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
Sunday, December 30, 2007
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
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]
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
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
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
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.
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