this time last year

As I read the newspaper article that a Nesfesh B'Nefesh flight had landed that morning - July 12th - I run through all of my memories in the past year in fast forward mode. HOT customer service hanging up on me, sheirut rides, nature parties, kibbutz parties, changing diapers every Sunday and Thursday, learning Hebrew from my kiddies, being Israeli, many of my "Ahh ok" Ulpan moments, understanding that once you know fifteen people in Tel Aviv you know everyone...
Even though this is nothing like America I have definitely adapted to the life here and have become Israeli in just a year that felt like a few months. I don't know if I will stay here forever - only time will tell - but I do know that I will be here for at least a few more years. Israel is my home and there is only one place like here, for the good and bad.
Having my family visit and check out all of the major sites reminds me how ancient and special this country really is :) I am genuinely happy here.

Next week I am going to visit America and these are some of the things I will miss :



"Ah, you came on Taglit?"

Tamara juice bar before Ulpan

volunteering in the Army

hearing protests out my window

Rothschild Boulevard

being able to catch up with a friend for hours over dinner

street graffiti

the energy at the Wailing Wall

the sense of the whole city feeling like family/ being invited to strangers houses for Shabbat

telling Israelis where the closest parking lot is

the background noise of matkot on the beach

Friday afternoon art fairs

Saturday being reserved for beach day

meeting Olim from all over the world

never being bored

"From where are you?"

realizing how easy hebrew is

the energy in the whole country

"Yalla, bye"

the chutzpa

It was a typical day at the kindergarden; kids screaming after we told them to be quiet for the third time, a mess in the classroom. After Sam came up to me to ask me where the paper towels were I made a mental note to ask Yakov for more. Two minutes later, Yakov walks in. I tell him in Hebrew that we need paper towels. Since I don't know how to say paper towel in Hebrew I pointed to the paper towel holder. He said we only get one of those and i said "No, not that." and made the motion of rolling up paper towel. Then he understood. He told me he will get it now. After 45 minutes had passed and no sign of paper towels, I decided to look for him. I searched in the hallways; upstairs and downstairs. No Yakov. I then checked the office. There he was, sitting with a secretary. I ask him where the paper towels are, we need them! He pulls out his keychain with ten keys, and holds it out, leaving them all hanging, except for the one that belongs to the closet. Only understanding every other word, he told me "Go get them, they are in the closet..." I tell him "- No, i can't do it. I'm with the kids now," and I return to my class. It's not my job to do these kind of things, I wanted to tell him. Thirty minutes later he comes in with the set of six large paper towel rolls. Good, I don't have to deal with him for another few weeks.

Shul emotions

During the passed few weeks, I've been telling my friends that I want to join them at shul. I haven't had the chance to go until yesterday. I went to services for the first time since I moved here eight months ago. I wore a floor-length skirt with a tank top, a button up sweater and sandals. I exaggerated the length of the skirt because I didn't know how religious the synagogue was and didn't want to offend anyone. As I entered in the woman's section with my olim friends, I felt a sense of warmth, of belonging. Growing up in the States, I had been to services plenty of times, but this was different. Here there were Israeli's and immigrants alike who wanted to be there; not there for the obligation. When I sat down, I observed two kinds of woman; the more religious woman who had their shoulders, chest and knees covered with smalls scarves hiding their hair and the more conservative ones in knee-length skirts with their hair down.
As the crowd followed the Rabbi's lead, my friend whispered to me what will happen next, "Now we are going to stand up, turn around and bow to the entrance to welcome the Sabbath." When the Rabbi hit his hand on the podium a bit harder to emphasize the beat, the crowd simultaneously sang a bit louder. I thought to myself that I had never heard such beautiful, joyous praying. It was similar to that of a professional choir; such liveliness, such emotion.
Hebrew is such a happy, musical language. This made me love Hebrew even more than I already do. I will definitely go back soon.

Shabbat Shalom everyone!!

Pesach Patience

Shalom l'culam,
Sorry I've kept you in the dark for some time. I have been quite busy with work, dealing with bureaucracy and celebrating holidays...

Last week my father came to Israel to visit me for the Passover holiday. He comes every year at this time because it is the holiday where you feel the Jewish spirit. It is one of the most significant events in Jewish history. In short, this holiday is when the ancient Israelites were freed from slavery in Egypt.

When we opened the door to our friends home in Jerusalem, we were greeted by Sheila (a Wales native, and olah for about 35 years) and her husband Zvi who was born in what was then called Palestine. Greeting the rest of the guests I noticed how diverse they were; an Israeli mother-son duo, a Russian couple with two Israeli teenagers, our guests' Israeli adult kids, and my father, the American. This is one of the many reasons why I love Israel; the diversity, the melting pot.

As my father read his part of the Haggadah, I scanned mine, noticing that I was only familiar with a few words. I was an Israeli now, so I decided to read my part like one. "Liba, go on darling," Sheila said from the other side of the table. Before I started reading I said "Savlanut vakasha" - patience please. My heart started beating fast as I struggled with the first few lines of the Shakespearian-level Hebrew. I noticed my father from the corner of my eye wiping his tears, in shock that his daughter was reading the language of the Jewish people! He is a Zionist at heart and has passed that on to me. After reading the paragraph like my four year old gan kids speak English, everyone at the table clapped for me, for they knew what that felt like. I have never smiled so big. I did it! I was so proud of myself. I could have chosen the easy route -- to read in English but I chose the struggle and I'm happy I did.

mosaic element

Yesterday on my sheirut ride back home, I realized how varied the citizens of this country are. When i got on, there were two Ashkenazi Israeli friends in the back row. To my right, on the other single seat was an Ethopian Jew. At the next stop, a Filipino mother-daughter duo walked in. And of course, me, an American-Israeli. Other places that people make Aliyah from include Canada, France, UK, Russia, and the list goes on. Singles, families with toddlers, grandparents, teens with or without their families make this huge decision. All of these diverse Jews from all different backgrounds decide to move to Israel and settle. There is an estimated 3,000+ Israeli born babies to olim (new immigrants) parents or a mix of Israeli and Oleh/ah. At the end of the day Israel isn't as bad as people complain about. People are willing to look past the bad and appreciate the good; the closeness between Israelis, the laughter, the pride.
Judging by the diverse people that Israel accepts into their country, how can people accuse Israel of being an apartheid state?

DIIIEEEEEEEE!!!

I can't believe I have been working at my gan (hebrew for kindergarten) for three months now. How time flies. I really got to love my kids like they are my own. You get to know their different personalities and even have favorites. I know, this is bad. Really bad. But I can't resist their cute little faces and English accents. They are so chamud!!!! Proof below.

I remember walking into the gan one of my first days and seeing a kid pulling his mothers shirt as she tried to drop him off in his class. She screamed DIE, DIE!! I thought to myself, "Wow, I knew Israeli's are aggressive but not as much as to tell their kids to die." As the days passed, still in shock I kept hearing mothers utter those words to their kids. In hebrew class the next week, the teacher explained the word DIE. I looked up from my notebook, immediately with the Gan image in my head. It all made sense now. Die is the hebrew word for stop! Because of the kids I will never forget the meaning of the word. Thanks yeladim  :)


Wishing everyone a healthy and happy New Year to come!!! 2011סוף

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There's nothing like a Friday morning in Tel Aviv -- not because I don't work or I can sleep in. I'm referring to the vibe. Families and friends are out in coffee shops, catching up, laughing. Dogs sit patiently under the tables while the owners eat breakfast and smoke a cigarette. Long lines outside trendy restaurants on trendy streets. Bikers ring their bells at pedestrians while the women move the carriage out of the bike lane. Friends play guitar on park benches. Every two blocks on Rothschild there is a different event... opera singers, dance show, music show and if you wish you can join in. The city doesn't allow you to get bored. Israelis really know how to live and appreciate life.

The weekends (start Thursday and end Saturday) are strictly dedicated to friends and family. No work.  This is why Shabbat is such an important thing to Jews; as busy as you may be with work and kids and life, you know that Friday night dinner is reserved to catch up with family.