Top 10 Reasons Why The IDF is Like Harry Potter

Ever since I drafted on Monday, I've been thinking that there was something strange about this whole thing that I couldn't exactly place. Something about the scenery maybe, or perhaps the food, or maybe even the people felt oddly familiar. I thought about it during meals and classes and ח formations, but I just couldn't remember when I had been here before. In the end, it came to me in a dream. Last night, in the very middle of the night, I woke with a start and realized that my world right now is undeniably similar to the wizarding world of Harry Potter. So here are the top 10 reasons why I may as well be at Hogwarts.

1. I'm living in a place that very much exists, but must remain a mystery to even those who live next door, simply because they are not one of us.

2. Our uniforms are preppy-chic, and though we don't wear a tie, we do have stylish sweaters that we wear casually over button down shirts.

3. When it rains, my base looks like Hogsmead once Voldemort returns. The roads are empty, the windows boarded up, and people in dark clothing huddle together for protection.

4. We are divided into house-like pluga'ot, each one proudly symbolized by an animal and two colors. Personally, my plugah has a regal-looking Falcon as our mascot, and our colors are those of Hufflepuff.

5. Our division into these sections seems completely arbitrary, but it quickly become clear that we belong where we are, and we were put here for a reason.

6. Those who don't get in trouble are seen as "brown-nosers" and are looked down upon. Hermione obviously would've been mocked by these feisty Israeli girls.

7. When people speak too quickly to me, they may as well be speaking Latin for all I understand. And in response, I fall into this trance that, when they realize I don't understand, makes people magically stop yelling at me.

8. Put them in a uniform, and everyone here instantly becomes A-list movie star level attractive. No matter how statistically impossible it may be, literally everyone here could be an actor/actress.

9. The food here tastes like the weird flavors of Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. I distinctly remember one of my meals tasting like grass, and another like, alas, earwax.

10. We are given an extremely powerful tool with close to no lessons on how to use it and without any proof that we are fit to carry such a weapon. People just seem to give us the benefit of the doubt that we can be equipped with a wand and/or a gun and everything will be OK.

Of course, there is a lot more to share about my first week in the army, but between lessons on how to combat chemical warfare and being yelled at incessantly, I hardly have the time to write a full-blown blog entry. Luckily, my first Shabbat is an open one, so I'll be home on kibbutz and hopefully have the time to properly explain what's been happening this week and maybe include pictures. Until then, you have my full permission to tell everyone you know that your friend/daughter/sister/colleague's daughter is attending Hogwarts.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Imagine you're driving alone at night along a deserted highway. The streetlights cast suspicious shadows on the road and you haven't seen another car for miles. All of the sudden, out of the corner of your eye, you spot a creature off to the side. You look closer, and you see that the hooded figure is carrying a duffel bag roughly the size of a human being. With one hand, he is carelessly dangling a cigarette from between two fingers. His other hand is extended towards the street, his thumb raised. Imagine that you've decided to ignore the fact that the title of this blog post is probably copy-righted. The pure lawlessness of the situation has your gut instincts screaming danger, and with your mother's voice in your head warning you never to talk to strangers, you drive quickly by and inform the local police of the escaped murderer plaguing your highways.

Now imagine you're in Israel. You see the very same scene, except instead of his thumb extended towards the road, it's his pointer finger. Perhaps the streetlights begin to flicker, making the suspicious shadows dance in the darkness. Maybe you're even in the middle of the desert, and your cellphone has dangerously low reception. It's only reasonable that you should pull up beside the cloaked figure and offer him a ride.

One of the biggest culture shocks when I arrived in Israel was the hitchhiking. As someone without a car, I could totally understand the reasons why someone would hitchhike - after all, sometimes you just need a ride. But the practicality of it absolutely defied my upbringing. I had always been under the impression that if you pick up a hitchhiker in America, he's going to be an axe-murderer. And if you are the hitchhiker, there's no question that you're going to picked up by an axe-murderer.

But hitchhiking in Israel is actually just a perfect example of the larger Israeli society. First of all, they replace the word "hitchhike" with the more Yiddush-sounding word, "tremp." And second of all, it proves how Israel is like one big, dysfunctional family. The political parties bicker like siblings, the drivers ignore traffic signs like rebellious teenagers ignore parents, and everyone is always willing to comment on what you're doing, like a grandma who just wants to know why you aren't married yet. People are always shocked when they come to Israel and they get pushed aside by an old man trying to get on a bus or yelled at by a stranger, but it's because Israelis treat everybody like an annoying brother or sister. And if you saw your brother or sister on the side of the road, lugging a duffel bag roughly the size of a human being, you would obviously offer a hand. Of course, you still need to take safety precautions: every family has its wackos. But for the most part, this kinship with fellow Israelis is what makes this country feel like a homeland.

The reason I write this ode to tremping is because in two days, I won't be allowed to tremp anymore. There's a law in Israel that states that soldiers are forbidden from tremping because of the threat of kidnappers, and in two days, I too will be a soldier. I suppose I could have written this entire blog entry about the pit in my stomach that churns with every passing minute, or the pain in my back from buying and carrying so many pairs of socks in preparation for my draft, or even the embarrassed shrug that I give when I admit that I have zero idea what my job in the army actually does, but I figure that in the spirit of the army, I should learn to stifle my complaints and just trust that I'll be OK.

I also have to warn you, dear dedicated readers (only a fraction of whom acquiesce to my pleas to comment on my blog), that I can't promise any regularity in my blog posts to come. I've noticed with my friends who have already drafted that there is very little certainty when it comes to the army. It seems as though they aren't sure of anything until it is actually happening. The next two years very well may be a blur of constant confusion, but I'll try to transcribe that confusion as often as possible for your benefit. The next time I post, it will be as a soldier.

Have a happy last night of Hannukah!

In Case My Proud Jewish Parents Haven't Sent This To You Yet...

I know my dear mom and dad sent this link to pretty much anyone who has ever had the pleasure of meeting them, but just in case you haven't seen it, here is the link to an article I wrote that was published in The Jewish Exponent last week. Enjoy!

http://www.jewishexponent.com/worrying-about-war-heading-for-the-idf

My Most Important Milestone Yet

I must issue a formal apology for omitting something of vital importance in my last blog post. While in Eilat, I reached a monumental milestone in my journey. This step reflected a promise to myself that I am in this for the long haul. It is proof to me that I will not bail if things get tough, as they are wont to do, and it gave me a physical manifestation of my commitment to fulfilling my dream. 

This milestone was like a wake-up call that this life is my new reality, and that when I picture my future, I can picture it in Israel. And this milestone fits neatly into my wallet. 

While in Eilat, I officially became a member of an Israeli bookstore. 

This may not seem like such a huge step to you; after all, people don't usually celebrate gym memberships or listserve subscriptions or the like. But the shiny, plastic card that has made its home in my wallet is like a trophy. It represents my past, and my fond memories of reading as a child. It represents my present, and my struggle through Harry Potter in Hebrew as I work to fully grasp the language. And it represents my future, as I think of all the Hebrew books I will one day buy with my discounts or accumulated frequent-flyer miles, or whatever this card actually gets me. 

This gloriously green certificate of membership is also a tie to the country. When I was in Greece, for example, I wasn't exactly invested enough to sign up for any elite clubs. But when I filled out that small slip of paper with my name and email address, when I checked off the genre of books that interest me, when I proudly handed over a 20 shekel bill to the woman at the cash register, I was, in essence, signing a contract that binds me to this holy land. When I left America, it was with a heavy heart that I cancelled my Starbucks membership and unsubscribed from Old Navy's mailing list. With an utter lack of loyalties, I felt scared and alone. But in my allegiance to the Steimatzky Book Store, I found solace and a wonderful sense of acceptance. It is a quiet but persistent voice that tells me, I belong! Sure, I haven't yet utilized this proclamation of loyalty, but my future with the book store looks as bright as the glimmer when my new card catches the light of the sun.

P.S. I also must apologize for my complete shamelessness in saying that I really appreciate when you comment on my blog posts, because it makes me feel popular. 

Bikinis, Togas, and Uniforms

The problem with keeping a blog is that when too many things happen at once, I don't know how to turn it into a few comprehensible paragraphs. The only solution I could think of was to divide the events of the past two weeks into three different subcategories - bikinis, togas, and uniforms - and hope that you, my dear readers, have the patience to read through it all or at least to read it one section at a time.

Bikinis

If you've ever decided to join the Israeli army, you know that it's a rite of passage into a very loud, very pushy society of Israeli adults. Like any rite of passage, it deserves something ceremonial to mark our emergence into a new chapter of life. To celebrate our giyyus – our draft - my Garin took a five-hour bus ride down to Eilat, and spent the end of October and beginning of November on a beach.

Along the way to Eilat, we stopped at the Dead Sea, Ein Gedi, and the Red Canyon. It was nice to get a change of scenery after being stuck on kibbutz for three months. The four days we spent in Eilat took place mainly in the water, hence the title of this subcategory. The first night, we ate dinner on a yacht, enjoying a variety of nautical-themed decorations and Mediterranean-themed food. The next day, we went on a beautiful hike before spending hours snorkeling in the Red Sea and working on our tans. As a quick side-note, it’s worth mentioning that we showered maybe once for the duration of this trip, as swimming all day, every day gives the illusion of cleanliness. The rest of the trip included water sports and swimming, shopping and swimming, eating and swimming (of course, we waited an hour in between), and more shopping and swimming. As we floated weightless in the water, it was as if we were in an alternate reality where we had no responsibilities, no draft dates, no army service ahead of us. Our trip to Eilat was the ideal – albeit, brief – escape from reality.

On our third and last night, my whole Garin headed over to The Three Monkeys Pub for a toast to our giyyus. It was a lively pub, though the average age may have been a few decades older than us, and the band’s covers of classic rock songs had us all in a dancing mood. One fearless girl from my Garin sashayed onto the wooden floor and began to dance. One by one, the members of my Garin decided to ignore the oppressive heat and the curious eyes of onlookers and join her on the dance floor.  Gradually, other patrons of the pub rose to join us until the entire floor was filled with people grooving to the beats of an English cover band. For me, the word “magical” comes to mind as I remember seeing all of my closest friends put all of their apprehension for the future into the most sincere dance moves you could ever imagine. Forget whatever may come, it was a night of pure happiness.

Togas

If you've ever joined the Israeli army, you know that the pride of serving your country is often accompanied by a dreading suspicion that you’ve signed away your life. Remember that freedom I gained a few short months ago, on my 18^th birthday? Well, let’s hope I didn’t get too used to it. I fear that as soon as I draft, I will lose my individuality in the wake of commands and punishments. As a gift from the leaders of our group, our four-day trip to Eilat gave way to a 10-day free weekend. What better way to take advantage of our freedom than to camp all around the country for 10 days? On Monday morning, two friends and I set out on camping trip, equipped with one backpack each, a tent, and two sets of clothing. As we left our kibbutz, the following conversation ensued:

“I’m really excited to go camping, but we should take a real trip one day.”

“Yeah, like somewhere out of the country. Somewhere cool.”

“But when could we go? I don’t want to wait until after the army.”

“When could we do it before the army? My draft date could be as soon as two weeks from now.”

“So it would need to be sometime in the next two weeks.”

“Yeah, like next week.”

“Or today.”

“…”

“Today?”

“Do you guys want to just go today?”

“Go where?”

“I don’t know, just somewhere.”

“Yeah, let’s go today! We can totally do it.”

“Are we really doing this? We’re going to leave the country today?”

We turned around to get our passports, and that’s how I ended up in Greece with one backpack, a tent, and two sets of clothing.

When we got to the airport and asked the woman at ticket sales what the cheapest ticket was for that same day, her answer (which she gave with a distinctly suspicious look in her eye) was either Prague or Greece. Since we assumed that Prague would be cold – and because Hercules is my third favorite movie ever – we bought our ticket, and an hour later, we were on the plane to a new kind of Holy Land.

We landed in Athens and went straight to a very warm, very homey youth hostel. Not having had any time for preparation, my friends (Batya and Malkaya) and I were at a loss of what to do now that we had landed in a foreign country. Luckily, the owner of the hostel had some time off from his side import/export business, and, feeling bad for these three crazy Israeli girls who came to Greece without a plan, took it upon himself to show us all of the “must-see” places in Athens. Our first day, we went to an over-look of the entire city. Over the course of the next three days, we visited the Parthenon, various churches and monasteries, the acropolis, many mountaintops, and quite a few frozen yogurt stores. In-keeping with our theme of unadulterated freedom, we spent a lot of our time doing nothing. At the over-looks, we sat and talked. Next to the Parthenon, we snuggled and talked. At the site of a 1000-year-old monastery, we watched Hercules and talked. Though it was exciting being in a new country, none of us wanted the kind of vacation where your days are packed and you feel exhausted by the end. Instead, we simply enjoyed ourselves.

Thursday night, we took a ferry to Hania, a city in Crete. Instead of sleeping during the incredibly long boat ride, I read and watched Hercules, so by the time we arrived in Hania at 6o’clock in the morning on Friday, we were pooped. To remedy that, we found a plateau with an incredible view of the sea, wrapped ourselves in the small, blue El Al blankets, and my friends fell asleep as I read them the history of Hercules from my new book on Greek mythology. We slept for a few hours before wandering around Hania and finding an adorable and inexpensive hotel right on the sea. We also got to feel the extent of the love in our Garin when Adir, one of the sweetest people I know, called to wish us a Shabbat Shalom and make sure all was well. When the innkeeper (a term I doubt has been used in the last few decades but seems fitting for the elderly man who owned our 2-room hotel) discovered that we were Israeli, he proudly brought us a letter written in Hebrew from previous visitors, praising his hospitality. He then pointed out a small synagogue less than a minute-walk away. And thus, we did Kabbalat Shabbat, the Friday night service welcoming in the Sabbath, in the tiniest synagogue in Greece.

Sunday morning, we felt guilty that we had spent so much time being lazy, and so we boarded a bus to Rythemno. In Rythemno, we walked along a path that led to a beautiful fortress. After a few hours there, we headed back to Hania and caught a ferry to Athens. Arriving once again at 6o’clock in the morning on Monday, we replaced our plateau with a sidewalk in front of a bank, and slept for a few more hours. Luckily, I have photo evidence of all our lounging about. I’ve posted some pictures here, but if you want more, I’ve posted an album on Facebook, titled “The Land of Hercules.” Anyway, we spent the rest of the day just enjoying Athens, including – you guessed it – watching Hercules and eating frozen yogurt. We then drove to the airport and, with heavy hearts and heavy bags, rejoined reality.

Uniforms

If you've ever joined the Israeli army, you know that nothing is efficient. One day you get a letter with a draft date, the next day, you're told that the draft date is obsolete and please report to the drafting center tomorrow. Everything is always up in the air. Things became more concrete, however, as I watched the first member of my Garin draft. On an almost daily basis, my friends are receiving news from the army that decides their fate for the next two years. At risk of sounding like a grandmother, I am so proud of my friends. One of them just got accepted to the Tzanchanim (paratroopers), another to Golani, another to Handasa Kravi, and yet another to Nachal. My very own roommate, Batya, is going to be an instructor in Shiryon – tanks. It’s a little scary knowing that the girl who gets silly with me at 4 o’clock in the morning is going to be teaching soldiers to drive and operate tanks, but I know she’s more than capable. I myself do officially (kind of) have a job in the army. I have no idea what it’s called, what it means, or when it drafts, but there IS something in store for me. I’m sorry I don’t have any more details for you, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do.

Also under the heading of “Uniforms” comes the news from Israel that I’m sure you’ve all been hearing. Words like “rockets” and “Hamas” fly around and warnings about traveling to the south of Israel come often. Being on a kibbutz, I’m rather sheltered from current events, but I can say that I am safe, as is everyone I know. When I made Aliyah, I knew that events like this were going to be somewhat inevitable. It’s scary that my friends and I will be in the army while this is happening, but none of us came to Israel to serve when it’s easy. I promise I’ll post blog entries more often and keep everyone in the loop about what’s happening over here. For now, keep Israel and her soldiers in your hearts and prayers.

Batya, Malkaya, and I on our first day in Greece!

The Parthenon

We joined the strike by protesting in front of the Temple of Zeus.

Hania

The bummiest bums in the world.

Rythemno!

Yom HaMe'ah

The time was 5:30pm. The date? October 15th, 2012. After a sleepless night and a stomachache that would've rendered even the most determined woman incapacitated, I had finally fallen asleep. It was a sleep that would not last long.

5:35pm - a knock on the door. I awoke with a start. As one of my roommates entered my room, I mentally prepared a stern lecture about respecting each other's personal space. Then I saw her panicked look. She asked if I was packed. When my face betrayed the fact that I had no idea what she was talking about, her jaw dropped. "They didn't tell you?" she asked. I shook my head. And then she delivered the news. "Yom HaMe'ah," she stammered. "It's tomorrow." She explained that our group's social worker had succeeded in pushing forward our Yom HaMe'ah to make sure that we would not be excluded from the jobs that draft in November. Unfortunately, this also meant an inadequate amount of freak-out time. Half an hour later, I found myself sitting on a bus to Haifa, trying in vain to ignore the butterflies that were furiously attacking my stomach. And thus - with a slight over-dramatization - began Yom HaMe'ah.

In case you don't remember, Yom HaMe'ah is a day when Israeli girls go to a bland office building in Haifa and for eight hours, travel from station to station. Each station is specially designed to test a certain skill. They have eight hours to try to show the army that they deserve a job that doesn't include guarding ketchup or pressing the same button on a keyboard all day long. Being an Israeli girl (which I will never get used to saying), I, too, arrived at 8am and waited for directions. They split us into groups and had us introduce ourselves. Don't be fooled: the smiling girls in your group are not there to help you. They are also there to prove themselves at each of the stations, and they will do anything necessary - anything - to stand out. I don't even know how to describe the intense feeling of competition that pervaded the air. In my last post, I likened Yom HaMe'ah to The Hunger Games, which was unnervingly accurate. However, there was also definitely an element of Mean Girls at play. Think Hungry Girls, and there you have Yom HaMe'ah.

The first station was one that tested how we lead and teach a class. Each member of my group got a topic and eight minutes to read a double-sided piece of paper. The paper outlined the information we would need for a four-minute presentation to follow. As the Israeli girls in my group breezed through their readings, I stumbled through mine, coming face to face with scientific phrases and psychological blabber that I hardly would've understood had it been in English. Luckily, the words I did understand provided me with enough context to give a decent (I hope) presentation, but I couldn't help feeling like it was infinitely harder for me than it was for the rest of my group, like they had an unfair advantage just by virtue of being born in this country.

The rest of the stations passed by without getting any easier. I won't give you the grueling details, but suffice it to say that I was mentally exhausted and ready to give up after the first few hours. Of course, I know this is what I came here to do, and so I carried on, but my obvious disadvantage kept me stressed. I wish I could say that today was a success, but the truth is that I have no idea. In a week or so, I'll be receiving my Manila with a list of possible jobs for me dictated by today's performance. I think I'll only be able to decide how successful I was when my Manila comes and guarding ketchup isn't listed as one of my jobs.

On the upside, here are some new pictures of my cats. :)

Post-Honeymoon Stage

A very wise Doctor once spoke of a dark and dreary room known only as The Waiting Place, “… for people just waiting. Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.” At this point, that’s exactly what it feels like on the kibbutz, waiting for the army. This blog post is titled “Post-Honeymoon Stage” because now that I’ve been here for a little over a month and a half, I’m finally realizing what people were talking about when they said things were going to be hard. Honestly, Dr. Seuss may as well have written, “Waiting for their draft dates to come or their nose rings to go, or their medical test results to come or their sense of freedom to go, or the bureaucracy to end or waiting around for a fax to send or waiting to get Sal Klita money to spend. Everyone is just waiting.” (The Sal Klita is one of the benefits that people get for making Aliyah, and it includes a monthly stipend. That is, when the government remembers to give it to us on time.) We’re all just waiting with bated breath for the next step of our enlistment process. Once in a while, a member of my Garin will get an update that moves him/her ahead in the process and the rest of us, while congratulating the lucky kid, will silently be asking ourselves why we didn’t get the same update. My most recent update is that I received my date of enlistment! Of course, it’s only a technicality. I won’t get my real enlistment date until I know what position I’m going to hold. But for right now, December 17^th is the closest thing I have to any sort of official date, so I’m excitedly telling everyone about it until I hear otherwise.

The next thing I have to look forward to (it’s virtually impossible to convey via text the heavy sarcasm that is plaguing my voice in my head right now, but please note that this was, in fact, sarcastic) is something called Yom HaMe’ah. This is a day for all the girls who are enlisting to go and show off their skills to the army. Some of the girls in my Garin have already done it, but since my medical results got held up, I couldn’t go when they did. From what I’ve been told, you’re with a group of vicious Israeli girls and you go from station to station, each station designed to test a different skill. In order to succeed, you have to stand out from all the other girls by showing off in a way that is all too reminiscent of The Hunger Games. Following Yom HaMe’ah, you receive something in the mail called a “manila,” brilliantly named after the manila envelope it comes in, which contains the list of jobs that the army believes you could do well. After that, I’m not sure, but I’ll keep you updated.

Aside from the army stuff, the only other especially interesting thing that’s happened here was Lila Lavan, or White Night, which is basically just an all-nighter. Pictures of that (and other things, including the cats I’ve taken to feeding) are attached. At 11 PM sharp, the girls suited up into long-sleeved black shirts and pants and stood outside our apartment. The next 4ish hours were a grueling combination of running, push-ups, teamwork “games,” mud fights, carrying two cinderblocks in our backpacks for no obvious reason, and crawling on our stomachs through thick, mushy mud (which, oddly enough, was a product of the first rain of the season, which consisted of maybe 15 raindrops). As a Lila Lavan survivor, I think it’s safe for me to say that if that’s how the army is really going to be, I’m quitting.

But in all seriousness, Lila Lavan was actually really fun. I truly believe that you’re never closer to a person than when you’re covered in mud, with streaks down the sides of your face from the sweat, and a little bit of blood running down your legs, with dirt in your hair and up your nose, with any trace of your normal scent hidden behind the grime of this distinctly putrid mud-sweat-blood paste, and that person still wants to be your friend. It allowed us girls to bond in a way that I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before. These girls are like my sisters. (But I still love Sarah a little more. No offense.) It only sucks that we had to do things that – 5 days later – still have me sore. Oh well.

However, despite the soreness, despite the bureaucracy, despite the waiting, despite the ants that I’ve learned to treat as 8^th and 9^th and 10^th and 11^th and 12-trillionth roommates, despite the no-shorts-on-kibbutz rule, despite the overwhelming heat, and despite the tarantula that I swear I saw on a run a few days ago, the most frustrating thing that I’ve faced thus far is still the fact that Israelis approach me, and without me even saying a single word, they automatically talk to me in English. Is there something about me that is so obviously American that everyone just assumes I don’t speak Hebrew? It feels like I’m living in Where’s Waldo, where I am Waldo, and instead of being disguised in a crowd of red- and white-striped shirts, I’m in like a mime convention or something, where the only other colors are black and white. It’s the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever. I’ve affectionately renamed it Spot the Tourist, and the Israelis are winning. It definitely doesn’t help that, most of the time, I am the only blonde in a 20-kilometer radius. (Note my usage of the metric system. I’m really working on that.) But how am I ever supposed to learn to comfortably speak Hebrew if everyone is talking to me in English? I’ve decided that what I’m going to do is tell people that I’m Swedish. The Swedish boy in my Garin told me that I could easily be a member of the Swedish mafia (which has to be one of the sweetest – albeit, weirdest – compliments I’ve ever gotten), so I’m just going to go with it. When people speak to me in English, I’ll give them my most European look and say “Ja, ja, hej,” until they realize that if we’re going to communicate, it needs to be in Hebrew. All I need to do is drink cider and wear brightly colored, traditional Swedish garb, or whatever they do in Sweden. I wonder if they sell that on eBay?

Happy Sukkot!

P.S. Feel free to post your comments! It makes me feel like I wasn’t wasting time when I wrote this novel of a blog post because someone is actually reading it. 

My Garin

A free street concert in Haifa

Scary Bug #1

Scary Bug #2

Oreo and Pikachu <3

Young Crowd, Old City: My First Rosh HaShana in The Holy Land

This time last year, I was one of the luckiest people in the world. I sat in Rosh HaShana services and thanked God that I had everything I needed: a warm home, plenty of food, family and friends who loved me, and support from an amazing community. This time last year, I also began to understand the inevitable heartache that unfortunately would be a by-product of my move to Israel, the loneliness that would accompany me as I left all that behind and followed my dreams. Sitting in synagogue knowing that just one year stood between me and a life that I had always dreamed of - but couldn't imagine - was the kind of terrifying that ties a knot in the pit of your stomach and gives you butterflies that you cannot explain.

Now, one year later, I am still one of the luckiest people in the world. Now, in addition to the wonderful life that continues to watch over me from America, I have a warm (literally and figuratively) home in Israel, I have plenty of delicious food, I have many families who care for me as if we were related by blood, and I have a community of people who are in the same exact position as me to offer me support. There is no easy way to leave the people you love and begin your life again, but I have this inexplicable feeling that everything is in my favor. This Rosh HaShana - with all of its crazy and meaningful and fun adventures - proved to me that my fears from last year were valid, but that everything is going to be OK.

The weekend started off last Thursday near Tel Aviv, when all of Garin Tzabar toured some kind of army facility to learn about the different jobs in the army (and no, I still don't know what I want to do for the next two years). From there, a few of my friends and I took a bus to Jerusalem, walked to a youth hostel to drop our stuff, and got front row seats to an amazing Idan Raichel concert for 100 shekel (where I took the attached pictures). We ended up pulling an all-nighter on the streets of Jerusalem and visiting the kotel (Western Wall) at 4 AM. Then, after spending a beautiful Shabbat with my friend Adir's family in Beitar Illit, I went back to Jerusalem to see some friends and spend Rosh HaShana with the Zeffs. The entire week was just as fast-paced as this one-paragraph summary makes it seem. It was all a blur of people and places, and it served as a comforting reminder that although I may not know exactly what's going on at any given moment, I'm still surrounded by things that make me happy. It was a wonderful way to bring in the new year, and I hope that the years to come are just as wonderful.

!שנה טובה ומתוקה לכולם

Have a happy and sweet New Year!

Idan Raichel

Front Row Seats, Baby!

Tzav Rishon

Today might have been the longest day of my entire life. At dinner last night, each member of my Garin got a single shot of limoncello under the pretense of toasting our arrival at the first step in our army experience - our tzav rishon. The real reason behind the alcohol, we quickly found out, was to knock us out in preparation for our 5:30 AM wake-up. It worked. By 6:15 AM, we were all neatly piled onto the bus and heading up to Tiberias for a full day of testing.

The tzav rishon is the first call to order for soldiers and the first step in the drafting process, according to the IDF website. But that's not what it really is. Imagine a day in which you wait in all the lines for rides at Disney World, only instead of a fun ride at the end, you have to stand mostly naked in front of an aged Russian man for 15 minutes. Or take an hour-long, SAT-like IQ test. And that's what tzav rishon is.

We arrived at 7:30 in the morning and didn't leave until 4:00 in the afternoon. We had a medical test, a more thorough medical test, a Hebrew test, an IQ test, and a meeting with a mashakit tash (army social worker). Of all those things, only the IQ test took an hour, everything else took 30 minutes or less. If you do the math, that's approximately 2.5 hours of important stuff and 6 hours of literally nothing. And somehow, it was still absolutely exhausting. The worst part is that we don't get any results back for at least 2 weeks, so I have nothing to show for today except an incredibly high score in Temple Run and an incredibly low tolerance for people who think that it's ok to talk to me while I'm listening to music.

Despite the feeling that this was all extraordinarily inefficient, it was definitely a cool reality check. Now that the army knows about me - has a file on me - it's finally all starting to feel real.

I'm going to go to sleep now (at 7:45) because I'm practically falling over. There are only a couple weeks left until Rosh Hashana, so shana tovah u'metukah!

Gadna

Gadna - a week long simulation of basic training - is supposed to be our first introduction into what it truly means to be an Israeli soldier, to don the uniform of a defender of Israel. But there's something oddly unsentimental about wearing a uniform that is a few sizes too big and is missing upwards of 75% of its buttons and has no doubt been worn by countless sweaty people before me (even though somehow, despite the flaws in the uniform, virtually everyone manages to look good in it). And doing the things that soldiers really do during basic training could be much more powerful to a group of soldiers-to-be, if only our commander didn't look like a 12-year-old and his voice didn't crack as in puberty when he ordered us to do push-ups.

That being said, gadna is also really fun. We do it as a Garin, so all the people I've been living with for the past 2 weeks are the people in my "platoon." You never really get to know people better than when you're sweaty and gross and making fun of your prepubescent commander (who, in his defense, is probably one of the chillest, nicest people in the army). Together, we got into more "ח" formations than I can count, we consumed more dust than I can measure, and we slept in conditions that I previously thought would've made it impossible to sleep.

After a day on the gadna base, we went into the "shetach," which is basically just the desert, and roughed it for 24 hours. I don't even know what words to use to describe the shetach, but it was quite an experience. We built overly complicated tents and ate what must have been a bunch of side dishes in between 2 slices of bread (with an extra serving of desert dust). We got yelled at by 20-year-old commanders and learned how to protect ourselves in case of a grenade. Our commander picked up two rocks and told us that it was important that we were able to tell the difference between different types of rocks. After we went in a circle and each pointed out a difference between the rocks, he explained it to us. He held one of them up and said "this rock is just a rock," and threw it over his shoulder. He held up the other and said, "and this rock is--" and threw it in the middle of the circle. "--A GRENADE!!" and we all had 3 seconds to run for cover.

The wilderness, however, was nothing compared to the 5 curtain-less girls' showers on base that were meant for 150 girls. Fighting my way through that crowd to finally scrub off the layer of dirt that made me seem really tan was probably all the army experience I'll ever need.

Overall, it was an incredible week. I got to bond with my Garin, get used to taking orders, shoot an M16, wake up at 5 AM, and train my stomach to digest what I guess passes for food. Obviously it's not the same exact thing as the actual army, but it was good for me to get a taste of what my life will be like in 2 months. Now I just have to stop reciting the count-down to receive the mefaked (commander) in my sleep.

Shabbat Shalom!

The beautiful sunrise of Sde Boker

The End of Week 1

Though I haven't actually been here for an entire week, my first Shabbat on Sde Eliyahu has come and gone. After such a crazy week, it was nice to unwind. I was really nervous before coming about being on an orthodox kibbutz. I was afraid that I'd be much less observant than everyone else and that I'd feel intimidated or uncomfortable. But it's so much easier to keep Shabbat on a kibbutz where everything is a little bit different than during the week and (much like on the main line) everyone you pass will greet you with a hearty "Shabbat shalom."

Because it's so hot here - it was 110 degrees yesterday - after services, a kiddush, and lunch, all I wanted to do was sleep. I ended up napping for most of the afternoon, which was lovely. Then, after Havdallah, my Garin helped move all of the kids' books from the old library to the new library. The librarian was helping us, so when she walked away for a second to take a phone call or something, of course we accidentally messed everything up, and when she saw what we had done, she made that "tsk" sound that only Israelis can make and that is virtually impossible to convey via text. She then kicked us out of the library. Awesome.

This picture was taken right before we were expelled from the library, and it's of me and one of my madrichim who was also my madrich for pilgrimage last summer. He's the best. Anyway, my dearest mother asked for me to post some pictures of myself, so keep an eye out for some of those. Lila tov!!

Eyal and Me

Sde Eliyahu

Kibbutz Life

Yesterday we came to Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu, our home for the next 2 years. It's a beautiful kibbutz - I haven't had a chance to take any pictures yet, but I'll get around to it. I'm all unpacked, but it doesn't really feel like home yet. We haven't really gotten to interact with the kibbutzniks so we still kind of feel like outsiders. We have, however, gotten well-acquainted with the THOUSANDS of ants that we found in the girls' house yesterday. Ah well, that's kibbutz life. I even almost got a picture of the huuuge spider that startled me to death this morning, but it ran away too quickly.

Luckily, living with bugs is a small price to pay for all of the amazing things that are happening around here. Yesterday I ate a mango and it was nothing short of a gustatory journey. ("gustatory[adj.] - of or pertaining to taste or tasting." It was so good that I actually had to Google a word for it.) American mangoes (mangos?) absolutely pale in comparison. I keep having to tell myself that I'm no longer a tourist, that I don't need to eat my weight in mangoes or hummus or whatever just to get my fill before I return to America. It took a lot of self-restraint to not buy everything in the little kibbutz store today. Instead, I bought only what I needed to make cookies for our Garin's Shabbat oneg tomorrow night. But the word "cookies" is kind of pushing it. We have basically nothing in our little kitchen, so I ended up making kind of a loaf of cookie. Picture a loaf of bread, replace the bread with delicious peanut butter chocolate chip cookie, and slice it. Yum. 

Day 1-3

When you've been planning something for eight years, it's hard to imagine that the reality could even come close to the expectations. But despite my daydreams for the past eight years, I never pictured anything like this. At the airport, they have a bunch of people holding signs that said "I'm making Aliyah for..." and people filled in the blank with whatever drove them to leave all but three suitcases of what they own behind. No two people wrote the same thing, but somehow everyone on this flight came to the same conclusion. We all have different reasons, but we all seem to be fulfilling the same lifelong dream.

Unfortunately, that dream included a 9 hour flight from hell. The two loudest types of people are Jews and Israelis, and this flight had a multitude of both. It was hard enough falling asleep due to nerves, but staying asleep was even harder. Of course, waking up to a beautiful sunrise over Greece and a mere 2 hours left in the air made all the lines, all the obnoxious passengers, all the inedible vegan food worth it.

As you may have seen in one of the shmillion pictures, I was the only one crying when we got off the plane. Even more incredible than the singing and celebrating before our landing was the ceremony upon our arrival. There were so many people who woke up at 4 in the morning to welcome us home. As I walked through the crowd, crying like a baby, some random Israeli girl hugged me and welcomed me home, telling me in Hebrew that everything will be ok. I was the token cryer - pictures of me in all my red, blotchy glory appeared on the channel 10 news last night. The director of Nefesh B'Nefesh gave me his phone and told me to call my אמא, which I gladly did.

After spending a lovely night in Alfei Menashe with my mom's friends, I came to the University of Tel Aviv for Garin Tzabar's opening ceremony, which lasted as long as the flight itself. But it was still amazing seeing all these kids exactly like myself. For the next 2 years and beyond, these kids will be my family. Now we're finally on our way to the kibbutz! Look for some pictures!