London

LONDON

March 14, 2013-March 17, 2013

Thursday: 

Arrangements were made for work, dog, and child so there we sat at Ben Gurion Airport full of anticipation waiting to board British Airways.  Our bags were packed for a quick European getaway;  sunglasses replaced with an umbrella and the sweatshirts and winter jackets ready for one last debut.  The occasion?  Gil's 40th birthday.  Embarking on our 3rd month together, we decided to take the plunge and test our ability to spend nearly 4 full days together out of our typical environment.  I was ready to push our limits and leave our comfort zone.  I truly had no idea how compatible we'd be as travel companions.  Would we want to kill each other?  Would we see each other loose our composure?  Would we argue about decision making?  Would it bring us closer together?  I wasn't sure how we'd survive four full days together without a routine and no real itinerary (except our tickets to Jersey Boys and my surprise birthday dinner reservation).  Time to roll the dice.  

Our first challenge came minutes after landing.  We were all proud that we had managed to successfully land, retrieve our bags, and navigate the train to the Central Park Hotel.  Adjusting to the oh-so familiar winter climate we schlepped our way to the hotel.  Relieved to finally arrive, we pulled out our reservation and attempted to check-in to the beautiful and centrally-located hotel.  Confusion filled the clerk's face as he scanned our reservation and checked the computer.  Shit.  We failed to double-check the address.  There were two Central Park Hotels in London.  "You've got to be kidding me!"  Big ooops.  We were left with no choice but to take a taxi across town to our Central Park Hotel around midnight (2am Israel time).  Luckily it was no one's fault just an oversight on both of our parts.  Lesson learned.  We looked at each other distraught during the 20-minute taxi ride as we ventured further and further away from the center of London.  Not to mention I was completely disoriented over the driving dyslexia I was experiencing for the first time.  Where was the traffic coming from?  Thank you England for printing "look left" and "look right" at each crosswalk.  

Apprehensive to exit the taxi in this dark, quiet, residential neighborhood we checked ourselves into the correct hotel.  The clerk greeted us and walked us across the street to the annexed portion of the "hotel."  The room was fine; renovated and large.  Exhausted, we collapsed in our room scared that we made a huge mistake booking this hotel.  Still unsure of our proximity to London, we contemplated tomorrow's exit strategy over the snores of our neighbor.  Gil wanted to rebook something in the center of town while I suggested calling the Israeli agency for an upgrade.                        

Friday: 

After a few hours of sleep we learned that, in fact, we were only a few train stops away from the center of town.  With Gil waking up 40-years-old in London, we were determined to make it a great day.  Screw the paper-thin, overpriced hotel and off we went with our Oyster cards (i.e. train cards) to explore London.  We took the clerk's advice and exited the train at King's Cross but soon realized that is more of a business district.  After consulting with a few locals and maps, we continued down the Piccadilly line to the Soho and Covent Garden region of London.  We wandered upon Le pain Quotidien, an adorable french cafe that became our regular morning breakfast stop.  There are few things I find more liberating than having hours to walk aimlessly in a vibrant new town.  And I was looking forward to an evening full of surprise and entertainment in celebration of my hunny's big day.  We occasionally popped into a pub or cafe to seek shelter from the cold and warm up with a drink.  After picking up our theater tickets and soaking up the vibes of the Covent Market and Soho, we returned to rest up and change to our "smart" outfits.  I was a bit stressed over the solo navigation mission of getting us to our surprise dinner reservation on time.  I refused to spoil the surprise and tell Gil that we would be dining at his one of his idol's famous restaurants.  We arrived  at chef Gordon Ramsay's Savoy Grill just in time for our reservation and to see the shock and disbelief on Gil's face.  After suffering through hours of Master Chef and Kitchen Nightmares against my will, I soon understood why the guy has multiple restaurants and reality shows allowing him to mold young chefs and make-over failing restaurants.  The service, decor, and menu were exquisite and we enjoyed being pampered like a king and queen.  After a successful solo navigation, I put the former Captain in the Israeli army in charge of getting us to the theater on time.  With umbrella in hand and high heels the two of us ran into the theater to be escorted to our seats 10 minutes into the show.  After enjoying the story of the The Four Seasons and jamming out to their familiar songs we took the train back and passed out.  I'm pretty sure an unforgettable, fun-filled day in London remedied any anxieties of turning 40.

Saturday:

Now feeling quite competent riding the train and finding our way around London, we headed out to our favorite french breakfast cafe in Covent Garden.  With the whole day ahead of us there was no way the cold and rain would keep us in.  Thanks to free wi-fi and our tablets it was decided...off to the Tower of London we would go.  I remembered reading about this place with one of my students and it was just a hop, skip, and a jump away thanks to the sophisticated underground train system.  Undergoing many transformations over the years, The Tower of London was once the fortress of the British nobility, prison, and public killing ground.  Now basically a museum for tourists, we joined the thousands of daily visitors to learn about the history of England (most of which Gil already knew).  I never imagined that I would one day be standing in front of the London Bridge of the famous nursery rhyme, "London Bridge is Falling Down" yet there I stood. 

Too chilled to take the walking Jack the Ripper tour, we decided instead to go for out for Indian food.  Being in London reminded me of how much I miss the diverse ethnic restaurants back home.  The food in Israel is fresh and tasty; however, it's almost impossible to find excellent ethnic restaurants.  Bellies filled with chai and curry, we headed back to the center of town to experience London on a Saturday night.  Wow.  The rain and cold didn't hold anyone back.  The streets were packed with party-goers young and old ready to drink and dance the night away.  Feeling spontaneous, we decided to pop into a Chinese massage parlor for a half hour session before boogying down at a nightclub.  After good food, some history, massages, and dancing we decided to call it a night despite the electricity in the air.       

          

Sunday:

Our last full day in the diverse and vibrant city of London was bittersweet.  We were thrilled to be able to maximize the day before our night flight but were not ready to leave.  We splurged for the third and last cafe breakfast and agreed to head over to the Camden district to explore and have a St. Patrick's day drink.  There we walked around the markets mistakingly trying the street food and toasting to an incredible (but not long enough) trip.  After weaving our way in and out of the markets, we jumped over for a quick visit to the Big Ben clock tower before beginning our departure.

             

       

                                                           

We left London with British accents, energized from the weekend events, and dreading the crash landing back to reality.   After a red-eye flight back home, I somehow dragged myself to work and left my exhausted birthday boy in bed.  It's hard to believe that was only last week.  If turning 40 is inevitable, I highly recommend celebrating in London.    

I guess the fact that I haven't posted since September is indicative of how full my life has become here in the Holyland.  So much happens each day and as I sit here playing hookie from work, I finally have a moment to catch up.

Back in September when I returned from a month visit in Chicago, I instinctually knew that in order to sustain myself long-term in this country I needed to re-arrange a few pieces of the puzzle.  Since my status as a school psychologist was demoted down to an intern level and with salaries in the public sector being as depressed as they are, I knew I needed to supplement my income.  Before I had a chance to put much effort into it, a fellow ex-pat (Jamie), began to forward me her overflow of private English students.  Within a month's time, I saw that private English tutoring was a viable way to stay afloat.  However, since most of my students are school-aged and the prime tutoring hours are from 3-6pm, I found myself spending way too much time on the bus running around to all of my lessons.

I found myself busier than ever with the addition of a handful of private students and my own Hebrew lessons twice a week.  Still maintaining my caseload as a psychologist at three schools, practicing yoga, and dating- I quickly became fatigued.  Not to mention the brief security crisis in Israel involving rockets from Gaza being launched throughout the country (including the Tel Aviv area).  This is a blog entry of its own.  

Analyzing time and money factors brought me to the realization that the only way to maintain my schedule would be to buy a car.  So yeah....cars in Israel are taxed at 100% and are outrageously expensive.  The gas to fuel them, also ridiculous.  I spent a few weeks discussing whether I really wanted the responsibility of car ownership in this country, searching for second hand vehicles, making phone calls, and taking test rides.  Simultaneously, I was running around the country like a chicken with my head cut off transfering my foreign driver's license.  Not like the good ol' DMV where everything is under one roof, Israel decides to make it a 9 step process.  Yes 9 steps.  Including an eye exam at one location, a visit to the doctor, a stamp on a piece of paper at another location, 2 visits to the post office, driving lessons, and a 10- minute rode test at yet another location.  After all was said and done, I finally found Georgia, my 2001 Diahtsu Sirion, and it was an instant love connection.  The previous owner and I wrapped up the deal and set up insurance and the paperwork in 2 days.  

That was at the beginning of December and I haven't looked back.  I cannot describe the appreciation I feel each day knowing that all I needed to do is ride an elevator down 3 stories and there she is waiting for me in my parking spot.  Since then, I freed up a significant amount of time and energy that was being consumed by Israel's public transportation system.  I managed to earn recognition as a basic psychologist (step one of a multiple step process) and meet a special someone.  This topic will be continued......

 

Happy New year-Living on the edge

The Jewish New Year has approached and I find myself living on the edge.  I say this: 1. because our landlord thinks we're vacating at the end of the month (14 days) 2.  because I have yet to find a new apartment 3.  because in 5 months I will have to notify my school district in America of my intentions to return and 4.  due to the status of my professional credentials and low salaries for psychologists in the public sector, life in Israel is anything but stable. 

Before moving to Israel, I decided to leave a life of "stability."  By the age of 30 I was a certified school psychologist and homeowner.  I had left one school district after achieving tenure and moved to my local school district where the salary and commute were more favorable.  I had a retirement fund, pension, and life insurance policy.  And so it went for the next five years.  Each year, without any of my own effort, my salary increased.  My health insurance policy was superb allowing me monthly visits to the chiropractor and massage therapist.  Stability+predictability+security at the time meant stagnation, monotony and boredom to me.  Yet I had achieved the "American Dream" didn't I?  So why was I so restless to abandon the lifestyle I had worked so hard to build?   

After recently deciding to take the plunge and go through the Israeli immigration process, I am now part of a universal health coverage system that I still don't totally understand.  I have something called a Karen Hishtalmut, (some type of retirement investment plan that I still don't fully comprehend), am part of the pension system (I think), and have some sort of insurance plan called Harel.  For all I know my life here may be stable after all, considering I'll never go broke/go into debt because of college tuition or medical bills.  I don't think the Ministry of Education will fire me because of budget cuts.  In the meantime, I wake up each day acutely aware of the uncertainty of my life.  When looking at Maslow's hierarchy of needs, I find myself working to regain my security of resources for the first time in many years.  But really?  Not knowing where I'll be sleeping in just 14 short days is a little out of my comfort zone.   

I supposed we aren't always aware of it but there is always a level of uncertainty that creeps around the corner of life.  Even when we think we can calculate the risk our relationships, health, marriages, jobs, and finances carry- a powerful force (the universe, g-d, mother earth etc.) can decide to change the direction at any moment.  So just 1 year after abandoning life in America, here I am living in Israel contemplating whether I can afford to live in a 30 square meter 1-bedroom apartment by myself in the center of the country. 

I often remind myself that I made the conscious decision to sacrifice monthly manicures/pedicures, massages, shopping for material items in order to have this middle eastern adventure.  I'm totally ok with that.  Though I still hate it, I've accepted street cats and cockroaches in place of squirrels and bunnies.  I traded in my Toyota Matrix for a monthly bus pass.  This makes perfect sense because of outrageous gas prices and limited parking.  I squeegee up the floor after I shower instead of pull the plug in the bathtub.  I take a number, wait to be called, and pay money to argue in Hebrew with bank tellers convincing them to perform easy transactions.  Goodbye drive through free banking; there are no promotional freebies, coffee, and donuts welcoming me at Bank Hapoalim.  Instead, there are pages of foreign jargon to sign over and over wasting trees and printer ink.  So long Trader Joes.  I will no longer be driving my car into your parking lot and loading up on groceries and loading out at my front door.  Instead, I walk downstairs to the neighborhood fruit stands and grocery stores and fill my eco-friendly bags up with fresh, local produce.  When feeling ambitious, I take the bus to the open market with my baggies or rent a car to drive to a neighboring town for American style purchasing.  I have to admit; however, that I am a bit surprised how close to the edge I am actually living and I'm not quite sure about how I like this cocktail of anxiety, excitement, acceptance, and curiosity.

My entire surroundings have changed and will continue to change as I enter this New Year.  Today marks the Jewish New Year and I smile and laugh at the irony.  It's true, I have no idea where I'll physically be living in 14 days.  I intentionally cut myself free of the years rooted in stability and ask myself how it feels living on the edge.  It's scary and exciting to see what g-d has in store for this New Year.     

























  

Indentity Crisis

From 6,000 miles away I thought stepping back into the American life I put on "pause" would feel strange and foreign; like trying on a pair of jeans that no longer fit.  But after a week of: speaking English, American customer service, reunions with all the amazing people I'm blessed to call friends, driving my car, the US dollar, bathing in a bathtub, 110 voltage etc. I am appreciating the realization of how comfortable life was for me in Chicago.  It's surprising how in the 11 months I've been living in Israel, I honestly managed to forget how much can be accomplished in an American day.  That's probably why we are able to finish university, get our first jobs, buy homes and build families at such an early age.

There is a reason why people call this the "Land of Opportunity."  For someone with intelligence, determination, and education there are no limits to what can be achieved here.  Though now I see that there is a price that is paid.  It is an "easy come-easy go" model seen the minute the economy crashed and people were jobless and upside down on their homes.

America's corporate consumerist beast lures us in and encourages us to exercise our purchasing power until we wake up one day and find that we are working like hamsters just to maintain large lifestyles.  And because this standard of achievement is what we are born and bred for, we work relentlessly to acquire our large homes filled with our large furniture and appliances.  We, of course, need to drive our large cars and take large vacations and fill our large bellies and pay our large medical expenses and college tuition bills.  Our autonomous and independent existences provide us wings to fly through the red, white & blue American skies while across the ocean in Israel people are serving their country, competing for selective positions in the universities and job market, and living with parents and roommates in order to cover the expenses of a modest lifestyle.

So back to the million dollar question I ask myself and the many other Westerners who chose to go through the optional Israeli immigration process: "why?"  Why leave a healthy salary, home and car ownership, artificially deflated gas prices and the purchasing power of the US dollar?  Why choose to ride the bus, share an apartment, make minimum wage, struggle to communicate, argue for reasonable treatment and conditions?  It all sounds quite masochistic, indeed.   

I guess I will spend the next year developing my final answer.  For now....I'd have to say it is because there is something meaningful about living in the land of my ancestors where national holidays overlap with the history of the Jewish people.  There is something I'll call "exotic" about learning to speak an ancient language.  Somehow the changes I've made have simplified my lifestyle so that it is smaller and more manageable.  This feeling is liberating.  Detaching from my materialism has increased my appreciation for the smaller things in life.  I can now find happiness in smaller things.  It is a challenge and a growing experience to move away from living on auto-pilot and learning to survive in a foreign culture.  While living in Israel is similar to living with one large dysfunctional family, it feels like people are all in the same boat and will take the time to listen, care, and help out *

* disclaimer that statement only applies on a social level not when it comes to business, landlords, bureaucracy etc.

Being Buddha

Three of the six Sharkans are in Israel for the first time in twelve years preparing for my sister's wedding.  Friends and relatives will soon be here to help celebrate their union and work obligations seem secondary to all of the month's festivities.  My loyal puppy will be going under for a biopsy of her ears tomorrow and the six-month old leak that was repaired by two different repairmen after hours of arguing decided to sprout it's ugly head again.  I have my immigration meeting scheduled and am petitioning to the state of Israel for professional recognition.  And to top things off, I forced myself to walk away from a potentially amazing opportunity which brought me great sadness.    

It's times like these when I miss my weekly silent meditations.  I still practice Yoga which provides a quick fix, but doesn't quite offer the lasting effects of a 45-minute neurological re-balancing.  I'm just a baby Buddha striving to practice principals of acceptance, non-judgement, and compassion but without my weekly practice I'm like a carpenter without a hammer.  Where are my tools when I need them?  "Be present" "let go of attachments" "take the middle road" "return to the breath"  "observe without reaction."  External forces such as: societal norms, scheduling obligations, expectations and moods of others interfere with my ability to hear my baby Buddha's voice.  I loose my compass.  As if the external forces aren't enough, being Buddha means checking the internal Ego and primal desires that have a mind of their own.  What's a girl to do?   

Oh right, breathe and strap on my tool belt.   
   








    

Home is where the heart is

Standing at the horizon of month 9, I'm afraid to say that life in the Holyland is starting to feel more like home.  Is it true that "home is where the heart is?"  Since childhood I've never been one to get homesick;  I loved having sleepovers and sleep away camp.  I embrace adventure.  And though I miss the ease, conveniences, and people back in America I am not homesick.  In fact, I am a bit worried about going back in August and being confused about where home is.  My house, job, car, family, friends all exist for me back in Chicago.  Is that home?  Is Israel?  I'm not sure.  I'm definitely still considered somewhat of an outsider here but I'm also not living my Chicago routine anymore.  

Luckily I've been blessed to have a handful of great friends by my side to ease the culture shock of immigrating to a new country.  Soon enough I will hold Israeli citizenship and join the many ex-pats who likely asked themselves similar questions of Identity.  Truthfully, becoming Israeli scared me a lot more until I watched friends go through the process and realized that as a Jew, it is a fortunate opportunity.  I am not the sort of Zionist that believes all Jews should return to live in this country because surviving here can require finding internal resources that is just not for everyone.  As I recently explained to a newly immigrated and crying 15- year old British student and her mother:  "Sometimes Israel kicks your ass.  Once a week I wear my Wonder Woman t-shirt to remind me that I can take the beating.  I can prevail.  I chose to be here and I will stay until I decide it's time to leave."  That earned me a chuckle.

Each of us has our immigration story.  Depending on a myriad of factors such as: financial standing, language skills, social network, and employment there is a huge range of assimilation success.  And in the process of assimilating some can get swept away by the emotional turbulence that accompanies us all.  It's hard and most will admit that, I think.  At the end of the day, I think it will all be worth it if I can look back and say "I learned the language.  I like my job.  I have good friends/family.  Mentally and physically I feel healthy and strong.  I have all that I need."  Wherever I am geographically when I reach this point, I think I 'll be home.  I guess the cliche is true.  Home IS where the heart is.              



       

Israel ranks 14th on Happiness Report

Disclaimer: What can I say?  I happen to seriously be blessed with smart, interesting, creative, cultured, and talented friends both here and in Chicago (y'all know who you are) so its possible that the following ramblings are colored in some way by this fact. 


Happiness.  One of the most important emotional states.  Some strive to achieve this through pursuing specific career paths, acquiring large bank accounts, procreating, socializing, giving and receiving love, feeding their sensory systems with food, sex, drugs, music, art, dancing etc.  

In America, where most would agree anything is possible, things were fine for me.  Status quo.  While I do agree that America is the "land of opportunity" I'm not sure I would agree that the streets are "paved in gold."  Life is unquestionably much easier for me in the US than it is for me in Israel and yet I am signing up for another year and citizenship in this country.  So I have to ask myself "why is that?"  Does it have something to do with my pursuit of Happiness?  I publicly complain a lot about the inconveniences I encounter living here, so what exactly do I see contributing to Happiness in Israel?  

First of all, the value system here in Israel seems like it is based more on close family ties.  By "close" I mean in proximity since the country is small and children stay in their parents' modest-sized home until later in life.  I also happen to see many grandparents caring for their young grandchildren and continuing to spoil them well into their young adulthood.  Because of financial stress, there also seems to be an multi- generational reliance on family members to help provide necessities.  For example, on our apartment lease, the first information requested is "parents' address and phone number."  Later, I was explained that often it is the parents who co-sign on apartment leases.  Due to its shear size and the options for University and jobs in America, children begin to leave the nest much earlier.  Once settled with their own families, they may only return on an annual basis.      

Then there is the sense of pride and ideology here.  Many people chose to come to this country for ideological reasons, which automatically instills a higher purpose into one's daily existence.  As long as the ideology remains strong, this forces a person to be connected to the country in personal way.  Because the country itself is so young, many of its live citizens still have a sense of pioneering the land giving them a sort of parental pride.  Others come here escaping hardship looking for opportunity and in comparison to their homelands, Israel offers them more stability. 

The next point becomes more obvious after having crossed two of Israel's borders (Jordan and Egypt).  This tiny little country is indeed surrounded on all sides by enemies which promotes a tribal society.  Within a tribe, individual needs are secondary to the survival of the tribe.  The Middle East has a long-standing tribal history.  The remains still exist all over the country where fortresses were strategically placed to protect communities from their enemies.  The country of Israel has become a fortress for Jews (and non-Jews) all over the world searching for safety and survival.  People are escaping religious discrimination and persecution, violent governmental regimes, poverty etc.  With the military presence everywhere you turn, Israeli citizens know their fortress is being protected.  Living in this tribe somehow requires citizens to sacrifice some of their individual needs for the survival of the country.  In turn, Israelis depend on one another more. 

The privileges that come more easily with an American passport can be achieved here but are reached with a deeper level of appreciation.  Case in point.  Devorah and I rented a car this weekend and (among other trips) had a therapeutic release by Target-style shopping.  How many times did I take for granted simply jumping in my car for a Target run to load up and pull up to my door to unload the cargo?  It's second nature.  I never even thought twice.  Not this time.  With every step through the aisles our eyes were in awe of all the options and reduced prices.  And the fun didn't stop.  There would be no schlepping on a bus or walking.  Door-to-door service.  AHHHHHHH.  The ease a rental car gave us in buying just some basic necessities for the house.  Including...  du da du.  Drum roll please......A fold up, plastic 6-person diningroom table.  Our charming sunroom has instantly been transformed into a dininghall.  And only the two of us can understand how this may somehow contribute to our staying in our war-torn apartment.  Happiness and Appreciation experienced with something I'd consider quite ordinary in America.

Privilege and Appreciation.  I guess my parents knew what they were doing when they worked hard and saved to move to the suburbs in order to give their children the privilege of better schools.  Do any of the students/parents in my previous District 112 think it is a privilege to have a Smart Board in every classroom?  To have personal laptops?  For the class sizes to be under 30?  To be able to join after-school activities?  For their teachers to answer parent phone calls and emails?  My guess is an emphatic "no."  At one of my schools, there is no computer lab.  And the students who are given the "privilege" to log on to the one open computer during a free period will likely have to share with other students.  Are they more appreciative of the opportunity to log on?  I have to say, I think so.  When things in life are taken for granted and you run on automatic pilot it hard to be appreciative.  Though I do not think I can endure some of my Israeli challenges long-term, the temporary sacrifices are 100% making me more appreciative.  I can only speak about my personal experience and therefore I cannot generalize, but for me the work environment is a lot less toxic.  There are challenges and pressures but overall there is much more solidarity and less division among professionals.  I am appreciate of this though saddened by the insulting salaries.    

Finally, I think the Mediterranean climate, diet, and lifestyle contribute to Israeli Happiness.  Taking a simple evening stroll along the sea, eating healthy fresh food, and absorbing lots of vitamin D all year round helps buffer the daily hardships.  Of course experiencing this with close family and friends helps once again to promote Happiness.  So some of what I see as contributing to Israel's somewhat impressive Happiness ranking (considering its economic and political reality): close social ties, ideology, pride, patriotism, tribal survival, deeper appreciation.

Be careful what you wish for

Rewind exactly one year ago.  I was packing up my 1200 square foot townhouse dividing my contents into categories: moving with me into "the sorority house," donations, moving into storage, moving to friends' homes, or leaving for my tenants.  The stress and fatigue left me delirious.  I don't think I would fit the criteria for a hoarder but 5 years in the same spacious home allowed for quite a bit of accumulation.  The process of paring my belongings down took me months and each step of the way I cursed my American consumerism.  I vividly remember wondering why I owned umteen pairs of jeans and white pants.  A girl has to update her wardrobe every now and then, right?  Though my parents didn't really raise me to value flashy "things" I honestly found some pleasure in  my home furnishings.  And with endless closet space, a basement, and garage things never felt cluttered.  With a healthy American salary and Target around the corner, there is no reason to say "no," right?

"I wonder if I could not buy anything for an entire year......" I posed this challenge to myself before lugging my three suitcases on the plane bound for the Middle East.  Ha.  Little did I know that would be way easier than it sounded at the time.  I've lived here seven months and aside from some of the absolute necessities (mattress, closet, kitchen supplies, couch etc.), I have purchased 1.  slippers, 2. hat and 3. dress.  I would come out with more from one trip to Target.

What is the value of being a consumer in America where supplies are endless, affordable, and the options diverse?  It's so easy.  It's what we are bred for.  When we suffer economically, the government offers "bail outs" and encourages citizens to spend.  We happily invest in keeping Corporate America alive and thriving with our dollars.  I don't understand economics enough to understand what is happening in this country but I know for a fact, it is a different beast.  To begin with, Israel is founded with principals of Socialism in addition to relying on a strong military presence for its survival.  That means that taxes are higher but things like health care and education are less expensive.  However, working within the education system in one of the richest towns in Israel leaves me confused.  40 students to a classroom, educators making minimum wage, no technology, no special education resources, no extra curricular activities, hmmm.  Ok.  So they mean at the university level then, right?  Ummm, there are something like 30 spaces a year in the country for various Masters programs forcing students to go abroad to receive higher education and then return to the workforce.  Transportation?  Nope.  Gas prices are some of the highest in the world (something like $8 a gallon).  Buses and trains are expensive and cars cost twice as much.  Rent and food then?  Uggh, no so much.  In popular neighborhoods, the rent is similar or higher to that of the States but with little to no amenities.  Groceries also more expensive than the States.  It's no surprise then, that thousands of social protesters camped out in the streets last summer begging for economic relief.  I really don't get it.  Are prices artificially low in America because of the scale in which we purchase?  Are high prices in Israel a result of the exploitation and corruption of the Mafia here?  

Needless to say, breaking away from my American consumerism was easy due to necessity.  Typical Israelis don't live with the same level of over- indulgence since space and money is limited.  There is no complementary bread basket and water given before your gargantuan meal at a restaurant.  No free samples of perfume and lotion thrown in your bag after purchasing cosmetics.  I haven't seen anyone with a backup refrigerator and freezer for their stockpile of food.  Instead, I've seen educated middle class families of 5 living in small 2 bedroom apartments.  I've seen parents bicycling to daycare with one kid riding on the back the other on the front.  I've seen people carpooling and sharing the burden of gas prices to get around.  I've seen people purchase enough groceries to prepare only 1-2 meals.  At the end of the day, the result of Socialism that is most easy for me to observe in Israel is how it forces social dependence, physical proximity, and careful financial planing onto citizens.  People rely on each other a lot more here.  Families, friends, colleagues, and neighbors are in closer contact here; most people are concerned with survival.  For the next year, I will continue to explore my connection to Caplitalism and Socialism and decide where life will take me.



    






  

The sun will come out tomorrow

WARNING.  THE FOLLOWING ENTRY CONTAINS DESCRIPTIVE CONTENT.  DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY GROSSED OUT.

After the most rainy winter Israel has had in a while, the sun is fighting for its summer arrival.
How apropos after being hit with some stubborn Israeli viruses which kept me in bed three times in the last month.  Physically, I too am fighting for my inner fire to finally dry out the damp petri dish my body has become.

My latest digestive virus woke me up at 4am last Monday with a cold sweat and every orifice on high alert.  Thinking the worst was over by 8am, I dragged my weak body onto the bus to work.  Wrong move.  A few hours (and a handful of crackers) later, I was back on the bus dizzy, nauseous, and sweating profusely.  Unlike the respiratory bug that knocked me on my ass two weeks ago, the digestive strain requires proximity to a toilet.  Ooops.  The vigorous swaying of the public bus was exactly the shaking my stomach needed to hurl out anything that was left.  Which is exactly what happened just as I came to my stop and projectiled into a bush.  It brought back memories of when my office was next to the nurse's office at Oak Terrace and kids would be running into her office with a garbage can around this time of the year.  Sometimes running without the garbage can, leaving breakfast on the floor outside my office.  Good times.

So as the sun comes out and my immunity returns, I put on my Israeli armor and tackle the challenges that accompany life in this complex country.  They say that the first year of immigration is the most difficult; I'd venture to say that it was at approximately month 6 when it truly began for me.  Thankfully, I have my closest gal pals and canine sidekick by my side for fuel.  Together, we remind ourselves what it takes to make it here.  It takes persistence, strength, "chutzpa," talent,  confidence, sacrifice, meaning, dedication, connection, street smarts, and at many times- the ability to kick-ass.  So when I contemplate returning to the ease and comfort of America I am simply not ready.  I like the challenge and as masochistic as it sounds, I think it is character building.  I'm not going to lie, I yearn to spoil myself with pedicures, massages, facials, and the King Spa (of course) but unfortunately those luxuries are no longer part of my reality.  The whole notion of immigration to Israel, which in Hebrew is called "Aliyah" (to ascend), suggests to raise/lift/move upward.  Am I?  I think I might be.  Maybe?  Sometimes I feel Israel makes you suffer in order to test your commitment, kind of like the rabbis try to discourage converts from joining the tribe.  It's survival of the fittest in this country for sure.  And if you make it in this country it will have to be for reasons other than materialism, ease, and comfort.  I've been told it's kind of like living in one big dysfunctional family and at the end of the day, you can't escape your family.  I'm still not sure though.  In the end, will I be one of the fittest?  One of the converts?  Will I have ascended?  I just don't know.



     



  

The Warrior Princess

So I hit the 6 month mark and was hit with the anxiety of my decision to sign up for another year living in the Middle East. Approval for another year leave of absence from my district assures my option to walk back into my job, house, car, and American life that I put on hold come September 2013. Wise people along the way have made statements to me such as “in Israel people are difficult just for the sake of being difficult” and “you need to know why you are here.” These statements made in passing have begun to haunt me especially last week.

I found myself sick with a vicious flu-like bug (perhaps because the temperature in my house is often colder than the temperature outside due to heat deflecting architecture) contemplating whether to be bothered to get my “doctor's note” or just use one of my two free yearly passes. After choosing the free pass, I dragged myself out of bed the following day in the rain to take my crowded bus commute to work. To the job that pays 1/3 of my American salary! At that exact moment, the words repeated themselves in my head, “why are you here?” Thankfully, as the rain dried up and my health returned I was able to remind myself of the reasons that I am here. I came to Israel because I needed to escape the automatic pilot setting my life was being run by. I really want to learn Hebrew. I really would like to meet an interesting Jewish guy to consider building a future with. I really want to find meaning beyond what “the American Dream” offers. Automatic as my life was in America, it sure was a lot easier than life in Israel. Any American here will echo my sentiment, yet each year plenty of us choose to attempt life in the Holyland. Many of us quickly choose to return to the comforts of Target, nice vehicles, spacious/closet-equipped dwellings, healthy salaries, the US dollar, customer -oriented service, dishwashers, driers, gas stoves, drive thrus, English, Trader Joes, bulk purchasing, hard working ethics, written employment contracts, the King Spa etc. Those of us who make it here need to find a way to channel our inner warrior. To remind myself that I can make it here, I decided to gather inner strength by watching “Xena, the Warrior Princess” and repeat the matra “whatever doesn't kill me will make me stronger.”

Four more months until I am reunited with family, friends, house, car, the King Spa, and the collection of reasonably priced belongings that will make the final cut back to Israel. If all goes as planned, I will be taking steps to officially become a citizen of this country (maintaining dual citizenship of course). Why? I can only explain with Devorah's metaphor that living in Israel is like having an affair with a really hot but slightly abusive lover.

Just a collection of cultural observations. You know you're in Israel/Israeli when:

-The Ministry of Interior is allowed to officially lie about where your file is for months.

-You're told your work visa application is “at the police department” for months until you go into another office and it's processed on the spot.

-When you feel like you've been microchipped and the country is tracking your grocery purchasing, bus rides, time in and out of the office, yoga classes, gas purchasing, bank and telephone transactions etc. You know you are “on the grid” at all times.

-You're practically asked to donate an organ before signing a rental lease

-Magenta is a tint option at the beauty salon.

-You develop excellent Tetris skill each time you open the refrigerator (they are miniature)

-Tenants travel with their appliances and closets (yes, I said closets).

-Placement of electrical outlets causes your apartment to look like a bowl of spaghetti.

-People you just meet offer to help you in ways that make you skeptical of their sincerity just to realize they are just “looking out for you.”

-Apartments come standard with roaches and poor plumbing.

-People look at you in a strange way and ask “why did you come here?”

-You can wear a light jacket and walk barefoot outside while the marble and concrete freezes you while indoors.

-In the winter months, there is a good chance your ceiling might leak and peel.

-You have to predict your warm showers and turn on the water boiler 20 minutes ahead of time.

-Within seconds of hearing an American speak Hebrew, over 50% of people can respond back in excellent English.

-Generations of cats live in dumpsters and you learn to distinguish the difference between cat brawls and baby cries.

-You spend what feels like an obscene amount of money on the most random items (toiletrees, ziplock baggies etc.).

-You dry all of your laundry outdoors and learn to live with crunchy towels.

-An 18 year old female boarding the bus in army fatigues and machine gun is just as likely as one boarding in religious attire covered from wrists to ankles.

-People prepare for professional meetings with yummy homemade dishes, European kisses, and constant cell phone interruptions.

-You have a 50/50 chance of connecting with an English speaker after pressing “4” for English.

-You can sail on the Mediterranean in January.

-You can hike in the dessert upon ancient ruins.

-The social norms of yelling and arguing make the whole country resemble a Jerry Springer episode.

-After earning an MD or PhD, you may still be earning minimum wage.

-The response to why straight men dominate the salon industry is “so we can have an excuse to be close to women all day”

-When professionals need to give their employer a “sick note” from the doctor for missing work
-People often travel with public transportation and grocery rollers to grocery shop.

Oh, Israel

I (like many first world immigrants in Israel) find myself baffled at times wondering why Israel behaves like a third world country.  When cruising the highways or sailing on the Mediterranean looking at the skyscrapers and palm trees, one could easily mistake Israel for Miami.  I regret that I can't make more time to blog, because the interactions and mentality that comprise my days are truly unbelievable.

I consider myself to be better than average in my ability to adapt to new surroundings and accept different points of view, but the unfortunate turn of events with our lovely apartment have challenged my developing inner Buddha.  If I weren't about to describe events from my actual life, I would find the whole story even more entertaining.  I think Larry David could use this material for an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm.

So back in November when we fell in love with our apartment, Devorah and I knew there was a somewhat serious condensation problem that the landlord had promised would be repaired.  Our damage was in the bathroom back in November, and the cause was identified as stemming from the upstairs neighbor.  Their repairman and insurance would be responsible to fix our bathroom ceiling.  Fair enough.  We were confident that our French landlord (who coincidentally my sister knew and vouched for), held a similar mentality to ours and would indeed ensure a proper repair.  Right on schedule, we were notified that the repairs would begin at the end of December.  Great.  Wonderful.

But wait.  The repairs began upstairs and all we had received was a visit from a nasty, old, grouchy, chauvinistic "installator" who Devorah let in to inspect our apartment.  Within 15 seconds of meeting this person we've named "schmukface," Devorah's spot-on intuition told her that this man was not to be trusted.  That his attitude and skill set would not resolve our damage.  Days went by and as his work in the upstairs unit progressed, the ceiling of our apartment progressively began to resemble a sprinkler system.  Water spots appeared, spread, and paint began to chip ad fall throughout the apartment.

Not only is this a horrible aesthetic problem but it has become a serious health and safety issue.  So each day. we'd write the landlord with attached pictures to inform him that his apartment was becoming more and more damaged.  Thinking we were just spoiled Jewish American Princesses, he began to dismiss us.  The plan was to let all the water damage dry before entering our apartment for repairs.  What does that mean?  Ugh, leaving all the windows open for an unknown period of time while allowing paint chips to fall over my bed at night.  "Ah, I don't think so."  Before long, Devorah took the initiative to obtain a threatening lawyer letter which was served to our landlord.  This finally got his attention.  Since we had his attention, we were now able to have a productive conversation about the deteriorating conditions and our serious intentions of leaving the apartment.

Next step, invite schmukface back in to see the ongoing damage (that his repairs were causing us).  Now I got to meet this "installator" who, after 10 minutes of arguing in Hebrew with, I decided to no longer converse with.  This repair would not be something negotiated between us and him.  Especially considering his rationale was that "ze lo kashur" (it's not connected) and that nothing could be done until the wet concrete ceiling dried.  Wow, in Israel people offer the most outlandish reasons to avoid work and responsibility sometimes.  Oh yeah, my ass, the rain was causing the damage.  Right.  Meanwhile, us three amigas downstairs are being closed in on.  We've been watching the water spread like blood through veins behind the ceiling for weeks now.  No more f'in around, Devorah and I gave the landlord a March 1st deadline that we will be moving into a new apartment unless we are living here with a totally repaired and sealed ceiling.  And this is all after a few weeks of battling roaches.  (Did I mention that we actually really like our apartment?)

Somehow we had convinced our landlord that if he does not want his apartment to become a rainforest, it is in his best interest to have his own "installator" come for an assessment.  Now this man walks in our place and in two seconds speaks some reason.  Looks at me like a poor, helpless baby and asks why in the world we have all of the windows open in the middle of winter and that the leaks are just spreading by the minute and this is not a human way to live.  His assessment is basically that schmukface's work will need to be completely redone properly upstairs first and the whole thing will be a major operation.

My naive American mind thought logic and reason would have sufficed.  No, it took a lot of pictures, emails, 1 threatening lawyer letter, a second opinion, and a deadline to get the upstairs landlord to respond.  Within 24 hours, Mama Tova comes knocking on my door.  In English, "Hello, I'm the landlord from upstairs, can I please come see the damages?"  Looking somewhat surprised at the condition of our ceiling, she asked if her "very good installator" had seen the apartment recently.

Oh yes, had he been down multiple times already to share his negativity, deny that any of the damage was his responsibility, scream and argue with us.  Not only that, but after a threatening email he was asked to come down to at least scrape off the parts of the ceiling that were actively falling on us.  Begrudgingly, he did so and then insulted Devorah for the high quality plastic baggie and rag that she offered him to clean up his mess.  The dude is a real charmer and yes, he was aware of the conditions.

"Well he will have to come back tonight and see the spreading damage."  This is now February 2nd and I have already decided never to be alone in my house with this nasty human.  So I refuse her request to let him in but agree that she can tour him around herself to see the results of all of his beautiful work.  I stand quietly, watching and listening to the two of them analyze the damage.  My response to her is that I have very little confidence in this "very good installator" and that I do not feel comfortable allowing him in to do repairs until speaking with my landlord.

Ahh.  I probably should mention that our landlord practically lives in France so Devorah and I are stuck in this pingpong game between insurance companies, landlords, and installators.

Suddenly, this schmukface who thought "nothing is connected" and couldn't start repairs until all of the wetness had dried is ready to come in next week and fix it all up perfectly in 2 days.  Here's where the sitcom can begin.

Notifying Devorah about his possible entry next week caused both of us some concern.  Over the phone (because she is partially living outside the apartment because of the conditions) from Hod Hasharon Devorah wanted to have an idea of how shmuckface intended to repair something that was "not connected" and "that needed to dry."  Logical.  So the number Mama Tova had given me was her home number.  Meanwhile she was in the upstairs apartment (where her daughter, son-in-law, and 2 small children reside) having a pow-wow with her family.  Against my will, I agree to walk upstairs in my footie pajamas and bathrobe to hand the phone to mama Tova.

Not so easy.  The son-in-law interjects that they would be happy to have a live conversation with Devorah but refused to engage in a conversation over the phone for fear the conversation was being recorded.  Finally, Devorah convinces him to pass the phone to mama Tova (landlord in charge) who orders the mama to speak to Devorah in Hebrew.  Ok, we all agree that is fair since Hebrew is the language of the country but his request was intended just to cause communication problems since she also speaks in solid English.  So mama Tova precedes to raise her voice and concoct all these strange scenarios in Hebrew until Devorah is forced to hang up the phone on her.  Scenarios such as... our installator barged into their apartment and poured water down the pipes to cause water damage in our apartment etc. etc.

So here I stand in my footie pajamas and bathrobe in this surreal moment like a scene out of Pulp Fiction.  After being interrogted about Devorah's medical conditions, I'm told by the son-in-law that we are only causing more problems for ourselves.  He stares at me like I'm a crazy spoiled American because I don't want to live in an apartment that their repairman is making a rainforest.  Devorah has just hung up the phone on mama Tova and my Buddha returns.  I look at them and calmly reply "this will not be our problem much longer.  What will be, will be" and I exit stage right.

About 10pm after a long day at work and 4 apartment visits, our landlord is contacted in France and told of the evening events.  The next logical solution.......THE TWO INSTALLATORS WILL MEET TO DISCUSS THE PLAN.  Where am I?  Oh yeah, the Middle East.  It turns out that schmukface will be coming in this week to "repair" our place.  Meanwhile, Devorah and I plan to hit the classified ads.  Stay tuned to see where we will be living as of March 1st.  Leave your votes here or on Facebook.


    





 

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.