Lost and Found

My best friend in Holon, without doubt, is my bus pass. Aside from its flashy and colorful appearance-- bordered by a new and exciting primary color each month, and with a glamorous, sparkling stripe down its middle-- my "chofshi chodshi" (free monthly) is nearly magical in its powers. By simply presenting this lone 2 by 4 piece of cardboard to the bus driver upon entering any Dan or Egged bus in the entire Tel Aviv area, I am suddenly a free woman: free to travel anytime, anywhere, free of charge. (The small catch here, of course, is that the card was at some point in time indeed paid for, before my kind madrichim left it in my grateful hands. But that it might have been paid for sometime in the distant past, likely by my own tuition, is seemingly and blissfully irrelevant when I whiz importantly past the bus driver on a hot and uncomfortable day and sit myself down for an air-conditioned, lazy bus ride.) With my bus pass, I can go anywhere- I can visit the shuk on Allenby or the mall in Rishon or the decorated tapestry shops in Yafo. (In other words, I can go spend money, free of charge.) I can go to and from the gym three times in one day- theoretically I mean, if I happen to be feeling fat, or something. My bus pass is my ticket to exploration, and I can say with a sizable amount of conviction that I- for better or for worse- might know this best.

You see, I speak from experience. Upon discovering the near superpowers of my new handy companion- namely, my bus pass- I decided I would take full advantage of them. And so the experiments began. Where does line one take me? I asked myself, after having lived in my new home in Holon for what I recall amounted to less than a week. I proceeded to drag some poor yearcourse souls with me onto the bus, encouraging them that line one might just take us back from our faraway field trip to our apartments on Eilat Street. That I, with my negative sense of direction, might recognize our brand new neighborhood if we happened to arrive somewhere remotely close was a longshot, but I kept this small truth to myself. Alas, we didn't, and after a long half hour spent sightseeing various streets of Holon through the bus windows, the group of us noticed that we were soon heading towards that formidable, unpromising highway and decided to get off. We were left- a bit dazed from our long trip to nowhere- at a vast and unfamiliar cemetery outside Bat Yam, and from there we left it to the one Israeli with us to find a familiar bus route and take us back home.

Two more such bus adventures followed. One involved taking a long, unintentional detour to Yerushalayim Street in Yafo while seeing if bus 88 would maybe take me home from work. (It didn't.) The next was that time I traveled around Holon at night on bus 92, hoping to at some point arrive at the gym, and instead finding myself in Tel Aviv. The 92, I realized later, is the one bus outside my apartment that does not pass by the gym. Figures. That day, I took eleven buses. Eleven! And I didn't pay a cent. Or more importantly, an agurah.

One might argue that these experimental bus trips were an utter waste of my time. That I was foolish, perhaps, for thinking to get on a bus simply on the blind hope that it might, coincidentally, take me to my exact destination. That I should have at least thought to ask the bus driver before investing hours of my time traveling to mysterious and surprise locations. And these arguments, I concede, would in fact hold some validity- if, that is, I wasn't at all times accompanied by my all-powerful bus pass. I would argue that equipped with my bus pass, my bus adventures (as I would term them) were worthwhile experiments, in which I was able to both see more of my temporary home here, while also learning more about the various bus routes. (Generally, which bus routes not to take, but no matter. Just as worthwhile information.)

I say all this about my bus pass to arrive at a semi-unrelated subject, and that is the subject of my recent, traumatic loss of my wallet. Here is the connection: when I lost my wallet the other day, when I absentmindedly dropped what is probably my most treasured and important possession while on a bus in Bat Yam- it was not my debit card that I later fretted about missing, and not my license or other forms of ID either, but rather my beloved bus pass. While I raced frantically up and down Yoseftal searching for my wallet and making phone calls to various bus companies and family members, questions raced through my mind: How would I get to and from volunteering? Would I stop going to the gym, and go on simple runs instead? And what about going out on Thursday nights: would I be the lone poor soul struggling to keep my balance on a jerking bus while I pay for a short bus ride, while my peers smoothly pass by with their shiny, still-intact bus passes? HOW unfair. And who's the lucky jerk who's probably already found my wallet at this point, and discovered my magical pride possession within. Where will he choose to travel with it. I had to find my wallet.

But I didn't. Bus 46 passed me four more times, and each time I bothered the bus driver to let me on and search quickly for a dropped wallet. Not to be found. I suffered through Dan bus company's on-hold music at least three times before their secretaries managed to forward me the correct number- that is, a number that actually had a voice on the other end, a number that was actually functioning. But of course, as these things always work, that bus employee's search was to no avail either.

I didn't have time for this, I realized with a sigh. There was a yearcourse party that night, and I was going, wallet or no wallet, and (gasp) bus pass or no bus pass. I had just a little more than two weeks left in Israel, and I would enjoy it, even wallet-free. My mom and I devised a plan to get me some cash, we canceled my debit card, and that was that. It would be Ok. (There was no replacing my bus pass, but I thought for a few weeks I could stand a simple cartisiyat noar punch card. Obviously not comparable, and a bit of a sad turn of events, but would have to do under the circumstances.)

And then - the glorious climax to a dramatic afternoon. I received a call from an Israeli woman who asked in her accented Hebrew if I was "Naomi Rena Forman." Indeed I was. Am. My wallet had been located! It still existed, and was in seemingly good hands with this kind civilian. It's a wonderful country. And it was a wonderful party. And the next morning (a little dizzy, but beaming), I set out to the woman's apartment to retrieve my wallet. And here's the best part: when I arrived, not only did she hand me that familiar green leather wallet with the black duct tape, complete with all my receipts and ID cards and emergency phone numbers and my lovely monthly bus pass, but she proceeded to invite me inside to share a drink and chat for a bit. Where did I come from? What was I doing inn Israel? she wanted to know. Would I want to come over for dinner sometime? I learned her story, too, how she came here from Iran when she was just a little girl, how half her siblings live in New York, how she could never move there because of the cold. I told her repeatedly how eternally grateful I was of her gesture, of the trouble she went through to locate me, the "miskenah." Tell your mother you're in good hands here, she told me. We take good care of you here.

And I am. And they do. Even in Bat Yam, where this entire saga unfolded. Bat Yam, the (excuse my terminology here) "Shit hole of Israel," Bat Yam, where crime levels and poverty levels are high, and the people live modest lives (to put it nicely), and a good number of them are total creeps (to put it bluntly). Despite all this, my abandoned wallet rode a bus un-stolen for who knows how long, even with its grand bus pass inside. It's one of those "only in Israel"s, I decided, while reflecting on the whole event on my way home. I try to imagine, but simply can't really, dropping my wallet on the T in Boston and then becoming buddies with my new friend in Dorchester who's located it. It's just something that wouldn't really happen.

So it's with a genuine tear, for sure, that I'll leave this country soon, these friendly, welcoming people, and of course, my bus pass.

A Type of Melting Pot

Generally, I try my best to avoid the central bus station in Tel Aviv. The building is six or seven long and winding floors, connected by randomly situated zigzag staircases and broken escalators. I'm not the best with directions in the first place; I'm always getting lost in malls and such. So when I am forced through that station, half my time is spent navigating my way to the information center and then circling more to find the right spot. On top of that, the building is located in a poor and dangerous part of Tel Aviv, making walking around the place for an hour not the safest activity. In short, if you include finding my way to the sparse and hidden bathrooms (nature calls me often), I've spent far too much time wandering that bus station.

But as I live right outside the city this section, I inevitably end up in that dreadful sketchy maze of a building at least once a week. Last time I was there, while waiting that never-ending wait for our barely existent 90 bus- I people-watched a bit, and got to thinking: Tel Aviv, demographically, is starkly different than Jerusalem. Aside from the large number of Ethiopians passing through the area, there's also a sizable population of other Africans (refugees from Sudan, Eritrea...), as well as a surprising amount of Asians from I don't know where. In contrast to Jerusalem's very European, Anglo, and religious feel, Tel Aviv at times seems more exotic, foreign. To me, it's a less-familiar feel, a less-Jewish feel, but interesting for all those reasons.

Last week, on my way from Tel Aviv to Ein Tsurim (where I ate the seder with my parents and cousins), a black soldier sat down next to me on the bus. I immediately assumed he was Ethiopian, until he started talking on the phone in perfect English in what I thought was an American accent. Which led me to think that he was a black American, which confused me, because among the entire mesh of populations and nationalities and skin colors in this country, there are very few black Americans. (There are the basketball players and the "Black Hebrews" in Dimona, but what were the chances?) So I asked him if he was American, and after talking to him for a bit found out I was conversing with the first and only Kenyan ever to serve in the Israeli Army. Turns out, his dad had been Israeli and his mom a Kenyan. After his parents died in a car crash, the Israeli Army called him and asked if he'd like to move to Israel and serve in the army. So he did, why not. He learned his English in grade school back in Kenya, where apparently everything is taught solely in English. And now he spends his time serving in some elite unit of Tzahal, staying with friends he's met at various ulpans, and explaining to countless Ethiopians who assume he speaks Amharik that he is in fact a Kenyan and can only help them in Hebrew. (Soon after he told me this, an older Ethiopian woman turned around to ask him something about where to get off. "I'm sorry," he told her in Hebrew and shook his head. "I don't know Amharik. I'm from Kenya.") Anyways, it seemed he was sort of a big deal, being the only Kenyan in the army- he said he'd met some important people and been on TV etc. So I felt like sort of a big deal, sitting next to him and all.

On the subject of Africans, I also was able to meet and hang out with some Sudanese refugees here recently. Over changeover, I very spontaneously traveled to Eilat with some friends. Spontaneous, meaning that Pam and I, after suddenly deciding to go, literally had ten minutes to run around the Jerusalem hostel and grab our bathing suit and sunglasses before racing to make the last bus down south. There's a lot of Sudanese refugees around there, around 1,000 I think. I met a Dutch woman on the beach who was watching over a group of Sudanese children, talking to them in English. She explained that it was an after-school program. That the kids attend Arabic schools (because Arabic is their native language), learn Hebrew at school, and English in the afternoons from the volunteer social workers like herself. I volunteered with the group for a few hours the next afternoon, aka played with them, took funny pictures of them, had a free meal. They were adorable and hysterical; one girl wouldn't let me go and kept pulling me around through the tunnels on the playground. It was a good day.

And then there was Save a Child's Heart. It was one of the day volunteer placements while all the schools where we normally volunteer had started their Passover vacations, and yearcourse's hadn't begun yet. The organization is really incredible: It was started by an American cardiologist who made aliyah to Israel, and with the help of donations, decided to bring kids with heart problems from nearby third-world countries to Israel and treat them at the Wolfson hospital in Holon. For three months, the kids live in a group house nearby, some with their moms and some without, and have all kinds of heart surgeries at the hospital. The idea is that they go home cured, when in their country they absolutely wouldn't have had that chance, and would have most likely died before reaching 20. They go home happy. When we volunteered there, there was a group from Iran and a group from Zanzibar. We played with them and interacted with them, without language of course- although one little girl from Zanzibar did congratulate herself at one point with an excited "Kol Hakavod!" Aside from the girl I had to pry off me so she wouldn't steal my camera, the kids were all good-natured and adorable and fun.

And that is Israel, in a different light...when it's not black hat or rich American or even Jewish. The country is so centrally located- smushed between Arab countries, Asia, Europe, and Africa- and the population does, in a sense, reflect that. It's the sense I've been getting more and more while being here, while I help teach English to a class full of Russian immigrants in Holon, or a group of Ethiopians at Ben Yakir. Or, of course, while I wander for too long in Tel Aviv's Central Bus Station, lost again.

Section Three

It’s been a long time gone, I know. The good news is that it wasn’t only sheer laziness that kept me from writing (though I won’t deny that that didn’t play a small part…), but also that I’ve been so immersed in my volunteering here, so busy and caught up with everything outside my computer, that I haven’t found much time to sit down and write an entry. So having stalled long enough, here’s another small glimpse of my life here in the Land of Milk and Honey (and Beaches and 2-shekel Rugelach and Egged bus rides...)

My three months at Ben Yakir Youth Village ended a few weeks ago. To put it bluntly, I don’t think I’ve ever had such a hard time leaving a place. Thinking about leaving began at the beginning of February, when the Young Judaea powers-that-be answered my request to stay at the village third trimester with a definitive, curt, Israeli-accented “no.” I was devastated when I heard it, cried for two days, and tried for a few weeks to argue with what I came to see as a bureaucratic, unfeeling, wall of authority. Obviously, it was all for naught in the end (I write here from our elegant (cough), sheet-covered couch in my apartment in Holon), but after a few weeks of the whole thing I started to adjust to the idea of leaving. I was attached to the place, yes, and more than attached to the boys there, but once I calmed down I began to recognize that moving on to a new section and a new experience might also hold its own benefits. I did make lasting connections with the boys at Ben Yakir, I was there long enough to accomplish at least that, which is no small thing. Which is what I came there to do in the first place. My time there, though in the grand scheme of life not a huge chunk of time, did make a significant mark in both my life and theirs—and I can be completely sure about this. I comfort myself now by talking to the boys on the phone, by visiting the village when I can; to know that they’re still there, that the place is still there, that none of it disappeared when I left, that I didn’t disappear in their eyes, is all comforting—has all helped to ease the transition.

And now for my life in Holon. Our entire section is now spread between Holon and Bat Yam (Classic in Holon, Shevet in Bat Yam), where we live in apartments of five or six chanichim. My apartment is multicultural: we’ve got three Americans (one of whom is also Israeli), two Brits, and one Israeli. It’s a good group; we have a lot of fun together. It’s only a bit less fun when we find every few days that our storage room is flooding, or that our water has turned off, or that our showerhead is broken. (I’m not really exaggerating—that’s what’s sad.) During the week I’ve been volunteering in an elementary school, where the kids are shockingly normal compared to those at Ben Yakir—too easy, even, at times. Sometimes not so challenging. But I’ve been getting some actual experience teaching, because the kids let me teach, so in that sense it’s nice. Weird, but nice. Two afternoons a week we go to Ulpan. It’s the biggest waste of time Hebrew class I’ve ever had. And I’ve had a lot. Thirteen, to be exact. I’ve had thirteen before this to compare it to. My teacher is Russian and a silly character and simply doesn’t really know how to cater to our level. At least she is entertaining. At least there’s her to laugh at.

Holon is:
1) Boiling hot. These past few days have been in the 80’s, and we’re not even through March yet! Sleeping on the top bunk doesn’t help. The fan in our room doesn’t reach where I am up there, and so often I spend my nights waking up every half hour, tossing and turning and subsequently shaking and creaking our entire bunk bed. Loads of fun.
2) Just south of Tel Aviv, right by the beach. It’s location is far better, in many ways, than our location in Jerusalem was. Two malls, a gym, the beach, and Tel Aviv are each just one bus ride away.
3) Friendly. My first random-act-of-friendliness encounter occurred while I waited for the bus on the first day of volunteering. At the bus stop, I sat next to an old man with a cane, who quickly engaged me in small talk and then asked if I would be waiting at that bus stop every day. I told him yes, and he smiled and said (translated from the Hebrew:), “We here, at this bus stop, are a family. I’ll let you into the family.” So I have a family at my bus stop. So even if I sprint to the stop every morning now, sometimes arriving at the last possible minute, just before that egged 90 passes, there’s at least one old man there cheering me on.
The second random friendly act was on the beach. I was sitting alone, waiting for some appointment down the street, and reading my book. A street cleaner noticed that my book was in English, approached me, and started conversing with me in English about who he was, where he came from, the whole shpiel. He told me he was a Christian from Eritrea, and had just arrived in Israel a few months ago. In Eritrea he was a university student, had learned English there. I showed him my Ethiopian-colored anklet, and showed him how I can count to ten in Amharik. It was a nice exchange—he was smiley and happy to talk to me, and in the end asked me to bring him a book in English so he could practice. Have yet to do that, have yet to return to that spot, but who knows…?

Here is a random shout-out to Pam Slifer. She’s screaming on Skype in the next room. Before, she was singing Joseph in the shower. I don’t think she realized that I was here.

Hannukah break...Christmas break...

As per the title of this post, I've been given absurd amounts of vacation during the month of December. First, Ben Yakir, like most Israeli schools or youth villages, closed for a week-long vacation during Hannukah. And so, two weeks ago, the boys from the village all went home (or in many cases, where home situations are difficult, to some relative's or friend's house instead), and the four of us yearcoursers who work there were given a week of freedom. This week, I am suddenly off again for the Yearcourse winter break.

It's funny, now that I think about it, this concept of so much vacation. There was a time not so long ago, in fact for the majority of my life up until this very past summer, when I absolutely relished any sort of break. School was never that bad, but the opportunity to relax at home or hang out with friends worry-free was always a welcome alternative. Snow-days, especially, or any surprise days off of any sort, were some of the most exciting times of my childhood. Waking up at 7:00 only to watch "Gann Academy" scroll by underneath a bundled-up CBS newscaster was always a thrill, and falling back asleep after were some of the best sleeps I've ever had. And everything outside was white...and my bed was so warm...
Anyways, the point of my reminiscing being this: vacation from school was and always will be a wonderful thing. I'm realizing now that vacation from my volunteering, from something I really enjoy, is entirely different. As nice as it is to see my friends, and of course to see my family, it's really hard being away from the village. It's hard being away from the routine, from the other volunteers and madrichim there, and mostly, from the boys. I find myself thinking about them so often, wanting to talk about a certain boy or incident to someone who relates, finding it frustrating that the full extent of my experience is and might always be impossible to share with the outside world. I carry around my digital camera with me while I'm away so I can glance quickly at pictures of them, and show them to everyone I happen to be with at the moment, whether they really care to see or not. I realize now that being not-so-happy when vacation comes is different, of course, but definitely a positive thing. It's real proof, I suppose, of satisfaction with the routine and with the "job" (though I hardly see it as a job...) and it's something that I should probably look to achieve while I study in college and pursue a career after. If I can find a job where I'm happier (or at least as happy) while working than while on break, than I've made a good choice.

Among the more memorable/valuable times I've had so far at Ben Yakir was this past Thursday afternoon, before I left for this vacation. Dorit had suggested that I spend some time in the library that afternoon, and help whoever wanted with some English. Afternoons had been really slow, seeing as my group (being in high school a few villages over) doesn't get back from school until four or five. So I was hoping that I would feel a bit more productive in the library. It happened that that day it was pouring rain, which meant that tons of boys skipped their outdoor electives and crowded the library. At first I was unsure that anyone would come up to me with any sort of questions, but slowly they started to. I sat there amongst a crowd of boys of all ages with my notebook and some English flash cards from the internet, writing silly sentences in English and having them translate, correcting their broken grammar, and showing them numbers and letters. It was a bit difficult, having to balance my attention between all of them and juggle so many different levels of English (to switch from reading a book with a seventh grader to learning the alphabet with a ninth grader), but I managed for nearly two hours and left after feeling giddy and accomplished. What was especially rewarding about the experience, I think, was seeing their eagerness. This wasn't their homework, or a mandatory study period. They genuinely wanted to learn. So much so that they'd get angry if I was focusing too much attention on one boy and their own questions weren't being answered quickly enough. We were laughing, of course, for a lot of it; it's difficult to hang out with these boys and not laugh. But in the end, they were serious about learning as much English as they could. I think I'll spend more time in the library, and maybe I'll learn to be more organized about it...

But back to vacation. My Hannukah break was spent visiting friends in Israel and seeing some family. And shopping. I stayed at Pam's Rishon apartment for a few nights, and spent those days in Tel Aviv, shopping of course, as well as sitting with Pam on the Tayelet for maybe four hours waiting for EG and Nathan to show up. Unfortunately at one point we sat next to an old sketchy man who stared at us for a while and then started following us when we walked away. So we sprinted down the street and took refuge in a KFC, where we watched three episodes of the Office and one episode of Seinfeld on my iPod. EG and Nathan did finally show up, and we caught up for a little before going back to Pam's apartment. Fun times in Tel Aviv. I then traveled to Jerusalem, where I stayed with Chanania (a cousin), and at the bayit (Nat's apartment-- where they refuse to turn on the heat and I might have frozen if not for my sleeping bag). I also found time to see Yamit, Viva, and Navah, so that was all good. That weekend I went down to Mamshit, a "bedouin" tourist site down near Dimona, with some yearcourse friends. Ben Degani and Harold are volunteering there so we decided to visit their very secluded location and tried out living in the desert for a weekend. I put "bedouin" in quotes, because while we did get to ride camels (SUCH absurd animals!), and eat inside a tent, we didn't get to really interact with any true bedouins and the place was so designed for tourists that the experience was hardly close to authentic. But it was a fun time nonetheless, and I did get some great photos of the sunset in the Negev, as well as a close-up video of a camel chewing its cud. Gooood stuff.

I'm spending this break with my immediate family, who arrived from Boston a few days ago. [ :-) ] So far our vacation has consisted of hiking around Sde Boker with EG's family and a few friends, repelling off a small cliff, eating dinner in a real bedouin tent, and visiting various supermarkets. (If you know my dad, you know that it's difficult, if not impossible, for him to go more than 48 hours without buying some bananas, or other assorted food necessities.) Now we're in Ein Tsurim for the weekend at my aunt and uncles, and tomorrow we're visiting Sufie's air force base. Hopefully I'll see some cool fighter jets, and maybe fly one (joke. but that would be cool...)

Anyways, I'm exhausted, and knowing my family, we're getting an early start tomorrow. So I'll try to get some sleep...

Ben Yakir :)

Last Wednesday evening, after an incredibly hectic day of packing and loading buses and saying temporary goodbyes, Becca, Arielle, Aliza, and I arrived at Ben Yakir, our location for the next three months. We were greeted by one of the seven sherut leumi (national service) girls, an English speaker who was assigned to help us get comfortable. I was pleasantly surprised by our rooms here--they're apartment-ish-style, with mini kitchens, internet access, and a cable TV in each. We unpacked our bags and bags of luggage, and then ventured to the hader ochel for our first Ben Yakir dinner.

That dinner was an experience, to say the least. In one sentence, I have never felt like such a celebrity. We immediately stood out as the new American girls, and it seemed as if all the kids couldn't stop staring and whispering. There was so much excitement and we were right at the center of it all. It was a strange feeling, to be so noticed by everyone like that, but a good one. It was a small but exhilarating glimpse of what was to come, of how much influence we would have here and how much our presence would really be felt. We also got a slightly less exciting glimpse of the food quality (which ranks slightly above edible, if we're lucky), and quickly realized the necessity of our built-in kitchens and small yearcourse food stipend.

We've now been here for nearly a week, and each day has been an entirely new and worthwhile experience in itself; Each day I go to sleep thinking I've accomplished or learned at least something, whether it be about a certain boy's background, about the boys as a community, about the mentality of growing up in a broken home or of trying to integrate into Israeli society after making aliyah from Ethiopia, or Russia, or wherever. It turns out that the village isn't actually an Ethiopian Youth Village, but rather a religious youth village for boys with difficult home situations, and boys that have had trouble in school for one reason or another. It just happens that 80 percent of the kids here are Ethiopian. Most have just made aliyah four or five years ago, and though their Hebrew is for the most part fluent, they still have strong Amharik accents and naturally speak Amharik when they talk to each other. I tried having one of the boys teach me a bit of the language the other day--it didn't work out so well. The words are just so different and so utterly foreign in structure and sound from English words, that it was hard from me to even repeat the phrase "how are you" in something that comes close to resembling Amharik.

The other day, our supervisor here, Dorit, assigned us to our groups. The boys are split up into groups by their age (it's a small village-- around 20 boys in each grade). In the afternoons, we've been hanging out with the boys and helping them with their English (and sometimes math) homework. I was assigned to the 10th and 11th graders, but since they often mix with the kids from the oldest group, I've also gotten to know the 12th graders pretty well. It's a bit of a strange dynamic, the boys being practically my age, if not my age (many of them were held back one or two grades after making aliyah). It's worked out, though, for the most part, because my role isn't actually defined as a "madricha." I'm not expected to discipline them, nor am I supposed to. I'm there to serve as a sort-of "older sister," or just as a friend. An English-speaking, American, female friend. Which is all very rare and exciting to them. Soon, in the mornings, we'll be tutoring English in the middle school. This year, they weren't able to find any English teachers, so I'm excited to really make a contribution. Some of the boys don't even know the English alphabet. We'll really be starting from square one. Meanwhile, we've been learning SO much Hebrew. We're forced to speak it all day, except when speaking to each other, because hardly anyone here can carry on a conversation in English. It's been really good practice and I can feel myself becoming more fluent. I still need to work on my accent, though...

Today, being the first day of Hannukah, was a fun day. In the afternoon, we had a chugim festival, where we were treated to performances of the capoara, Tae Kwan Doe, and Hip Hop classes. Then, after dinner, we had a "sivivonada," which basically consisted of playing dreidel and winning candy. Or losing candy. Or stealing candy from others' bags. So much fun. Becca, Arielle, Aliza, and I came back to our rooms sugar high, and we had ourselves a balloon-filled dance party to some good oldies courtesy of the Backstreet Boys and Five. It was a good time.

I'll post pictures of the boys later. For now, lyla tov. Or boker tov, or whatever.

Changeover time

I'm writing now from Matan's family's apartment in Herzeliyah, where his dad generously offered to host me and a few friends for this changeover vacation period. The apartment is spacious and comfortable (not to mention absolutely gorgeous), and located in the new area of Herzeliyah Pituach, right by the tayelet and the mall. Our window is a view of the yachts, sea, and sunset, and Pam, Arielle, and I had trouble putting our cameras down yesterday evening. Our time here so far has included fancy dinners of sushi, all-you-can-eat meat at Papagaio (We even convinced Pam, the pickiest eater I know, to sample nearly every piece!), and a Yehuda Policker concert (where we were by far the youngest people in the crowd), all courtesy to Matan's dad. In less than a half an hour, I'm scheduled for a professional massage, and then maybe I'll go take a dip in the pool. Life is not bad here. My only complaint is that we came too late--it's a bit too chilly to go swimming at the beach. We'll at least go later to sit on the sand and bask in the beauty that is Herzeliyah and vacation. Paid-for, luxurious vacation. ;)

This week marks the end of our Jerusalem study period, and the beginning of our "Israel Experience" period. After spending days anazlyzing each of the thirty volunteer options and locations, we each made our top-ten lists and then left the rest for the counselors to determine. My first choice was Ben Yakir, an Ethiopian Youth village, and I found out the other week that I was indeed assigned to it. I know very little about what my next three months will be like.

What I do know:
-I'll be working there with just three other girls from yearcourse: Aliza Belcourt, Becca Abelman, and Arielle Miller
-I'll be living at the youth village, which I imagine to have similar facilities and a similar design as an American boarding school.
-The village consists of boys from grades 7 through 12, 80 percent of them Ethiopian. I'm not entirely sure whether they themselves are new olim, or whether they are children of new olim. Either way, the school serves to help ease the integration into Israeli society.
-I imagine I'll be playing some sort of madricha role. According to Sara Davidoff, who worked there last year, I'll be assigned to a group of boys and I'll be with them for most of the day. They don't know any English, so hopefully my Hebrew will improve.
-I'm expecting it to be hard at the beginning. I've been told that the Ethiopian community tends to be somewhat closed-off, introverted, and seeing as I am not 100 percent comfortable with my Hebrew it might take some time to connect with the kids. But I've also heard that after they get to know you, they tend to cling to you and really start to open up. I'm hoping the experience will be rewarding.
-I see the next three months as a sort of break from my program, and a taste of something really Israel. Or really a part of Israel. I won't be seeing much of yearcourse participants or counselors, except for on my free weekends, which might only be every other week. Then, after three months, we'll all be reunited in yearcourse apartments in Bat Yam or Holon (near Tel Aviv), volunteering some place around that area.


****Massage time, gotta run...***

Back from the massage. One hour of utter relaxation. Ahhhh....

It's nice that I'm away from the hostel for at least these few days. The place right now is way over-crowded, with kids from every section staying there until we move to our third trimester locations. With four people to a room (sometimes five, if the fifth decides he was assigned to roommates that snore too loudly, or are too messy...), it's a hectic, hectic time. To add to it all, everyone at the hostel is still on a sort-of lockdown, as the Israeli terror alert rises during the Annapolis Conference. Lockdown, meaning we're supposed to avoid public transportation and open public spaces. Meanwhile, in my eyes the conference has little promise, seeing as Livni and Qurei weren't even able to agree on a basic statement coming into the few days in Washington. The best I hope for is that it won't spark a third intifada... Well, who knows. Maybe some progress is miraculously possible?


I think I'll go relax some more, maybe read a bit or walk to the beach, before we're taken out to another gormet meat dinner tonight.

Ein Gedi!

Friday morning Raviva and I ventured out to a crowded pre-Shabbat shuk and pushed our way through the challah-buying masses. Our goal: to buy enough food to sustain us for a shabbat on the Ein Gedi beach. After splitting the cost of apples, dried fruit, nuts, Bamba, and of course, the standard humus and pitas, we were off to the tachana mercazit (central bus station), where we met Nat and started on our way.

The weekend trip took little to no planning. I had heard that some of my yearcourse friends were heading down there this weekend, so I tagged along and brought a few friends with me. We packed in backpacks and brought our sleeping bags to sleep on the beach by the Dead Sea. Total expenses included only some food, a two-way bus pass, and 12 shekels to get into Ein Gedi for the day.

After a mere twenty minutes on the bus from Jerusalem, the scenery changed from busy streets and residential areas to sand dunes and ... more sand dunes. It's really incredible how quickly and completely the landscape changes here. We arrived in Ein Gedi after around an hour, and walked over to the nature reserve to try and get in a few hours of hiking. There we ran into some trouble. The sign told us that to enter, the adult fee was 23 shekels and the youth fee was just 12. Youth were "5-18," so naturally, we asked for youth passes. When the ranger asked how old we were, we told him without hesitation that we were eighteen. Mistake. Apparently, in Israel, "5-18" means up to (and not including) eighteen.
--A word of advice: when in Israel, ALWAYS SAY YOU'RE 17. At least according to Egged (the Israeli bus company), and most tourist attractions, every foreign teenager here for the year is just seventeen. For the whole year. You'd think they'd catch on at some point.---
Seeing as it was later in the day, it wasn't worth our 23 shekels for just a short hike. We chilled instead on the Dead Sea beach for a bit (about a half mile down the road), where we'd be sleeping later that night, and waited for my yearcourse friends to arrive.

In the end, there were around 25 of us at our campsite. Mostly yearcourse section one-ers, but also some from sections two and three, a few girls from Nativ, and Raviva and Nat. The combination of desert and sea and sunset was surreal. The sun went down early and quickly, and we all snapped as many photos as we could while the scenery changed from pink to blue to too-dark-for-pictures. The photos were postcard-perfect, but futile, in a way--it was difficult to capture the vastness of the place with a petty digital camera. Even one with "color accent" (which is SO COOL! Nat and I spent a good amount of our trip playing with Viva's camera...). When the sun went down, we figured we should practice our Judaism a bit there in the desert, and we lit some shabbat candles and even prayed Kabbalat Shabbat. We prayed where we could find light, which happened to be by the public bathrooms, and we used a small piece of toilet paper as a mechitza. It felt funny a bit when we bowed towards the toilets during the last verse of L'cha Dodi; one of my more memorable prayer experiences.

The next day Nat, Viva, and I, plus two girls from sections two and three, headed out a bit earlier than the rest to hike. We chose "Wadi Arugot," and this time when we entered we were smart enough to remember that we were actually 17 (cough cough). I'd done the hike at least once before with my family, but the scenery and pools were gorgeous all the same. We stopped to swim in the "Hidden Waterfall," and then continued on a bit to some more pools, where we rested, admired the scenery, and fiddled with the super cool features on Raviva's camera until a ranger told us we had to start heading back.

The bus ride home felt a little longer, seeing as the bus was so crowded that we were forced to sit on the floor in the aisle. (Not the first time I've done that.) Despite this small discomfort, the weekend was relaxing and beautiful and one of my most worthwhile Israel weekends so far.
Note to self: I should have more weekends like that. :)

Friday is Bezalel and Galiah's new baby's bris. So I'll probably be spending the weekend at a cousins house, playing with babies and getting lots of nice sleep. After that there is only one weekend left in Jerusalem, and we'll be on lockdown for security reasons. Crazy how this trimester is almost over! And I don't even know where I'll be next trimester, though I hope it will be Ben Yakir, an Ethiopian Youth Village. I find out my placement tomorrow! *crossing fingers.*

[I have to give credit for the above photos to Pam. Zero special effects in those.]