Melanie's Mass Mailings: The 2007 Edition

date: Jan 3, 2007 9:30 AM
subject: Melanie's Mass Mailings: The 2007 Edition


Hola Family, Friends, Frisbees,

Many apologies for the long absence in updates—but don't fear—I'm still trucking over here in Europe with my backpack slung over my shoulder, my Frisbee in hand, and my eyes on the horizon. My hopes that all of you passed a healthy and happy holiday season and have emerged into January more or less unscathed. I have lots of stories to relate, so in case you don't make it to the end, I'll sign off here and just wish all of you a wonderful 2007 filled with lots of laughter, new experiences, and good memories. I'll be back stateside on January 27th and heading to Maryland hopefully the 28th, so I hope to see some of you soon!

THE RAIN IN SPAIN
Instead of stuffing myself with turkey in the beautiful state of New Jersey during Thanksgiving like all other years, I spent Thanksgiving weekend playing in the Spanish Frisbee Tournament in the Canary Islands. Though the islands are technically a part of Spain, their closest neighbor is Senegal, so I'm going to count it as Frisbee on the African continent, anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with my publicist. This means that in four months, I've played Frisbee on four continents: Asia (come on, Israel is basically Asia), North America, Europe, and Africa.
I played with my Sevilla Frisbee team, the Frisbillanas, and had the pleasure of witnessing their first-ever win, after three years of being a team. Flashback to Lexington Saturday soccer and entire seasons where we lost every game… Go Rockets!
First and foremost I'd like to point out that while we did not win the tournament (we came in 8th out of 11 teams), the Frisbillanas hands down no questions asked won the party, which is considered by some to be the true measure of a team's merits and abilities. Also at the party I ran into someone who looked a tad familiar who turned out to be an old friend from USY, my high school Jewish youth group. That's right—in a random bar in the Canary Islands, two New England Jews reunited. Oh USY, you can graduate any time you like, but you can never leave.
We awoke the first day of the tournament—all 150 players sleeping in a big gym—to the sounds of a torrential downpour. Rain! Rain in Spain, in Africa! I believe I am one of the only people that could manage to find an African Frisbee tournament that was delayed because of rain. No worries—the skies soon cleared up and we passed a wonderful weekend filled with Frisbee and black beaches with volcanic rock. And I went down in Frisbillana history for successfully telling my first dirty joke in Spanish (the true sign of fluency). OLE.

THE PARENT TRAP
December 1st was a date marked on the Lidman calendar (unlike most things in my life) with months of anticipation: the parentals come to Spain. I will admit, I was nervous, I was terrified, I was so grateful that my parents didn't trust me and relied on an agent for all the logistical details. Our itinerary, as my mom liked to say, was "typical American fashion," 5 cities in 10 days: Alicante, Barcelona, Sevilla, Cordoba, and Madrid with brief trips to Murcia and Toledo.
Barcelona was our all-around favorite, with special highlights including lots of Gaudi architecture, Picasso museums, and dancing the hora at Mt. Guell. Yes folks, I know some of the things I write about make you all scratch your heads in disbelief that these things actually happen, but I swear to you they do. At Park Guell, a park designed by the famous Barcelona architect Gaudi, we climbed to the top of a small hill to see a stunning panorama of Barcelona laid out before us, the Mediterranean sparkling in the distance. And at the top, along with couples holding hands and families picnicking in the sunlight was a harmonica player accompanied by a karaoke cd. And what else would he be playing, of course, than the traditional Jewish "Hava Nagila?" I'm not sure who was more surprised—the Lidman family, at finding a Bar Mitzvah soundtrack on a mountain overlooking Barcelona, or the musician, when my mom and I joined hands for the hora and started singing along. Wherever you go…
The entire trip was a resounding success, and we crammed more museums and exhibits and cathedrals into 10 days than should humanly be possible, while still leaving time for an occasional siesta or relaxing lunch. It really was a wonderful time, lots of family bonding and laughter. And I succeeded in my goal of getting at least one parent drunk the last night in Madrid (Dad, don't deny it!) after we sampled sangria in every city.

EUROPEAN WONDERINGS
After my parent's visit, since I didn't really do "school" or "classes" in the month of December and I still haven't bought my "books" (but at least I'm "registered"), I set off on my European Adventure.
(Including my parent's visit) I've clocked 32 days, 4 countries, 13 cities, two entire rolls of toilet paper for a constantly running nose, four kinds of currency currently in my wallet (pounds, euros, a random quarter, and a rupee, I have no idea where that one came from), only two loads of laundry the entire time, three passport stamps (the EU does not appreciate the sanctity of the passport), 4 crumpets in a 12 hour period, and the biggest miracle of all is that I didn't lose my wallet.
I went to Lille (north of France) to visit my French roommate from this summer in Israel, then stayed in Paris for a few days with two Frisbee players from the Sevilla team, and even got to go to a Parisian Frisbee practice! Could life be more incredible? My favorite things from Paris were the Eiffel Tower, the Musee D'Orsay (an impressionism museum that I LOVED better than the Louvre—real tranquility is to be in a room by yourself filled with Money paintings) and Sacha Finklestajn's Yiddish bakery where I had my first knish in almost a year.
After Paris it was off to Porto, Portugal with the New Jersey twins who were my Camino de Santiago colleagues. I fell in love with the city's windy, cobblestone streets and the people who were so warm and friendly. And let's be honest, the free samples of Porto wine at the 20+ wineries didn't hurt either.
I had originally planned to keep traveling until January 7th (it was December 21st at this point), but financial constraints and a few meltdowns as well as the urging of friends and family convinced me to hightail it back to Murcia on a 26 hour bus ride in order to recharge my batteries. With all of my Spanish and International friends in their various pueblos and countries, I had five days of intense introspection/isolation that mainly consisted of me watching America's worst Christmas movies dubbed over in Spanish and feeling sorry for myself that no one invited me over for Christmas dinner. Christmas Eve surprisingly, is one of Spain's biggest party nights, and I stayed out with Spanish friends until 8:00 AM Christmas day. A far cry from the American tradition of going to bed as early as possible so you an wake up early to open presents.
After my hermitage in Murcia, I visited an old kibbutz friend in London right before New Years. While it was so amazing to see her and remember all the wonderful memories, it was also bittersweet because it made us both realize that our kibbutz group will never be whole again without Mikey. In Murcia I've done a good job of completely separating myself from the events of this summer and seeing Laura brought a lot of what I've been trying to ignore crashing back. But it was the first time I've been able to talk frankly about what happened and that was good for me. And, as mentioned earlier, I had 4 crumpets in a very short time.

IN OTHER NEWS…
If this ridiculously out of control long email hasn't satiated your thirst for Melanie's flaky wanderings around Western Europe, check out this semester's columns on www.diamondbackonline.com (search for Melanie Lidman). My last column was also chosen by the Online Newshour with Jim Lehrer as an example of the opinions of my age bracket, whatever that means. The link is here: http://www.pbs.org/newshour/generation-next/blog/old_world_charm_12-05.html And, as a solution to the hole in my wallet rendered by my wanderings, I'm freelancing again for the Northwest section of the Boston Globe http://www.boston.com/news/local/articles/2006/12/28/a_history_lesson_on_grander_scale_in_spain/

AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT…
Well, if you've reached this point in the email you have my utmost respect, admiration, and gratitude. There are more stories, but we'll save those for another email on another day. I want to wish you all the happiest of New Years, and as they say here "May the worst of 2007 be better than the best of 2006." Amen, brother.

Love and European travels,
Meli

The parents at Sevilla's Plaza de Toros (Bull ring)

Mother-daughter moment in front of the Toledo skyline

Do not stick anything over the edge of the Eiffel Tower

Eating escargot... and the reaction

Porto, Portugal scenery

MMM: Palaces and Caves and Tuna OH MY!

date: Nov 9, 2006 3:35 AM
subject: MMM: Palaces and Caves and Tuna OH MY!


Hola Family, Friends, Frisbees,

Hope all is well on your horizons and November is going along as it should be. My apologies for not sending out more frequent mass mailings (although lets be honest, you don't want to hear from me too often!) Many things have happened in the past month, so I'll try to run down a summary. You can also see my last two columns for the Diamondback here:
Mi Camino
10,000 Fiestas
(if links don't work, go to www.diamondbackonline.com and search for Melanie Lidman)

HOW 'BOUT THEM CARDINALS?
At our International Halloween Party 2006 featuring food, drink, and merrymakers from all around the world, the only other three Americans dressed up as baseball fans (complete with plastic bats from the US...because that's an essential item you should never travel without). I dressed up as Bob the Builder for the sole reason that when I looked around my room half an hour before the party started the only thing I found was a bunch of stolen construction signs and a headlamp.




"So how bout them Cardinals?" the girl from Minnesota asked me. "Cardinals? In Murcia? That's weird!" I answered. "No, no--the Cardinals--they won the World Series."

Upon hearing this my mouth dropped open and I was rendered speechless. I FORGOT THE WORLD SERIES!!!!! What kind of American AM I? Ok, a season without the NHL, I can survive, and it's not like the biggest baseball fan, but WHO FORGETS ABOUT THE WORLD SERIES? Well, I bet I can name more Real Madrid players than you.....

THE PRINCESS AND THE TUNA
Not to sound jaded or anything, but it's really ENOUGH with the Spanish men playing guitar under my balcony and singing to me. It started one inconspicuous Saturday afternoon, when I was sitting in my room and s uddenly Baroque style Spanish music floated up to my window. I look outside, and lo and behold, there are 25 gentlemen below my window dressed in the height of 14th century fashion, complete with puffed sleeves and those funny pants that they wear over tights, sporting tiny round guitars and singing about lost loves.

My Italian roommate and I rushed to our balcony where we listened to a few songs, applauding wildly just the way damsels in distress on third story balconies are not supposed to applaud. The gentlemen turned out to be members of Tuna , the law fraternity at the University of Murcia, and the Engineering frat at the University of Cartagena. Before we knew it, they had invited themselves all over to our apartment that very same night for a party. Apparently this is a Tuna thing, they go around singing, find girls to host parties, and then come and sing below their balconies until the girls invite them up for rum and coke. After a few hours of "Your lips are like a rose" and "Beauty like the moon" then they move on to the next party. Now why can't frats at Maryland be more like this?

Our party was lamentably cancelled for a variety of reasons, but they keep hinting about coming back. And there's nothing to brighten up your day like a man wearing funny tights playing guitar for you.







UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND: 1, UNIVERSITY OF MURCIA: 0
No one is ever allowed to complain about UMD bureaucracy ever again. Time it took me to register for Spring 2007 classes: 15 seconds. Time it's taken me to register for Murcia Fall 2006 classes: 2 months and counting. I still don't even know exactly what classes I'm taking. Books? Riiiiight.

168 KM OF THE CAMINO
3 AM BUS STATION ARRIVALS
15 MINUTES AT THE ALHAMBRA
(and other reasons Melanie will never be a professional organizer)
My various logistical blunders have made me the butt of many Lidman family jokes, and is a major part of the reason why I'm not allowed to plan my parent's visit to Spain coming up in December. So I'm sure it will surprise few people that instead of hiking 100 kilometers in 3 days on the Camino de Santiago as we had originally planned, we hiked 168 kilometers in 4 days, causing me to miss my own informational frisbee meeting that I had planned. The Camino was an absolutely incredible experience that I am so lucky to have had the chance to do. I wouldn't change a thing about the experience except for my 27 blisters that provided a bit of an obstacle to my enjoyment. They also provided entertainment for an entire hostel our second night of the Camino as everyone there gathered round to watch two vetrinarians "explotar" mis "ampoyas" (blisters) as I writhed in pain and everyone shook their heads in disbelief at the stupid American girl rushing through the Camino and procuring more blisters than a barefoot banshee. But the Camino was really amazing, check out the article for a more in-depth explanation of how we dragged ourselves over mountains and through downpours to Santiago de Compostela.

Various other logistical mishaps and money-saving attempts have also led to confrontations with bus station security guards at 4:00 A.M. Really, is anyone hurt by two Americans saving 15 euros on a hostel by curling up next to the cafeteria?

But the most devastating logistical mishap thus far has been the Alhambra debacle. The Alhambra is a Moorish palace dating from the 1200's that has been occupied by quite a few international forces of different religions. The entire complex is absolutely huge, amazingly preserved and decorated in the height of Arabic opulence and beauty. It is Spain's Macchu Picchu, located in the mountains of Granada, with the breathtaking Sierra Nevada mountain range as a backdrop. In the words of the Rough Guide, "if you see one thing outside of Madrid, it should be the Alhambra." The most incredible part of the complex is the Nazaries Palace, which, according to the books, is just beyond words.

In order to protect this incredible national landmark, visitors are issued timeslots during which they can enter the palace. Aha, I guess you can see where I'm going with this. 15 minutes after our time slot closed, Allison from Oregon and I skipped merrily to the entrance, only to be firmly turned back by the burly moustached security guard. After two hours of begging and pleading with various authority figures the answer... was still no. Allison from Oregon is going back with her parents, but it looks like I'll be leaving Spain without seeing the palace. To make myself look a little better though, I've talked to four other Americans who had the same experience at the palace, so we're not the only ones.

The rest of the grounds were absolutely incredible, gardens and fountains and hidden plazas. We got back at the Alhambra by playing frisbee right next to the guard station. Take that backhand, Proseguridad! (If anyone is interested, I HIGHLY recommend Washington Irving's "Tales of Alhambra" for his incredible use of language in the descriptions of the Alhambra and its inhabitants, and also because it is an example of how bumming around in a castle four four months can win you international acclaim, an idea that brings warmth to my heart).

A picture from the beginning of our walk, at one of our highest points.

This is me at one of the most miserable points in my life when my picture has been taken. Day 4 of the Camino, 8 km from the end (I thought we were 5 km from the end, which at our speed translated into an hour more of walking). It was POURING down rain and I had no poncho. I was thoroughly and utterly soaked, every single muscle was screaming in pain, and my blisters were swimming in swamp-filled shoes. If a taxi had passed, no question I would have called it quits and gotten in. One of the twins I was hiking with, Lyndsy and Kelly from New Jersey, took this picture as I was coming up over a big hill, just livid at the world.

THE LAST TIME I WAS DRINKING SANGRIA IN A CAVE WITH GYPSIES...
...was in Granada in the Sacromonte neighborhood, where the best flamenco can be heard on Saturday nights. Our little cave bar had only one guitar that passed from hand to hand as the night stretched on and the music echoed into the mountain. It was one of those experiences where, even though we'd read about the cave bars in the Rough Guide, we felt one of those "This is soo Spanish! We are so authentic!" moments, feeling like you're seeing Don Quijote's Spain. The only downside to spending hours in a Spanish cave listening to flamenco? A cave means no windows, and the chain smoking Spaniards caused some throatal discomfort the following day.

WHERE THERE IS NO FRISBEE
Feeling the hole in my life created by not playing Frisbee, I might possibly join, yes, you guessed it, the University of Murcia's Waterpolo team. Funny how you become part of the strangest groups when you're in a new place. I've also befriended the Honors Law Student Government clique, don't ask me how that happenned. Having never played nor seen a waterpolo game before, I'll let you know how my first practice goes. Does this speedo make my butt look fat?

KEEP MEL OFF THE STREETS!
Through some surprising events out of my control, I have suddenly found myself without housing next semester (I know we've discussed my inability to make plans, but this one wasn't my fault). So if you UMD people know any cool houses looking for a cool housemate, please let me know. Tell them I'll bring everyone a gift from Spain.

Well, if you've made it this far, you're for sure on my good list, and isn't there something more important you should be doing? Thanks for caring, and keeping in touch, and for wasting time by reading my ramblings. Hoping you can enter all of your palaces, physically and spiritually, and that your plans go as planned but leave plenty of room for spontaneity.

Love and Tunas,
Meli

MMM: Greetings from Nebraska.... and a Sukkot Pilgramidge

date: Oct 10, 2006 4:19 PM
subject: MMM: Greetings from Nebraska.... and a Sukkot Pilgramidge

Hola Family, Friends, Frisbees,

Greetings from the Nebraska. Don't worry, I'm still here in Spain, in the state of Murcia, home to Spain's worst accents and a plentiforous amount of mayonnaise-based salads. Hoping all is well at home and you are enjoying life wherever you are.

So here I am, in Murcia, Spain. My choice to study in Murcia, designated by Lonely Planet as 'Spain's least-visited region,' was met with perplexed looks by everyone I met in Spain outside of Murcia. During my orientation in Sevilla, I didn't meet a single person who had been to Murcia or knew anything about the area.

I had two requirements for my study abroad locations: Jews and the ocean. I chose to study here in Murcia based on my in-depth Google research, which corroborated both of those points. But once I got here, the truth came out: Murcia is home to some world class palm trees (apparently they're famous in the botany world, but to me they just look like regular palm trees) and great motorcycling culture, but there are no Jews and no ocean.

Before I left Sevilla, a Spanish frisbee friend who had lived for a year in the states finally cleared it up for me. "Murcia is, well, it's completely random," he said, putting it gently. "It's like, it's like the Nebraska of Spain." I ask him about my second choice, the state of Alicante, right next door, hoping it's something worse, like Canada or Greenland or a trailer park. "Alicante!" he mused, his eyes lighting up. "Alicante is the California of Spain!"

Wouldn't you know what else? Alicante has the only synagogue on the entire southeastern coast of Spain AND the city is right on the ocean.

But Murcia's growing on me, and I'm beginning to like this quirky little city in a valley. My classes at the University are, well, a struggle. The scheduling system here was a bit of a challenge, as every class I wanted to take met at least once from 1:00-2:00 on Wednesdays. With all of the classroom changes and teacher changes and course changes, I only successfully attended one class my first week. And believe me, I tried very hard to attend more classes. Me and the information lady on the first floor are really good friends, which is also good to know I have at least one Spanish friend. The schedule that I finally concocted is a mix of Literature, Art and History from the 17th-18th century. All the other centuries met at conflicting times.

I'm going to like Murcia even more when I move to my new apartment and out of the suburbs with the host family I'm living with. I realized a while ago that haven't lived for more than three weeks in the same place since last April. So after a few weeks with my host family I'm packing my bags again, off to an apartment filled with Spaniards, Italians, multi-lingual dictionaries, and a lot of delicious pasta (courtesy of Franchi the Italian). You can read more about my host family adventures:
http://www.diamondbackonline.com/media/storage/paper873/news/2006/10/10/Opinion/Lessons.From.A.Seora.A.Spanish.Sort.Of.Life-2340276.shtml?norewrite200610101623&sourcedomain=www.diamondbackonline.com

Since the Spanish academic calender includes three-day fiestas about every two weeks, I'm heading off tomorrow for the exact opposite corner of Spain, Santiago de Compostela. Santiago is the end point for a 700 plus kilometer religious pilgrimage that follows a possible route the apostle Santiago took (he is buried in Santiago de Compostela), from France through Spain. I, along with two identical twins from New Jersey, am going to attempt the last 100 kilometers in 3.5 days because, according to my Spanish teacher, there is a belief that if you do at least 100 km of the walk, you will half your time spent in purgatory and G-d will forgive all of your earthly sins.

"Well, gee, I better do the whole thing," I told him, joking. "It's going to take a lot more than 100 km to forgive me for being Jewish!" He was not amused. Oh well. But it will be nice to celebrate sukkot (the Jewish harvest festival, celebrated by building a tent-like enclosure and sleeping and eating in it for 8 days) by being outside, appreciating nature and hugging trees.

I feel a little guilty because doing the end part of the pilgrimage is kind of like joining a marathon at mile 23. Speaking of marathons, while I was trying to register for classes, I accidentally registered for the University of Murcia marathon. I'm not sure if I'm going to do it, but hopefully I'll get a free t-shirt.

Hope all is well on the home front and you are enjoying a beautiful October. Best of luck in all of your endeavours and don't forget to keep in touch!

Love from Nebraska,
Meli

Happy New Year from Melanie's Mass Mailings...

date: Sep 15, 2006 3:07 AM
subject: Happy New Year from Melanie's Mass Mailings...

Dear Friends, Families, Frisbees,

Hola from the beautiful city of Sevilla, where the tapas are sizzling, the flamenco guitars are strumming, and winning the bull's ear at a bull fight instantly makes you a hero. I hope all is well wherever you find yourselves, enjoying life and looking for adventures.

I am nearing the end of my orientation in Sevilla and will be moving across the country to Murcia, Spain a week from today. I will ''convienently'' arrive in Murcia at the start of Rosh Hashonah, the Jewish new year and one of the most important Jewish holidays. I'm scrambling to find a place for the holidays and a synagogue to go to in the area. If only the Jews hadn't been kicked out of Spain 500 years ago, I wouldn't be having this problem locating Jews now. It is a little strange to try to acclimate myself to a city, make friends, find a frisbee team, and then a few weeks later do it all over again on the other side of Spain where the language and culture is completely different. Its like doing an orientation for rural Mississippi in San Francisco.

But yes, no worries, I did find a frisbee team. Picture the situation: I'm running late for class among the windy cobblestone streets of Sevilla, trying to dodge German tourists and horse-drawn buggies. But imagine my luck and immense joy at seeing someone on the street wearing a FRISBEE SHIRT! He was running for a bus but I grabbed him and wouldn't let go until I had all the details for the next frisbee practice. What are the chances, seriously, that out of 60 frisbee players in a country of 45 million people, I happen to randomly pass one of those 60 people on the street, who randomly just happens to be wearing his only frisbee shirt? Frisbee G-ds, I'm telling you. They're looking out for me.

Another amazing discovery: the Triana bridge, an old stone ridge rock climbers have claimed and turned into one of Spain's most interesting spots to boulder (climb low to the ground without ropes). Now that the temperature has dropped from an unbelievable 110 degrees to a more manageable 80 (in the span of three days), there's a group of people out there every day. Once we established the fact that we can all laugh at my inability to roll ''rrrrrrr's'' despite my years (read: minutes) of practice, they welcomed me into the fold. After a few days, I'm rock climbing better than I have in my whole life (which is to say, not much). Today we also established the fact that I'm the first Jew most of them have met. Isabella and Ferndinand: I hold you directly responsible for Spain's lack of Jewish climbers.

Melanie's Mass Mailings is crossing a new frontier with the publication of ''Turtilla on a Half Shell: Adventures of a Terp in Spain,'' a biweekly column I'll be writing for the Diamondback, my university's newspaper. You can read the first column here:
http://www.diamondbackonline.com/vnews/display.v/ART/2006/09/13/45077cff66cf9?in_archive=1

As I said before, I'm excited to be starting on a new adventure, but all beginnings are hard. My culture shock and sense of isolation were (are) very much increased as a result of what happened this summer. With the help of my parents and friends I'm getting through it, but it's been a bumpy and tough beginning.

I want to take this opportunity to wish you all a very happy and healthy new year. May you all be blessed with lots of laughter, love, new experiences, and the ability to appreciate everything you have. May we all take advantage of every moment in whatever twists and turns come our way. And may you all get to attend a bull fight at some point in your life, preferably with people sporting mullets.

Love and flamenco,
Melanie

P.S. note new cell phone below... ;)

Melanie´s Mass Mailings: En Espanol, Living La Vida Loca

date: Sep 5, 2006 11:30 AM
subject: Melanie´s Mass Mailings: En Espanol, Living La Vida Loca

Hola Friends, Family, and Frisbees,

Saludos desde Espana, hope all is going well on the home front. I am currently in Sevilla, living the dream of daily siestas, spanish tortillas, and bull fights on Sundays. To those of you starting new school years, or your last year of school, best of luck in the semester. I will be studying at the University of Murcia in Murcia, Spain for my fall semester. I'm excited and a little overwhelmed to be coming and going from country to country but I'm happy to be on another adventure, continuing my wandering around the world. Hi, Mel, this is your brain on culture shock.

The past few weeks have been quite a whirlwind, hence the fact that I haven't written another e-mail. I came home from Israel, cheered for the Israeli Youth Frisbee team at Frisbee Worlds (they did great and came in eighth… out of eight), got my wisdom teeth out, visited grandparents and uncles and aunts and Mike's mom in Philly, attempted to get a tan on Cape Cod, tried my hand at surfing with friends from Maryland who visited (I'm really good at sitting on the surfboard and looking cool not much else), ate lots of Anna's Taqueria, and packed my bags again.

I tried a few times to write an e-mail summing up my experiences in Israel but I stopped each time. Partly because I don't have words, and partly because it's hard to think about and here, outside of Israel , it barely feels real. Despite everything, I am still so glad I was in Israel this summer. I cannot imagine getting that news while being in the states.

What a summer this was—the bundle of contradictions that Israel always is, plus euphoric holy land highs and this time, more pain and hurt than I knew what to do with. Thank you again for all the support and e-mails all of you wrote back—it was amazing knowing there were people on all corners of the world pulling for me and worrying about me. And thanks, mom, dad, grandparents, for understanding that I was not going to come home and being supportive of my decision to stay when I needed it most.

My last day in Tel Aviv, just a day before the cease-fire was signed, I saw some amazing grafitti. "Know hope in limbo" someone had scribbled on a telephone pole, and all down the street was written "know hope" "know hope" "know hope" echoing down the block. As we start new years and new adventures and happier times, may we also know hope.
Chazak, chazak, v'nitchazek (strength, strength, and may you be strengthened).

I'll sign off here, getting ready to start my next adventure on a happier note, with another bumpy beginning, as my suitcases have been a little "tarde" (late) in arriving and I am still without most of my clothes after a week and a half of wearing the same thing every day (the upside of that was everyone learned my name very quickly because I always wore the same thing—thanks for that, US Airways). Sevilla is a gorgeous city—I am here for three weeks for orientation before I go to Murcia to begin my semester. This is the first year for my program, ISA Direct, which enrolls students directly as Spanish students in uni. There are only four students doing my program and I'm the only one going to Murcia. So life, as always, should stay interesting. Good luck to everyone and as always take advantage of every moment...


Love and tapas and sangria,
Meli (because Spanish people can't say Melanie, I've been rechristened with a new name)

P.S. You want to hear a logistical nightmare? Try building a subway in a 700 year old city and you´ve got Sevilla. Big Dig, you got nothing on this.

P.P.S. Melanie´s Mass Mailings first-ever contest: be the first to come up with the reason why so many Spanish guys are sporting mullets. Yes, that´s right, the mullets have taken to the streets and are returning from backcountry America with a vengeance. A VENGEANCE! Why, I ask, why?

Mikey's Red Sandals

date: Aug 6, 2006 9:48 AM
subject: Mikey's Red Sandals


Dear Friends and Family,
Thank you for writing back about the sad news of Michael Levin's death. People all over the states have been writing to me about it, so it's good to know that Mikey will be remembered and so many people have told me they are going to his memorial service in the states. Mikey's funeral, cleaning his apartment, and visiting with his parents were some of the most difficult things I've ever done. Seeing another friend's flag-drapped coffin, his army friends standing at his grave looking helpless and so sad; Mikey's parents and sisters...
And the situation in Israel is still worsening.... 10 people killed today in missle attacks in a northern village. What a crazy country this is; what a sad place to love.
Stay safe to all; I love you all and apologize for not keeping in touch as much as I'd like to and cluttering up your e-mail boxes with my musings. Please know that you guys are helping me get through a really difficult time by reading, commenting, and caring about my writing.
Much love,
Melanie

Mikey Levin's Red Shoresh Sandals

To understand Mikey Levin, first and foremost, you have to understand his red Shoresh sandals. Over and over these sandals popped up in stories about Mikey. "It was winter, absolutely freezing outside," one friend remembered, "and I opened my door and there was Mikey, chewing on his hoodie and wearing those stupid red sandals--his toes bandaged and bruised because he kept wearing those sandals when they made him do kitchen duty in the army." Mikey wearing those sandals to synagogue, to work irrigation in the kibbutz fields, to weddings, to bars.

To understand Mikey, you have to understand his stomping grounds--Kikar Tzion (Zion Square), and really all of Israel. Located just a few blocks from the last apartment he lived in, Kikar Tzion is the heart of Jerusalem and a crazy crowded mishmash of Jews from all over the world, where it's not at all surprising to run into your old kindergarten teacher or childhood neighboor by accident. But it was impossibly frustrating to walk with Mikey in Kikar Tzion because he invariably knew two thirds of the people he passed and you couldn't hold a conversation without him running off and saying "Wow! There's that girl I met on a plane six years ago! I have to go talk for an hour!" When we say that he was a friend to everyone, we were completely serious. He could talk his way into any security-guarded entrance and had connections everywhere, especially with the best ruggelach bakery in Israel where his kilos of baked goods always seemed to weigh more than ours. Mikey was the kind of person you could meet for five minutes and you would feel like his best friend. And he kept in touch with EVERYONE.

To understand Mikey, you have to understand this crazy dream he had of serving in the Israeli Defense Forces. I've rarely met someone so determined, so crazily idealistic, so proud to wear his uniform. I cried at his swearing in ceremony, held at the Western Wall in Jerusalem, because it's not every day you get to watch someone realize a dream they've worked for so hard for years.

But you have to understand, Mikey was a different kind of friend to everyone who met him. He could talk forever into the wee hours of the night, about everything and nothing. I saw him only two weeks ago, and I can still hear his voice and his funny laugh echoing in my head. Perhaps Mikey's thousands of friends will recognize the Mikey I knew, but Mikey was such a chameleon and he could fit into any situation and be friends with everyone.

To understand Mikey, you have to understand how he lived--"crazy, not stupid," his sister always told him. But you also have to understand how he died. On Tuesday morning, Mikey's paratrooper unit was in the village of Ayla al-Shaab in southern Lebanon. As they were searching a building used by terrorist operatives, a Hizbullah terrorist surprised them and opened fire at close range. Michael Levin was killed instantly, along with two other soldiers from his unit. He was only 22.

We found his red Shoresh sandals when we were cleaning out his apartment, trying to make it easier for his parents and roommate. They still smell terrible and they still have the imprint of Mikey's toes. It was only when I saw those smelly sandals, without Mikey in them, that I finally understood he was gone. Hearing so many stories about Mikey since we got the news made it seem like he was coming back from the army next week. I was still having trouble talking about him in the past tense. But seeing those empty sandals, you have to understand, meant I couldn't pretend any more.

Yesterday I bought my own pair of red Shoresh sandals. They're smaller, and cleaner, and they don't smell nearly as bad. Every time I look at them I think of Mikey and smile, remembering all the crazy stories and silly stories and stupid things we did together.

Because to understand Mikey, you have to understand his smelly red Shoresh sandals.

more sad news

date: Aug 2, 2006 6:08 AM
subject: more sad news

Dear Friends and Family,

I didn't think I'd have to write another e-mail like this for a long time, if ever. Yesterday afternoon Michael Levin z"l, one of my best friends from kibbutz ulpan at Kvutzat Yavneh, the guy we climbed the grain tower with and went hay jumping with and barbeques and nights out in Jerusalem and 4:00 in the morning talks about soul mates, was killed in southern Lebanon. He was only 22.

For the first time in my life I don't even have words to explain this... everything feels so surreal. To see another friend's face staring up from the front page of the paper (and a terrible picture because none of us would talk to the newspapers before we talked to his parents). Please watch the news in the states and tell me what it says about him. He was an oleh (immigrant) from Philadelphia. He was our friend.
http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?cid=1153292058280&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull

Those of you here in Israel and the states please stay safe and cherish every moment. I just don't know what else to say
-Melanie

why you, mikey, why of all people did it have to be you???

life continues...

date: Jul 31, 2006 11:18 AM
subject: life continues...

Dear Family, Friends, and Frisbees,

Hope things are going well on the home front. Thanks so much for all of your words about the last e-mail. Despite the images you see on the news and my emails, life here in Israel is continuing. People still go shopping and out to dinner and Ziggy Marley even had a concert here a few days ago (though his concert was moved from Nahariya to Ra'anana, much farther south).

The whole country is in a sort of weird limbo, balancing on the edge of keeping their normal routine and figuring out what's going on in this War in the North. Though Israelis are better at living on the edge of a volatile situation than most people in the world, things are starting to normalize now only because no one can stand this type of uncertainty for so long. Shops are beginning to open in Haifa and more cars are starting to fill the streets. After all, a city has to live.

I just wanted to touch base and let you know that I am still doing OK, living in Jerusalem, working at the soup kitchen Carmei Hair. We have more than a few people eating here who are from the north of the country, especially Tzfat. I visited Yotam's parents during the Shiva (mourning period of seven days after a funeral) and they are such strong, wonderful people. They were so happy to hear anything we had to say about Yotam and listened to the stories from our Nesiya summer over and over.

On another note, you are all part of history as Melanie's Mass Mailings will be published for the first time when "The Summer of Two Processionals" will be published in the August/September issue of Hadassah Magazine. So everyone ask your (Jewish) grandmothers for their extra copies.

So thats all for now, hopefully my next e-mail will be a little more entertaining and exciting as I try to make the most out of my last two weeks in Israel. Everyone stay safe and stay happy, and live every moment.

Love and bourekas,
Melanie

The Summer of Two Processionals

date: Jul 24, 2006 10:42 AM
subject: The Summer of Two Processionals

Dear Friends and Family,
Thank you so much for all of your words and thoughts and concerns. I am sorry I haven't been able to write to each of you individually; my internet access has been pretty non-existant since I keep getting shuffled around from place to place. I am currently in Jerusalem, time indefinte, living at the Jewish Agency's apartment and volunteering at a soup kitchen Carmei Hair. I wanted to share a piece I wrote about going to Ma'ayan's wedding and Yotam's funeral in the space of 10 days and some of my experiences in Haifa. Sorry its so long and melodramatic... don't feel obligated to read it. A lot of the catharsis just comes from being able to put words down on paper. Just as a warning to my grandmothers--its a little vivid at some points.
Thank you all for your continued support and love. Please remember to take advantage of every single moment and laugh a lot.
Wishing you all the best,
Melanie

THE SUMMER OF TWO PROCESSIONALS

The summer of two processionals: one happy and one sad, tears at both: tears of joy and tears of deep, deep pain. And the land of Israel in between--roads and trees and mountains and streams that somehow make everything worth it--living and dying and getting married and fighting a war.

The summer of two processionals: and in the middle bombs falling so close you can feel them and air raid sirens that taste like fear.

The summer of two processionals: a joyous occassion, my first friend to get married. She looked magical in her wedding dress--so happy as if she was floating on air. And when she and her new husband looked at each other you couldn't help but be happy for them, to marvel in the wonderful world where such love exists.

There was a breeze and the view of the Jerusalem hills behind the chuppah (wedding canopy)--a bright orange sunset reflecting in their eyes as the blessings were read. The last rays of light reached across the horizon as parents beamed--the first wedding for one family, the last for the other. The ceremony was beautiful and I cried simply because I was happy, and I felt old, and part of me just wanted things to stay the same the way they were four years ago.

The first processional was joyful and holy, sanctified, as I walked behind the bride and her parents and all of the other woman as we accompanied her to the chuppah. I saw friends I haven't seen in year and it was such a happy time for a reunion.

And then a few days later the katuyshot rockets started to fall. Straight from Lebanon I heard them that morning. On the bus on the way to work--a boom that was impossible to pretend was anything else after the air raid siren went off. We were heading towards the Heart Of the Bay train and bus station but the bus driver pulled into the mall next door and we all ran into the mall's bomb shelter. Only later that day did I see on the news the impact of that rocket that I heard just a few meters away--8 railway workers dead, many more injured. I was downstairs in the mall's bomb shelter for two hours. Perhaps there were 200, 300 people there spilling out into the underground parking lot. People clustered around car radios like moths to a flame; no one knew what was going on and I knew no one.

After two hours the busses chaotically started to run again. My only thought was to go back to my building so I could be in a bomb shelter with my friends instead of by myself. I couldn't find my exact bus so I took one that ran through my neighborhood and I had to walk about 15 minutes back to my building. As I was walking back the air raid sirens went off again and more rockets started coming down in Kiryat Eliezar, my neighborhood. I can't even begin to explain to you what it felt like--I felt like I was in a movie. The streets were deserted and I was running in the middle of the road. It was like time stopped and sound stopped except for the siren and the boom boom of the rockets down the street and I was running next to a security guard and she was crying and I think I was too but I'm not sure. It was all over in a matter of seconds--the bombs stopped and the siren went off--but it was so surreal. I have never been so terrified in my entire life.

The bride from the first processional came to pick me and her husband's grandmother up from Haifa and brought us to Jerusalem so I could celebrate the end of her "sheva brachot" (week of post-wedding celebrations). Bombs to weddings--I will never get used to this country. Girls who had grown up in Gush Etzion, in the West Bank, who have suffered many tragedies of their own, couldn't believe that I had this morning been in Haifa. Usually it is the other way around.

And then a few days later a phone call of the most horrifying sort. I was eating felafel, heaped with hummous and chips when it came. Standing at the bus stop as our bus is pulling up, hearing those words: "Do you remember Yotam?" Of course, Yotam the kibbutznik. Strong, silent, Israeli. Exactly the kind of person you picture when you think "kibbutznik." Now in the army somewhere in some elite unit, just like we knew he would be. Of course I remember Yotam.

"He was killed today in Southern Lebanon."

Yotam?!? Not our Yotam!! He's only 21. 21 like you and me! It can't be true. It's not on the news yet, it can't be true. "I have to go," and we hung up the phone.

Sobbing--wandering the streets of Jerusalem by myself, no idea where I'm going and no idea why. I know this street--Yaffo Street--like the back of my hand but somehow it looks different through the tears. I can't explain why I'm so upset, sad, lost. We weren't that close. I haven't seen you in two years and we didn't keep in touch.

But something--something about you, Yotam.

Do you remember, Yotam, when Or and I came to visit your kibbutz? You gave me the best hug ever. You had just started the army that month or maybe a little while before and you were so proud. But modest, always modest. I was terrified of your gun. And we met your girlfriend and looked at pictures.

Do you remember, Yotam, how you used to play guitar on Friday afternoons before Shabbos on our trip, teaching me Israeli songs? I remember one Friday in the Golan--we could see Lebanon and Syria from the hill outside the gate--laying in the grass and laughing with a group of people. Or do you remember how you climbed an entire mountain all over again because Lindsay thought she forgot her cell phone at the top? Everyone laughed when you guys told the story about how, at the very top, she found the phone in her bag.

Do you remember, Yotam, how I thought you could do anything? YOU were "kibbutz" for me.

No one knows anything for sure yet as I continue walking. Jerusalem--Israel--this country that I love, that I know you love--that you died to defend. I wish I could make the people walking past me see what you did for them shake them ask them yell "Are you grateful??? He was only 21 and he died for this country!!"

A wedding car decorated with white and purple ribbons passes and fresh tears stream down my face as I think of all the things you will never do--get married, go to university, have children, hike another mountain. You will never again work with the fish on kibbutz and never again impress us with your barbequing skills.

Other calls come and its no longer possible to pretend. And no one knows the details but Yotam I don't want to. I'm scared for you and all of our other friends in the army and I'm so sad for you, Yotam, our kibbutznik. And when your face stares up at me from the front page of the paper the next morning the tears come again and I can't believe that "Yotam Gilboa z"l" is my Yotam Gilboa.

The second processional: Seeing your coffin drapped with the Israeli flag--seeing your parents and your girlfriend and your brothers and one of them looks so much like you I catch my breath and think maybe it was a mistake.

The second processional is longer and slower and more solemn as we walk towards the kibbutz graveyard. Your parents lean on each other for support and everyone is crying. Again I see more friends I haven't seen in years, but the hugs are fierce instead of joyous and the silences between us are too heavy to fill.

And there's an image in my mind that I will never be able to erase for as long as I live: the soldiers, proud in their green uniforms, so official, working in silent unison to shovel dirt on your grave. It was only then that I understood you were gone.

And I can't remember so much of what people said, except that I wanted everyone in the whole world to know that they weren't just saying it--that it was TRUE. That you WERE a friend to everyone and you cared so much and you always made sure everything was OK. That you were Yotam.

I'm sitting here now looking at the hills of Israel in the golden afternoon light before Shabbos. The breeze smells sweet and the land has a special biblical beauty to it. I've found the tears coming at strange points today when I remember you're gone. Tears I can't explain for a loss I can't fill or understand. To Israel maybe you were just another soldier with your picture in the news, but to me you were a friend.

I haven't heard a katuysha rocket in a few days now since I've been out of the north but the situation is still shaky and I don't know what I'll do or where I'll sleep. Three more soldiers died today in a helicopter crash and my heart breaks thinking about their families and friends and the funerals that will come. But also on the front page of the paper is a picture of a bride and groom from the north who kept their wedding date despite the situation and got married in a bomb shelter.

The summer of two processionals: one happy, one so painful, with rockets in between. There's something about this land that leads me down two such different paths, with tears of joy and tears of pain all in just a few days. There's something about this land in the summer of two processionals.


--July 21, 2006

still safe... and some sad news

date: Jul 19, 2006 5:15 PM
subject: still safe... and some sad news

Hello everyone,
Thank you so much for all of your e-mails of concern they are very much appreciated. I am currently in Jerusalem per request of the Jewish Agency and everyone I know in Israel and the US. The situation is still tense but I am proud of Israel. Please do not believe the liberal pro-Palestinian propoganda--Israel was attacked needlessly and is doing its best to defend itself.

A longer e-mail will ensue in the coming days. I am writing now with some sad news that my friend Yotam Gilboa z"l from my Nesiya summer trip in 2004 was killed today in Southern Lebanon. (more information: http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull&cid=1150886041730) We weren't the closest of friends but any Nesiya alum can attest that there is a special bond that we share. I can't describe the shock at seeing his picture on the news and knowing that Yotam, our strong, silent kibbutznik is no longer here. He was only 21.

Please pray for the three kidnapped Israeli soldiers and an end to this situation so that all the soldiers and civilians on both sides of the border can return to their normal lives.
I have attached Prime Minister Ehud Olmert's address to the Knesset (parliament) on Monday July 17th. It is long but worth reading if you have the chance.

Everyone please stay safe and take advantage of every single day.
With love,
Melanie

Address by Prime Minister Ehud Olmert - The Knesset

07/17/2006

Madam Speaker,
Ladies and gentlemen,
Members of Knesset,

At the outset, I offer condolences, on my behalf and on behalf of the government, the Knesset and the entire nation, to the families of the victims – both civilian and IDF. I also send best wishes for recovery to the wounded, and a huge embrace for the families of those kidnapped and the boys themselves.

Over the past few weeks, our enemies have challenged the sovereignty of the State of Israel and the safety of its residents – first in the southern sector, then on the northern border, and deeper into the home front.

Israel did not seek these confrontations. On the contrary. We have done a lot to prevent them. We returned to the borders of the State of Israel, recognized by the entire international community. There were those who misconstrued our desire for peace – for us and our neighbors – as a sign of frailty. Our enemies misinterpreted our willingness to exercise restraint as a sign of weakness.

They were wrong!


[there's more...but i ended it here]

update... I am OK

date: Jul 16, 2006 7:47 AM
subject: update... I am OK

I just wanted to let everyone know that I am OK and am leaving Haifa in a few hours. I am sure you have all seen pictures on the news etc please remember that Israel is still a wonderful country. Yes, I am staying here for the rest of my time (one more month). Yes, I am OK and yes, I did hear the katuyushkot.

For those of you who are calling my parents to tell them to make me come home (outside of my grandmas who are allowed to because it is written in their contract) please stop as you are only making it harder for everyone involved.

To everyone--stay safe and stay in touch.
-Melanie

Melanie's Mass Mailings, Vol 3 Issue 2: Escape from the Zoo and Other Stories

date: Jul 3, 2006 3:20 AM
subject: Melanie's Mass Mailings, Vol 3 Issue 2: Escape from the Zoo and Other Stories

Shalom Family, Friends, Frisbees!

Hope all is going well on the home front and wherever you may find yourself. Thaks to all of you who wrote back from the last e-mail--its so wonderful to hear friendly voices when I'm so far away from home. In trying to put some order into my life and my ramblings, I've decided to divide this issue into chapters as a good place to start. This is a long one (sorry!), so if you don't read to the end, I'd just like to sign off here by saying be happy and be healthy and enjoy life.

Tov, here goes...

CHAPTER 1: HOW TO ESCAPE FROM AN ISRAELI ZOO
(Or, If Melanie Can Do It, Why Can't the Monkeys?)

Yes, you read the title right. When I told my mom this story, I could see her shaking her head in disbelief yet not at all surprised over the phone. "Melanie, you just have some sort of cloud that follows you," she told me with a sigh.

I discovered the Haifa Educational Zoo by accident one late afternoon during my wanderings. I didn't have high hopes--I figured it might be a few snakes, some mangly looking petting zoo ponies, and that's it. The entrance gate was open and when I walked in without paying my expectations were further lowered.

Not having frequented many zoos in the past five years or so I don't have much to base this on, but wow! Lions and tigers and bears oh my! All types of monkeys! Mongooses! Pythons! Leopards! Alpacas! Peacocks wandering around! But one thing I just could not figure out: where were all the people? Wandering around the zoo for an hour or so I didn't come across another human being save for a few zoo workers who looked at me strangely and continued on.

As it approached 7:30 PM I was also impressed with how late the zoo was open--hoe wonderful that the children of Haifa can enjoy the animals so late in the day! It was at the owl shed that my zoo adventures came crashing down around me. "Giveret! (Ma'am!) WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? All the gates are locked and we closed over an hour ago!!" a man in green overalls yelled at me. More yelling and gesturing ensued as I proclaimed my innocence and he maintained that I broke into the zoo. The exchange ended in "I know you broke in and I'm going to call the police!" which I took as my exit cue, leaving me only one choice: time to break OUT of the zoo.

I made myself scarce near the crocodiles, trying to find the exit. I finally found a climbable gate, heaved my bag over and was climbing down the other side when Mr. Zoo Keeper drove right toward me on his golf cart, talking furiously into his walkie talking using the words "mistarah" (police) and "break-in." I didn't look back as I escaped from the zoo--I booked it to the main street, hoped on the nearest bus going vaguely in the direction on my neighborhood, and scrunched down low in my seat.

So the real question remains about my high stakes escape from an Israeli zoo: does my escape make me look better, or the monkeys?

CHAPTER 2: HOW TO FIND AN ILLEGAL ISRAELI WAITRESSING JOB AND QUIT AT THE END OF YOUR FIRST SHIFT
(Or, How to Make As Many Israeli Customers as Mad as You Can in the Shortest Amount of Time)

Though I am receiving a pretty solid deal through the Jewish Agency regarding my free apartment, wanderings such as mine tend to be a bit of a drain on the wallet just by going from here to there. That or like an out of control fire hydrant leaving me wondering where my last shekels could have gone.

Anyways, I decided to realize my dream of bartending around the world this summer. I asked around at a few places, and was ecstatic when I got an "interview" at The Camel, a trendy bar right on the beach with tables and chairs in the sand and cool colored lighting at night. On my first break of my first shift, I called my dad. "Dad! I got a job!"

It was just a few catastrophes later, after bringing napkins instead of olives and chocolate ice cream instead of beer when I called my mom on my second break. "Mom! I'm quitting my job!" Aside from the severe lacking of my Hebrew skills that caused many tables of Israelis to mutter about "stupid American," they wanted me to work on Shabbos (Jewish day of rest when religious Jews do not travel or work), which is not B'seder (OK) with me. Technically it's illegal to fire someone because they won't work on Shabbos, but let's return to the fact that I myself am an illegal worker in this country.

CHAPTER 3: HOW MELANIE THOUGHT SHE WAS IMMUNE FROM CULTURE SHOCK BUT ENDED UP WITH HER WORST BOUT YET
(Or, The Realization that Sometimes No Good Very Bad Days Happen, Even in the Holy Land)

I'm not going to lie--I thought I was a culture shock pro. I can identify the stages, I know the triggers, I can usually snap myself out of it within hours. But something happened to me that's never happened to me before in Israel: I was unhappy. I couldn't figure out what was going on in this land that I love--I was frustrated and lonely, broke and unfamiliar with the area. It didn't occur to me before I left that every single one of my Israeli friends would be in the army or university and therefore very, very busy, and I know absolutely no one in the city of Haifa. My Hebrew wasn't where I wanted it to be and suddenly the idiosyncrasies of Israel--the cars that honk non-stop and the way everyone cuts in line in the grocery store and how milk comes in a bag--the things that make Israel unique and wonderful became instead more than I could handle.

I found myself for the first time since age 16 doubting my commitment to live here (at some point in time). I missed knowing what was going on and where I was geographically (which does happen on occasion in the States). I began to second guess my decision to come to Israel this summer--what did I hope to accomplish? "Why are you here?" people ask me all the time. And if I can't answer them, if I don't know the answer myself, do I even have a right to be here?

But the funny thing about culture shock is how quickly it disappears. Maybe it was my escape from the zoo, or seeing the sun set over the Mediterranean or any little trigger that switched something inside me. Suddenly I opened my eyes and was so happy to be here--to be in ISRAEL. To be exploring a new city and speaking an unfamiliar language and finding adventures behind every corner.

I am so happy when people mistake me for Israeli or when I figure out how to get from point A to point B successfully or when I make the most perfect Israeli salad with vegetables from the corner market that cost 2 shekels (less than 50 cent, who by the way was in Tel Aviv last weekend). I love the way Roger Walter (of Pink Floyd) came to Israel last week and caused traffic jams over almost the entire country. I love meeting up with old friends and Maryland friends and new friends and eating felafel every day for a week. I just love being here, in Israel. I just love it.

So I'll sign off here... Sorry for the ridiculously long e-mail. Coming up in the next issue: How Melanie Finally Accepts That the "Stupid American Who Doesn't Know Anything Card" Will Never Trump Israeli Bureaucracy (Or How Melanie DIDN'T Run a Triathlon Even Though She Wanted To), and other adventures.

For those of you watching the news in the states, please remember that news from Israel is always presented with a fatalistic slant. I hope you will join me in wishing for a speedy and safe end for the current situation and a safe return for Gilad Shalit (the kidnapped soldier). But please also be assured that Israel is SAFE and daily life is marching on.

I hope you are enjoying your summers and escaping zoos of your own, both figuratively and physically. I wish you all the best wherever your adventures take you, and, above all, watch out for the crocodiles.

Yours truly straight from the monkey house,
Melanie

And we're back... the return of Melanie's Mass Mailings for Summer 2006

date:Jun 16, 2006 9:54 AM
subject: And we're back... the return of Melanie's Mass Mailings for Summer 2006

Shalom friends, families and frisbees,

Hoping this e-mail finds everyone happy and healthy and enjoying the beginning of your summer wherever you may be. I would like to start off this series of Melanie's Mass Mailings by thanking those of you who have read these lonely musings from abroad from my early cow-milking days in Kvutzat Yavneh to my hilarious mishaps as an accidental Catholic missionary in Peru to now, as I embark on a summer of wanderings based in Haifa, Israel. If you have decided you would rather not recieve this mailing please let me know--my heart will be broken, but we can move on.

Tov, here goes....

There is an Israeli saying "there's always bumps in the beginning of the road." This was certainly true of my arrival in Israel over a week ago. My adventures started my first morning--Friday morning, with the realization I had a mere six shekels (about $1.50) in my pocket. A series of mishaps put me in a multi-dimensional Catch 22 situation: 1) all the banks are closed because it is Friday, so I can't change any of my American dollars. 2) After six tries, my ATM card still refuses to work, so I can't withdraw money. 3) My cell phone is broken. 4) I can't fix my cell phone until I have more money, and I can't call the bank to figure out what is going on until I fix my cell phone. Also, to add insult to injury, the internet is down in my building. A desperate, 30 second phone call to my parents (all I can afford from a pay phone) only results in more headaches for them as they try to help and two shekels less for me.

So here's the story of Melanie's life: 12 hours in the holy land--totally isolated in a foreign city--no money, no phone, no friends. So I basically have one option when I'm broke and lonely: frisbee. I used my very last shekels to get to a random field in Haifa where a team plays pick up on Friday afternoons and prayed to the Frisbee G-ds--who surely must be shining down over Israel, land as holy as it is--to somehow help me out.

The Frisbee G-ds were indeed smiling in my favor. The coach had invited me over for Shabbat (Jewish Sabbath--Friday night to Saturday night) and he lent me money on the condition that I recruit more girls to play. Saturday I ended up in Tel Aviv and played with the Israeli National Youth Frisbee Team, which is traveling to Boston for an international tournament August 13--the same day I head home to Boston.

Other than some initial bumps in the road, things are moving along. I am living at the Aba Chushi Absorbtion Center for Singles in Haifa. Every time I see the sign in front of the building I picture a giant Jewish-star shaped sponge sucking up lonely Jewish single people from the four corners of the earth--kind of like a real live JDate.com.

Aba Chushi is the first stop for Olim--new immigrants to Israel--and there are Jews of every size, shape, and color. In the hallways you can hear Russian, Amharic, French, Spanish, Russian, Dutch, English, more Russian, and even a smattering of Hebrew on alternate Thursdays of every third month. Accomodations are, well, modest is a generous word, but it serves my purpose. Thank goodness my grandmother isn't visiting.

Like a real Israeli, I used my "proteccia," "connections" with the woman in charge of the center to knock my rent down from $30/month to free and also finagle free Ulpan classes three days a week. And by "using my connections" I really mean I told her in Spanish that I was rooting for Mexico over Iran and she loved me. I mean, who would root for an Iranian soccer team in Israel?

I am working for Partnership 2000, (http://www.jewishagency.org/JewishAgency/English/Israel/Partnerships/Regions/Nesher ) around 20 hours/week in exchange for my apartment. Compared to the absolute awesomeness of my last internship ( www.youngwomendrum.org), the phone calls and copy making and administration yuckiness of this internship is not as awesome, but it should be getting better. I just started working with the youth group at the center and one of my first duties is to translate Queen songs from English to Hebrew so a group of kids can put on Queen: the Musical. We Will Rock You or Bohemian Rhapsody, anyone? Help will be appreciated and repaid in the form of Israeli chocolate....

Plans on the horizon call for basically a summer of as much wandering as I can afford, as I try to figure out what I'm doing in Israel and why I feel so drawn to this place. Along the way, I hope to do lots of camping and hiking and darbuka lessons (Arabic drum). Sunday I am attending a "Women in the Tent" seminar--bringing together Christian, Druze, Muslim, and Jewish Women to explore women's rights in Israel with Sara Newman, of former Hebrew House fame. I think it does actually take place in a tent outside of Be'er Sheba, so that should be really interesting. (See what happens when your roommate is president of the Feminist Activist at Maryland? Things will never be the same....)

Tov, I miss you all and wish you the best of luck where all your wanderings take you. Please write back and let me know how you're doing, any exciting news, funny stores, etc.

Until next time, I remain faithfully yours in flakiness and wandering,
Melanie

north to south to here nor there... mel criss crosses the country in israel part three

Date: Wed, 5 Jan 2005 07:57:15 -0800 (PST)
Subject: north to south to here nor there... mel criss crosses the country in israel part three

DISCLAIMER: Sorry this is a ridiculously long e-mail... Don't feel obliged to read it but please write me back to let me know how your vacation is going!!!

Shalom L'kulam,

Hoping everyone had a great New Years and is enjoying the first few days of 2005...It's hard to believe that less than a week from today I will be back in Lexington... I knew the most difficult part of coming to Israel would be leaving but I didn't realize how bittersweet it would be.

I'm excited to see the familiar sights and sounds of Lexington and be with my family again--only this week did I finally begin to understand just how far away from the US I am and how difficult it is to be here when I also want to be there with them. But to leave this country again--to leave behind the friends and the memories and the black hats and the knit kippahs and the muzzein call echoing between the hills of Jerusalem...

Sometimes it's as if I can actually feel the two different places pulling in opposite directions on my heart.

I'm trying to cram as much into these last few days as possible--to be everywhere, to see everything--to laugh, to love, to wander until the next horizon before the sun sets. With my base in Jerusalem, I'm currently attempting to see how far North and how far South I can go in a single day. Yesterday, along with a few other Maryland Hillel students we woke up insanely early and went to Mitzpeh Ramon--a desert town in the middle of the Negev (desert that encompasses the southern half of the country).

Our original plan had been to camp out for a few days in the North or South but it's been raining for like a week solid so the possibility of floods made it a little difficult (it's hard to complain about the rain when it's so necessary here).

Instead we arrived at the magnificent Makhtesh Ramon mid morning--basically it's a huge crater considered the "grand canyon" of Israel--considering the size of Israel the Makhtesh (it's official geological name since this geological phenomenon only occurs in Israel bet you're glad you know that now) is absolutely mind-boggling.

We had the unique experience of hiking the Negev during the five or so days a year when it's cloudy. It was such a powerful image to see dark billowing storm clouds racing across the barren desert. Intermittent rays of sunlight would poke through the storm clouds, suddenly lighting up one of the many small volcanoes littering the bottom of the makhtesh--making it appear as if the hill itself were glowing from some light within.

It actually started to drizzle in the middle of our hike--such an incredible experience to hear the pitter patter of rain over the deafening roar of silence of the desert. I stopped to appreciate it and commune with the natural environment around me, as we had learned in our Nesiya desert hikes, until I realized I had chosen to meditate and become one with the earth in the middle of a wadi (small valley) in the crater's floor--a prime place for flash floods. We decided to hike the last few hours a little quicker after that.

I am now near the city of Akko visiting Deb and Deb's family, tomorrow back south to Tel Aviv in the morning, east to Jerusalem at night, and after that we'll see which way the wind takes me.

New Year's Eve, my second New Year's in Israel in a row, was an experience (to say the least) in Tel Aviv... Among other things I managed to lose my cell phone and a disposable camera with some really awesome pictures.

On that note, the new number (from Israel) is 050-835-8059. For those of you who know me well, imagine how my habit of leaving everything everywhere translates into country-wide traveling... I've managed to misplace (and sometimes relocate) my cellphone, the disposable camera, my friend's keys to his apartment (that was a fun one), a siddur, my toiletries bag (twice), and, well, those are just the things I know about.

This time in Israel has been a mishmash of experiences from all over the board and it's hard to piece them all together in a sequence. I'm criss crossing into so many subgroups of Israeli society--changing from Tel Aviv club wear to religious skirt and long sleeves in the bus stations in transit to my next adventure--sometimes, in trying to fit in with each new group, it's easy to forget who I am and it's so hard to figure out where I fit in all this mess.

Eachtime I -have a conversation with someone, an old friend from the states or someone I sit next to on the bus or a friend from Israel or my parents back home I swing back and forth, wavering between all those questions--dati (religious) or chiloni (secular), shirut leumi (national service volunteering) or army, make aliyah (move to Israel) or not, and above all, WHEN.

But enough introspection and more rambling... there's also been a million stories and travel mishaps as I attempt to navigate around Eretz Yisrael on my own. Last week was my friend Josh's Teketz Hashba'ah (swearing-in ceremony) for the army. Because he is a"chayel boded" (literally translated as a "lonely soldier" meaning his parents aren't in Israel) I went along with a couple of friends to take pictures and act as stand-in parents. Of course Josh neglected to tell us his "plugah" (platoon) so we were left to trying to find Josh among 850 Jewish-looking soldiers dressed identically in green fatigues.

This ceremony is when the soldiers are presented with their gun anda tanakh (bible) and I really wanted to take a picture to send to his parents, so I found a soldier that looked somewhat similar and took lots of pictures of him (Josh's mom if you are reading this--just kidding it's obviously your son).

It was very cool to hear the soldiers take their oath "Ani Nishba ani nishba ani nishba!" "I swear I swear I swear" and I even got a little teary eyed when they played "Hatikvah" (National Anthem).

After the ceremony during the time when the families go to congratulate the soldiers and take pictures I expected to hear typical patriotic Israeli music at this very serious army ceremony. Instead, at this important point in these soldiers'careers, they played classics such as "My Yitties" or "Baby Lose My Breath" (come on guys you know I don't know the REAL names of those songs).

Shabboses here have been interesting as I wrote in my last e-mail (sorry to keep cluttering up your e-mailboxes, mostly I just write these so people write back to me--you don't even really have to read them). One shabbos morning I spent at the Great Synagogue--a very American, Ashkenazic (European ancestry) huge imposing shul, stained glass and chandeliers with a 30 member choir who I half expected to turn around after some prayers and go "Jazz Hands!" It was more like a show than a service--I seriously had to resist the urge to clap after a few prayers.

Last Shabbos I went to a local Sephardi (Arabic andAfrican descent) synagogue--a very small little shul tucked away in a small alleyway filled with religious Jews of (what I think is) Iranian descent with Hebrew so heavily accented and tunes so different from the ones I knew if I closed my eyes and listened I almost felt like I was in a mosque. They're so very different and yet they're only 10 or so minutes away from each other--two of the many completely different worlds that exist in Jerusalem that rarely intersect.

I visited Kibbutz for the first time in almost a year--it was strange to see how little had changed in a year and even though I was there for six months I barely recognized anyone since all the people I knew best--the volunteers and the Ulpanistim (people in my Hebrew class) have long since left (except Shui and no I didn't see him) but the whole Kibbutz looks the same. I had dinner with my old "mishpacha m'oometzet" (adopted family) who has since had another had another adopted Ulpanist come and gone (named, incidentally, Rose). It was wonderful to see them again and hear about all their simchas from the past year and see pictures of their grandchildren who have gotten somuch older.

And so I guess I'll sign off here for this absurdly long e-mail, traveling again towards an unknown horizon... exploring the country I love and trying to figure out what to do--laughing with friends talking with family watching the country fly by past the window... So here's to a happy new year--laughter, love, happiness, warmth, and above all DECISIONS as we all head off into 2005.

Shanah Tovah (Happy New Year)
B'ahavah,
Melanie

P.S. If you're still reading here, you rock and you are an awesome person and I promise to bring you Israeli chocolate.

no hebrew, no cows, no jesus, but its still a crazy time.... mel returns to israel part two

Date:Tue, 28 Dec 2004 08:00:19 -0800 (PST)

Subject: no hebrew, no cows, no jesus, but its still a crazy time.... mel returns to israel part two

Shalom L'kulam,

Hoping this e-mail finds everyone happy and healthy and enjoying the joyful season between Christmas and New Years. It's hard to believe I've only been here a week and a half--it already seems like forever ago that I left College Park behind. Contrary to popular belief--I am surviving and thriving "bli luach z'manim" (without a schedule)--meeting interesting people and having interesting conversations, exploring new lands and finding adventure along the way.

There's something both terrifying and exhilerating about still not knowing where you will sleep that night at 8:00 PM, but this freedom is something I hope never to lose as I shoulder my big green "tik" (backpack) and head offinto the sunset with "Uuf Gozal" ("Fly Away Little Bird" a popular Israeli song) ringing in my ears.

This past week I have been mostly in Jerusalem, volunteering at a soup kitchen called "Carmei HaIr"(Vineyards of the City) right in the heart of the city. "Carmei" is actually an acronym that stands for"Kol Raev Mimenu Y'chol" (So That All Hungry Among You Can Eat). The soup kitchen's philosophy is unique in that it is more like a restaurant with volunteers that provide food at a "pay what you can if you can" price. It is a beautiful dining room with curtains and incense burning and the volunteers wear matching aprons so anyone walking by on the street could mistake it for an actual restaurant (many American tourists have, in fact, sat down and waited to be served--gotta love that country).

The patrons are served soup and a choice of fish, meat, or veggie entrees--for most it will be their only meal of the day, hot or otherwise. The best part is that the director has told me in the year since it has opened, many of the "regulars" have started taking better care of themselves and their self esteem has improved when they realize that they are not eating in a regular soup kitchen, but more a restaurant where a few people do pay for their meals.

Sometimes if I'm not fast enough in bringing the food,some of the patrons will make fun of me and say "What, are you going to get married before you bring me my soup?" which is actually funnier for me than it is for them, because while marriage is not even on the horizon for me, when they see a 19-year old girl in a skirt in Jerusalem they assume that within the next year there will be a wedding and two years maximum before there will be little Melanies running around (oh man could you imagine anything scarier?).

On that note--I spent a night or two with my friend who is currently studying for a year at a midrasha (girls' school for a year of intensive Jewish texts learning), also the campus for a teaching college for religious women. Most of the women in the college arebetween 20-22, and over 75% are married. The best part is that the women bring their youngest babies to class with them because they're too young to leave at the school's daycare (which, incidentally, I think there are more kids in the day care than women at the college).

You can walk into any lecture and see four or five women rocking babies and taking notes at the same time. I can just see it now--me walking into my government and politics lecture with a baby over one shoulder and a messenger bag over the other. I wonder if hearing about Pareto suboptimality and the prisoner dilemna game in chimpanzee societies at such an impressionable age would negatively affect the child's development.

But volunteering at the soup kitchen led to a very interesting experience over Shabbat. On Friday night with my Nesiya 2002 crew we decided to experience the classic broke students in Jerusalem shabbos adventure--free dinners with Jersualem families who open their homes to people on Friday night, every Friday night. We ate dinner with the Machluses--a huge Haredi (black hat very religious) family who cram 90-100 people into their tiny living room every Friday night to sing eat and make merry over the kosher wine, all without enough room to lift even your pinky toe.

After a moving Friday night services at the Kotel (Western Wall)--so incredibly beautiful even in the rain with the various minyaniim (groups) dancing and singing and praying and yelling-- we trekked an hour and a half through the pouring rain and various Arab neighborhoods to the famous Reb Machlus' house.

It was a wonderful night, made even more poignant by the fact that at our table, among a few Canadians and British teenagers studying at Yeshivot and a handful of the aging hippie population still bumming around Jerusalem, were four or five people who I had served the past week at Carmei HaIr. It was mamash a humbling experience to sit at the same table and share food with the same people I thought I was "helping"all week.

I don't know if they recognized me and I wasn't about to bring it up, but to change so quickly from being on the giving end to being on the recieving end was not something I will quickly forget.

On another note my Hebrew is... well, there's a lot of room for improvement. I find myself making a lot ofthe same mistakes as last year--as in r'aeva vs. ra'vaka--"Man I didn't eat breakfast today I am so single!" (said of course to a cute Israeli soldier). I find myself thinking "Last year I learned to milk cows and speak in Hebrew. If I can't talk in Hebrew and I have no cows, did I really accomplish ANYTHING in those six months?"

As far as the money situation goes, I'm making an artout of living on less than 20 shekels (about $3.50) a day. I also started learning to fire twirl with Josh's downstairs neighbor, and one night we went to Ben Yehuda street and we made 150 shekels (about $35) in two hours.

Note to various older family friends, parents and grandparents--please ignore the last paragraph.

Unfortunetly going to Bethlehem on Christmas did not come into fruition; we did go to the Church of the Holy Scepultre (where they have a cross believed to be made out of the same wood as Jesus' cross) but there weren't any Christmas activities. The entire Christian Quarter was very quiet. Mom, Dad, and grandparents--you should ignore that paragraph too.

Well that's all for now--I'm continuing to m'tayelet, to wander around this country, exploring various snipets of Israeli society--an American-Israeli midrasha, an Israeli army graduation ceremony, kibbutz, moshaviim, settlements, both sides of the'green line,' Tel Aviv nightlife, sunrise at the kotel, community theater in Efrat, shabbos afternoon in Jerusalem with nary a car in some neighborhoods...

There is so much to do and so much to try and so much to see and its difficult to experience it all. I am currently in Haifa with my friends here, some of whom are on a few days' break from the army and some of whom will "l'hitgayes" (go into the army) in two weeks, trying to cram everything in before they go back.

I hope everyone has a happy and safe new year... may it be a year filled with laughter, love, new opportunities, and lots of people writing back to me to make me feel loved.

B'ahavah,
Melanie

shalom m'yisrael.... greetings from israel!!!!! Mel returns to her mass e-mail means of communication...

Date: Tue, 21 Dec 2004 12:57:42 -0800 (PST)
Subject: shalom m'yisrael.... greetings from israel!!!!! Mel returns to her mass e-mail means of communication...

Shalom L’Kulam,

I hope everyone’s finals went well and those who are on winter break are enjoying themselves. I know you all thought these e-mails were over—but here they are, back with a vengeance—Melanie’s e-mails from abroad.

The only question remains—without cow shit and without Jesus, whatever WILL she write about? I’m mainly writing to let you all know that I got here safely (for those who care) and I have a cell phone (for those who will actually call, probably none of you, but whatever).

My number is 011-972-50-7213582 from the States and 050-7213582 from Israel. So basically that was the important part and for the rest of you who aren’t as cool you can stop reading.

THE ADVENTURES BEGIN…..
My adventures began not more than a half hour outside of College Park, in Chinatown, D.C. when I realized I had forgotten my map to the Chinatown bus stop. No problem, I figured, I’ll just stop in the first sushi shop that I see and ask them. Of course, the sushi people tell me there’s four different Chinatown bus stops, each with a different company, and no one knows which is where, and I have only five minutes till my bus leaves. And so I begin a mad dash around Chinatown, with all of my luggage dragging behind me, frantically dialing every person in my cell phone who might be close to a computer.

After the third wrong bus stop and tenth phone call, Ashleigh finally pickedup and read me the address off of the internet. (P.S. Ashleigh you rock for saving my life). When I finally located the right bus stop, I found it next to none other than the Historic H & I Street Synagogue. Trust me to pick the bus stop next to what I am assuming is the only synagogue in Chinatown.

The travel adventures continued throughout New York, including trying to find my way around New York’s Chinatown at 11:30 PM by myself with all of my luggage (that was fun!), or taking a cab to the airport and picking, of course, the cabbie who had just started driving a cab THAT DAY and got lost for 20 minutes on the way to the airport. I have such luck with these things.

But how can I explain the feeling when I finally stepped off the plane, after 52 hours of traveling(way to go cheap flights with really long layovers and no where to go but the international terminal of the Madrid airport), and it hit me suddenly, “Melanie, you’re in Israel”? How can I explain the way everyone clapped when we landed, or the announcement “Bruchim Ha’baim L’Yisroel” (Welcome to Israel) that made me start to cry? How can I explain what it’s like to step onto an Egged bus and think “this is home” or the way I sang along to the music they played as the plane taxied into the airport terminal?

I can’t explainthat overwhelming rush of emotions that made me cry just to get off that plane, but if I could, maybe I could explain why I want to live here forever, why I want to raise a family here. I can’t explain why seeing Harediim (black hat Jews) on cell phones or kosher Burger Kings or dancing Chassidim with peis singing about Oman or Bamba or Bisli or Shoko B’Sakit(chocolate milk in a bag) anything and everything that makes Israel ISRAEL—I can’t explain why it makes me so proud to be Jewish and be in Israel, but it does….

My friend Josh, who’s apartment I am staying in for acouple of days while he is in the army, lives in an old neighborhood filled with hippies right near the big marketplace (Shuk on Machaneh Yehuda), one of my favorite places in the whole entire world. On the bus ride over (just kidding mom, I don’t take busses, you know that), driving down the familiar Highway 1, seeing the outline of ruined tanks that litter theside of the road from the War of Independence in 1948 that serve as stark reminders of everything we gave up to be here, watching as the lights from familiar hilltops glimmered through the night, I couldn’t help but think “Here I am—I am coming home…”

It was adifferent feeling of home than I get when I come backto Lexington after a long absence, it was… I’m not sure. I’m finding the longer I stay here and the more times I come, more questions I have, and less answers and explanations I can find.

Well, I really couldn’t let any e-mail from me becomplete without a few Jesus references, so those of you who were holding your breath don’t have to worry any more. I stayed my first night with my friend Tehillah, who did her Shirut Le’umi (national service, alternative to the army for religious girls) at myKibbutz last year. She works now at an organizationcalled Yad L’Achim (“Hand to my Brothers”) which is a Haredi organization which works against Christian missionaries in Israel. That’s right, my first day in Israel, I went to an organization dedicated to eradicating the presence of missionaries.

In Peru I would always think, “if only the Israelis could see me now…” Here in Israel, I suddenly found myself thinking, “if only the YMCA could see me now…” Sometimes, I feel like the bible itself is actually laughing at me when I get myself into these kinds of situations.

The way I understood the Yad L’Achim organization, neighbors and family members call in their concerns about a certain individual who they feel is at the risk of converting, and Yad L’Achim visits them and tries to convince them not to convert. While I was there, a woman called about her neighbor who is“reformit” (Reform Jew) and wanted to know exactly what that was. Seizing on this chance, my friend Tehillah offered to put “a real, live American” on the phone to explain this phenomenon. In my broken Hebrew (which hopefully will improve over the next few days,please G-d) I attempted to explain the basis of Reform Judaism, which I myself am not that familiarwith, explaining that it’s not all about the laws, that Reform Jews welcome people who celebrate being Jewish in all different ways, that it’s about your connection to your heritage and the culture of the Jewish people, etc. etc.

Finally after listening tome for about two minutes, she interrupts and says “So is being reform worse than being secular or being Christian?” I ask her to repeat the question, because I wasn’t sure I had heard right. She asks again. I know that this is probably not the right time or place to let my true opinion on the matter air, seeing as Tehillah’s boss is within earshot, but I can’t help myself. These kinds of views are exactly what lead to so many problems between the religious and non-religious Jews here in Israel.

“Look,” I answered, “they’re Jews and they are people too. It’s not up for you to judge who is better than who. If they can connect to Judaism in this way, why should someone say that their way is not as good as your way?” At this point Tehillah lunged for the phone and hastily apologized, but hopefully the damage was already done, and this woman, whoever she is, will think about whether or not she really has the right to judge her neighbors at all.

Tov, that’s all for now I’ll sign off here. I am now in Jerusalem, ir hakodesh, and tomorrow I volunteer with my friend Adi at a soup kitchen. Getting to Josh’s apartment was also an adventure, as I couldn’t find the keys he had buried in the flowerpot outside his apartment, and when I finally found them with the help of some Australians living downstairs, I spent half an hour trying to get into their apartment, the wrong one, before they kindly directed me upstairs. I wasn’t too worried since I had stolen a blanket from the airplane, if worst came to worst, I could have always slept on the street.

I’ve been in Israel for almost 24 hours now, and am so happy to be here. Mazal tov and congrats to Netanya,who is making aliayah (moving to Israel) on Sunday. I’m so happy for her and so amazed by her courage,although a little jealous I am not the first one of us to be moving to Israel. I can already feel myself getting sucked in, and I know getting back on the plane to go home will be the most difficult thing I have ever done.

As I told my friend Rachel when I bought my cell phone today—I am now one step closer to making aliyah. And maybe it’s a small, stupid step,but at least it’s a step in the right direction. May you all have a happy and sweet new year. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it and good luck to those who still have finals remaining. To the Israelis—Nesiyanikim, kibbutnikim,v’chaverim—titkashru alayich! Ani mitga’gat otchemv’ayn li shom d’var la’asot! To everyone else—keep in touch, I miss you, and enjoy everything….
B’ahava (with love),
Melanie