Dear Readers,
I am finally back in Israel for more than a few days at a time, and I can honestly say that I have never been happier to see Jerusalem. After landing at Ben Gurion, the entire plane began clapping and screaming - we had arrived home. Poland was a very difficult, but important experience. I am currently working on blog posts to share with all of you - I will most likely post them next week. It's going to be hard to summarize such an experience in words, especially in blog posts where word counts are limited, but I promise to do my best. Instead of relaying what we did and saw every day, I am going to divide my posts into time periods (Jewish life before the Holocaust, during and after). It will most likely be three or four posts, so please be patient, I'm working on it!
As always, thank you for reading, and I promise more interesting and informative (and content-filled!) posts soon!
Love,
Elana
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
American Returns to Israel (for now!)
Hello from Jerusalem! Well, it’s officially real: I am back in Israel, unpacked and living in my new apartment on Derech Hebron. It’s been a surreal few days; orientation, meetings, choosing classes, taking Hebrew placement exams and learning my new neighborhood. We’re about a 15 minute bus ride from the center of Jerusalem (Ben Yehuda Street and King George), which is really nice.
There isn’t much to report from here – we spent last week moving in and getting to know what our final three months of Year Course in Israel will be like. I’ll be volunteering most days of the week at Aleh, which is a day care and hospital for children with special needs. I’m also taking classes (Ulpan, of course) and hopefully, one on comparative religion and the other on Israel advocacy. I’ll find out my actual schedule once I return from Poland.
This brings me to my next adventure: tonight, about 80 members of Year Course (there are over 300 of us, divided into three sections) are leaving for a week in Poland on the Kuma Journey. We will be visiting old Jewish communities, the Warsaw Ghetto, and, of course, the concentration camps. The past few days (I haven’t even been back for a week yet) have been very hectic, so the idea of packing another bag to leave yet again makes me exhausted just thinking about it. I know Poland is going to be an unbelievable trip, very different from the time I had in Rwanda, but in some ways, similar. Both countries experienced some of the worst atrocities the world has ever seen, but recovered very differently. Going to Rwanda, living and working there, was about moving forward and looking to the future; Poland will be about history, looking to the past to try and find some understanding of what once was. It won’t be easy, but it will be challenging in ways that Rwanda wasn’t, it will be emotional and difficult for me, as Rwanda was, at times, but for different reasons. I know Poland will affect me and even change me in new ways, but all this change at once, no matter how important or even how wonderful, is slightly overwhelming.
I won’t have my computer with me in Poland, but I will be keeping a journal, so I will blog about my experiences when I return. I hope all is well with all of you, thanks for reading, as always,
Love,
Elana
There isn’t much to report from here – we spent last week moving in and getting to know what our final three months of Year Course in Israel will be like. I’ll be volunteering most days of the week at Aleh, which is a day care and hospital for children with special needs. I’m also taking classes (Ulpan, of course) and hopefully, one on comparative religion and the other on Israel advocacy. I’ll find out my actual schedule once I return from Poland.
This brings me to my next adventure: tonight, about 80 members of Year Course (there are over 300 of us, divided into three sections) are leaving for a week in Poland on the Kuma Journey. We will be visiting old Jewish communities, the Warsaw Ghetto, and, of course, the concentration camps. The past few days (I haven’t even been back for a week yet) have been very hectic, so the idea of packing another bag to leave yet again makes me exhausted just thinking about it. I know Poland is going to be an unbelievable trip, very different from the time I had in Rwanda, but in some ways, similar. Both countries experienced some of the worst atrocities the world has ever seen, but recovered very differently. Going to Rwanda, living and working there, was about moving forward and looking to the future; Poland will be about history, looking to the past to try and find some understanding of what once was. It won’t be easy, but it will be challenging in ways that Rwanda wasn’t, it will be emotional and difficult for me, as Rwanda was, at times, but for different reasons. I know Poland will affect me and even change me in new ways, but all this change at once, no matter how important or even how wonderful, is slightly overwhelming.
I won’t have my computer with me in Poland, but I will be keeping a journal, so I will blog about my experiences when I return. I hope all is well with all of you, thanks for reading, as always,
Love,
Elana
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Goodbye for now, but not forever
February 28, 2011
I am currently sitting in the same strangely upholstered, uncomfortable red chair I was in a month ago in the Ethiopian airport. Leaving the village today was awful. I woke up at 5:30, unable to sleep, and was lying awake in bed until my alarm went off, one last time, at 6. When I got out of bed and went outside, I realized it would be the last time I saw the blue mountains across the valley, the dirt roads winding through the village, kids walking toward the dining hall and the school. It was the last morning for a lot of things, a final few hours in a place where I left a piece of my heart.
A bunch of us left the guesthouse for breakfast; I got there early and helped the family serving (bringing food upstairs from the kitchen to the dining hall) put porridge on tables and bread rolls on the counter. Kids began coming in to breakfast; we were standing in the doorway near the dishwashing stations, kids stopping to hug us and say goodbye. We didn’t end up sitting down or eating, we just stood in the entrance to the dining hall, saying goodbye to all the students and long-term volunteers. The worst was seeing the girls from my family. I had started crying about ten minutes into my goodbyes when I saw my student Brigitte, whose English has improved tremendously (as has her math); she threw her arms around me and started crying too, promising me she will keep studying so she can come to America. A short while later, as my breakdown continued, Cadette, Vanessa and Souvenir came in. they saw me immediately and we had a group hug, crying together. My shoulders were soaked, as were theirs, but I didn’t care. Cadette wouldn’t let go; she kept telling me “I will miss you so much. Please do not go. Stay, Elana, please stay.” I told her I wished I could, but I had to leave. If I had the choice, I would definitely stay in the village for a while longer, but I know I have to return to Israel. It was an awful hour; some kids who I’d never met or talked to came up to me, hugged me and said goodbye. Many of them saw me crying and apologized, saying, “I am so sorry you are sad.” I told them not to be sorry, but to remember all the wonderful things we experienced together and to work hard in school. They all promised they would; my family kept leaving their porridge and bread on the table to come up and hug me. When they finally left because they were almost late for school, they turned around and waved, blowing me kisses and screaming, “We love you!” After that, I went down to the kitchen to say goodbye to Hilam and the kitchen staff, and then went back to the guesthouse to finish packing, crying the whole way.
By 10 AM we had loaded the bus (the real bus, not the rickshaw van) with all of our luggage (through the window of the bus, since there was no trunk, so we used the back seats for our bags) and headed toward Kigali. We stopped at an artists’ market there for a while, doing some final shopping for souvenirs and gifts. It was a cute little set of shops and stalls, full of baskets, woodcarvings, fabric bags and decorations. Everyone working there called out, “Sister! Please, sister, come into my shop! Buy something nice!” It was like the Arab shouk in Jerusalem, only much nicer, cleaner and better-smelling.
Once we finished shopping, we drove a short while through Kigali to an Indian restaurant called Khana Kazana, which was both beautiful and delicious. Eating my feelings began with some chicken tikka masala and garlic naan bread (very necessary, given that I had cried so much I had to take my contacts out and wear my glasses). After lunch it was time to go to the airport. All day, I had been wishing we would get on the bus and Ebimak would drive right back to the village, to our guesthouse, our home, and we would go back to our usual life there. But it didn’t happen. We drove to Kigali International Airport, and it all became real. We weren’t going back to the hill full of red tiled roofs and hard-working students, full of love and hope and friendship. We were really leaving.
We checked into our flight and going through security, I kept setting off the metal detector. This resulted in a very thorough “pat-down” by a female security guard (this was quite embarrassing since literally the entire airport watched). I then went to go change money; this was also a major failure because they “ran out” of American dollars and Euros, so we now all have useless (and worthless in Israel) Rwandan francs in our wallets. Fabulous. We said a tearful goodbye to Ariela, our long-term volunteer who worked with us the entire month, promised to be in touch, and attempted to distract ourselves with Duty Free shopping (I did find peanut M&Ms, which was a plus) but it didn’t really work.
Our flight left with very few issues – we had the back of the plane to ourselves, which was nice, and I was so exhausted from waking up early and crying all morning that I fell asleep. Our layover in Addis Ababa allowed for some more Duty Free distractions, dinner, a final group meeting where it all started, on the stupid red chairs and, inevitably, more crying. We are really gone. We are no longer in Rwanda, at the village, with the kids. This chapter of my adventure has ended, only for a new one to begin. I keep telling myself that Jerusalem will be fun, exciting, new and wonderful, which I know it will be, but not waking up in the guesthouse, eating something besides rice and beans, surrounded by more than fourteen people at a time, is going to be incredibly strange.
The next time I update you, I will be in my new apartment in Jerusalem, writing about my first days back in Israel. Believe it or not, soon after that, I’ll be in Poland on the Kuma program with about 80 other Year Course students, learning about the Jewish community that once was, visiting the concentration camps and memorials to remember and honor the victims of the Holocaust. I’m looking forward to the trip, and I will update all of you (those are going to be some very difficult blogs) as my adventure unfolds.
All the best from Ethiopia (well, the Bole airport, at least),
Elana
I am currently sitting in the same strangely upholstered, uncomfortable red chair I was in a month ago in the Ethiopian airport. Leaving the village today was awful. I woke up at 5:30, unable to sleep, and was lying awake in bed until my alarm went off, one last time, at 6. When I got out of bed and went outside, I realized it would be the last time I saw the blue mountains across the valley, the dirt roads winding through the village, kids walking toward the dining hall and the school. It was the last morning for a lot of things, a final few hours in a place where I left a piece of my heart.
A bunch of us left the guesthouse for breakfast; I got there early and helped the family serving (bringing food upstairs from the kitchen to the dining hall) put porridge on tables and bread rolls on the counter. Kids began coming in to breakfast; we were standing in the doorway near the dishwashing stations, kids stopping to hug us and say goodbye. We didn’t end up sitting down or eating, we just stood in the entrance to the dining hall, saying goodbye to all the students and long-term volunteers. The worst was seeing the girls from my family. I had started crying about ten minutes into my goodbyes when I saw my student Brigitte, whose English has improved tremendously (as has her math); she threw her arms around me and started crying too, promising me she will keep studying so she can come to America. A short while later, as my breakdown continued, Cadette, Vanessa and Souvenir came in. they saw me immediately and we had a group hug, crying together. My shoulders were soaked, as were theirs, but I didn’t care. Cadette wouldn’t let go; she kept telling me “I will miss you so much. Please do not go. Stay, Elana, please stay.” I told her I wished I could, but I had to leave. If I had the choice, I would definitely stay in the village for a while longer, but I know I have to return to Israel. It was an awful hour; some kids who I’d never met or talked to came up to me, hugged me and said goodbye. Many of them saw me crying and apologized, saying, “I am so sorry you are sad.” I told them not to be sorry, but to remember all the wonderful things we experienced together and to work hard in school. They all promised they would; my family kept leaving their porridge and bread on the table to come up and hug me. When they finally left because they were almost late for school, they turned around and waved, blowing me kisses and screaming, “We love you!” After that, I went down to the kitchen to say goodbye to Hilam and the kitchen staff, and then went back to the guesthouse to finish packing, crying the whole way.
By 10 AM we had loaded the bus (the real bus, not the rickshaw van) with all of our luggage (through the window of the bus, since there was no trunk, so we used the back seats for our bags) and headed toward Kigali. We stopped at an artists’ market there for a while, doing some final shopping for souvenirs and gifts. It was a cute little set of shops and stalls, full of baskets, woodcarvings, fabric bags and decorations. Everyone working there called out, “Sister! Please, sister, come into my shop! Buy something nice!” It was like the Arab shouk in Jerusalem, only much nicer, cleaner and better-smelling.
Once we finished shopping, we drove a short while through Kigali to an Indian restaurant called Khana Kazana, which was both beautiful and delicious. Eating my feelings began with some chicken tikka masala and garlic naan bread (very necessary, given that I had cried so much I had to take my contacts out and wear my glasses). After lunch it was time to go to the airport. All day, I had been wishing we would get on the bus and Ebimak would drive right back to the village, to our guesthouse, our home, and we would go back to our usual life there. But it didn’t happen. We drove to Kigali International Airport, and it all became real. We weren’t going back to the hill full of red tiled roofs and hard-working students, full of love and hope and friendship. We were really leaving.
We checked into our flight and going through security, I kept setting off the metal detector. This resulted in a very thorough “pat-down” by a female security guard (this was quite embarrassing since literally the entire airport watched). I then went to go change money; this was also a major failure because they “ran out” of American dollars and Euros, so we now all have useless (and worthless in Israel) Rwandan francs in our wallets. Fabulous. We said a tearful goodbye to Ariela, our long-term volunteer who worked with us the entire month, promised to be in touch, and attempted to distract ourselves with Duty Free shopping (I did find peanut M&Ms, which was a plus) but it didn’t really work.
Our flight left with very few issues – we had the back of the plane to ourselves, which was nice, and I was so exhausted from waking up early and crying all morning that I fell asleep. Our layover in Addis Ababa allowed for some more Duty Free distractions, dinner, a final group meeting where it all started, on the stupid red chairs and, inevitably, more crying. We are really gone. We are no longer in Rwanda, at the village, with the kids. This chapter of my adventure has ended, only for a new one to begin. I keep telling myself that Jerusalem will be fun, exciting, new and wonderful, which I know it will be, but not waking up in the guesthouse, eating something besides rice and beans, surrounded by more than fourteen people at a time, is going to be incredibly strange.
The next time I update you, I will be in my new apartment in Jerusalem, writing about my first days back in Israel. Believe it or not, soon after that, I’ll be in Poland on the Kuma program with about 80 other Year Course students, learning about the Jewish community that once was, visiting the concentration camps and memorials to remember and honor the victims of the Holocaust. I’m looking forward to the trip, and I will update all of you (those are going to be some very difficult blogs) as my adventure unfolds.
All the best from Ethiopia (well, the Bole airport, at least),
Elana
Goodbye for now, but not forever
February 28, 2011
I am currently sitting in the same strangely upholstered, uncomfortable red chair I was in a month ago in the Ethiopian airport. Leaving the village today was awful. I woke up at 5:30, unable to sleep, and was lying awake in bed until my alarm went off, one last time, at 6. When I got out of bed and went outside, I realized it would be the last time I saw the blue mountains across the valley, the dirt roads winding through the village, kids walking toward the dining hall and the school. It was the last morning for a lot of things, a final few hours in a place where I left a piece of my heart.
A bunch of us left the guesthouse for breakfast; I got there early and helped the family serving (bringing food upstairs from the kitchen to the dining hall) put porridge on tables and bread rolls on the counter. Kids began coming in to breakfast; we were standing in the doorway near the dishwashing stations, kids stopping to hug us and say goodbye. We didn’t end up sitting down or eating, we just stood in the entrance to the dining hall, saying goodbye to all the students and long-term volunteers. The worst was seeing the girls from my family. I had started crying about ten minutes into my goodbyes when I saw my student Brigitte, whose English has improved tremendously (as has her math); she threw her arms around me and started crying too, promising me she will keep studying so she can come to America. A short while later, as my breakdown continued, Cadette, Vanessa and Souvenir came in. they saw me immediately and we had a group hug, crying together. My shoulders were soaked, as were theirs, but I didn’t care. Cadette wouldn’t let go; she kept telling me “I will miss you so much. Please do not go. Stay, Elana, please stay.” I told her I wished I could, but I had to leave. If I had the choice, I would definitely stay in the village for a while longer, but I know I have to return to Israel. It was an awful hour; some kids who I’d never met or talked to came up to me, hugged me and said goodbye. Many of them saw me crying and apologized, saying, “I am so sorry you are sad.” I told them not to be sorry, but to remember all the wonderful things we experienced together and to work hard in school. They all promised they would; my family kept leaving their porridge and bread on the table to come up and hug me. When they finally left because they were almost late for school, they turned around and waved, blowing me kisses and screaming, “We love you!” After that, I went down to the kitchen to say goodbye to Hilam and the kitchen staff, and then went back to the guesthouse to finish packing, crying the whole way.
By 10 AM we had loaded the bus (the real bus, not the rickshaw van) with all of our luggage (through the window of the bus, since there was no trunk, so we used the back seats for our bags) and headed toward Kigali. We stopped at an artists’ market there for a while, doing some final shopping for souvenirs and gifts. It was a cute little set of shops and stalls, full of baskets, woodcarvings, fabric bags and decorations. Everyone working there called out, “Sister! Please, sister, come into my shop! Buy something nice!” It was like the Arab shouk in Jerusalem, only much nicer, cleaner and better-smelling.
Once we finished shopping, we drove a short while through Kigali to an Indian restaurant called Khana Kazana, which was both beautiful and delicious. Eating my feelings began with some chicken tikka masala and garlic naan bread (very necessary, given that I had cried so much I had to take my contacts out and wear my glasses). After lunch it was time to go to the airport. All day, I had been wishing we would get on the bus and Ebimak would drive right back to the village, to our guesthouse, our home, and we would go back to our usual life there. But it didn’t happen. We drove to Kigali International Airport, and it all became real. We weren’t going back to the hill full of red tiled roofs and hard-working students, full of love and hope and friendship. We were really leaving.
We checked into our flight and going through security, I kept setting off the metal detector. This resulted in a very thorough “pat-down” by a female security guard (this was quite embarrassing since literally the entire airport watched). I then went to go change money; this was also a major failure because they “ran out” of American dollars and Euros, so we now all have useless (and worthless in Israel) Rwandan francs in our wallets. Fabulous. We said a tearful goodbye to Ariela, our long-term volunteer who worked with us the entire month, promised to be in touch, and attempted to distract ourselves with Duty Free shopping (I did find peanut M&Ms, which was a plus) but it didn’t really work.
Our flight left with very few issues – we had the back of the plane to ourselves, which was nice, and I was so exhausted from waking up early and crying all morning that I fell asleep. Our layover in Addis Ababa allowed for some more Duty Free distractions, dinner, a final group meeting where it all started, on the stupid red chairs and, inevitably, more crying. We are really gone. We are no longer in Rwanda, at the village, with the kids. This chapter of my adventure has ended, only for a new one to begin. I keep telling myself that Jerusalem will be fun, exciting, new and wonderful, which I know it will be, but not waking up in the guesthouse, eating something besides rice and beans, surrounded by more than fourteen people at a time, is going to be incredibly strange.
The next time I update you, I will be in my new apartment in Jerusalem, writing about my first days back in Israel. Believe it or not, soon after that, I’ll be in Poland on the Kuma program with about 80 other Year Course students, learning about the Jewish community that once was, visiting the concentration camps and memorials to remember and honor the victims of the Holocaust. I’m looking forward to the trip, and I will update all of you (those are going to be some very difficult blogs) as my adventure unfolds.
All the best from Ethiopia (well, the Bole airport, at least),
Elana
I am currently sitting in the same strangely upholstered, uncomfortable red chair I was in a month ago in the Ethiopian airport. Leaving the village today was awful. I woke up at 5:30, unable to sleep, and was lying awake in bed until my alarm went off, one last time, at 6. When I got out of bed and went outside, I realized it would be the last time I saw the blue mountains across the valley, the dirt roads winding through the village, kids walking toward the dining hall and the school. It was the last morning for a lot of things, a final few hours in a place where I left a piece of my heart.
A bunch of us left the guesthouse for breakfast; I got there early and helped the family serving (bringing food upstairs from the kitchen to the dining hall) put porridge on tables and bread rolls on the counter. Kids began coming in to breakfast; we were standing in the doorway near the dishwashing stations, kids stopping to hug us and say goodbye. We didn’t end up sitting down or eating, we just stood in the entrance to the dining hall, saying goodbye to all the students and long-term volunteers. The worst was seeing the girls from my family. I had started crying about ten minutes into my goodbyes when I saw my student Brigitte, whose English has improved tremendously (as has her math); she threw her arms around me and started crying too, promising me she will keep studying so she can come to America. A short while later, as my breakdown continued, Cadette, Vanessa and Souvenir came in. they saw me immediately and we had a group hug, crying together. My shoulders were soaked, as were theirs, but I didn’t care. Cadette wouldn’t let go; she kept telling me “I will miss you so much. Please do not go. Stay, Elana, please stay.” I told her I wished I could, but I had to leave. If I had the choice, I would definitely stay in the village for a while longer, but I know I have to return to Israel. It was an awful hour; some kids who I’d never met or talked to came up to me, hugged me and said goodbye. Many of them saw me crying and apologized, saying, “I am so sorry you are sad.” I told them not to be sorry, but to remember all the wonderful things we experienced together and to work hard in school. They all promised they would; my family kept leaving their porridge and bread on the table to come up and hug me. When they finally left because they were almost late for school, they turned around and waved, blowing me kisses and screaming, “We love you!” After that, I went down to the kitchen to say goodbye to Hilam and the kitchen staff, and then went back to the guesthouse to finish packing, crying the whole way.
By 10 AM we had loaded the bus (the real bus, not the rickshaw van) with all of our luggage (through the window of the bus, since there was no trunk, so we used the back seats for our bags) and headed toward Kigali. We stopped at an artists’ market there for a while, doing some final shopping for souvenirs and gifts. It was a cute little set of shops and stalls, full of baskets, woodcarvings, fabric bags and decorations. Everyone working there called out, “Sister! Please, sister, come into my shop! Buy something nice!” It was like the Arab shouk in Jerusalem, only much nicer, cleaner and better-smelling.
Once we finished shopping, we drove a short while through Kigali to an Indian restaurant called Khana Kazana, which was both beautiful and delicious. Eating my feelings began with some chicken tikka masala and garlic naan bread (very necessary, given that I had cried so much I had to take my contacts out and wear my glasses). After lunch it was time to go to the airport. All day, I had been wishing we would get on the bus and Ebimak would drive right back to the village, to our guesthouse, our home, and we would go back to our usual life there. But it didn’t happen. We drove to Kigali International Airport, and it all became real. We weren’t going back to the hill full of red tiled roofs and hard-working students, full of love and hope and friendship. We were really leaving.
We checked into our flight and going through security, I kept setting off the metal detector. This resulted in a very thorough “pat-down” by a female security guard (this was quite embarrassing since literally the entire airport watched). I then went to go change money; this was also a major failure because they “ran out” of American dollars and Euros, so we now all have useless (and worthless in Israel) Rwandan francs in our wallets. Fabulous. We said a tearful goodbye to Ariela, our long-term volunteer who worked with us the entire month, promised to be in touch, and attempted to distract ourselves with Duty Free shopping (I did find peanut M&Ms, which was a plus) but it didn’t really work.
Our flight left with very few issues – we had the back of the plane to ourselves, which was nice, and I was so exhausted from waking up early and crying all morning that I fell asleep. Our layover in Addis Ababa allowed for some more Duty Free distractions, dinner, a final group meeting where it all started, on the stupid red chairs and, inevitably, more crying. We are really gone. We are no longer in Rwanda, at the village, with the kids. This chapter of my adventure has ended, only for a new one to begin. I keep telling myself that Jerusalem will be fun, exciting, new and wonderful, which I know it will be, but not waking up in the guesthouse, eating something besides rice and beans, surrounded by more than fourteen people at a time, is going to be incredibly strange.
The next time I update you, I will be in my new apartment in Jerusalem, writing about my first days back in Israel. Believe it or not, soon after that, I’ll be in Poland on the Kuma program with about 80 other Year Course students, learning about the Jewish community that once was, visiting the concentration camps and memorials to remember and honor the victims of the Holocaust. I’m looking forward to the trip, and I will update all of you (those are going to be some very difficult blogs) as my adventure unfolds.
All the best from Ethiopia (well, the Bole airport, at least),
Elana
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