Well readers, it's been an unbelievable year filled with life-changing experiences. This week was no exception.
As some of you know, I live on a major road in Jerusalem, Derech Hebron, which leads to, as you may guess, Hebron. Hebron is one of the holiest cities in Israel (along with Jerusalem, of course, and Shechem, where Joseph's tomb is). Over three thousand years ago, Abraham purchased a large piece of land in Hebron to bury his wife, Sarah, who died at the age of 127. This transaction is recorded in the Torah and is one of the first witnessed land purchases in history. Abraham, Sarah, Isaac and Leah are buried in Hebron. Today, Hebron is a largely Arab city (only 20% are Jewish Israelis). In 1929, there was a massacre in Hebron which killed almost 70 Jewish people, and since then, tensions in Hebron have been high. It is a part of the West Bank, technically (it is beyond the security fence) and requires passing several checkpoints to move between Hebron and Jerusalem. We traveled in a bulletproof bus from "our" side of Derech Hebron to the end, where we reached what looked like an abandoned heap of boarded-up shops, desolate roads and army vehicles. This is Hebron. Where the IDF patrols on regular intervals (we saw them marching up the streets as we walked along, from the patriarchs' tombs to one of Hebron's few synagogues, which was originally a Hadassah hospital building), where streets are divided - one side for Jews, another for Arabs, and where peace seems like a very foreign goal. As I walked on the streets, a low wall (approximately reaching my hip, so it went up to everyone else's knee) ran up the middle; barefoot children on the other side waved and held out their hands for money, screaming "Shalom!" I could barely see them over the dividing wall; I wondered if they knew why it's there.
On a lighter note, this week was also the beginning of the 50th Annual Israel Festival, a collection of arts and music performances that go on in Jerusalem for three weeks. On Monday, one of my friends and I were walking downtown, past Ben Yehuda street and toward Safra Square, where we saw a huge stage and endless folding chairs being set up. When we stopped to ask what was going on there, we were told that the Bolshoi Ballet was giving a special performance with the Israel Ballet of Giselle. I almost passed out. We asked if we could get tickets, what time the show started, etc. Naturally, since this is Israel, we got a different answer from every person we asked. Eventually, we got lucky and some poor guy was stuck with three tickets that I'm guessing his girlfriend purchased without his knowledge (he didn't exactly look like the type to be going to a ballet without her - or with her, for that matter) and now, for whatever reason, wasn't there to claim them, so we grabbed them. It was unbelievable. The dancing, the stage, the fact that the Bolshoi prima who looked like she weighs twelve pounds (in her costume) wasn't taken over by the wind while balancing on pointe - it was unreal. Perhaps one of the funniest (and it wasn't meant to be comedic, but it was) parts of this experience was noticing that a Tuborg beer stand was set up along the side of the square, along with a guy selling pretzels and hot dogs. At a ballet?! Only in Israel would ballpark fare be found at a fine arts function. Ha!
I've spent a lot of time this week saying goodbye to places and things. To the Old City and the Kotel, to Emek Refaim, to the Central Bus Station where I go every Thursday and Saturday night in my travels to Tel Aviv, to Aleh and all the girls in the Bogrot class, to ulpan, to falafel, to my teachers. I said goodbye to Tel Aviv and its beaches, to Nahalat Benyamin and the artists there who have come to know my name, to Dizengoff and Rothschild and all the places that have become my stomping grounds. It's hard to say goodbye, to leave places that you love, but knowing that I'll be back makes it slightly easier. This is me saying goodbye to Israel for now, at the end of this adventure, but not forever.
It's strange, this leaving business. It's the end of so many incredible things and experiences and people, but at the same time, knowing that it happened makes me so grateful and happy. As I look back and remember to the beginning, to the Bat Yam apartment I flooded within an hour of being there, to the gan in Arad and all that happened in Rwanda, and now to the beauty of Jerusalem, I realize all that has changed, all that I've learned and become. I won't be speaking Hebrew or fighting my way onto overcrowded buses, exploring and seeing all that I can, but in my return home, things will be new - I have a new appreciation for all the things and people I once took for granted, for the life I once thought was so natural and normal. It is the end of something wonderful, something unforgettable, but it's also the start of something equally great.
I like to think I've come a long way from the first day I went grocery shopping at the Super Douche in Bat Yam and, not knowing how to ask for chicken breasts, grabbed my chest and pointed to the butcher case. There are so many memories I've made here, and I will miss it, cats and grocery trollies and Hebrew-screaming and all. I know I'll be back, though, and when I return, I will have a whole new view of this place I've come to call home. It's never easy to say goodbye, but I know my life and my adventures will go forward, that I will continue to explore and learn all I can, and to find love and passion wherever I go.
Thank you for following me on this journey. It's been a life-changing one that has taught me more than any book I could ever read. I hope you've all learned something, too, and I can't wait to share more with you as the next part of my journey, wherever it may take me, unfolds.
All the love in the world from Israel, one last time,
Elana
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
We Cry, We Sing, We Dance, We Eat.
Hello readers! I hope this post finds you all well. It’s difficult to believe, but I have just two full weeks left in my adventure; time has truly flown. Here is an update of the past nearly two weeks. It’s been an eventful time in Israel, a time that has brought tearful remembrance and joyful celebration right up against one another, which makes for an emotional rollercoaster.
Sunday, May 2 was Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day in Israel. Year Course was invited to the national tekkes (ceremony) at Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust museum and the world’s leading Holocaust research center. We arrived by bus and then were shuttled to the museum entrance, where we were met by what appeared to be unending lines of security – metal detectors, questioning, pat-downs. It took over an hour just to enter the building. Guests numbered in the thousands and live translation via headsets was given in four languages (English, Russian, French and Spanish). The ceremony’s featured speakers were President Shimon Peres and Prime Minister Benyamin Netanyahu. Both spoke of the importance of Israel in the world, despite the very real and ever-looming threats posed to it by other nations. Most of all, their messages were clear: the Jewish people survived the atrocities of the Holocaust and then came to Israel to make a new start, to begin a new life in freedom. We cannot lose that vision for whom so many died, we cannot lose our dream of the land in which we began thousands of years ago, and which renewed our hope in our darkest times of struggle Without Israel, we return to being a lost and dispersed people. It is our goal, our aspirations, our essence.
In addition to Peres and Netanyahu, six Holocaust survivors were featured in the memorial ceremony. Each lit a memorial torch, one for every million Jews who perished in the Shoah. Every survivor was accompanied by a friend or family member, and before they lit their respective torch, a short film played on several large screens displayed throughout the courtyard in which the ceremony took place. The films were perhaps the most moving part of the ceremony; every survivor told his or her story of fear, persecution, near-death and eventual survival. They told of watching their brothers, sisters and parents die, of the death marches in winter, of Auschwitz and the tattoos on their arms which became, but did not remain, their identity. Immediately, I was reminded of my time in Poland, of all the horror and hell that I saw. Then it became even more real: here were people describing the places I visited, their time surviving in what is now a historical site. My stomach turned and the tears flowed freely down my face. There was no stopping them.
Exactly one week after Yom HaShoah is Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s national day of remembrance for fallen soldiers and victims of terror. The night before Remembrance Day, thousands gather at several ceremonies around the country. We attended one at Ammunition Hill, a pivotal battle site in the fight for Jerusalem in the 1967 Six Day war. The tekkes was a beautiful one – the Hill was lit in blue and white, Israeli flags hanging from every possible tree and light pole. The ceremony featured the stories of seven lost young people – six of whom were soldiers, and one, a 15-year old girl named Malki, who died in the Sbarro suicide bombing in the 2001 Intifada. Days like these bring the entire nation, and the Jewish world, together. It is a time to mourn losses to remember heroism and greatness, and to be increasingly thankful for being and living in Israel.
The following day, which was actually Yom HaZikaron, a group of Year Coursers went to Har Herzl, Israel’s military cemetery. There were thousands of people there, honoring lost family members and attending ceremonies. On our way there, a siren sounded – it went off at 11 AM, all across Israel – and the entire country stopped. For several minutes, no car moved, no pedestrian walked, no vendor sold anything. We were on a bus on our way to Har Herzl, and happened to be stopped at the Mahane Yehuda shuk. In a millisecond, the market went from its usual bustling craziness to perfect silence and stillness. The bus stopped and everyone riding it stood up. Then, minutes later, just as the alarm had sounded and everything had stopped, just as quickly, the siren ended and the day resumed as normal.
When we arrived at Har Herzl, we were handed water bottles to give to people at the cemetery who, in the unrelenting heat, were spending their day mourning and remembering. A friend and I came across a woman named Leila whose story is actually very unusual. She is a Lebanese Christian and her husband is Jewish (they’re originally from New York). They are visiting Israel for several months; she is a writer and her husband is a photographer. She has been staying in Ramallah, an Arab village in Israel, where her mother’s family now lives, while her husband does his photography work throughout Jerusalem. Something she said that really made an impression on me was that her mother’s family loves living in Israel, but the reason people in Lebanon and in Palestinian territories support terrorist governments is that they promise to provide for people who have nothing; when you are threatened, you want to support those who swear to protect you. In 2006, when Israel fought Lebanon in the Second Lebanon War, Leila’s Lebanese family was cheering as they watched Israel’s planes fly over their country, hoping the metal birds with the blue stars on the side would end their suffering under a tyrannical government. But when, after two weeks, nothing changed, and Hezbollah promised Lebanese civilians protection if they would pledge their support, most, in fear for their lives, believed their “government” would save them. This, of course, did not happen, and since, Leila and her family remain staunch supporters of the peace process. Not only that, but on a day when Israel and Jews the world over mourn their losses, Leila stood next to us, supporting her Jewish friends and neighbors, experiencing what she called a most emotional and moving day.
As the sun sets on Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s biggest party of the year, Yom Haatzmaut, Independence Day, begins. The country is turned into one giant celebration. Everyone dresses up in their finest blue and white apparel, complete, if you’re me and my friends, with blue face paint and, of course, all-important glitter. We made our way to the Mahane Yehuda shuk party, which, twelve hours earlier, had come to a complete stop, but was now alive as ever. Light towers, DJ booths and food stands were set up along the main artery of the shuk, along with, of course, several temporary bars. The scene quickly became craziness – dancing on the shuk stall countertops, thousands of people crowded into the market, all singing and dancing and keeping the bartenders quite busy. A little after midnight, we decided to walk down the hill to Ben Yehuda Street to see the celebration there. I have never seen Ben Yehuda that busy or crowded ever; there was literally no room to move. So, to avoid being crushed by crowd, we escaped to one of Ben Yehuda’s many side sreets, which happens to be home to the best waffles in Israel: Babbette’s. A tiny hole in the wall on a street otherwise cluttered with larger restaurants and shops, it’s easy to miss or walk right past, thinking nothing of it. Well, if you find yourself wandering off the main artery of Ben Yehuda, find Babette’s and order the best waffle you’ll find anywhere. It seats about 10 people comfortably, and of course, the night of Yom Haatzmaut, thirty were cramming inside, pushing their way to the register to order waffles with every dessert topping imaginable. Once I was in a chocolate and sugar coma, I headed home.
The following day is a national day off – businesses close (except for most cafes and restaurants), and everyone spends the day having barbecues (al ha-esh, in Hebrew, which means “on the fire”). I went to Tel Aviv to see Roi and his family and enjoyed a delicious lunch with them. A few too many kebabs and loads of salad and pita later, we wandered into the downtown area (buses run on Yom Haatzmaut). Ibn Gavirol, a major street of Israel’s financial district, was hosting several street barbecues and parties, so we wandered through those, stopping for drinks, snacks and some impromptu dancing. We also saw the air show happening near the port – fighter planes decorated Tel Aviv’s cloudless blue skies, zooming and booming above us. After wandering for quite some time, it began to get dark and I returned to Jerusalem.
On my way into those holy hills, I found myself remembering all that has happened in the past months. I’ve lived in different cities, on different continents, spoken new languages and made new friends. I’ve met new challenges, taken new risks and set new goals. I’ve fallen in love with a culture, a place and people. Loving something or someone makes it even harder to leave, but I know my time here has been special and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Just as I made a change in coming to Israel nine months ago and began this journey, in two weeks, I will make a change yet again, returning home to the next chapter in my life.
One of the most valuable things I’ve learned this year is to fall in love with as many things as possible. So, I urge you all to fall in love with something or someone special, to find your passion and live it.
All my love, see you soon,
Elana
Sunday, May 2 was Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day in Israel. Year Course was invited to the national tekkes (ceremony) at Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust museum and the world’s leading Holocaust research center. We arrived by bus and then were shuttled to the museum entrance, where we were met by what appeared to be unending lines of security – metal detectors, questioning, pat-downs. It took over an hour just to enter the building. Guests numbered in the thousands and live translation via headsets was given in four languages (English, Russian, French and Spanish). The ceremony’s featured speakers were President Shimon Peres and Prime Minister Benyamin Netanyahu. Both spoke of the importance of Israel in the world, despite the very real and ever-looming threats posed to it by other nations. Most of all, their messages were clear: the Jewish people survived the atrocities of the Holocaust and then came to Israel to make a new start, to begin a new life in freedom. We cannot lose that vision for whom so many died, we cannot lose our dream of the land in which we began thousands of years ago, and which renewed our hope in our darkest times of struggle Without Israel, we return to being a lost and dispersed people. It is our goal, our aspirations, our essence.
In addition to Peres and Netanyahu, six Holocaust survivors were featured in the memorial ceremony. Each lit a memorial torch, one for every million Jews who perished in the Shoah. Every survivor was accompanied by a friend or family member, and before they lit their respective torch, a short film played on several large screens displayed throughout the courtyard in which the ceremony took place. The films were perhaps the most moving part of the ceremony; every survivor told his or her story of fear, persecution, near-death and eventual survival. They told of watching their brothers, sisters and parents die, of the death marches in winter, of Auschwitz and the tattoos on their arms which became, but did not remain, their identity. Immediately, I was reminded of my time in Poland, of all the horror and hell that I saw. Then it became even more real: here were people describing the places I visited, their time surviving in what is now a historical site. My stomach turned and the tears flowed freely down my face. There was no stopping them.
Exactly one week after Yom HaShoah is Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s national day of remembrance for fallen soldiers and victims of terror. The night before Remembrance Day, thousands gather at several ceremonies around the country. We attended one at Ammunition Hill, a pivotal battle site in the fight for Jerusalem in the 1967 Six Day war. The tekkes was a beautiful one – the Hill was lit in blue and white, Israeli flags hanging from every possible tree and light pole. The ceremony featured the stories of seven lost young people – six of whom were soldiers, and one, a 15-year old girl named Malki, who died in the Sbarro suicide bombing in the 2001 Intifada. Days like these bring the entire nation, and the Jewish world, together. It is a time to mourn losses to remember heroism and greatness, and to be increasingly thankful for being and living in Israel.
The following day, which was actually Yom HaZikaron, a group of Year Coursers went to Har Herzl, Israel’s military cemetery. There were thousands of people there, honoring lost family members and attending ceremonies. On our way there, a siren sounded – it went off at 11 AM, all across Israel – and the entire country stopped. For several minutes, no car moved, no pedestrian walked, no vendor sold anything. We were on a bus on our way to Har Herzl, and happened to be stopped at the Mahane Yehuda shuk. In a millisecond, the market went from its usual bustling craziness to perfect silence and stillness. The bus stopped and everyone riding it stood up. Then, minutes later, just as the alarm had sounded and everything had stopped, just as quickly, the siren ended and the day resumed as normal.
When we arrived at Har Herzl, we were handed water bottles to give to people at the cemetery who, in the unrelenting heat, were spending their day mourning and remembering. A friend and I came across a woman named Leila whose story is actually very unusual. She is a Lebanese Christian and her husband is Jewish (they’re originally from New York). They are visiting Israel for several months; she is a writer and her husband is a photographer. She has been staying in Ramallah, an Arab village in Israel, where her mother’s family now lives, while her husband does his photography work throughout Jerusalem. Something she said that really made an impression on me was that her mother’s family loves living in Israel, but the reason people in Lebanon and in Palestinian territories support terrorist governments is that they promise to provide for people who have nothing; when you are threatened, you want to support those who swear to protect you. In 2006, when Israel fought Lebanon in the Second Lebanon War, Leila’s Lebanese family was cheering as they watched Israel’s planes fly over their country, hoping the metal birds with the blue stars on the side would end their suffering under a tyrannical government. But when, after two weeks, nothing changed, and Hezbollah promised Lebanese civilians protection if they would pledge their support, most, in fear for their lives, believed their “government” would save them. This, of course, did not happen, and since, Leila and her family remain staunch supporters of the peace process. Not only that, but on a day when Israel and Jews the world over mourn their losses, Leila stood next to us, supporting her Jewish friends and neighbors, experiencing what she called a most emotional and moving day.
As the sun sets on Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s biggest party of the year, Yom Haatzmaut, Independence Day, begins. The country is turned into one giant celebration. Everyone dresses up in their finest blue and white apparel, complete, if you’re me and my friends, with blue face paint and, of course, all-important glitter. We made our way to the Mahane Yehuda shuk party, which, twelve hours earlier, had come to a complete stop, but was now alive as ever. Light towers, DJ booths and food stands were set up along the main artery of the shuk, along with, of course, several temporary bars. The scene quickly became craziness – dancing on the shuk stall countertops, thousands of people crowded into the market, all singing and dancing and keeping the bartenders quite busy. A little after midnight, we decided to walk down the hill to Ben Yehuda Street to see the celebration there. I have never seen Ben Yehuda that busy or crowded ever; there was literally no room to move. So, to avoid being crushed by crowd, we escaped to one of Ben Yehuda’s many side sreets, which happens to be home to the best waffles in Israel: Babbette’s. A tiny hole in the wall on a street otherwise cluttered with larger restaurants and shops, it’s easy to miss or walk right past, thinking nothing of it. Well, if you find yourself wandering off the main artery of Ben Yehuda, find Babette’s and order the best waffle you’ll find anywhere. It seats about 10 people comfortably, and of course, the night of Yom Haatzmaut, thirty were cramming inside, pushing their way to the register to order waffles with every dessert topping imaginable. Once I was in a chocolate and sugar coma, I headed home.
The following day is a national day off – businesses close (except for most cafes and restaurants), and everyone spends the day having barbecues (al ha-esh, in Hebrew, which means “on the fire”). I went to Tel Aviv to see Roi and his family and enjoyed a delicious lunch with them. A few too many kebabs and loads of salad and pita later, we wandered into the downtown area (buses run on Yom Haatzmaut). Ibn Gavirol, a major street of Israel’s financial district, was hosting several street barbecues and parties, so we wandered through those, stopping for drinks, snacks and some impromptu dancing. We also saw the air show happening near the port – fighter planes decorated Tel Aviv’s cloudless blue skies, zooming and booming above us. After wandering for quite some time, it began to get dark and I returned to Jerusalem.
On my way into those holy hills, I found myself remembering all that has happened in the past months. I’ve lived in different cities, on different continents, spoken new languages and made new friends. I’ve met new challenges, taken new risks and set new goals. I’ve fallen in love with a culture, a place and people. Loving something or someone makes it even harder to leave, but I know my time here has been special and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Just as I made a change in coming to Israel nine months ago and began this journey, in two weeks, I will make a change yet again, returning home to the next chapter in my life.
One of the most valuable things I’ve learned this year is to fall in love with as many things as possible. So, I urge you all to fall in love with something or someone special, to find your passion and live it.
All my love, see you soon,
Elana
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
From Belz to Ben Yehuda, Bagels to Bittersweet Chocolate
Hello readers and Chag Pesach Sameach (Happy Passover) from Israel! I realize it’s been over a month since my last post, and I apologize. I also realize I promised to work on some posts about Poland, but something I learned in Rwanda has persuaded me otherwise. While I was in Africa, I learned that there are several ways to cope with tragedy, and these options fall into what seem like two major categories: the past and the future. Some people deal with emotional and tragic loss by reflecting on the past, on what once was, but I don’t find that helpful. The people of Rwanda taught me to look forward, to think about the future and all the possibilities that lie ahead. So, for this reason, and many others, I am choosing to focus on all the wonderful experiences I have had since I’ve returned to Israel. Since much has happened, here are my top ten updates from Jerusalem:
1. About three weeks ago, I went on a tiyul (trip) with my Comparative Religions class to the Belz quarter of Jerusalem. Belz was originally a very orthodox community in the Ukraine; it existed there for hundreds of years. However, with World War II came the end of Belz; of the entire community, which was estimated in the thousands, only the Belz rabbi and his brother survived the Holocaust. They arrived in Israel in 1945 and began rebuilding the Belz synagogue, the epicenter of Belz life. Today, the Belz synagogue stands at 14 stories, half of which are underground, and cost $70 million to construct.
The synagogue includes study halls for up to 100 people (men), a tea and coffee room that seats 7,000, a plaza with bleachers to seat 10,000, a mikvah with 25,000 towels and hundreds of showers, and seats in the main sanctuary that sell for up to $1 million. The main sanctuary is for men only; the seats in the main sanctuary must be purchased (seats in the middle and toward the back cost about $5,000). Some seats can be “double purchased,” which means that the man who first purchased the seat is not a Jerusalem resident or doesn’t come to services weekly (there are many members of the Belz community in America and Europe, so they buy seats and only come to the synagogue for the High Holidays and maybe Pesach). These seats can be purchased for a cheaper price by someone who frequents the synagogue, but during the holidays, when the primary owner is attending services, the second owner cannot have the seat. Above the main sanctuary is the women’s area which seats over a thousand women (the main sanctuary seats several thousand men), and above the women’s area is another partition for yeshiva boys and children. With thousands of people in the synagogue at a time, how does anyone hear the rabbi? To maintain quiet, the service leader (the gabbi), uses the “clapper.” Now, this clapper is about as long as I am (five feet), and looks like a giant wooden soup spoon. As a prayer ends, the gabbi raises the clapper and beats it against a special pillow that causes the sound to resonate throughout the synagogue. The gabbi continues to hit the clapper against the pillow until there is silence.
Today, the Belz community numbers about 100,000 followers worldwide; families have many children (a family of a mother, father and eight children is considered small). People travel from all over the world to meet the Belz rabbi and seek his advice; he has two secretaries and a letter-answering service to keep up with responding to everyone who contacts him. To learn more about Belz and the Belz Great Synagogue, visit: http://www.gojerusalem.com/discover/item_10306/The-Belz-Great-Synagogue.
2. The Mahane Yehuda market is slowly becoming my favorite place in Jerusalem. Not far from the city center, the market (shuk), is always bustling with people; don’t even try to walk through there on a Thursday afternoon or Friday morning before Shabbat, you’ll probably get smacked in the head with a crate of challahs or fish being thrown between stalls. Not only is all the produce very cheap and fresh, there’s always something new to find that seems hidden. Last week, I found a handmade pasta stand, which also sells homemade cheeses and sauces. Naturally, I had to buy some (pre-Passover indulgence). There are also some great restaurants and food stands scattered throughout the mess of fruit, vegetable and meat stands – try falafel in a bag (ask for “rak falafel” – only falafel, no pita – in a paper bag) and for four shekels, it’s a great snack, or go to Fish n’ Chips, a very well-hidden takeout place that features ingredients found in the shuk for maximum freshness. It’s fun to walk around, take a taste of whatever is being pushed in your face, and try not to get stepped on – making it out of the shuk unharmed can be a major feat.
3. I am lucky enough to volunteer at probably one the most amazing places in Jerusalem. I work at Aleh, which is a hospital, school and residence for Israeli children with very serious mental and physical disabilities. None of the residents at Aleh are able to walk (they are all in wheelchairs) and very few can communicate at all (none can speak, but a few can make small noises or motions). I work in the Bogrot classroom, the oldest girls at Aleh. These girls – there are seven of them – have been at Aleh the longest and are now in their late twenties or nearly thirty. I arrive in the mornings for breakfast, which is one of my favorite times in the day. I’m learning (slowly) who can eat what – some of the girls can eat mashed up food, some can only have liquid, and a few are on feeding tubes. Every morning, I feed Naama. Naama loves breakfast – she sees me come in with a tray of yogurt, mashed up Israeli salad and cottage cheese and her eyes light up. I sit in front of her chair, fill the spoon and show it to her before bringing it up to her mouth – she likes to see what she’s eating. I know it’s good when she begins to rock back and forth in her chair (I usually have to lock the wheels to ensure her breakfast doesn’t end up in my lap when the “ta’im meod” – very tasty – dance begins), and she leans her head toward me. After breakfast, we sing songs, do art projects and watch movies. It’s impossible to know how much they understand, but I like to think they know I’m there, and that I love the time I spend with all of them. To learn more about Aleh in Israel, visit: http://www.aleh.org/.
4. Last week, my Comparative Religions class went to the Dome of the Rock. Prior to this trip, I hadn’t realized it was open to the public, but apparently, a few years ago, visitors were allowed up to what once was the Temple Mount. However, it is only open to the public one hour a day, and that hour changes without notice (for example, the day we were there, we were supposed to go up at 12:30, but we were then told it wouldn’t open until 1:30). In any event, the Dome of the Rock itself covers a rock which bears significance to both Jews and Muslims. Jews believe that it was from this rock that God created the Earth, and Muslims believe that Muhammad ascended to heaven from this rock at this very location. Until destruction by the Romans in 70 CE, what is now the Dome of the Rock was the Temple Mount; in the far right corner of the Dome compound is what Jews believe was the Holy of Holies. As Jews, we don’t walk on that part of the plaza (in the time of the Temple, only the Cohen Gadol – the High Priest – could enter the Holy of Holies). A common misconception is that the Dome of the Rock is a mosque. Across from the Dome is the Al-Aqsa mosque, the Dome itself is not a place of prayer. In the early 1990s, the Jordanian government undertook the project of recovering the Dome in gold, which cost approximately $8 million. Today, the Dome of the Rock is an area under Muslim control; this area has been the cause of much and ongoing conflict.
After visiting the Dome and Al-Aqsa (we aren’t allowed inside, only on the plaza and surrounding outer areas), we met with Professor Dajani, a former member of Lebanese Fatah until 1975. In the late 70s, Dajani left Lebanon and went to Europe, and then America, where he earned two PhDs and now teaches at a university in Jerusalem. He returned to Israel in the early 90s when his father was sick with cancer and was being treated in an Israeli hospital. Dajani was convinced that the Israeli doctors wouldn’t treat his father the same as they would an Israeli patient, but he was wrong; the doctors did everything they could for his father. Years later, his mother became very sick with asthma and needed emergency medical attention. When Magan David Adom arrived, Dajani was once again skeptical, but the Israeli medical team caring for her treated her and Dajani’s family with respect and kindness; they even brought her to a special army medical center for treatment. Although his mother didn’t survive, Dajani remains thankful to Israel for helping his ill parents. Today, he is the leader of a moderate peace organization and believes in the ongoing peace process between Israelis and Palestinians. To learn more about Dajani’s efforts for peace, visit: http://www.bigdreamsmallhope.com/.
5. Number five is especially important. On Thursday, April 7, Young Judaea and FZY Year Course participated in a five-minute freeze at the Ben Yehuda pedestrian mall in Jerusalem to honor the kidnapped soldier Gilad Shalit. Gilad has been imprisoned by Hamas for nearly five years; we froze for one minute for every year that he’s been missing, for a total of five minutes. Wearing our official YC shirts, we took to Ben Yehuda Street, and after receiving a mass text message, froze for five minutes, in the middle of foot traffic, until receiving the “unfreeze” text. To see the video made that day, go to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSNHGmFlnCY. Gilad Shalit Lives!
6. I realize I’m jumping horribly out of order, but I must mention my family’s visit to Israel! At the end of March, my parents, brother and Bubbie and Oggy came to Jerusalem to visit me. We went to the shuk, Aleh, the Old City, and Tel Aviv for Shabbat. It was great to see all of them, and I can’t believe the next time we’re all together will be in June when I’m in New Jersey! Hugs and kisses to the Wiser, Stern and Estin families – miss you all!
7. On Tuesday, my Comparative Religions class (it’s a tiyul-based class, so every week, we travel to another part of Jerusalem and the surrounding area) went to Abu Ghosh, a Muslim village about twenty minutes from Jerusalem, and home to the best hummus in Israel. Across from Abu Ghosh is the village of Ein Rafa, where we met the Imam (the leader of the mosque, the Muslim equivalent to a rabbi) and a woman named Yasmin. Yasmin is originally from England and first came to Israel while studying landscape architecture in college; she worked at the Biblical gardens where she met her husband, a Muslim man living in Ein Rafa. Years later, she returned to Israel and converted to Islam, learned Hebrew and Arabic and changed her name from Jessica to Yasmin (her husband wanted her to have an Arab-sounding name so the small Ein Rafa community wouldn’t exclude her as an outsider). She is now a practicing Muslim and has three children. It was interesting to meet her, hear her story and listen to her views on Israel (Abu Ghosh and Ein Rafa remain at peace with the Israeli government).
8. It’s important to have friends in high places, I’m learning. I am now on a first-name basis with the laundry guys down the hill from my apartment – I’m one of their best customers – the people who run the bagel place, Bagel Bites, a few blocks from Ulpan (they also know my order, which is equally frightening), and a few of the vendors at the shuk (the cheese guy, an older man and his very intimidating wife who own a storefront where I get canned tomatoes, olive oil, etc., and of course, a butcher who knows I always order two kilos of chicken). It’s these small relationships that make a place feel like home – that people know me and I know them, and even for a short while, we were a minute part of one another’s lives. This is what makes me feel like I know a place, and what makes me miss it once I’m gone.
9. Roi has been asking me to teach him how to cook. So, in the spirit of Pesach, I asked my mom to send me the recipe for my Aunt Muriel’s famous kosher for Passover mandel bread. Roi and I went to the supermarket (taking your boyfriend to the supermarket in Israel two days before Passover is a notoriously bad idea), bought the necessary baking ingredients (we thought) and began our project. It wasn’t until we had mixed everything together that I realized something wasn’t right; the dough didn’t look as smooth or cake-like as it usually does. So, due to baking emergency, I called my mom and asked her what could have gone wrong. In our haste (and stupidity), Roi and I had used matzah meal instead of matzah cake meal, which is apparently much finer than regular matzah meal and is meant for baking. Well, we were stuck with lumpy mandel bread dough, and since we couldn’t exactly start over, we mixed in the chocolate chips and hoped for the best. Forty-five minutes later, we took them out of the oven, let them cool and tasted our creation. It was delicious! Conclusion? Even in the event of lumpy dough, cook the mandel bread anyway. With enough butter and chocolate, what could actually be so terrible?
10. It’s been an unbelievable month in Jerusalem, and now in Tel Aviv for the seder (there’s only one in Israel), and tomorrow, Eilat for vacation! It’s crazy for me to think that a year ago at this time, I was deferring from UPenn and committing to this life-changing adventure, with some hesitation. Now, the weather is getting warm again – it feels like September in Bat Yam (only with fewer cats) – and I can’t believe this journey has happened and will, in six weeks, come to an end. I’ve learned that some of the best, most memorable things can’t always be planned, but just must unfold by themselves. I’ve never been good at letting life surprise me, but I think I’ve learned, to some degree, to let life happen… and to worry about the lumpy dough only after the food processor can’t fix it.
Thanks for reading, as always. All my love,
Elana
1. About three weeks ago, I went on a tiyul (trip) with my Comparative Religions class to the Belz quarter of Jerusalem. Belz was originally a very orthodox community in the Ukraine; it existed there for hundreds of years. However, with World War II came the end of Belz; of the entire community, which was estimated in the thousands, only the Belz rabbi and his brother survived the Holocaust. They arrived in Israel in 1945 and began rebuilding the Belz synagogue, the epicenter of Belz life. Today, the Belz synagogue stands at 14 stories, half of which are underground, and cost $70 million to construct.
The synagogue includes study halls for up to 100 people (men), a tea and coffee room that seats 7,000, a plaza with bleachers to seat 10,000, a mikvah with 25,000 towels and hundreds of showers, and seats in the main sanctuary that sell for up to $1 million. The main sanctuary is for men only; the seats in the main sanctuary must be purchased (seats in the middle and toward the back cost about $5,000). Some seats can be “double purchased,” which means that the man who first purchased the seat is not a Jerusalem resident or doesn’t come to services weekly (there are many members of the Belz community in America and Europe, so they buy seats and only come to the synagogue for the High Holidays and maybe Pesach). These seats can be purchased for a cheaper price by someone who frequents the synagogue, but during the holidays, when the primary owner is attending services, the second owner cannot have the seat. Above the main sanctuary is the women’s area which seats over a thousand women (the main sanctuary seats several thousand men), and above the women’s area is another partition for yeshiva boys and children. With thousands of people in the synagogue at a time, how does anyone hear the rabbi? To maintain quiet, the service leader (the gabbi), uses the “clapper.” Now, this clapper is about as long as I am (five feet), and looks like a giant wooden soup spoon. As a prayer ends, the gabbi raises the clapper and beats it against a special pillow that causes the sound to resonate throughout the synagogue. The gabbi continues to hit the clapper against the pillow until there is silence.
Today, the Belz community numbers about 100,000 followers worldwide; families have many children (a family of a mother, father and eight children is considered small). People travel from all over the world to meet the Belz rabbi and seek his advice; he has two secretaries and a letter-answering service to keep up with responding to everyone who contacts him. To learn more about Belz and the Belz Great Synagogue, visit: http://www.gojerusalem.com/discover/item_10306/The-Belz-Great-Synagogue.
2. The Mahane Yehuda market is slowly becoming my favorite place in Jerusalem. Not far from the city center, the market (shuk), is always bustling with people; don’t even try to walk through there on a Thursday afternoon or Friday morning before Shabbat, you’ll probably get smacked in the head with a crate of challahs or fish being thrown between stalls. Not only is all the produce very cheap and fresh, there’s always something new to find that seems hidden. Last week, I found a handmade pasta stand, which also sells homemade cheeses and sauces. Naturally, I had to buy some (pre-Passover indulgence). There are also some great restaurants and food stands scattered throughout the mess of fruit, vegetable and meat stands – try falafel in a bag (ask for “rak falafel” – only falafel, no pita – in a paper bag) and for four shekels, it’s a great snack, or go to Fish n’ Chips, a very well-hidden takeout place that features ingredients found in the shuk for maximum freshness. It’s fun to walk around, take a taste of whatever is being pushed in your face, and try not to get stepped on – making it out of the shuk unharmed can be a major feat.
3. I am lucky enough to volunteer at probably one the most amazing places in Jerusalem. I work at Aleh, which is a hospital, school and residence for Israeli children with very serious mental and physical disabilities. None of the residents at Aleh are able to walk (they are all in wheelchairs) and very few can communicate at all (none can speak, but a few can make small noises or motions). I work in the Bogrot classroom, the oldest girls at Aleh. These girls – there are seven of them – have been at Aleh the longest and are now in their late twenties or nearly thirty. I arrive in the mornings for breakfast, which is one of my favorite times in the day. I’m learning (slowly) who can eat what – some of the girls can eat mashed up food, some can only have liquid, and a few are on feeding tubes. Every morning, I feed Naama. Naama loves breakfast – she sees me come in with a tray of yogurt, mashed up Israeli salad and cottage cheese and her eyes light up. I sit in front of her chair, fill the spoon and show it to her before bringing it up to her mouth – she likes to see what she’s eating. I know it’s good when she begins to rock back and forth in her chair (I usually have to lock the wheels to ensure her breakfast doesn’t end up in my lap when the “ta’im meod” – very tasty – dance begins), and she leans her head toward me. After breakfast, we sing songs, do art projects and watch movies. It’s impossible to know how much they understand, but I like to think they know I’m there, and that I love the time I spend with all of them. To learn more about Aleh in Israel, visit: http://www.aleh.org/.
4. Last week, my Comparative Religions class went to the Dome of the Rock. Prior to this trip, I hadn’t realized it was open to the public, but apparently, a few years ago, visitors were allowed up to what once was the Temple Mount. However, it is only open to the public one hour a day, and that hour changes without notice (for example, the day we were there, we were supposed to go up at 12:30, but we were then told it wouldn’t open until 1:30). In any event, the Dome of the Rock itself covers a rock which bears significance to both Jews and Muslims. Jews believe that it was from this rock that God created the Earth, and Muslims believe that Muhammad ascended to heaven from this rock at this very location. Until destruction by the Romans in 70 CE, what is now the Dome of the Rock was the Temple Mount; in the far right corner of the Dome compound is what Jews believe was the Holy of Holies. As Jews, we don’t walk on that part of the plaza (in the time of the Temple, only the Cohen Gadol – the High Priest – could enter the Holy of Holies). A common misconception is that the Dome of the Rock is a mosque. Across from the Dome is the Al-Aqsa mosque, the Dome itself is not a place of prayer. In the early 1990s, the Jordanian government undertook the project of recovering the Dome in gold, which cost approximately $8 million. Today, the Dome of the Rock is an area under Muslim control; this area has been the cause of much and ongoing conflict.
After visiting the Dome and Al-Aqsa (we aren’t allowed inside, only on the plaza and surrounding outer areas), we met with Professor Dajani, a former member of Lebanese Fatah until 1975. In the late 70s, Dajani left Lebanon and went to Europe, and then America, where he earned two PhDs and now teaches at a university in Jerusalem. He returned to Israel in the early 90s when his father was sick with cancer and was being treated in an Israeli hospital. Dajani was convinced that the Israeli doctors wouldn’t treat his father the same as they would an Israeli patient, but he was wrong; the doctors did everything they could for his father. Years later, his mother became very sick with asthma and needed emergency medical attention. When Magan David Adom arrived, Dajani was once again skeptical, but the Israeli medical team caring for her treated her and Dajani’s family with respect and kindness; they even brought her to a special army medical center for treatment. Although his mother didn’t survive, Dajani remains thankful to Israel for helping his ill parents. Today, he is the leader of a moderate peace organization and believes in the ongoing peace process between Israelis and Palestinians. To learn more about Dajani’s efforts for peace, visit: http://www.bigdreamsmallhope.com/.
5. Number five is especially important. On Thursday, April 7, Young Judaea and FZY Year Course participated in a five-minute freeze at the Ben Yehuda pedestrian mall in Jerusalem to honor the kidnapped soldier Gilad Shalit. Gilad has been imprisoned by Hamas for nearly five years; we froze for one minute for every year that he’s been missing, for a total of five minutes. Wearing our official YC shirts, we took to Ben Yehuda Street, and after receiving a mass text message, froze for five minutes, in the middle of foot traffic, until receiving the “unfreeze” text. To see the video made that day, go to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSNHGmFlnCY. Gilad Shalit Lives!
6. I realize I’m jumping horribly out of order, but I must mention my family’s visit to Israel! At the end of March, my parents, brother and Bubbie and Oggy came to Jerusalem to visit me. We went to the shuk, Aleh, the Old City, and Tel Aviv for Shabbat. It was great to see all of them, and I can’t believe the next time we’re all together will be in June when I’m in New Jersey! Hugs and kisses to the Wiser, Stern and Estin families – miss you all!
7. On Tuesday, my Comparative Religions class (it’s a tiyul-based class, so every week, we travel to another part of Jerusalem and the surrounding area) went to Abu Ghosh, a Muslim village about twenty minutes from Jerusalem, and home to the best hummus in Israel. Across from Abu Ghosh is the village of Ein Rafa, where we met the Imam (the leader of the mosque, the Muslim equivalent to a rabbi) and a woman named Yasmin. Yasmin is originally from England and first came to Israel while studying landscape architecture in college; she worked at the Biblical gardens where she met her husband, a Muslim man living in Ein Rafa. Years later, she returned to Israel and converted to Islam, learned Hebrew and Arabic and changed her name from Jessica to Yasmin (her husband wanted her to have an Arab-sounding name so the small Ein Rafa community wouldn’t exclude her as an outsider). She is now a practicing Muslim and has three children. It was interesting to meet her, hear her story and listen to her views on Israel (Abu Ghosh and Ein Rafa remain at peace with the Israeli government).
8. It’s important to have friends in high places, I’m learning. I am now on a first-name basis with the laundry guys down the hill from my apartment – I’m one of their best customers – the people who run the bagel place, Bagel Bites, a few blocks from Ulpan (they also know my order, which is equally frightening), and a few of the vendors at the shuk (the cheese guy, an older man and his very intimidating wife who own a storefront where I get canned tomatoes, olive oil, etc., and of course, a butcher who knows I always order two kilos of chicken). It’s these small relationships that make a place feel like home – that people know me and I know them, and even for a short while, we were a minute part of one another’s lives. This is what makes me feel like I know a place, and what makes me miss it once I’m gone.
9. Roi has been asking me to teach him how to cook. So, in the spirit of Pesach, I asked my mom to send me the recipe for my Aunt Muriel’s famous kosher for Passover mandel bread. Roi and I went to the supermarket (taking your boyfriend to the supermarket in Israel two days before Passover is a notoriously bad idea), bought the necessary baking ingredients (we thought) and began our project. It wasn’t until we had mixed everything together that I realized something wasn’t right; the dough didn’t look as smooth or cake-like as it usually does. So, due to baking emergency, I called my mom and asked her what could have gone wrong. In our haste (and stupidity), Roi and I had used matzah meal instead of matzah cake meal, which is apparently much finer than regular matzah meal and is meant for baking. Well, we were stuck with lumpy mandel bread dough, and since we couldn’t exactly start over, we mixed in the chocolate chips and hoped for the best. Forty-five minutes later, we took them out of the oven, let them cool and tasted our creation. It was delicious! Conclusion? Even in the event of lumpy dough, cook the mandel bread anyway. With enough butter and chocolate, what could actually be so terrible?
10. It’s been an unbelievable month in Jerusalem, and now in Tel Aviv for the seder (there’s only one in Israel), and tomorrow, Eilat for vacation! It’s crazy for me to think that a year ago at this time, I was deferring from UPenn and committing to this life-changing adventure, with some hesitation. Now, the weather is getting warm again – it feels like September in Bat Yam (only with fewer cats) – and I can’t believe this journey has happened and will, in six weeks, come to an end. I’ve learned that some of the best, most memorable things can’t always be planned, but just must unfold by themselves. I’ve never been good at letting life surprise me, but I think I’ve learned, to some degree, to let life happen… and to worry about the lumpy dough only after the food processor can’t fix it.
Thanks for reading, as always. All my love,
Elana
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
American Returns to Israel (on a more permanent basis)
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
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
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)