Yom Hazikaron

Last year I didn't post about my experiences; I later posted a poem, which I've linked to here.

American Memorial Day didn't mean much to me beyond sales and a day for BBQs. Now that I think about it, I'm sure it meant much more to my Grandpa and Zaidy (and maybe also my grandmothers) who knew people who fought and died in the wars of America. I'm sure that if I went to Arlington, or any other military cemetery, I would feel it more; I would recognize the day for what it was intended to be. But I never did. I didn't feel it in America; I don't know if I would if I went back.

When I was growing up, Israeli Memorial Day was always observed in school, but I never really made the connection of Memorial Day being right before Independence Day, really impressing the significance. People DIED-- DIED-- so that there could be an Israel. Somehow...I never really felt the "people DIED so that there could be an America." Here...everyone who was killed was a friend or relative of a friend or a friend of a friend. I would be surprised if there was more than 2 degrees of separation between someone who was killed and anyone walking around Israel today...it's so close for everyone.

Last year I and another ulpan student were invited to carry a wreath for Natan Sharansky as he placed a wreath at the memorial ceremony for victims of terror. It was surreal, as I was walking to the ceremony and during, listening, and after, walking around Har Herzl...just...it felt like a memorial day, a day to remember. The night before I went to a ceremony with Elinor and Aryeh and on the way there was the tzfira, the 1-minute siren that marks the start of Memorial Day in Israel. Aryeh stopped the car, we got out, and stood. Remembering, reflecting, thinking, and paying respect to those who died for Israel.

There's also this...interesting (?) thing-- I don't know the right word for it. It's...kind of like a large-scale kumsitz. It's called "shira b'tzibur"-- "singing in a congregation" where there are songs put up on a screen, like in karaoke, and everyone sings together. They are old songs, traditional Israeli, war songs, hopeful songs, sad songs...and they are songs that are part of the culture here. And this shira b'tzibur is very...customary (?) on Yom Hazikaron and random other times. Everyone is sitting together, usually on mats on the floor or chairs in front of the screen and everyone sings together. Sometimes there are instruments, sometimes not. But it's amazing; it's just everyone sitting together and singing, being a group.

You feel a heaviness in the atmosphere here-- the country is in mourning, and you feel it. It's like when somebody you know dies and the world should stop and you're walking around in a haze because everything feels so thick. Except in this case, the whole country does stop, because everybody is thinking about somebody.

"If You See Something, Say Something"- NYC MTA campaign slogan

The Egged version of that statement is something like, "נא לסרוק מושבך ולדווח על כל חצף חשוד." ["Please check around your seat and report any suspicious object."]

There's a story that my mom has told me about when she came back from Israel and went to do shopping and wasn't able to carry all the stuff in at once so she left it by the elevator or door or something-- basically, she wasn't around it. She was worried that someone might see it and call the police. And then she realized that she was in America, where nobody cares if there is a bag lying around with no one around.

In Israel you are taught (trained) from a very young age to be aware of your surroundings. If there is a bag just sitting there-- be aware of it. Ask the people around you if it's theirs; if it's not-- call the police and get away-- fast. Many times it's just a bag that someone accidentally left. Or a box that someone left and didn't put in the garbage. But no one is taking a chance-- it's really, "See something, say something." Today on my bus there was a bag (note: Israeli city buses have a space by one of the doors that's technically for wheelchairs, but people use it more for carriages and big packages/bags) in the wheelchair section, strapped in. It must have been there for a while even though people were getting on and off. All of a sudden, a stop before Machane Yehuda the driver gets on the loudspeaker and starts yelling something-- unintelligible, of course, and about 5 seconds in people start getting up and getting off the bus. Immediately you know that there's something wrong and it's not a problem with the electrical system on the bus. It turned out to be the bag of someone who doesn't really speak Hebrew and she didn't understand what the driver was saying until people started getting off the bus and someone told her.

You know-- I didn't even feel any kind of adrenaline flow. It was just...that's life in Israel. A chefetz chashud (pronounced with a hard "ch," like challah or Chanukah)-- suspicious object-- is just part of life here. Thank G-d it was someone's bag from shopping. Welcome to Israel.


(on a side note, if the object is not claimed, as happens as well, the police clear the area, block off the street, and bring in a robot to safely detonate the chefetz chashud.)

Contrasts

I was just looking at my pictures from Pesach two years ago, the last Pesach that I was in NY for and upstate-- the way I grew up having Pesach.

Pesach really seems to be THE holiday that exemplifies the whole family coming together. Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur not as much, and even Chanukah, because of it's proximity to other winter holidays. But Pesach-- everyone who has some connection to Judaism and tradition remembers the seder. For me, Pesach was my family together, upstate-- see here; I don't need to post it again.

It's something that I want my kids to have memories of, the way I have-- my immediate family, plus my grandparents, plus aunts, uncles, and cousins (well, only one set in my case). It was also something special-- because my mom was an only child and my grandparents all got along, my mom's parents always were at the seder even though it was upstate and in my Bubby and Zaidy's house. I always had seder with both sets of grandparents. I wonder what seder was like this year in my house (my parent's house...). The first seder they had a friend from the neighborhood over and the second night a different family friend came over.

I wonder what my seder will be like once I have my own family. I should probably write something else about that, because that seems to be a repeating theme: The future for me in Israel, with my own family. Not that I have someone to start it with, but it's still something that I clearly think about a lot.

Pesach 5771

My second Pesach in Israel. The first one I'm without anyone that I was normally at a seder with (last year my aunt, uncle, and cousin were in Israel and I had the seder with them); I was with my adopted family from Chashmonaim-- small, just 5 of us. And-- again, felt weird (but less so than last year) to have only one day of chag.

Then on chol hamoed I did the very Israeli thing of tiyuling (or for those that speak proper English-- going on a tiyul). On the first day I did a tiyul in Jerus

alem, and the second day I did Yehudia (the upper one; for those of you that know the trails-- the red to the green). I had wanted to do Yehudia for

quite a while, and I"m really glad that I got to finally.

Jerusalem tiyul (Even Sapir):

This is one of the many hikes that start from Hadassah Ein Kerem, or right nearby. There isn't too much to say about this tiyul. It was, as one of the others put it, a nature walk. It was pretty much walking along a dusty road with pretty flowers on the sides. There were points that you saw the hills and it WAS beautiful, but it wasn't so much my kind of tiyul. Give me

climbing and rocks and water, etc. Not a dirt road...That being said, here is a pretty flower shot and a scenery shot:

Yehudia: The weather was perfect-- not too hot, not too cold; a little bit of sun, but not bright and too hot. Also, the path itself was very shady. Let's discuss the tiyul. The big thing about Yehudia is the ladder and the water. You have to climb down a ladder and then swim. It wasn't bad, just don't look down :) You kind of have to, to know where other people are so you don't go down too fast and step on them, but don't look down to see how much further you have. And don't look up to see how far you came down. The water was so cold-- it literally shocked my body into stopping breathing for a moment. It was like being a water tester in camp (which meant that the head lifeguard threw you in and asked you how cold the water was and then told everyone else to get in and start swimming laps to warm up), except then I knew the water was going to be cold. This was colder. This was totally my kind of tiyul-- rocks, climbing, water... Much better than just walking on a road-- give me things to climb on, water, etc...mmmmm... After the tiyul we had a BBQ with a disposable grill which ended up not working so well so we made a small fire and used the screen/rack thing from the disposable grill on top of that. See here:

"Disposable grill?" you ask? Yes. That is one of the many wonderful things that they have here. Tiyulim and camping and BBQs are so much a part of the culture here; school trips-- hikes. End of school trip-- hike. Holidays-- hikes. And camping.

Now getting the food for the tiyul was a bit more interesting. In Israel, the majority of people eats kitniyot (legumes, rice, etc., including corn, beans, canola, chickpeas...for a more in-depth explanation, click here) and there is significant debate over whether or not people living in Israel should or should not eat kitnoyot regardless of their cultural background (Ashkenazi or Sefardi) (see here for more on that), however my friends and I do not. So everything I bought had to be not only kosher for Pesach, but kitnoyot-free as well. A challenge in the average Israeli supermarket. The kosher for Pesach part was easy-- the shelves that are not kosher for Pesach were draped off and labeled: (the word on the sign is "chametz," or "leavened"-- aka, not kosher for Pesach. The hard part was finding non-kitnoyot stuff. Even things like yogurt-- "kosher l'pesach l'ochelei kitnoyot [kosher for Passover only for those who eat kitnoyot]." And some of the signs were confused, like this one:

(the sign says, "l'lo chashash kitnoyot"-- basically, "not kitnoyot." However, it was under rice which is very definitely kitnoyot. Confused sign...) But I was able to find meat (the hamburgers and hot dogs were the harder ones because they are processed; raw meat isn't kitniyot) and even the sweet chili sauce (also hard to find). And marshmallows. I would say, based on what I saw, that easily 2/3 of the products are only for those who eat kitnoyot. Not helpful.

I leave you with some pictures from the Golan (most of them are on someone else's camera-- we only took 1 camera on the hike, because of the water and I have to get them from her):

the road:

the mountains:

more mountains:

and again:

the Kineret:

And one more reason to love and appreciate being in a Jewish country:

The bus has the traditional Passover greeting of, "A happy and kosher Pesach."

I hate the army

I don't really. I shouldn't. It keeps me safe and allows me to go places with less risk of getting hurt.

But I just hate how it so royally f's up so many people's lives, particularly those who did not go in when they were 18 and just out of high school. The IDF, particularly the non-career soldiers, is geared towards 18 and 19 year olds who have just finished high school and have not yet gotten higher education or in any way really started their lives.

For the others, olim, people who decided at a later age to volunteer, and those who already have life experience beyond high school-- the army interrupts their lives. Many people who choose to serve at a later age who are non-combat positions and actually get into the unit/area they want-- they're very happy. But that doesn't mean the army doesn't screw up things for them, too. A friend from Ulpan wanted to go in for 1 year-- the army made her go in for 2, despite her age (24) and the original statement that she would only have to serve 1 year. She's a few months in. Another friend who is also 24 volunteered-- she is in the unit she wants and I'm not sure how many months she's doing. Another friend who made aliyah in his mid 20's and went to law school and then volunteered-- he just went in at 29. The army is not designed for people who have lives already.

Combat soldiers? Forget it...your life as you knew it or thought it could be is over. If you're married-- maybe you get to go home for Shabbat. If you're not married, you don't have a life. You don't. Say you have every other Shabbat out-- let's just say, because that's pretty standard for many. So...you get out, in theory, Thursday (which could be anywhere from the morning to the night) and depending on the time you get out, by the time you get home, you have just enough time to start a load of laundry so you can do the next one, etc. so that your clothes will all be dry before you pack them up for the next two weeks. You have until Sunday morning-- say...anywhere between 9 and 11 am (usually; depends where you have to be) to be back at your base. Besides the laundry, you also have to take care of the things you couldn't do over the past two weeks because...well...you were in the army and couldn't leave. Hope your bank is open on Friday...or that you have everything you need so you can go directly from base to the bank... If you do not keep Shabbat, you have Friday and Saturday (Shabbat) to hang out with friends and family, relax, watch TV/movies. And finish your laundry. But you're usually sleeping a lot of the time. If you do keep Shabbat, you have until Shabbat comes in (just before sunset on Friday) and after Shabbat (about 24 hours plus 72 minutes from when Shabbat started) to do all those things and then on Shabbat you have time to hang out with friends, read, sleep, etc. Now try to have a social life in there. Where? I don't know. I guess it makes sense not to date (seriously date, not just screw around- pun not intended) until after the army. But when you're married, it's really hard-- you are away from your spouse for at least a week and you're expected to be able to have a normal relationship?! Major props to those who are doing this.
And it's so frustrating. It's very difficult to have a normal life when you're away from your family for 2 weeks (at least) at a shot and then to expect to be able to have normal relationships with people other than your army buddies? You get used to it...but it's still not normal and sometimes not possible. Another friend has been engaged for almost 2 years because she wasn't able to marry when she was in the army. It really-- forces you to put your life on hold or not be in a place (for many people; not all) to have a relationship that requires a lot of maintenance (talking about combat positions; non-combat is very different and does allow a lot more of having a "normal" life). And it's hard for those of us who aren't in the army and want to have a relationship-- any kind of relationship-- with those in the army. Call to say hi-- "Sorry, I can't talk, I'm busy." And they're busy every time you call because their schedule keeps getting changed and this one wants to switch and they go out for this operation and that job...and when they can in theory talk, it's either 2 am or you're at work. Or about to go to sleep. Or they're going to sleep because they're so damn tired.

It sucks.

I'm not in the army, and a large part of the reason I didn't volunteer was this-- I have a life already, I've begun it. And serving in the IDF would have meant putting my life on hold for a short amount of time, learning to do something new because they don't have OT in the army, and then resuming it 6 months later, or even a year later; they wouldn't take me for longer. In any event, it's putting my life on hold. At the age of 25, when it's not matim at all for me to start. I can do more and better for the country outside the army.

But it still affects me and my life and what kinds of relationships I have with my friends who are in the army.

Hello, juxtaposition

Death meet Life.

I've posted about this more than once; I am very blessed and fortunate to have more than one family. In NY I have my family, plus my Queens family and of course my friends who are family. In Israel I have two adopted families-- one who I have known since I was born (my dad and the mom grew up together, about 5 houses away from each other, and when my sisters and I would go to my dad's parents on Shabbos afternoons we would also go to her mom's house), and one that I met only after I moved here.

In family #1, the grandmother was sick for a couple of months, and recently her medical situation deteriorated and she passed away yesterday. In family #2, one of the children got married yesterday.

When I found out the grandmother, Babi, passed away I sent a text message to one of the daughters in family #2 what happened and that I didn't know what was going on. I went back to house, found out the game plan, and I decided-- I'm going to the wedding. I don't know how long I'll be able to stay, because I have to catch a bus back, but I'm going.


I'm not really sure where I'm going with this post. It just struck me, the contrast between death and life. Going from a place where you're figuring out funeral arrangements to a wedding. Trying to straddle and balance two conflicting...everything and be there for all your families and yourself.

it's been SO LONG

It's been 3 years since the last major pigua in Jerusalem, Merkaz HaRav (I'll find the post to link to another time when I'm more coherent). Over the past 2 weeks there have been two significant piguim in Israel (not even touching on the dozens of shells and rockets that have been fired at my country)-- Itamar, which I haven't gotten around to posting about, and the one today, by Binyanei Hauma.

I wasn't in Jerusalem when it happened. Normally I would have probably been around Machane Yehuda, doing shopping some, or in town. It was frustrating, not being there...not being able to help. That's the hard part.

And it's been so long since there have been bomb attacks...this one wasn't on a bus, it was at a bus stop. But it's been so long since there was an attack like this, and it's so hard to digest and comprehend. I keep saying that-- "so." As if it's extra, needs the emphasis. It's been 2.5 years since the tractor attacks. It felt like we were almost in the clear...not really, and not ever because you never feel like you're totally in the clear and can relax, that there will never be another attack. But you relax a little. Still a heightened awareness for suspicious objects-- bags lying around with no owners; a knapsack left on the street or at the bus stop (nevermind that it might turn out to have nothing but notebooks, workbooks, and a pencil case in it)-- but you're aware. The security people who are at the entrances to stores and public buildings.

And then BOOM! (literally and metaphorically) And you are no longer relaxed.

I took the 74 bus (the explosion happened next to a 74 bus) about 2 hours after the pigua. I actually commented to my cousin who I was with-- "What time is it? The pigua happened what-- 2 hours ago?" And there were people out and on the buses, etc. You can't stop living.

You can't stop living. עם ישראל חי; חזק, חזק ונתחזק-- The nation of Israel lives; Be strong, be strong, and we will get stronger.

I leave you with two videos. The first is a song from Voices for Israel, and it called "Chazak- We Stand as One" and it can be found here. The second is a wish for peace; it's called "Od Yavo Shalom Aleinu" and this version is from Blue Fringe and can be found here.

May there be peace in Israel and the world. Amen.

It's been about 2 weeks since I've updated. I apologize...I've been living in Report Land. And I just found out on Thursday that I have a report due next week and got an email yesterday that I have another one due also then.

I will be slightly absent from my blog until, oh, say Pesach probably.

Maybe sorting it out?

I've discovered how to write my reports-- in English. And then translate them. I said something about doing that to a ganenet who is also an olah (but has been here for 25 years) and she said that she did the same thing at the beginning.

I was talking to one of the speech therapists about the reports, and she said, "I'll let you in on a little secret...they're driving me crazy too." Also, starting in this gan is like getting thrown into the deep end. And she's so right. Another thing I wish I would have known, that it was a very, very intense, hard place. The speech therapist is doing a lot of editing also, but it's slightly comforting that a therapist for 19 years is also going crazy with the reports.

Lessons Learned, part I

This week-- no, these past few weeks, almost month, have been very, very hard for me.

Between difficulties with paperwork at my schools (literally making me sick from the stress-- keeping me up at night/waking me up in the middle of the night; nauseous; feeling sick), people I care about very much being sick and/or in the hospital, questions about how I want my life and envision it coming up and people I love(d)...it's been tough lately.

I called one of my friends tonight to find out how her husband's tekes went (her husband just finished about finished basic training in the army and had a tekes this past week). We talked about how Shabbat was, and I said that I was having a kind of difficult time with the reports I had to write and how I have a whole life waiting for me in America-- including no chumus at all-- and here...it's really hard, I have a container half-full (half-empty) of chumus (for those of you who are coming in now, chumus = no job and no relationship; the goal is to empty the chumus container-- aka, have a job and a relationship) and she said that maybe I have a 2/3 empty container; I asked her how, because I have a job but not relationship. She said that I'm in Israel.

It kind of make sense-- definitely makes sense-- if Israel is such a big thing that I was willing to leave my family, my job, and a lot of important and easier things in America, maybe it does deserve a place in the chumus container. Granted, chumus as a metaphor came about because one roommate said that she didn't have a job and didn't have a relationship, but had a chumus...Israel was no where in that. So it can either be that Israel is a given, it's granted, and therefore does not need to be in the chumus container, or that it's something that should be in the container because it's important enough to give up other things for. I'm not sure...thoughts anyone?

I've brought this up before and it gets me every time but it still...doesn't make it any easier. In the Gemara there is a part about one spouse wanting to make aliyah [move to Israel] and the other not. And it's valid grounds for divorce (not poskining anything here, but just making a statement). Which to me means that Israel is pretty damn important. Important enough to give up a marriage, the other half of your soul.
It also confuses me, which is something I haven't brought up but have been thinking about for the past year and a half (wow, has it only been a year and a half...? Feels like so much longer and shorter at the same time). How can two parts of one soul be so conflicted about such a major issue? It seems like that's saying, "Something isn't right." Maybe it means that it's not right, because how can one whole have such a conflict? It's not possible, or at least from my limited perspective as a human and seeing things from that perspective, that something so in conflict can be unified and right. It can't.

I said it then and I'm saying it again, maybe to try to convince myself. It's not fair to start a marriage like that and it's not fair to have a marriage like that.

Two stories about two women who are close to me:
I: One wanted to make aliyah a number of years ago, but wanted to make aliyah already married. She got married when she was in her mid-30's to someone who was not planning on making aliyah the same way she was-- then. She got married, had a child, and made her life with her family in her home country. Her child graduated high school and went to learn in Israel for a year; the child did and also made aliyah. She is planning on making aliyah with her husband, joining their child here, within 7-10 years.
II: The other woman was seriously dating someone, and she, too, wanted to make aliyah. The person she was dating wanted to finish his degree and then maybe or when he retired or something make aliyah. Something happened in Israel (for a shock...things never happen here...) and she decided that she wanted to be here. And so she moved here, alone, and met her husband, and raised a family here.

Both woman are successful. Both women are happy. Both have at least one child in another country. But how to reconcile the need to live in Israel with the feeling that someone is right for you, even though they're not going to live where you want...I haven't worked that out yet.

More on this another time; I have to get to sleep for my half-empty chumus container (aka, work) tomorrow.

Learning more lessons

Despite working in all misrad hachinuch schools, documentation is different in each one.

OT = OverTime? Off-Topic? Over-Taxed? OTher?

I'm working in misrad hachinuch (the equivalent of the Department of Education in Israel). I'm working in 3 schools/ganim.

At first I was in 2 schools/ganim, wasn't so happy in one of them, so I switched to a third school/gan for 2 days/week. I was really happy in the second school/gan. Now it's reversed. I'm not so happy...ok, very not-happy...in the second place (sorry for the confusion; I'm trying to be not so specific about where I work because, after all, this is the internet).

It's reports time in one of the places. So I tried to write a report. It was a disaster. The principal actually said to me that it would be better to write it from scratch...not, "The information was good but it's not organized and doesn't really give a picture of the child as a child and who he/she is," which is what it sounded like she intended (after discussions and emails) but, "It would be better to re-write it." She told me that she spent an hour working on it and still hadn't finished. We had a meeting where she intended on helping me rewrite the report, but it turned into a meeting about me in the school...there were hurt feelings on both sides.

When my madricha (a senior therapist who gives me supervision, but not a supervisor) found out that I had to write all these reports, she offered to look over the reports and help me with them. But then the principal said that she would look them over so I didn't send them to my madricha. It took her a couple of weeks to get the first one back to me (the one she said would be better to rewrite from the beginning)...meanwhile, the teacher is asking me for the reports and I keep telling her that I'm waiting for a response from the principal.

I'm very frustrated because I feel like things need to get to a breaking point, or a point where they can't be ignored, for many things to be done there-- at least for me to get help. It's partly my nature-- I will wait and wait for things for me. But for other people-- I'm very on top of things. I was asking the principal every day that I was at the school what was going on. I also think that it's a matter of priority-- looking over my reports is not high on her priority list (until someone else makes it a priority). It's not personal, but...I'm not happy. This principal is not necessarily the easiest to work with, but I did what she said-- I looked at other reports, tried to come up with something that worked.

The principal asked my madricha to come in and that the three of us would sit down and talk and that my madricha would help me with the reports. I sent my madricha the report I did that the principal rewrote. The madricha sent it back to me-- she had some questions and edits, but...there is such a difference in the amount of comments and questions that she has vs. the response from the principal. I feel like crying. Again. Except this time it's because I feel justified. Not that my reports are amazing-- far from it. But because it doesn't seem like I sent a piece of crap report. I feel like she expects 100% perfection, in her style. I don't have that. I have maybe 40% in my style. Not that our styles are anywhere alike, which is another issue.

What the principal changed was, first of all, a lot of the language. She completely elevated the level to something that someone who has been working for years and is completely comfortable with the language wrote. Which is her experience. My experience is 6 months in the OT world here, and a grand total of 2 years in the OT world. I wonder what her first reports as a new therapist and as a new therapist in Israel looked like. Just food for thought for her...not that she's going to see this, but anyway.

On the upside (maybe kind of?), I found out a couple weeks ago that I am replacing a therapist who went on sabbatical. So I might not even be at this school next year, which would solve the problem of her telling me she doesn't want me to come back next year or me telling her I don't want to come back next year. I guess it might be good-- I wanted a dati school from the beginning, so I guess around Pesach I'll see if there are any dati schools, preferably for the deaf/hard-of-hearing, or mental retardation. There is one that I know of, but they didn't have any openings for OTs. Oh, well, maybe next year.

My Heart is Hurting

Thank you to everyone who asked-- I'm ok. My heart is hurting a bit (ok, a lot), and it's going to take time to get over that.

It's not a matter of ideal or principle-- "The Torah commands us to to live in Israel, therefore I'm supposed to live in Israel." Or, "Israel is the Jewish homeland; I am a Jew, therefore I should live there." Not that those aren't true, but for me it's a matter of feeling wrong and out of place anywhere else and a sense of rightness and feeling...more whole when I'm in Israel.
I used to say, "If something had happened before I went to Israel 3 years ago then I would have had a different outlook and a different mindset and wouldn't have been so open to everything here." But...if it's a feeling or rightness and wholeness, would it have really been any different? Don't know. But I guess that's life.

It hurts...it really hurts. I don't mean to sound like a martyr or like I've given up so much more than anyone else, but anyone who moves here, who makes aliyah, makes sacrifices. Out of the sacrifices I've made, this was one of the hardest. I will always be connected to my family, and I miss giving them an actual hug and kiss, or being able to just go over, or helping my Bubby and Zaidy, or being able to talk to Lis as we fall asleep. But this one is different...this one...it feels like a part of me is being ripped off, or was ripped off, and I won't be whole until there's another piece there to fill or replace it.

I'm going to be ok-- I made up my mind. I made up my mind a year and a half ago when this came up first...I will always regret it if I don't live in Israel; I don't know if I will always regret not being with this person. I've since learned that I CAN love someone else, but there will always be an unanswered question. And I will be ok with that; I have to, I have no other choice if I want to make it here and make the life that I want here.

The Choices We Make

The past 13 months has been a time of big choices for me:

-The choice to actually make aliyah-- to pack up my life, get on the plane, and move to Israel.
-The choice to date someone who was a friend (not only my friend, but someone in my one chevra at the time).
-The choice to go to ulpan.
-The choice to stay in ulpan, despite being offered a part-time job that would have helped me ease into OT here a little more instead of going in full-force.
-The choice to stay in my practice area or switch.
-To work in private schools or misrad hachinuch.
-Where to live.
-Who to live with.


I made a choice in July 2009 that I'm still not at ease with. I wrote a little about it in August through December 2009 here ("An aliyah engagement," "Not feeling very happy," "What would it take?," and, "Into the single digits"), and recently in the past couple of posts. It's not fair.

Nobody ever said life was fair, but this feels extra unfair, if that makes sense. It's like G-d playing a game with my life. G-d said, "Go live in Israel." It just hit me now. G-d said, "Go live in Israel." No one said anything about it being easy. It says in the Gemara (Masechet Brachot, maybe?"), "אין ארץ ישראל ניקנת אלא על ידי יסורים." It's just...why does it have to be so darn hard?

Question: How do you choose between someone who is so right and somewhere you can't not be?
Answer: You hurt.


We all have choices to make in life. Some we're sure about, others...not so much. There are ones we can explain and others that just have no good answer, and some hurt more than others. There are some that make us feel so good and we know are right, we just know. G-d gives us the choices and the options, and it's up to us to do the best we can with them.

Some choices are ones we put ourselves in. Many of the choices that we have are the result of other choices that we've made and...we have to work with those and make the best of it. There are some non-negotiables and those can make things a lot harder and a lot easier at the same time.

To quote Pippin again, "...And if I'm never tied to anything I'll never be free."
"I'm not a river or a giant bird
That soars to the sea
And if I'm never tied to anything
I'll never be free

I wanted magic shows and miracles
Mirages to touch
I wanted such a little thing from life
I wanted so much
I never came close, my love
We never came near
It never was there
I think it was here

They showed me crimson, gold and lavender
A shining parade
But there's no color I can have on earth
That won't finally fade
When I wanted worlds to paint
And costumes to wear
I think it was here
'Cause it never was there

I wanted magic shows and miracles
Mirages to touch
I wanted such a little thing from life
I wanted so much"

I wanted him, he wants me, and-- there could be an us-- IF. But I made my choice and he made his, and they are not compatible with each other. So...there can't be an us. I made the choice to accept it and move on. I dated other people, loved one. And then...he will always be the one I could have married. But I put him into a corner of my heart and closed that part because I had to. A choice that wasn't so much of a choice. And I will thrive here. I will live, set down my roots and make my life and make my way here. That is my choice, and my choice to be happy. Here. In Israel. Even without him.

"Rivers belong where they can ramble; eagles belong where they can fly. I've got to be where my spirit can run free/got to find my corner of the sky." My spirit is free here, in Israel, at home. And it's tied to Israel, so it can be free and soar and all those metaphorical thing that sound cheesy.

I wish I had a more eloquent way of putting this, but this is me and how I think and I write how I think and right now everything is just spilling out because I don't know how to stop it.

A breaking heart

There are just some things that you can't put into words. This is one of them.

Standing

AS SHE STANDS
By Katy Pfaffl


A little girl stands all alone
On the stage of life
With her mother and father
Proudly beside her.
So to save them from the world
She grabs a hand
And puts an arm around the other
The mother
And it’s the father
She holds gently in her hand.

Then suddenly
The time goes faster
And she sees just how
The years have past her
And she wonders
How she managed to be
Holding the whole world in her hands
Shaping the future
As she’s

Standing all alone
On a crowded subway platform
Late at night
Watching and living
Reaching and giving
To a lonely man that passes by
She feels his soul
And has to try
Sharing and caring
Smiling just to help him ease the pain.

Then suddenly
The time goes faster
And she sees just how
The years have past her
And she wonders
How she managed to be
Holding the whole world in her hands
Shaping the future
As she stands.



Stepping through the tragedies
The vacancies of aging
Letting go of “cannot be’s “
Of “won’ts” and “shouldn’ts”
“Couldn’ts”, “don’ts “ and “whys”…
Standing on the doorstep
Of a mansion full of dreams
And walking right inside
Holding the whole world in her hands
Shaping the future as she’s

Stepping through the violence
The broken glass,
The words that last forever
Letting go of “never tells “
And “never be’s “
And “never even try’s”.
Standing on the doorstep
Of a mansion full of dreams
And walking right inside
Holding the whole world in her hands
Shaping the future as she’s
Holding the whole world in her hands
Shaping the future as she’s

Standing high on a mountaintop
With a boy
And truth that just won’t stop
Pouring and seeping
Soaring and leaping
High as the clouds up above
And all she’s wishing for is love
Freely and deeply
That he’d see
The gem inside her eyes.

Then suddenly
The time goes faster
And she sees just how
The years have past her
And she wonders
How she managed to be
Holding the whole world in her hands
Shaping the future as she’s
Holding the whole world in her hands
Shaping the future
As she stands

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I just told someone not to wait for me, because I'm not leaving Israel. So I've chosen Israel over someone I could have seen myself actaully marrying and building a life with.

More later. Right now I feel like a truck ran over me. Or, rather, I manged to run myself over with a truck that I was driving.

Sicky time. Again.

You know all those bugs you get when you're little and then don't get again? Yeah, now I'm getting all the Israeli ones. You know, the ones I haven't been exposed to until now.

Yesterday I was sick. True to form, I pushed myself and went to work in the morning-- after all, I was able to walk (nevermind that I felt sick and dizzy). I ended up leaving work early, going to the doctor, and getting a sick note for yesterday and today.

I feel better-- now just a bit queasy and headachey. But I only have work until 1 tomorrow and no meeting, so that's good. I think I'll go to work then come home and rest.

How many families can one person have?

I am very fortunate or blessed, or however you would like to put it.

I have my family that I was born into, and then I have other family that is made up of friends:
In America...
I have Sara, and my Queens Mommy and sister.
I have Dina, who I've known forever.
I have Becca and Carly.
I have Ali, who is my more-than-sister.
I have Chari (and Eli) and Stephie and their parents.
I have Estelle and Joe.
I have Barbara and Glen and Sharon, Becky, Ari, Miriam, Naomi, Shoshi, Dassi, Bracha, and Leah.

In Israel...
Rita and Dov and their family who I have known since I was born but were like aunt and uncle and cousins who I saw once a year but still--were family. They are like my parents here and their kids are like my siblings and their grandkids like my nieces and nephews, I am another aunt to them. Rita and Dov's house is home to me here. My stuff is there, I have my room, I get a bracha from Dov on Friday night...it's home.
Mark and Yaffa, who-- ok. Back story. My mom and Mark grew up together. But their mothers, my grandma and Mark's kids' grandma, went to elementary school together. So we all go way back. I only met Mark about 2 and change years ago. When I came to Israel for my post-OT school trip, my mom asked me to look up Mark-- Moshe (my mom calls him Mark, but he goes by Moshe here. I call him by both names). I kept putting it off, and then when I got back to NY I googled him and found him. My mom called him, and got back in touch-- and found out that two of his children lived near us and he was coming in for Sukkot. Mark and the kids came for a meal, and got to see my Grandpa (my Grandpa passed away about 6 months later, so it was very special that he got to see Mark and that Mark got to see him-- they hadn't seen each other since Mark made aliyah, in the 70's). One of Mark's children who is close to my age and I have since become friends also. Anyway, so they are family. I've given up trying to explain my connection at family things. And as one of his sons says, "You're family."
My roommates.
The people I made aliyah and went to ulpan with.
MDA Chul people, who were my family before I had so much here.


I was by a friend last year a little before Pesach (wow, feels like that was just recently) and we were talking about where we were going to be for Pesach and our plans. He said that he was going to one of his adopted families. To me that made perfect sense-- after all, I had an adopted family, too, and was going to them for Pesach.

About a month and a half ago I went to a family who I got in contact with via the mom's blog. I finally went. And I enjoyed very much-- felt really comfortable and just...you know when things just fit and are comfortable and not stressful and fun? Yeah, that. Someone came over, and she was introducing everyone and got to me. And she was kind of like, "This is Lauren. She's--" and she stopped. Took a pause and then said, "She's our guest. She already has an adopted family."

I'm sort of wondering how many families a person can have. Is there even a limit?

Sorry...

Haven't updated in a while. Oops.

Let's see...what's been going on since my aliyahniversary? Not much. But I'm going to update anyway.

To celebrate my aliyaniversary, I had the gingerbread party. This is what the house looked like before it was eaten: --scratch that, Blogger is not a fan of uploading my pictures now-- So...the house was decorated with cranberries, Fruit by the Foot, gumdrops, tea biscuits ("biskveetim"), pull 'n' peel, jelly beans, marshmallows, chocolate, toffees...lots of candy. All held in place by royal icing which we used as glue. A few people came, decorated people, ate the house...yum. Next year- maybe going back to basics. Hopefully more people will come (as a side note, "hopefully" means "in a hopeful manner." That would mean that my sentence actually reads, "In a hopeful manner, more people will come." Which is not what I mean at all; I mean, "I hope that more people will come." And I know that I am using the word incorrectly. Moving on) and it will be more fun.

In terms of work- my third school is getting better, now that I'm getting more into it. I might stay there another year, because it's...it takes time to get into things. And it seems that now, that I'm doing more and actually doing OT instead of trying to set up a schedule and getting frustrated, I'm actually treating. The downside is that this population is VERY tough. I thought it was a school for learning disabilities, and it is (at least technically) classified as such, but the population is also very significantly behavioral/emotional problems. Yay! I don't even get mainstream Israeli culture, let alone culture with problems! My second school is...tough. I had a session that the principal sat in on. I thought she was coming to see a different session-- and she came late and didn't come to that one. She saw a session that was VERY tough for me-- one of the classes that I work in is mostly communication and developmental delays-- and I have two very involved children in that class, and she happened to have seen one of the tough ones for me. We talked about the observation after, and she said some things from an OT perspective as well that I actually thought about as I was treating, but there was also some pressure that I felt because...well, it was an observation and the principal is not only my principal but she is an OT as well so she looks at things from an OT perspective also. But she also came to another session-- at the discussion she asked me if I had other groups today, and what time? So she came to another group- a movement/organization and social skills group, which she came to and it was REALLY good. She felt that the game they played at the end was a little low for them, but she also did acknowledge and understand why I chose the game, despite it being a little low for them (just-right challenge anybody?). She also saw me in a very good session- a population that I'm more comfortable with, better with. I did a little EI and worked with some kids who had communication problems, but this is very different in terms of setting and HOW involved the kids are. These kids are more involved than ones I've worked with before, and I'm having difficulty communicating with them. I know that I need guidance and instruction in this area. But now she also sees that I'm not incompetent and I know what I'm doing-- she saw the technical-- she really saw it in the first session, and that was how she described the session: technical--, but this time she also saw the "art" part of my practice in addition to the "science." Anyway, so that school is more of a challenge than it was originally. My first school is fine. The other OT that I see and I get along, and we're actually going to be going ahead with a splinting project and make the kids splints. And about half the kids there need them. Yay for splinting practice! Oh! And so far I've gotten two pay stubs. Not that they were necessarily correct or anything, but it's a start. And I signed up for the keren hishtalmut (every 6-8 years I get a sabbatical to go study) before December 31, so this year WILL count, which is good.

Social Life- Need to work on that more. I am going to audition for a play tomorrow (I think), so we'll see what happens with that. English, obviously.
Yesterday was Shirah's wedding. Shirah and I sat next to each other on the plane here and were in ulpan together. Last night was her wedding which was kind of a mini Ulpan reunion. She was a beautiful kallah, and the wedding was-- someone described it as feeling like a bat mitzvah, and I understand that. There was a...fun-ness and so much joy. Shirah's parents and other family was there by Skype, since they weren't able to come in. It was a lot of friends from Shirah's side, and, at least for me, this was totally, totally about making Shirah (and Moshe) happy-- being משמח חתן וכלה. And this was what this wedding felt like.
I also realized I need to wander around my neighborhood and make friends here. I'm staying in my apartment this Shabbos, and I'm eating by Yehuda and Elkie and Aryeh and Elinor for dinner and lunch.
Oh, my roommate got engaged. Mazal tov!

What else? That's about it.

I do apologize for the lack of entries lately. It seems that the busier I am, the less time I have to blog and the more my handwritten journal gets written in, simply because I take it with me and write waiting for the bus or in meetings when I need to have my hands busy or just am waiting for something somewhere. I will try to blog at least once a week.

Another blog I would like to draw your attention to: my friend and fellow olah, Ophra, has a beautiful blog where she writes about...well...pretty much everything. And her poetry is so expressive ::hearts:: She writes here: A Labyrinth

Happy aliyahniversary to me!

1 year, to me and my flightmates. Kol hakavod to us!

Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold.

There's a song from "RENT"-- actually, just a couple of the lines-- "Halloween":
"How did we get here? How the hell-pan left, close on the steeple of the church.
How did I get here, how the hell?
Christmas! Christmas eve, last year."

Last year I built a gingerbread castle with Sara and Heather and Yael, and then Vera, Moses, Talia, Matt, Laura, Esther, Yosef and Dylan came over and we built, decorated, and ate the gingerbread at my going-away party, because I wasn't going to be around for the New Year's party.

This year I built and ate a gingerbread house with other people-- CB, Rebecca, Ephraim, Orli, and Orly. The gingerbread also got eaten in school by Sara and Akiva. It was...it was kind of sad. I felt kind of sad, because it was so small and I wanted to share it with other people-- friends I made here. But it also was my 1-year aliyahniversary (and everyone else on my flight), which was...also weird.

I repeat..."How did I get here..."

On the upside, a lot of people didn't really get it until they saw pictures and said they wished they would have known what this was and come also. Next year!

Being in Hebrew

I touched on this briefly here, but it's gotten easier for me to be in Hebrew. To converse, to think, to formulate sentences. It's still easier in English (despite my, "לא משנה" answer when people ask which language I prefer. In most of those cases I've found it's easier to speak in Hebrew, because the person I'm talking to might understand English but does not speak it that well) overall, but I can switch between the languages easily, and I find my Hebrew sprinkled with English and my English sprinkled with Hebrew. This came up last week when I went to a family for Shabbos. They made aliyah about 17 years ago (give or take), her two youngest kids were born here (the older ones were about 5 and down when they moved), but all the kids are very Israeli. They all speak English with pretty good American accents, but they read much more comfortably in Hebrew. I was talking about how it is working in Hebrew and being surrounded by so much Hebrew, and the mom said that when she talks she has a hard time staying in one language-- if she's in a business meeting or on a business call in English, she has to work vary hard to not let a Hebrew word slip into her sentences, whereas she says her kids stay in one language when they speak. But at home her kids speak mostly Hebrew between themselves.

I've broken this down into a couple of categories: Working in Hebrew, doing official things (kupat cholim, banking, phone, etc.) in Hebrew, shopping in Hebrew, and dating in Hebrew.

Working in Hebrew:

Definitely harder in terms of the professional terminology, but it's gotten easier. I'm learning the words I need, and, like someone once told me-- most of it is conversational anyway. He was right. And especially working with kids, there are a lot of words that I'm picking up. When I talk with my-- not my supervisor, but the OT who gives my supervision, we speak in English. But when we are around the kids or with other therapists, we speak in Hebrew. When I talk with the other therapists and the teachers, we usually speak in Hebrew (with the exception of a couple of therapists and teachers). My reports are in Hebrew, but my session notes are in English. Meetings with the staff and parents are in Hebrew. I'm getting there; I need to be more patient with myself in that respect-- yes, I've been here a year; yes, this is my third year in a school system, BUT (but BUT here)-- I've only been in a professional environment in Hebrew for 3 months. And almost one of those was holidays, so it's barely that. And, yes, it's my third year as a school-based OT, but it took me about year to get used to the system in NYC, and then halfway through the second year I moved here. So...I need to be more patient with myself about this and give myself more of a chance to get acclimated to the system here and learn it.

MDA- Easily half in English and half in Hebrew. On the ambulances- depends on the staff, but equipment is usually in Hebrew. When I'm working with people who aren't so fluent in Hebrew, then we go to English. But when I teach I ALWAYS use the Hebrew words for equipment because that's what they need to know.

Doing official things (kupat cholim, banking, phone, etc.) in Hebrew:

These are most easily done, I find, in Hebrew. Kupat cholim- when dealing with the kupah itself I find that Hebrew is easier. When dealing with the doctors and nurses and techs- I usually speak in Hebrew. If the doctor speaks or understands English and I can't express myself well enough in Hebrew I speak in English (I prefer to go to English-speaking doctors for this reason, even though I'm usually fine in Hebrew). Banking- I found someone who speaks English. Much easier to do my banking in English, because also the systems are different and I found someone who is familiar with both the American and Israeli systems. Phone- I find that arguing in my accented Hebrew sometimes gets me further, but also-- my phone company doesn't seem to provide great service in English. So I use Hebrew.

Shopping in Hebrew:

It's all about the conversions. And learning the names of foods. Sizes- eh. But negotiation is a skill that must be done in Hebrew, preferably with a more Israeli accent than less, because many Israelis assume that if you speak English with an American accent you are a rich American. So...yeah. Hebrew accent it is for that.

Dating in Hebrew.

Hehe. Right. I find it easier to date someone who is bilingual, because sometimes I can express myself better in Hebrew-- the words fit better-- but I also need English. I couldn't date someone who only spoke Hebrew (aside from how he would communicate with my family, I need someone who speaks English). I went on a date with an Israeli and after the date he called me and said he didn't think it would work because of the different mentalities. I'm not quite sure what he meant, but I also know that I needed someone who spoke- not just read and wrote- English. I've been on a couple of dates in Hebrew, which were ok, but I prefer to date someone who also speaks English. Definitely more comfortable.

Maybe I'll revisit this in a few months and see if my comfort level in Hebrew has changed at all.

Chanukah in Israel

My first Chanukah as an Israeli. I didn't bring latkes and applesauce to work...because I didn't have work because I work in misrad hachinuch and have off for Chanukah. But...people here know what levivot are. The applesauce with them is less common, apparently.

I had sufganiyot-- I think the ones here were better than the ones in NY. There were so MANY flavors to choose from; the most common ones seemed to be jelly (strawberry) and ribat chalav (dulce de leche), but there were also chocolate and pistachio and vanilla cream-filled. There were others topped with sprinkles, chocolate flakes, chopped nuts, icing drizzles-- so many different kinds! And there were also mini ones, with fewer calories and less bad stuff for you. But...there were a lot of kinds. Yes.

In terms of chanukiyot (menorahs, for the Americans)-- most people use oil, but there were still many candle ones for sale. I had a hard time finding the pretty candles that Mom always got, but then I found two boxes in a random store near Ben Yehuda. And then the last night I saw them in the tachana merkazit in Jerusalem (note to self for next year).

It kind of felt like the holiday season...except it felt too early for Christmas-- it is too early, but the holiday season in the fall/winter to me means Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year's. I definitely miss the holiday season in NY (ok, more the vacation time), but I also had traditions with my friends for erev Christmas and New Year's. Erev Christmas was Gingerbread-- SaraShatz and I started building gingerbread creations on erev Christmas (because who cared how late we were up-- it was vacation the next day :)) and we would let it dry until New Year's Eve and eat it at the New Year's party/get-together thing. Because, again, who cared how late we were up-- it was vacation the next day.

I am continuing the tradition here, but slightly differently. I am making the gingerbread on the Thursday night before Christmas and having the eating party on the Thursday night before New Year's. Yeah...I miss Christmas and New Year's vacations. Yes, I got Chanukah, but I miss the one-day-vacations so much...Election Day, Veteran's Day, Thanksgiving (ok, 2 days), etc. And then after winter break, there was President's Week-- I don't think I went 2 months without a break. Here I go straight until Purim, which is only 2 days anyway, and it's in the middle-end of March. So that's 14 straight weeks. Yipee...(don't I sound excited...). But anyway-- gingerbread making will be happening here, despite the lack of molasses; I will be using silan (date honey)- I found a company that is an ok substitute for molasses-- not great, but ok. It shall be interesting to see the spin on gingerbread here, because it's not so traditional at all here. Gingerbread doesn't exist so much here.

Reflections on making aliyah and looking into the future

A year and a half ago I posted this post about the future and what it holds. Part of it was about my childrens' future if I moved to Israel. What would their future be like, being drafted into the army here. I also mentioned another blog, A Soldier's Mother, written by a woman who made aliyah with her family about 17ish (?) years ago.

Today I saw this in her post:
"It bothers me that to live in this land, my children must know the uniform and the gun. My daughters may not serve in the army, but their husband or brother or nephew will at some point in the future. My sons will serve, as will their sons. To serve, if life remains as it has been for more than 60 years, means war."

So well phrased, so much of what I feel even though I'm not yet married and don't have children. My children will grow up seeing soldiers in uniform and men and women carrying guns as part of their daily life. And my children will, as she put it, "know the uniform and the gun" when their draft notices come and they, too, join the ranks of the IDF. I will encourage my daughters to serve in the army as well as I will my sons. I don't want there to be a need for my children to serve, and I know that my parents wouldn't want me to be in danger, just like I wouldn't want my children to be in danger...but they would be proud of me if I was in the army and did serve my country. When I was considering joining the American army, my parents weren't happy because they didn't want me to be in danger...but they would have been proud all the same. But I made the choice to move from somewhere that my children would not be drafted, and would not be asked to serve in the army to a place where...once they turn 18, when they're not even out of their teens and still...well, children...they're going to be asked to put on a uniform and learn how to use a gun. And not for pretend, for real. To be ready to fight in a war, if need be, and even to guard and defend the country in some capacity, even not in a declared war or operation. Was it fair what I did? I don't remember where I heard this, but someone said she made aliyah so her children don't have to (if you said it and read this blog, please let me know so I can credit you). I did...but was it-- will it-- be fair to them?

Something I've thought about but never said out loud, and I wonder if this place, this blog, being that I don't know who reads it, makes it almost easier to say it here-- I don't want to marry someone who didn't serve in the army for idealist reasons, didn't want to serve. If someone moved here when he was too old to serve-- fine. If he was exempted for medical reasons-- fine. But not to serve because you don't want to or idealist reasons...that bothers me. It's your country, too. I went on a date with someone who I've known for a few years and his brothers are in the army or about to go in, and I always assumed that he also served. And then he told me that he didn't. I'm not discussing his reasons here because they're not mine to discuss, but the army gave him an exemption and he did not serve. And that bothered me...you want to live here, be here, raise a family here...and yet you're not willing to serve? I don't want my husband to go off every year for a few weeks, but...that's going to be life here, and I don't think I'd want it any other way really, because it's part of living here and you have to take the good with the not-so-fun. When he has to go for miluim, I will help him pack, get up that morning, kiss him goodbye, and wait and count down until he gets back. And that will be the life I've chosen. Unless he doesn't do miluim for some reason.

Thanksgiving

This year it was a bit different.

It's now 12:44 am, technically Friday. This year my Thanksgiving was a day of work (regular) followed by coming back to my apt. and cooking. Normally Thanksgiving-- well, Thanksgiving used to involve getting up late (because I was off), followed by wandering around/cleanng in my PJs while Mom was cooking. The parade would be on the kitchen TV and maybe in the living room, but highly doubtful because no one was in there consistently enough to be paying attention. The house smells really good, because of all the cooking Mom is doing, and at about 4 pm people start coming over and eventually everyone is over and we start eating. Mom made rolls (probably white, garlic, and rye), and Grandma's soup. Oh, and maybe an appetizer and salad. That's followed by turkey (made in the roaster with garlic and paprika sprinkled on top and baby carrots, celery, and onion surrounding it), stuffing kugel, cranberry sauce (jelled and whole berry), and maybe cranberry kugel. A bunch of other side dishes, because...well, food = love. And then dessert, which is cookies and cake and tea.

This year I made my Grandma's vegetable soup. I had to split it into two pots, because it was too much for one; one came out good and the other needs to cook more, so it's in the fridge overnight and tomorrow I will attempt to cook it some more. But the one that was done came out well. I'm excited for the other one :) It was my first time making soup in a long time (I made soup once and burned it. In college. This was my first time making soup since then), and the first time I tried to make my Grandma's vegetable soup. It's...it's a tradition. It's a hard one to follow, because of the associations with Thanksgiving, and missing everyone, but it's still...it came out good.

The last Thanksgiving that my Grandma was alive for was a little different than the previous ones. Everyone but my mom was at my Grandma and Grandpa's apartment (my mom was in the hospital with the port infection-turned-sepsis). We had Thanksgiving dinner as usual-ish, including the soup, and that Shabbos my Grandma had a very severe stroke that caused her death a week later. I remember eating the last portion of soup from the batch she made. We froze it, and when I had it...I remember thinking, "This is the last soup Grandma made." It was always "Grandma's soup." Kind of like Grandma coffee (but that was a little coffee and a lot of milk; pretty much how I drink coffee today still), but not. My Grandpa wrote out the recipe for me after Grandma died, and my mom eventually typed it up and put it in the recipe book she made for me. It has vegetables and meat and soup mix...and the last ingredient is "1 brocha that it comes out good." I think that's what made it so good.

May we all recognize and be grateful for the brachot that we have in our lives, and always remember to add the "1 brocha that it comes out good." In everything that we do.

2 separate topics

1. The special education public school system (in comparison to NYC, as I see it)

2. Bone marrow compatibility

Let's start with number 2., because that's less involved (from a writing perspective. And if you're only going to read a little bit of this, I'd rather you get that; if you're really interested, you will continue reading anyway). Number 2- Bone marrow compatibility. The idea for posting this was from Beneath the Wings, which is a blog by a mother who has a daughter with Down's Syndrome and the blog is very much centered around that. Her post is here:http://beneaththewings.blogspot.com/2010/11/important-message-to-parents-of-future.html

My addition is, you don't need to be a soldier (or going into the army at all, in any capacity) to be tested for bone marrow compatibility. I was tested through Gift of Life via a cheek swab (if you are a preliminary match, they will then do bloodwork. But initially-- all you need to do is open your mouth and get a cheek swab).

Number 1. The special education public school system, as I see it. First of all, the public school system here in Israel overall is MUCH more complicated. There are various types of schools, all considered public- different religions, different sectors within the religion, non-religious-- very complicated. Most of the schools are Jewish, but there are also non-Jewish schools (with different schedules). The way the special education system seems to work here is parallel to the general education system. That is, there are also Jewish, non-Jewish, religious, different sectors within the religious, and non-religious schools. There are also different type of preschools. And to make it even more complicated (or specialized, depending on how you look at it), each school is for a specific type of special education, be it severe/profoundly mentally retarded, mild/moderately mentally retarded, physically handicapped, mild/moderately retarded, deaf, blind, learning disabilities, behavioral problems-- you name it. I think that there is a good side to this, because the kids really get a specialized focus in the school, but there is also a downside because the children are not even integrated into a regular school building. There are some kids who are in self-contained classrooms within regular schools, and there are mainstreamed kids as well. BUT I have yet to hear of kids in general ed who get OT.

It's very frustrating to me as an occupational therapist that there are so many kids who don't get OT, or don't get individual, because there aren't enough therapists to go around or there isn't the budget or whatever. There's also this thing of a "class session." I'm sorry, but...do all the kids need it? How much are the kids really going to get out of 1 45-minute session per week, when there's an overall need, but each kid is at such a different level?

I'm not a fan of the system here, as a therapist. I liked NYC better-- wasn't ideal, and, no, there weren't enough therapists to go around either. But at least the kids had the option to get seen outside if they couldn't get seen in school. And there were OT-specific goals. A full eval was done on a kid who needed it, and his/her mandate was prescribed. It's much more-- "Ok, who needs OT the most here?" And the teachers have a big say, which I feel is correct, but I also think there should be an OT eval done on the child when he/she has been seen previously, and if there is a suspicion of delays/problems. And then a mandate should be created, if applicable, and the child gets seen in school or gets referred out of school.

I'm sure there will be more on this at a later point.

A missing piece

The summer before I made aliyah I got involved with someone who I waited quite a while to date. And then we broke up because I was making aliyah and he wasn't. Ever. It just wasn't happening.

He fell of the face of the earth for a while, and he's now back. And I realize just how much I miss him. Yes, I just broke up with someone, which naturally makes me think. But...this is something that no matter how much we both want it to happen won't, because of the physical distance. And that's the part that hurts so much. It's not even like there was a chance, because we live 6,000 miles away from each other and neither of us can live where the other can.

So, if you're reading this-- and you know who you are-- I miss you. It's not your fault, but your videos make me miss you more.

Journaling

This post also kind of ties in to the previous two posts about being Israeli and writing. Writing-- well, it's kind of obvious-- writing, journaling...I write in my journal- what happened, what's going through my mind. And poems are a reflection of those two. Being Israeli I'll get to at the end.

In addition to this blog I have a handwritten journal.

I have been writing since at least...second grade, I think? I didn't really keep a consistent journal until college-- I had journals and diaries, but I would write for a few weeks (maybe a month) and then forget about it, finding it a few years later when I was cleaning out some drawer. I actually have a diary-- with a lock on it, locked naturally-- from probably 5th or 6th grade. I don't know where the key is, hence it's still locked and I don't know when it is from (yes, I can pick or smash the lock. But that feels wrong. So it will stay locked until I decide to pick it, or have someone else do it for me).

Once I started college I saw a show called Subway Train and what struck me was that the show had been mostly written in journals, on the way to and from places. It never occurred to me until that point to write while I was traveling. But I had so much time traveling! I took three subways (or a bus and two subways) to school every morning. And I traveled other places by bus and train and there was the waiting in doctor's offices and in the Verizon store and-- all those places that I never thought to just...write. Even sitting in a Starbucks or in the park-- I had always associated writing in a diary with sitting in my room, cross-legged on my bed or propped up against pillows...and all of a sudden I changed the label-- Journal-- and it became a verb to me. An action. I was journaling. And so I simply opened the small notebook that I carried around to jot down to-do lists, or shopping lists, or other things I needed to remember, to the back and started writing. Just writing-- I'm on the train at 42 st. Where is the train?/Waiting for the bus crosstown...there is someone staring at me/Wow. I had a day. And on and on, just writing. And the writing turned into questions and sometimes answers and a lot of the time musing and more questions. Overthinking, re-thinking, dissecting what someone said and what it meant. Journaling became a way of coping and analyzing and sorting out my brain.

I had a blog, too, from high school. But I realized that journaling felt very different than blogging. Yes, my blog was for me but others could see it too. My journal was for me, and it was in my handwriting and it could be touched and flipped through and gone back to any time I wanted. It can.

Looking back and counting, I have 5 of those mixed notebooks and one journal that is filled with journaling and not lists. I actually really like those mixed notebooks because they reflect everything that was going on-- what I had to do, and recipes, and what I had to bring the next day, or assignments...but my journal is my journal.

I've just finished my first journal-only notebook. I have a journal that I started when I came to Israel almost 3 years ago in January 2008. I stopped writing in it because I couldn't find it, and then when I couldn't find the journal I just finished I used that. But now I'm picking up that one to continue in it and write.

Being Israeli. I've noticed that my writing takes whatever language I'm surrounded by about what I'm writing. Confusing? Ok. Most of my journal is in English, with Hebrew words sprinkled in here and there. But if I'm writing about something that's going on then, and the something is in Hebrew, whatever I'm writing will be in Hebrew. For example, someone I went out on a date with- he and I speak in Hebrew and English, but more Hebrew. When I was writing about the date, it was in Hebrew-- my thoughts and feelings were in Hebrew, if that makes sense. When I saw a documentary as part of my work (we had a beginning of the school year meeting and part of it was a documentary about a street kid) and I wrote about it, I wrote in Hebrew. Again, my thoughts and my feelings were in Hebrew. I'm still more comfortable in English, especially when it comes to occupational therapy, and sometimes EMS (ambulance stuff-- my first EMS experiences were in Hebrew (yes, the course was in English but the terminology was in Hebrew and I worked on the Hebrew-speaking ambulances). But I'm a lot more comfortable expressing myself and I've been thinking and feeling in Hebrew more. I'm not sure if that makes me Israeli. But I do know that it's easier now to...be in Hebrew.

Poems

Since I got here, made aliyah, I have written a few poems. I have to find the other ones, but this was one that I wrote after I was having a sort of writing slump and hadn't really written for a while. It's in Hebrew, followed by an English translation. Unfortunately, I don't think the English translation really feels the same as the Hebrew. But that's just me. I translate literally.

This was actually something I started when I was at the tekes for Yom Hazikaron (Israel's Memorial Day). I'm not sure I like it as is, but...here it is.

Background for those who are unfamiliar with Yom Hazikaron: It is the Israeli Memorial Day. There is a nation-wide siren at 8 pm that night, then another siren at 11 am. Cars stop driving and people get out and stand, students stand up-- the country pretty much stops for these few minutes. There are ceremonies, the broadcasts are Memorial-day appropriate. The names of those killed for the sake of Israel are read. It's unlike Memorial Day in the States; here there are no sales, but the cemeteries are full of people coming to visit graves of loved ones and friends. It's a day to remember not only the soldiers, but those who were killed in terrorist attacks as well. It's something that must be experienced to fully appreciate and understand it.

תפילה של עולה חדשה ביום הזיכרון

צפירה.

עוצרים, יוצאים, עומדים.

מתפללים.

חוזרים לרכב, מצטרפים לטקס.

אני עומדת פה, בקהל, אחת ממאות.

שומעת שירים, ואנשים מדברים על אלו שנרצחו...

אני רק עומדת.

ושומעת.

אין לי מישהו שאני מכירה שנהרג, שנרצח.

תודה לאלוקים.

תפילה קטנה יוצאת משפתי—

אנא ה', עשה שילדותי לא יהרגו.

אין לי ילדים עכשיו, אבל תן לי...ותן לי שיחיו.

בנים, בנות—כולם היו.

כולם שייכו לאמא ולאבא ולמשפחה.

ה' ישמור את נפשותם בגן עדן,

ויתן לי שלא אדע מזה.

Translation:

Prayer of a New Immigrant on Memorial Day

A siren.

Stopping, getting out, standing.

Praying.

Go back into the car, joining a ceremony.

I stand here, in the crowd, one of hundreds.

I hear poems, and people talking about those who were murdered...

I just stand.

And listen.

I don't have anyone that I know who was killed or murdered.

Thank G-d.

A small prayer leaves my lips--

Please, G-d, don't let my children be killed.

I don't have children now, but give me...and give me that they will live.

Sons, daughters-- they all were.

They all belonged to a mother and a father and a family.

G-d should guard their souls in the Garden of Eden,

And grant me that I should not know from this.

Learning to live in Israel

One of the things I will not get to do is be a soldier in the Israeli Defense Force-- Tzahal. It is something that I want to do, considered doing, and then realized that I can contribute more as an occupational therapist and MDA volunteer.

I was 24 when I made aliyah. The army wasn't drafting me, because I was over 20 (21?). I could have volunteered to join, but I made aliyah in December. The next draft date was March and I most likely would not have made it for that one. March is followed by August and November. The earliest I could have gone in would have been August, at which point I would be 25. 25, going in to something that most people start at 18. I also would likely be in for 6 months; I could request more, which would enable me to get a better job within the army, but I would want to do Paramedics...not...just not matim for me.

Being in the army is kind of like...a crucible, if you will. The people get heated up, melted, and then have the chance to be re-formed into something new. EVERYONE is in the army-- excepting many people. So not really everyone. But it's something that I always knew about and thought about.

I knew about the "post-Army trip" where so many go backpacking around the world for 6 months or a year. What I didn't know was really how much the army puts life into limbo. I was dating someone in the army and the first weekend I got back from America we were supposed to see each other; he was supposed to be out, I would be home. Nice plan. We were really excited. I land...and because of the shooting in Chevron, he was going to have to be on base for Shabbos. Then he was getting out. Then he wasn't. Then he was-- he was getting ready to go to the bus to come into Jerusalem...and they called everyone back. He got out on Sunday- fine, nice. But...this is what it means to be Israeli.

To not plan because something is going to happen to change the plans.

To learn that even though someone "official" told you something, it means nothing unless you have it in writing with the name and signature and stamp of the person who said it, and even then it might not be acceptable.

The bureaucracy is more then in your mother country and it's in another language. Even when you ask for someone who speaks the language you want (say, English), you will get, "Ken [yes]?" when they answer the phone.

People here dispense with polite behavior. There is nothing wrong with someone cursing out the bus driver's (and his mother) because he did something the person didn't approve of. And when the other passengers get tired of the yelling at each other, they will tell the passenger and the bus driver to shut up. The lack of polite behavior is not meant as an insult-- it might even be a compliment. Which leads me to my next point:

Everyone here is family. You can yell at your family members-- and that includes the bus driver. Oh, the garbage man who put the bin back slightly to the left of where it was before. This means that, as family, everyone has rights to comment on everyone else, no matter the situation. This also means that people look out for each other and will often try to help (or what they see as helping).

Israelis like olim-- immigrants. They think we are crazy, but they love us anyway.

More on this later.

Shabbat Chaye Sara in Kiryat Arba/Chevron

Where do I start? I really wanted to take pictures, but it was just...crowded and not worth trying to get out my camera, and then it was Shabbat and...I have pictures in my memory.

I went to sort-of cousins (we decided that the correct term for the family and how to explain how we are related is "chamula," which is the term for an Arab clan. We just happen to be a large family who used to live within about 4 blocks of each other (2 2-family houses and 1 2-family house a few blocks away). So-- I went to sort of cousins with my first cousin, and we met another sort-of cousin there who is an actual cousin of my sort-of cousin. Confused? It's ok. Moving on.

The whole experience was just overwhelming.

Break it down:

Friday

Took a bus from Binyanei Hauma. We left early, because we counted on lots of people (and therefore lines and waits) and traffic. Thanks to Murphy (and leaving earlier than we planned), we had neither. So we got there early.

There was a stand- basically a mobile ticket booth- with three or four windows and a sign- "הלוך ושב 18.30"- "There and Back- 18.30." There weren't long lines and there was bus after bus lined up. We took one bus to Tzomet Haminharot and then switched to a bulletproof bus for the rest of the trip. The bus was FULL of post-high school seminary/yeshiva students. Loud-comma-very.

Got to Kiryat Arba and went to my sort-of cousins. Was there a bit, and then went to where I was staying (a few minutes' walk away) to get ready for Shabbos.

Shabbat

We davened on Friday night at Givat Gal, which is a caravan community. The shul used to be in a bus, but now there is a real building (think 1-room schoolhouse, plus electricity and minus the wood-burning stove). The sunset on the way there was beautiful; at one point I stopped, turned around and just said, "Wow." The davening was nice- singing and there was a young boy who did part of it and the older men were encouraging him when he was having trouble. I was the only woman there, but lo nora (not a big deal)- they made a women's section for me :)

After davening we went back to the house and had dinner. After dinner there was an oneg at the Me'ara (the Cave-- Me'arat Hamachpela) in Ulam Yitzchak. BZ and I went (actually, everyone went, but BZ and I went together). We walked down this path that normally is locked (I think- there is a fence with a door and a lock; it was open, but if it wasn't Shabbat Chaye Sara with all the soldiers and police around, it would no be wise to go the way we did). There were tons of people and, of course, soldiers and police and patrols and security.

When I got to Me'arat Hamachpela, the first thing that struck me was the number of tents that there were. Lots and lots and lots of tents. Aka, lots and lots and lots of people.

We went to the Me'ara and made up to meet outside at a certain time, and then we went in. It was my first time there and it felt...even as I was going down the hill into Chevron, I felt a feeling of specialness and other-worldliness but familiarity, safety. It was my first time there, but it felt familiar. Also in Ulam Yitzchak (which is only open Chol Hamoed and Shabbat Chaye Sara, by the way) I went to where is supposed to be פתח גן עדן-- the entrance to the Garden of Eden-- and that, too, felt very familiar. The smell there, too. I said some Tehillim, but I was so tired that I wasn't focused.

In the morning I went back to Ulam Yitzchak for Shacharit (morning prayers). There was a chatan there, which was nice-- people threw candies, of course. It was very packed and stuffy, but people were nice about giving up seats for the elderly and pregnant or people who needed to sit. There was kiddush (food) outside after (grape juice/wine and cake and Yerushalmi kugel (Jerusalem noodle pudding), and then we went back for lunch.

After lunch I had the choice of napping or going back to Chevron. What do you think I did? Went back to Chevron, of course! Joined a tour in the early-middle-ish part, and then went back to the Me'ara (what, did you think I was going to miss an opportunity like this? Me'arat Hamachpela is so rarely open like this-- I am NOT missing the chance to daven there again!

When I left, I felt like I didn't want to leave, like it was pulling at my heart. Kind of the way I felt when I was leaving Israel in March 2008-- it hurt my heart; that's the best way I can describe it. It was kind of like...pulling me to stay, like I didn't want to leave. But we had to, because Shabbat was ending.

Motza"sh

Buses were packed. But they went straight from Chevron and Kiryat Arba to the Tachana Merkazit in Jerusalem (with a stop at Tzomet Gush, on my bus), no switching.

Overall I enjoyed. I want to go back when it's not Parshat Chaye Sara and there are fewer people there and it's not so packed and I can think a little more. Granted, I won't be able to go the same way and there will be less of the Me'ara open, but I think it will be a much more personal, meaningful experience and I'll be able to take things in more and actually concentrate better and more.

"ויהיו חיי שרה..."

Shabbos. Parshat Chaye Sara. Kiryat Arba. Chevron. Me'arat Hamachpela. Lots of people. Lots of soldiers. Safe. Intense.

More tomorrow (or when I'm not falling asleep-- I decided it was a better idea to go on a tour of part of Chevron than to take a Shabbos nap. Hence, going to sleep early).

"ויהיו חיי שרה..."

Shabbos. Parshat Chaye Sara

Missing

This past week-- well, more since the Chagim actually-- I've been missing my family; my parents, sisters, grandparents. And my friends from NY.

This past week was really tough. It was just everything was coming down at once and it was just one of those weeks where you want to crawl into your bed at home and have someone take care of you. Someone hold you, hug you, tell you it's going to be ok, and just take care of you and you not have to think about planning what to eat, or worry about paying bills or anything.

Fortunately I have an amazing adopted family here who are really like my parents and siblings here. Problem is, I don't live at home. It was kind of like that when I was in my dorm and things were not so happy...it's not far to go back home. I just had to take the train (3 trains) or a bus and the train/the train, the train, and a bus. Now I have to take 2 (or 3) buses instead. It's just the getting back that's annoying.

So last week was a tough week in the Life of Lauren. Hope this one is better.