A Special Place

Eight weeks ago I was lucky enough to give birth to my amazing daughter- Ma’ayan Esther. Last week, on the way to my parent’s house in Efrat, Ma’ayan and I stopped to visit my mom in the Old City.

As I walked toward Shaar Yafo wearing Ma’ayan in her baby carrier, I leaned over and told Ma’ayan we were going to a very special place. On the word “special” my voice cracked and I teared up. I couldn’t believe the zchut I was about to experience. I was about to take my gorgeous, Israeli-born, Sabra daughter to the holiest city on Earth. To the place where her ancestors walked and journeyed to to be close to G-d. And this wasn’t a trip I had to book plane tickets for or plan far in advance. I got on a bus in the morning and on a whim decided to visit the Old City instead of going straight to Efrat.

In the five years since I’ve made aliyah there have been good times and hard times. In the hardest times, when I asked myself why I’ve done this to myself the answer I gave was so that my children would never have to go through this. They wouldn’t have to struggle like I did through a second language and culture in order to be home. They would just be home. Ma’ayan has now started her journey. She spent her first days in a hospital surrounded by Hebrew and “mazal tovs” instead of “congratulations”. At seven-weeks-old she “walked” the streets of Jerusalem and the Old City. And this is only the beginning. As she grows she will continue to have Israeli experiences- an Israeli gan and an Israeli school. She will speak Hebrew better than her parents and make fun of our accents. She will talk to her siblings in Hebrew because that language will be easier for them. She will have Israeli friends over and we’ll have to actually speak Hebrew in the house. Maybe she’ll even marry a Sabra and then we’ll really have to speak Hebrew in the house.

I look forward to all of these experiences and more as Ma’ayan and Beezrat Hashem her siblings are born and grow in the Holy Land. And I thank Hashem every day for my family here. My parents and siblings- who are always available to help and who have made Ma’ayan’s first few weeks so much easier. My husband- who works so hard and is always giving to me and to Ma’ayan. And now my daughter- who is adorable and amazing and will grow up in a very special place.

Graduation

Last night I stood among 800 people graduating from Bar Ilan’s social sciences programs. Some men, some women, some single, some married, some Jewish, some Arab, some native born Israelis, and some olim. We all sat together listening to a perek of tehilim, boring graduation speeches, and a couple of Jewish songs. Then we all stood and were pronounced graduates and sang hatikva. This was a very emotional experience for a number of reasons- both on a personal level for me and on a national level.
On a personal level this ceremony represented four long years of hard work. Four long years of struggling through hebrew lectures and articles. Four long years of failing exams and rewriting assignments. Four years of leaning on family, friends, and classmates for support and help. Four years of feeling dependent on others and dealing with how inadequate that made me feel. Four years of hard work and tears. I wasn’t used to struggling academically- school had never been hard for me. I certainly wasn’t used to not being able to simply follow a lecture. But I worked hard, retook tests, and redid courses.And I made it to the end. I did not do it alone, though.  My classmates gave me their notes, proofread my papers, and studied with me. My family and friends gave me unending and unconditional emotional support.  I could not have made it through those four years without these people and their help. I was incredibly proud to be able to stand with my fellow graduates, get my degree, and show that my hard work (and theirs) paid off.
On a national level it was an incredibly emotional experience to have my college graduation ceremony be in hebrew- featuring tehillim, Jewish songs, and the Israeli national anthem. It was amazing to be surrounded by the diverse crowd of graduates and their families. I felt like a part of the Jewish nation and Jewish history. I stood next to my Israeli friend- who probably wasn’t thinking about any of these things- and cried a little during hatikva. I took a moment to appreciate the stage of Jewish history I’m in and imagine how different this experience will be for my (Be’ezrat Hashem) Israeli born native children.
I am amazingly grateful for my four years of Bar Ilan and amazingly hopeful for the future. I don’t know exactly what the next few years will bring. I’m sure some of it will be hard and miserable and some of it will be amazing and fulfilling. I’m sure I will once again struggle through some of it and that some of it will bring me unending joy. I trust that Hashem will continue guiding me along the right path and that my family and friends will be there to keep me on it. And I hope to make Israel and the Jewish nation just a little bit better. Mazal tov to all my fellow graduates and good luck to us all in our next stage of life!

Living Through a War

They don’t tell you what it’s like to live through a war. They don’t tell you what it’s like to jump at every noise because you think it’s a siren. They don’t tell you that every time your husband answers the phone to talk in hebrew your heart will stop beating because he could be getting called up to reserve duty. They don’t tell you you will be thrilled to be woken up at 5:30 AM to a text from your cousin serving in Gaza telling you he’s ok. They don’t tell you that the world will condemn you and your people while you huddle in bomb shelters across the country. They don’t tell you the pain you will feel for every soldier who falls. They don’t tell you that with every released name of a fallen solider your first emotion will be relief because it wasn't someone you knew personally. They don’t tell you about the crushing guilt that immediately follows that gut reaction. They don’t tell you about the simultaneous overwhelming pride and crippling fear you will experience every time you see a family member or friend in his army uniform going to protect his people.

Next Monday (July 28) marks four years since I made aliyah. Back then I never thought about living through a war. I was so busy dealing with the regular difficulties of aliyah. I have asked myself many times in the last few days if I had thought of it would it have stopped me from moving here? I always come to the same answer- absolutely not.. By making aliyah I made the choice to participate in Jewish history, instead of watching it from the sidelines of the diaspora. Historically being a Jew has never been easy. We have faced countless nationwide struggles and attacks. We’re Jews, this is how we roll. But we persevere and we fight and we win. We are suffering now. If my people are suffering, there is no place I’d rather be than right here suffering along with them. I pray that our suffering will end soon. I pray that the families of the brothers we've lost over the past month will find comfort. I pray for the day that we will live in peace with our neighbors. And in the meantime, I pray simply for the strength to keep going. Am Yisrael Chai.

Feeling Fluent

When I meet someone new the following conversation usually arises:

New Person: What are you studying?

Me: Social work

New Person: Oh, going for the big bucks huh? So you study in hebrew?

Me: Ya, my lectures are all in hebrew and I have field work where I see patients in hebrew.

New Person: So, you speak hebrew fluently?

At this point in the conversation I always pause before answering. Do I speak hebrew fluently? I don’t feel like I do. Isn’t that odd? I’ve lived in Israel for almost 5 years (including my year in seminary). I take busses, order food, speak to the bank, see doctors, go shopping, attend lectures, chit chat with friends, ask for directions, treat patients, and get direction from my boss all in hebrew. But I don’t “feel fluent”. I function as a citizen, a client, a patient, a customer, a student, a friend, a therapist, and an employee all in hebrew. But I don’t “feel fluent”. I speak in hebrish, I have times when I’m in “hebrew mode” (thinking and speaking only in hebrew), I have even dreamed in hebrew. But I don’t “feel fluent”.

I have a pretty good vocabulary for an immigrant, but whether I’m in a lecture, with a patient or friend, or just on the street, Israelis will say words to me that I simply don’t recognize. Sometimes I can figure it out from context, sometimes I’ll ask about that word, and sometimes I smile and nod hoping that’s the appropriate reaction. I constantly make grammatical errors- some I hear and correct myself and many more I’m sure I’m not even aware of. When writing something for school I misspell many words and thank G-d for spell check and kind classmates who will proofread my work. So is it any wonder I don’t “feel fluent”?

I don’t know that I will ever “feel fluent”. I hope that over the years my hebrew will continue to improve, as it has since I made aliyah. I’m sure I will continue to learn new words to add to my vocabulary. I will learn more grammatical rules that I will mess up and correct myself on while speaking. And everyone will know I’m American anyway because I can never roll my “reishes”.

So for now, and maybe even forever, my answer to your question New Person is “Well, fluent enough”.

Aliyah's Dirty Little Secret

We’re all familiar with the phenomenon of people encouraging aliyah. We hear it from different people, at many point in our lives. For the most part, we all accept this as a positive part of our Jewish lives. I agree, but we need to be careful about it.  

I grew up surrounded by Zionism. I attended Fuchs Mizrachi School in Cleveland, Ohio where we learned the value of making aliyah and saw families actualize the value every year. For me personally, aliyah was a thing that a lot of people did, and my parents always talked about doing, but probably would never happen.

When I was 16 I went on Bnei Akiva's Machach Ba'Aretz trip. I had never been to sleep away camp before- it was never really my thing- but I decided a trip to the Holy Land was worth it. I went, I hiked, I heard shiurim, I ate a lot of pre-packaged schnitzel, and decided that I wanted to make aliyah. I flew back to Cleveland with my new Hadaya ring stating “Wherever I go, I'm going towards Israel” and the knowledge in my heart that one day I would be back to stay.

Around this time my parents developed their plan-which said that they would make aliyah after my younger sister graduated from high school, and before any of my other siblings started high school. This meant that I would graduate high school, attend my year of seminary in Israel and then have two “in the air” years before my family made aliyah. What would I do with these years? Should I go back to America to be close to my family and make aliyah with them? Or should I bite the bullet, take the leap, and start my life as an Israeli on my own?

I took the leap. After a year studying at Midreshet HaRova- where all the students were encouraged, even pushed, to make aliyah- I did it. On July 28, 2010 I arrived in Israel as a citizen. I attended Ulpan in Bar Ilan University throughout the month of August and began studying social work in Bar Ilan in October. The first few months went all right- I missed my family and the comforts of home, but I was getting along. And then came my first exam period. During this time I went through some personal issues, as everyone does sometimes. But, nobody had warned me about going through hard times alone in a foreign country. Living far away from my family, culture, and language was indescribably hard. Studying in another language and failing tests is hard. Entering a new job market where no matter what you will be making less money is hard.

Now, here's the dirty little secret that no one tells you. Aliyah is really hard. I know that sounds obvious, but I don't think it's talked about enough. No one- from a Mizrachi teacher, to a Bnei Akiva shaliach, to a HaRova staff member- sat me down when I decided to make aliyah and said to me “What you're doing is amazing, and we're so proud of you for choosing to do it. But, you need to prepare yourself for how hard it's going to be.” People in positions of authority- teachers, etc.- have a lot of power over young people. A lot of staff in many Jewish day schools and gap-year programs use this position to push aliyah. This is wonderful- aliyah is an amazing thing to do and I do encourage doing it if it's something you want. But, this push should be accompanied with a warning- aliyah is hard. You will have to work harder, you will have to fight harder, you will have to push harder. You will struggle, you will be sad, you will miss your family. You will laugh, you will cry, you will wonder what is wrong with Israelis, and you will be in awe of the miracle that is the State of Israel. You will wait for half an hour at the post office, only to have it hit 12:30 which of course is when it closes and get kicked out- and wonder why you possibly came to this country. And then the post office worker will apologize and invite you over a shabbat meal and you'll remember exactly why you came.

So here's a message to everyone, especially people in authority positions, who push and encourage aliyah- keep doing it, but be realistic with these potential olim. Please tell everyone thinking of making aliyah that it is hard, but it is worth it. Make sure they're prepared for what they are about to do, and be there for them when they struggle here. Because, they will - we all do. And it will be easier to get through the struggle when they're prepared.