be "stranded" by any stretch of the imagination.  Nonetheless, I laugh as I pack things like laundry detergent.  Yes, I know they sell laundry detergent in Tel Aviv.  They sell everything in Tel Aviv.  Yet someone in someway my laundry detergent is some silly familiar attachment that I have.  With three weeks before my departure I am stockpiling physical items that I've told myself I'll appreciate when I am "stranded" in Israel: Pure Minerals makeup, Ricola cough drops, Essential Oils.  While I gain some entertainment from this exercise I'm in shock at the amount of material possessions I've accumulated over my lifetime.  Despite the purging of miscellaneous and random items from my basement, garage, and cabinets I still own a shocking amount of clothing.  And since I am going to the middle east where I will be rejoicing at what they call winter, I do not even need the heavy reminders of hibernation season in Chicago.  Still, I pack up shirt after shirt and listen to my internal voice struggle in dialogue.  "Oh, this is cute.  You haven't worn it in a while.  You'll totally wear this in Israel" (enter random article of clothing into suitcase) "Sheree, if you dare buy another article of clothing in Israel your closet will explode.  This better be worth the shlep."  This conversation continues until I weigh my first piece of luggage and laugh at the prospect that the entire content will account for my 100 allotted pounds.  "Ha" "yeah right" "better downsize, girl."  The truth is that I have no idea what I will or will not want other than my dog, Indi.  She is a given and completely worth the $225 fee each way.  And since I have also convinced myself that I will be living like I am poor next year, I really do not want to pay to replace anything that I already own and have spent money on (I am certain that further elaboration on living in poverty will follow as I receive my Israeli salary).  This random stream of consciousness has boomeranged me right back to the concept of Attachments.  I've already detached from my townhouse, my job, and most of my large physical belongings and soon it will be time to part with my car ("oh how I will miss your convenience").  Somehow I am reassured that once I step foot into my September apartment in the heart of Tel Aviv and drop my bags, I will know that all the preparation was worth it.  I plan to have an amazing year.                 












 

Detaching

While I generally subscribe to the belief that at the core people's personalities do not significantly change, I do believe that we can shed our skin as snakes do.  With snakes, this process can happen multiple times a year and is dependent on many environmental factors such as temperature, hormones, age, food, and activity level.  Their skin serves as a protective barrier from the external elements and represent their identity (species, age, size etc.).  The snake lives within its skin until the environmental variables signal that it is time for the snake to literally slide out of the old skin.  Nature makes this possible by producing new skin and the snake then detaches and disconnects from the old skin, sliding out in one swift motion to exhibit its new bright exterior to the world.

A rebirth so to speak.  A new stage in the lifecycle.  More room for growth.    

The human existential equivalent has been happening for me over the past few months.  Slowly over time, I have been shedding my skin and am waiting to exhibit my new bright exterior.  Detaching from my comfortable home, job, routines, and belongings brought low levels of anxiety and uncertainty.  Among many things that I cannot even account for at this time, I am preparing for the upcoming  detachment from my American salary, family, vehicle, and prevalence of English.  The environment that I have been existing in for years is about to be redefined and over the next 59 days, I will shed my snake skin and reveal myself 6,000 miles away in Israel.           


   

Topics to Elaborate on

Once I get the hang of this blogging thing, I will spend some time elaborating on this year's experience with:

1.  Detaching

2.  Finding and Creating Identity

3.  Aligning Life's Priorities 

First Blog Entry

This is my first attempt at blogging after receiving multiple requests from friends and colleagues.  So here I go.  July 3rd, 2011 from Skokie, Illinois exactly 2 months away from beginning my journey back to the Homeland.

I'll begin with a little recap of the events that lead up to me taking a year unpaid leave of absence from my job as a School Psychologist and packing up my Townhouse in Highland Park.  It was definitely not the American salary or the comfortable amenities of the home that I grew quite attached to but the aching realization of my priorities.  Having lived in Israel for a year after my undergraduate degree and spending three summers staffing Birthright trips there, I knew that I always wanted to go back for an extended period.  At 34 years old, I found myself in a position of Divine Intervention.  My practicum student at the time had decided to complete her internship in Israel despite my harsh warnings again the idea.  I jokingly took advantage of her bravery by alerting her to my own interest in working abroad in Israel.  "So if you get there and can hook me up with a position, I'll totally take a year leave of absence and join you out there!"  That was approximately a year ago so I guess I should be careful what I wish for.  I now hold a airline ticket for September 3rd.  I've rented out my home, been approved for a year leave of absence from my district, and placed an international microchip in my dog to prepare for the adventure.

And with 2 months and counting, the preparations continue.  Thursday, I have a meeting with an Orthodox rabbi to review my parents Ketuba (Jewish marriage certificate) in order to write me a letter verifying my Jewish identity.  In order to work in America, people wait for visas through a lottery system or get sponsored by a company.  In Israel, the state requires proof of your heritage.  This is topic to elaborate on later.  Additionally, I started to train my ears for the Semitic sounds of Hebrew by watching movies, listening to the radio, and having conversations with friends.  This will also be a topic to elaborate on as the year goes on.  Thankfully, fluency in Hebrew was not a requirement for me working in my position.  This week I've just began searching Craigslist in Tel Aviv for possible apartments in happening neighborhoods. 

All in all, the wheels have been in motion for nearly a year churning full speed since February 2011 in order to make this year a reality.