Kitchen Duty...usually

I'd wake up four days a week at 7:30, and by wake up I mean turn off my alarm and wait for Louis to come yell at me to actually get up. I'd have until he made his coffee to actually start moving otherwise he'd walk down without me. After I threw on my jeans and t-shirt, we'd take the 6 minute walk down the road to the dining hall. We either met up with Mia outside her building or down at breakfast, but we'd take our time eating. Fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers that we cut up the day before; cottage cheese; two bowls of cereal; and a cup of tea that was never quite strong enough, but the excessive amount of sugar in it made up for that.

As our friends showed up to eat, the three of us would head into the back and throw on our aprons. During a week one of us would work in the שתיפה (dishwasher) while the other two would start cutting up trays of vegetables for tomorrow morning; 2 trays of diagonally sliced cucumbers, 2 trays of thinly sliced peppers (usually red or yellow), and 2 trays of tomatoes. You really only had to wash the cherry tomatoes and take off the stems, but the large tomatoes had to be cored and sliced. We got pretty good at it, but only after a few close encounters (don't worry, Louis's hand is fine).

After about an hour or two, a sweet old Russian lady would come around asking who wanted tea or coffee? This tea was much better. Louis, Mia, and I would grab a few oranges from the fridge and take our tea out to the back loading dock for a break. We'd try being nice to the cats out back, but (as to be expected) they thought they were too good for us. So we were friendly with the cats until they were mean…then we hated them. O! Except for this one hideous one! We hated it all the time. It's not our fault though, it had this one eye that looked like it was going to pop out and it lived in the dumpster…it was terrifying.

One day we were out on our break and Louis and I decided it would be fun to climb up onto the roof. We had done it a few days earlier and all our scratches from the ledge had healed, so we were ready to go again. I never said it was a smart idea, but we had a good time so shut up.

Once up there, obviously we were going to have fun yelling at our bosses and watch them look around for us only to then realize that, "yup, the dumb American kids are on the roof again." Then, Chaim walked by. Now my Hebrew isn't amazing, but I'd been working with people who spoke no English for 3 months at this point; I clearly recognized when he shouted, "stay up there, I have a job for y'all" in Hebrew.

After a bit of shouting, I pieced together that there was an old air conditioning unit on the roof that Chaim wanted Louis and I to carry over to the edge of the roof. So we did. Then came the fun part. Chaim threw us a rope and said, "now lower it down." Louis and I were volunteers in the kitchen, and neither of us were in scouts…we didn't know jack about tying knots! We had no clue how to lower this 100+ pound unit off the 35(ish) foot roof, but we were willing to make it up.

We tried to wrap up the A/C, but after a while Chaim grabbed a ladder to come up and show us how it was done. Again, after a bit of struggling through the language barrier, Louis and I understood how exactly Chaim expected the three of us to lower down this appliance without dropping it…o ya, or falling off the roof.

We braced, kicked the air conditioner off the edge, and began to lower it down. Everything was going fine until it got stuck on something that stopped it from lowering. Chaim told Louis and I to hold tight while he went to check what happened. We pulled tighter, and waited for Chaim to tell us the problem. He peered over the ledge and just started laughing. It was already on the ground. Louis and I were preventing a stationary, broken air conditioner from falling to the ground.

Cycone Sunday

At the Hebrew University I took a lot of classes that I'd love to talk about. I learned a lot of really interesting things…just not in Israeli Legal System. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the class, my professor was awesome, and I did learn a lot, but the class was at 6:15 at night until 9:30…on Sunday. THIS IS THE MOST DIFFICULT CULTURAL DIFFERENCE TO ACCEPT WHEN GOING TO ISRAEL FROM AMERICA! Sunday is a work day. We asked Aryeh's grandparents, who made aliyah to Israel over 30 years ago, and even they still miss Sunday. Luckily, I carefully planned my schedule so this was my one and only class on Sunday (it may not be a weekend, but I'll be damned if I wasn't going to sleep in).

Now, again, I did enjoy this class, I just wasn't sure why it had to be three hours long. There were six of us from Nativ in the class, making up almost a half of it, and we honestly spent most of our time in class people watching. There were people from all over the world in the class. We had one or two students in the class that were on their way to have professions in a legal field that were looking to learn more about a foreign legal system; the information they were getting in this class was not what they were expecting (one of them never came back [good riddance…she sucked]) The rest of them just asked the most ridiculous questions, distracted Dr. Hammer, and made 30 minutes of actual information take three hours to learn. I know the time frame because the six of us missed a class due to a Nativ program, and Dr. Hammer was nice enough to meet up with us one night to go over the lesson. We met him at a little restaurant, had a 30 minute lecture, and then enjoyed a cup of coffee (it was a much better way to learn). Then, we left and saw him later at a concert that he suggested we go to 2 weeks earlier. Dr. Hammer was awesome.

Honorable mention: Reuben "Ruby Tuesday" was a huge guy that we loved to just listen to speak. I won't get into it, but everything out of his mouth was a riot…AND HE SPOKE FLUENT FRENCH!!! WHAT?!?!?!

After class, we'd take the 9:45 19 bus back up to Beit Nativ. Dr. Hammer was always on the same bus. For a while we didn't talk to him, but a few weeks in we decided to take some time to chat with him. Again, he was awesome. Three or four of us would stay on an extra stop to get let off across the street from our favorite pizza place, Cycone, and spend a few extra minutes hanging out with "The Hammer." We'd get a pie or two (each), walk back to the fountain across from Beit Nativ, eat half of a pizza there (or a whole one…it's a college leadership program, don't judge me), and put the leftovers in the fridge for later in the week. It was perfect.

Not IL, IL - 2

I was spending yet another weekend in Ramat Gan with my family. It was right near the beginning of second semester and my friends were going to see the Hunger Games at a theater in Haifa. Being that I never read the book and honestly had no idea what the hell it was, I didn't feel bad ditching the group of Nativers to go see my family. Shortly after arriving in Ramat Gan, my 21 year old cousin told me he was going to see it with some of his friends. Since I wanted to spend time with my cousin, I agreed to go. I traveled for an hour and a half to go to another city…to do the same thing my friends were doing in Haifa.

I had been in Israel nearly five months at this point and not much shook me culturally at this point. That being said, as we drove up to the mall I was blown away by what happened.

After picking up my cousin's two friends, we were driving up to the mall and went to find the parking garage. As we pulled into the parking garage, a man in a yellow traffic vest came over to meet us. My cousin pulled down the window and the man asked him to open the trunk. From the passenger seat I was thinking, "excuse me?! You can't just walk up to us and ask us to pop the trunk…mind your own damn business (expletive)." Without a question, my cousin opened the trunk, the guy took a look, closed it up, tapped the car, and we were on our way.

Israel lives with the constant threat of terrorist attacks, and a commonly reoccurring theme between the thousands of attacks Israel has experienced are bombs and public places full of civilians. The slanted tree next to the cafe at the Hebrew University that I ate at marked one such location.

Maybe a second after we pulled away from the garage attendant, it occurred to me that everyone who pulls into that garage gets searched. I imagined someone in America being asked to pop their trunk, the yelling match that would occur, the declaration that his constitutional rights were being infringed upon, and the weeks of media coverage that would surround the issue.

I commented about the encounter to my cousin when we walked into the mall. He hadn't given it a second thought.

Basketball

Most nights during the first semester we'd go out and play ball at Gan HaPaamon. There were public courts set up and most of the hoops were close enough to ten feet. Usually you could get a handful of guys together to play a game, but the scheduled night for ball was Wednesday. About thirty of us would head over and play ball for a couple hours, but almost everyone cleared out by 11:30 or so; everyone except Brian, Moshe, Aryeh, and myself. We'd stick around getting in on pick up games with local guys. A lot of them were religious guys studying at Yeshiva, Arab Israelis, and once we played with a few guys from a tank unit in the army.

We played regularly and we recognized a lot of people around the park…we also happened to hate a few of them. One of these guys was an older guy from a Yeshiva named Aaron. He played violent basketball, called for the ball every ten seconds, yelled at his teammates, and had the ugliest damn shot I've ever seen. What's worse: it went in (probably a bit too often). Aryeh usually got stuck defending him and he looked forward to getting a chance to put Aaron in his place every week. Aryeh speaks great Hebrew and I'm positive all the trash talking Aaron thought we wouldn't understand only made Aryeh play better.

Long after everyone else had left the park, the four of us would still be hanging out. It was a great time to be with people I love playing basketball. We'd stay out until the lights would shut off (about 2am); then we'd walk up the street to the 24/6 market, SOS, (not open on Shabbis), and get snacks. Each of us would get a 1.5 liter of Fanta Orange Mango, Fanta Exotic, or Fanta Lemon and a big bag of chips. I usually went for the Terra Chips, Aryeh and Moshe liked to get a variety of stuff, but Brian would always, ALWAYS get the flaming hot Doritos. Every week he'd talk about getting something else, but he could never bring himself to do it. We'd take our snacks outside, sit on the couches in the courtyard, and talk about how we had to wake up for classes in the morning.

We'd usually be out there until about 3am, but even after we walked back to Beit Nativ we'd sit in the lobby until about four. I'm really not sure how I got to Hebrew class every Thursday morning...

Social Unrest

With just one weekend left to spend in Jerusalem, I thought it would be nice to talk about the first weekend I spent on Agron St. Shabbat was just ending when the barricades started coming out. The stage had been set up already, but the police were only just showing up. In late August, the entire country of Israel was coming off of a summer of social strife. What began as a few friends camping out on a street in a nicer part of Tel Aviv turned into a summer of tent villages, social rallies, and protesters taking to the streets every weekend. The last big one of the year was mere days after we arrived in Israel, and it was taking place right outside my window.

The youth hostel Nativ stays at first semester is located smack dab in the middle of Jerusalem. My room overlooked the busy intersection of King George and Agron; usually the noise just makes it hard to sleep, but that night the noise was the main event. All around the country thousands of people were taking to the streets, attending similar rallies in every major city. The one in Jerusalem just so happened to be taking place a block away from the Prime Minister's house. The protest was going to begin with a walk down the block, so the actual mass of people was waiting about five minutes away near one of the touristy streets in Jerusalem, Ben Yehuda Street. A lot of us were debating going to the protest, but being that we had just gotten to Israel, we weren't 100% sure what we were protesting. As we later learned, neither were a lot of the Israelis. It turns out that the tent villages began springing up in response to high living costs in Israel, but as the movement got bigger various causes jumped on the social justice band wagon and eventually even gained some support from different political parties.

Anyway, we decided to take advantage of our balcony/roof that overlooked the intersection and just watch from there, but what's a social justice rally without Burger's Bar? A crowd of us made our way 'up-stream' and carried out burgers just as the rally was beginning. I have never seen that many people in my life; it was completely insane. We finally waded back through the crowd to the front gate of the hostel; everyone in the group got lost in the crowd along the way, but eventually we met back up on the roof. First of all, the burger was incredible, but the atmosphere was something else. It was an incredible dive into Israeli culture as we watched men, women, and children take to the streets to speak out and say, 'something is wrong with our country and we want something to be done about it!' It was a different side to Israel that summer trips and other programs won't usually show you: the 'we have our problems, too' side of Israel.

I hung my Israeli flag off the balcony that night to show my support for the young country, and it stayed there all semester. I spent the night taking photos of the rally on my iPod and watching in awe as thousands of Israelis took to the streets. Relative to it's size, it was as if 18 million Americans met up for the rally!
 
Finally, when the rally ended, we were all concerned that the protesters would make a lot of noise and we'd be woken up throughout the night by idiots with megaphones (which would have sucked considering we had to go to orientation for school the next morning). To our surprise, the protesters filed out quickly, left nearly no mess, and the stage was taken down within half an hour. It may not be completely perfect, but this country sure is efficient.

Hi Mom

I really shouldn’t be putting this story online, mostly because I haven’t actually told my mother about this in person, yet. Last week Nativ went on Northern Tiyul and we did a lot of hikes and interesting trips. One of these trips was rafting down the Jordan River. Actually, you begin on a smaller river, then it merges with another river and those become the Jordan River. Prior to getting in the raft there are rubber ties you can put on your glasses to make sure they won’t fall off. I didn’t see them. I was also wearing my prescription sunglasses I had gotten the previous summer. Now that you all know where this is going, here’s what happened.

I was in a raft with Maya, Moshe, Zach, and Ira. We were actually really good at the whole rafting thing. Even with eighty or so other Nativers jumping around in the water trying to pull people off their boats we were making great time down the river. We got so far ahead of everyone that we decided to pull over and tell people we were stuck. Obviously, when they would come help us we’d splash them with water. Good ole fashion fun. Then everything changed. I jumped off of our boat to go shove the assistant director in the water. After succeeding (hell ya) I jumped into the water, off come the glasses, down they go. My first thought was, ‘HOLY CRAP MOM’S GOING TO KILL ME.’ My second thought was, ‘ just reach down, maybe they’re right there!’ They weren’t.

I debated with myself the best way to look for them. If I assume they float, then checking as I float down river is smart, but if they sank, then floating away looking for floating glasses took me away from the glasses, making it nearly impossible to find the spot they fell off again. I looked around the spot where I jumped in for a while as boats full of my friends floated by. Nothing. Although, Zack was a little bit to close to the edge of his boat and I got to close line him. That was fun.

I began floating down river with my hands scraping across the bottom of the Jordan. I caught up with my boat about a minute down river. They were all ready to get out and help me look for my glasses. Honestly, I was a little flustered and sick of fighting the current looking for a pair of glasses I was convinced was gone, but Ira told us he once found a watch he lost after getting out and looking for a half hour, so we took a chance. Ira, Maya, Zach, and I got out and started walking upstream back to where we had stopped before (Moshe stayed to hold the raft). I took off a shoe and began probing the rocks for my glasses. Again, I was let down and convinced I would never see my glasses again. I was ready to give up, we were way behind our group now, and I appreciated what my friends were doing for me, but it was hopeless.

Ira and I were standing in the middle of the Jordan River, waiting for Maya and Zach to reach us when Maya yells over, ‘well, they’re not yours, but I did find a pair of sunglasses…wait! They are yours!’ It sounded like some sort of cruel joke, but sure enough, she had stood up, sick of laying in the water blindly searching, and then she saw them. I went to put them on, praying that they were in fact mine and not some other pair of identical glasses (anything is possible…). We couldn’t believe it: she found them.

Everyone on Nativ who had passed us in the water was laying out in the sun. They were all amazed to see me wearing my glasses. It was pretty damn lucky.

Impulse Buys

Every year at the Seder we say 'next year in Jerusalem;' how could spend all week in Ramat Gan and Tel Aviv? It was Pesach break and I was going into Jerusalem to meet up with some friends. There was just one problem: I had no idea which friends I was meeting up with. So I made the usual phone calls, checked to see who was in Jerusalem or if anyone knew someone in Jerusalem from Nativ. Eventually, I had a list of people I could spend time with, but I still had nowhere to stay. I called my friends Rozzie, Moshe, Aryeh, and Ethan. Each call was carefully planned out; I was sure to mention that I wanted to see them (and their families when applicable), but I never mentioned where I was staying or that I was considering sleeping in the park. I like to think I'm polite...from time to time...so there was no way I was inviting myself over to anyone's house, but if they bring it up first, who am I to turn away their gesture? Rozzie offered first.
I hopped of the bus and headed over to center city to meet up with Moshe and Aryeh at Arkadesh. Back in the states during Pesach, you pray you don't get sick of Matza Pizza before the third day; in Israel, most restaurants in Jerusalem (and any kosher restaurant around the country) does intensive spring cleaning and is Kosher for Pesach. I got shwarma in a kosher l'Pesach laffa. It was delicious.
We finished our lunch and wandered around Jerusalem for a bit. Moshe and I had every intention of visiting a funny T-shirt store and, after a little convincing, so did Aryeh.

We headed over to the t-shirt store and began looking through the collection of tasteless, hilarious t-shirt designs. The shirts are sold for fifty shekels each, but as the good, capitalistic American I am, I couldn’t resist the three for one twenty deal; now the only problem was finding three shirts I could actually justify buying. We spent so much time looking for shirts that would be appropriate enough to wear back in the states (because political correctness does not exist in Israel the same way it does in America: in Israel they have practically correctness [still pc]) that quite a line built up in the store. They press the shirts right in the store and we were not in any mood to wait in line for an hour to get some shirts we weren’t even sure we could ever wear in public, so we left.

We walked around the block, but soon found ourselves on the phone with Rozzie, telling us to come back to Ben Yehuda Street so we could meet her family. Aryeh, Moshe, and I began walking back, but in order to get to Rozzie we had to pass the t-shirt store. I vowed that if the line was gone in the store I would march in there and order the two shirts I wanted and one more practically correct one. Sure enough, no line: three shirts (and two magnets) later, we were late to meet Rozzie so we just went over to her apartment.

Throughout the day we bummed around Jerusalem, met up with Ethan and his family, shopped for nik naks, ordered out Burger’s Bar, and went to bed early. The excuse for our boring night was our early morning mission; Chaviva and Rozzie didn’t come, but Moshe and Aryeh accompanied me to the old city of Jerusalem at three in the morning.  In the old city there is a famous jewelry store that engraves silver rings with Hebrew sayings (it’s quite popular amongst Jewish summer programs). The kick is if you are the first one at the store (that opens at 5:30) then they will engrave your ring for you within twenty minutes and it is half off (so only one hundred shkalim). We wanted to be there first and I wanted to get a ring with part of my favorite verses from Kabbalat Shabbat. We got there at three: nobody was there. There was no reason for us to be there that early, we had no competition. Still, we had stopped at a twenty-four hour market and we had breakfast to occupy us (breakfast means some salami sticks, pop, and cheese sticks) (I’ll clarify, I got salami, Aryeh got cheese sticks, and we sat on opposite sides of the alley in order to abide by the rules of kashrut).

The old city was empty, quiet, and beautiful. It was incredible overlooking the sleeping city of Jerusalem from outside the walls of the old city; it was so amazing we were inspired to toast to our amazing year and the opportunity to be in such an incredible place (we toasted pop, salami, and cheese…we still laugh about it).

You’d think the best part of the night was getting the ring half off after all that waiting. You’d be wrong. After about half an hour of sitting, just the three of us, a very drunk man came walking up the street. In his jeans, button down shirt, and fedora, he looked quite American and I guess we must have, too (or he was just really drunk) because he bent over and tried talking to us. He began by reaching for Aryeh’s hand: Aryeh took his hand, but pulled away when the guy tried to kiss it. The man insisted, ‘no no, it’s ok,’ and a very nervous Aryeh let this stranger kiss his hand. The man, who later told us his name was Meir, crouched down, looked at the three of us, and began spouting out praises for Hashem and the Torah, comparing the Torah to a movie script that is each of ours ‘to direct for the public in our own way.’ Maybe he was just on another level (or, again, very drunk) but he attempted explaining that same point for thirty minutes! I thought I got it after the first time, but it is hard to be sure with all the subtle laughing that was taking place. Then something happened, Meir said something really profound. After getting up, staggering over a bit, then sitting back down, asking for a light, and deciding to stick around a bit longer, Meir asked us if we were about nineteen, twenty and then proceeded to tell us that he’d do anything to have the experience we were having: to have the opportunity to spend an extended period time in Israel, learning, volunteering, living. He then continued to tell us we were all perfect and that he loved us (we decided he probably wasn’t drunk any longer; this guy we met out of nowhere clearly really must have loved us in all our perfection. He did say it about seven times). When Meir finally left, we really missed him, especially since we had about another forty minutes before the store opened. I called my dad to pass some time and told him about our meeting with Meir. My dad asked me, ‘are you sure he was real?’ Aryeh, Moshe, and I decided that we met Elijah the Prophet that Pesach, drunk on the streets of the old city at four in the morning. There’s really no other explanation.

The rest of the morning was pretty routine; we watched Moulin Rouge for about forty minutes (right up to the Elephant Love Song Medley), got the ring, stopped by Aroma for ice coffee for breakfast, Moshe left to catch a bus, and Aryeh and I went to nap at his grandparents place until about three in the afternoon. Productive day.

Leaving Home

I'm sitting on the 910; this bus takes me from the central train station in Tel Aviv to the Hof HaKarmel central bus station in Haifa. I just spent my final open weekend of Nativ in Ramat Gan with some cousins who have become my closest family on this side of the globe. During Nativ, my gap year program, we have had many weekends to travel and see the country; I've (easily) spent a majority of those weekends in Ramat Gan. I've always known that I was extremely fortunate to have family to visit in  Israel, but after this last trip I've really come to realize how much seeing them meant to me and my experience.
They have three sons, all older than me, and one had already moved out. So naturally, I moved in. For nine months I've had my own room in Israel. Obviously, on Nativ I've had two rooms, one in Jerusalem and another in Kfar Hanoar Hadati, but this was different; this room did not have roommates. It did not have loud neighbors, social drama, or a crappy mattress. There was something personal about it (probably because my cousin had lived there for nearly twenty years and left a full bookshelf, desk, and closet): something homey.
The big events my cousins experienced this year were part of my experience, too. The youngest of the sons finished his army service; the middle son moved out, too (and back in [cough, cough nothing]); my cousin had minor surgery (he's doing fine); they got new bikes and a new dining room table; and the oldest son got engaged. The wedding is in June...two weeks after I leave Israel, but whatever...I'm not bitter or anything. I celebrated birthdays, holidays, and secured myself a permanent place at Friday night dinners. That was the biggie; Shabbat dinner is a big deal.
Each week anywhere between seven and fourteen people came to a dinner that Avi and Michal spent all day cooking. Michal was always serving something she had never cooked before; it was always incredible (especially for lunch and dinner the next day). Avi also cooked dinner, but his specialty were cakes; also, always incredible. As the year progressed, the fast Hebrew conversations that took place around that table began to make more and more sense to me, and for that (amongst many, many other things) I am grateful.
When I lived on Jerusalem I'd hop on the 400. It ran every fifteen minutes and dropped me off about a five minute walk away from their house. The first time I made the trip I was terrified to fall asleep; what if I missed my stop and got totally lost right before Shabbat (when all the buses stop running between cities)? After that, the forty minute bus ride was perfect for a forty minute nap (I always woke up right on time). Second semester was a bit harder; eventually, the easiest way to travel seemed to be by train. By taking the train into Tel Aviv to get to Ramat Gan I became a lot more familiar with Tel Aviv and got the opportunity to go out more. As I mentioned, this week I am taking the bus back to Haifa (the train station is undergoing repairs this week).
This was my last time seeing my family, and they did not make it easy on me; using phrases like "adopted son," "we're proud of you," "you've grown up so much this year," etc. only made leaving that much more painful. Now that I've been sitting on the bus for a while, it's become clear that this will be one of my last times taking public transportation in Israel. I will not experience that terrifying feeling of getting onto a bus and 'hoping' I know where to get off again this year. It's weird how comfortable I've become traveling in a country where the language is not my native tongue. Traveling here has been it's own part of my amazing experience this year and even learning bus schedules has been an opportunity to develop as a person. It's really quite incredible...also the fact that the buses have wi-fi is pretty damn sick.
Shavua tov from Egged.co.il somewhere between Tel Aviv and Haifa.

Shabbat Shalom

One week ago I got off a bus in Haifa with a handful of friends, grabbed the tents and bags of food we had bought, and walked across the street to the beach. We began walking down the beach looking for our other friends who had spend the previous night on the beach; they were supposed to have a nice spot for us. They did. We walked up to the only other tent on the beach, surrounded by Israeli beach goers, and began to set up our campsite, knowing we only had about four hours before the sun went down and Shabbat would begin. Aryeh and I set out to find some kosher food for lunch (not as easy as you would think on the beach front in Haifa) and wound up at the bus station across the street eating mini pizzas. Although, we only went to lunch after walking thirty minutes up the beach looking for fire wood. Later that afternoon, Barry and Jake came with me to retrieve the wood we found. It was not an easy walk back, and taking off my shirt before carrying back two door-sized pieces of broken wood probably wasn't the best idea either. Eventually, we got back to the campsite where we found that everyone had made it to the beach/gotten back from the store/threw down the wood they had carried and was ready for a nap.
As we sat around, we decided to take a few moments before doing final Shabbat prep to call our friend, Brian. Brian had returned to the states earlier that week and we all knew that if he had been in Israel he would have been on that beach with us. So we did what had to be done; woke his ass up at ten in the morning to talk to us for 'bout twenty minutes. After we sent our Shabbis greetings 'across the pond,' we had a fire to build.
The idea was to built the fire out so that it would burn for a long time and the coals would stay hot through the night. Ya. That did not happen. Remember those door-sized pieces of wood? Those lit up. Quick. Our fire was more like an inferno and it ruined a couple of good cans of tuna we were trying to cook, but it lit and that was really all that mattered. We lit Shabbat candles as well (as if we needed more fire) and gathered around the fire to pray Kabbalat Shabbat and Ma'ariv. If you've ever had the privilege of praying with a group of people you love, who are so passionate about what they are saying, then imagine that experience on this beach (--->), in front of a fire you built, with a handful of people watching you. It was perfect.
We did Kiddush and blessed the challah and roll we had bought, and everyone began pulling out the assorted canned goods and cured meats that were going to be dinner...and breakfast...and lunch...and dinner again. Dinner began with everyone sharing the best, worst, and most looked forward to parts of their week, and was interrupted by various singing sessions (including a completely ad-libbed favorite). Once more, it was perfect.
Most of us slept outside the tents and one of us (guess who) slept as close to the few remaining coals as possible. I woke up on top of where the fire had once been, surprisingly quite cozy. That Shabbat was exactly what Shabbat was meant to be; a relaxing day on the beach, with friends, naps, sounds of the sea, and more salami. Ok, so maybe Shabbat isn't supposed to have ice cream trucks blaring music, secular people smoking hooka, or sunburn...but I maintain: it was perfect!
Finally, the sun set once again, we debated whether that thing was a star or a planet, debated whether it actually mattered, decided it was late enough anyway, waited for Moshe to come back from the bathroom, and did Havdallah. If you've ever had the experience of having an amazing Kabbalat Shabbat with an incredible group of people, spent Shabbat with that group of people, and then bid farewell to Shabbat with as much passion as you welcomed it the night before with those people, imagine that, but in nearly complete darkness on this beach (refer to above).

It was a phenomenal Shabbat, and I'm sad Ira couldn't come (much love I.), but the ten other people who were there with me really made it what it was. You guys are the best, it was my pleasure camping out with you.

Shabbat Shalom.

(one of us was taking the picture, the other was...somewhere. I swear, there were eleven of us camping...so ya)

Today, We Celebrate Our Independence Day

A hand full of us from the program, Nativ, wandered over to Shira Hadasha for Ma’ariv (evening services). It was insane; services were outside and led by a band. Yom Hazikaron was being played out by a band leading a service that ends the same way we end Yom Kippur, and it was being replaced with Yom Haatzmaut, Independence Day. All Jewish holidays begin the evening before the holiday, so naturally Yom Haatzmaut begins at sundown on Yom Hazikaron with a nationwide block party.

The streets were packed with people of all ages. Cotton candy and popcorn were on sale everywhere and kids were chasing each other with inflatable blue and white hammers. In center city there were three or four live concerts taking place and everywhere else people were blasting their own music. It was impossible to believe that less than twelve hours ago most of these people were in the cemetery with me. I had been hanging out with a handful of people from my program, but we got separated when Brian, Aryeh, and I decided to go get second dinner (3 hours after first dinner). Two things: by this point on the program, nobody was shocked that Aryeh, Brian, and I were off doing something together. People would literally use one of our names to call to any of us, not in the ‘that ginger, the kid with the mop on his head, and the tiny kippah kid’ look alike, but more in the ‘mom needs something and she doesn’t have time to remember which son she’s calling for’ kind of way. Second, we had a bad habit of indulging in second dinner whenever we were in Jerusalem (which is better than when Aryeh and I would get triple dinner in Haifa…I digress). Obviously, we went to our favorite worst pizza place in Jerusalem, Cycone.

A word about Cycone; I LOVE CYCONE! It’s pizza is day to day (honestly hour to hour); It’s relatively good, sometimes actually good, and it’s freakin’ cheap. For twenty five shkalim (about $6.50) a pie I’d eat the damn cardboard box it came in, and as broke “college” students none of us were going to complain. Hell, I don't even mind that there's no "L" in the name! Did they mean 'cycLone?' Who the hell knows?!?! All we know is we gave up caring about 7 months ago (even if it still sparks discussion as to if cyclone is just a misspelling of cycone...). We split two between us and went about our business, and by business I mean party hopping all night making stops at Gan Haatzmaut for fireworks at 10:30 and 12:30. I wandered around with various groups of friends throughout the night, but eventually the night had to end…at about six am when the sun started to come up. I took a quick nap and got up at eleven, ready to celebrate Israeli independence.

Israelis know how to celebrate independence right. I’m almost positive most of them would say it’s a mitzvah (commandment, often mistranslated as good deed) to have a big ass Bar B Q in the park. So that’s exactly what we did. The director of our program stood behind a grill from eleven to three just cooking away, and the ninety plus of us there did our part by eating all afternoon. It was incredible; what more could you ask for? Friends, Frisbee, steak, chicken, grilled veggies, football, real football (you choose which is which), and a fly over by the Israeli Air Force. The park was full of families doing exactly what we were and it was at about noon that I decided that no matter where I am in the world, I will be fulfilling the mitzvah of all day BBQ every year on Yom Haatzmaut. Happy Birthday Israel!

How Should I Feel?

By four the mood began to change. I was making plans to go out for an early dinner so that I’d be hungry enough for second dinner later (to clarify, you do not need to be hungry to eat second dinner: it just helps so you don’t feel like a bum after second dinner). Just hours before I was walking around Har Herzl, the military cemetery in Jerusalem, surrounded by thousands or mourning Israelis; people who had lost fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, close friends, distant relatives, and there I was wandering around not sure how to feel. Yom Hazikaron (Memorial Day) is not a day of sales and History Channel specials; it is done right here. The country stops and remembers the family members they have lost both in the army and as a result of terror attacks: literally. At eleven in the morning a siren is heard throughout the country. Anybody with any knowledge of Yom Hazikaron or Yom Hashoah (Holocaust remembrance day in Israel, taking place just a week before) can tell you that when the siren sounds, everyone stands still for the 2 minutes that it blasts. Nobody can explain the experience of witnessing it. So here I go.

Our bus was late. We were supposed to be inside Har Herzl by eleven, waiting for the siren, waiting for the ceremony to begin where Benjamin Netanyahu would speak to the nation. We were outside the front gate; I think it was better that way. We approached the busy intersection outside the cemetery. It seemed like all of Jerusalem was flocking to the one location; a sea of white shirts converging on the cemetery. It is tradition to wear white on Yom Hazikaron, Yom Hashoah, and Yom Kippur (the holiest day on the Jewish calendar). Just as we crossed the street, rushing to get into the cemetery and to the top of the mountain where the ceremony would take place, it began. A motorcycle drove up onto the sidewalk next to me and both riders got off, removed their helmets and stared straight ahead. The buses remained still as the drivers got out of their seats, passengers stood in the aisles of the buses, again staring straight ahead. Car doors began to open as people put down their cell phones and stopped caring how late they were to work. The busy intersection was silent; silent save the ringing of the siren that was blaring from the cemetery I was about to enter. Nobody was remembering how much they appreciated the country they had; everybody was remembering the life of the family member or friend that could have been their own or the lives of their family members. When everybody serves to protect the country it’s not a story on the History Channel that you connect to; it’s the fear that any grave you visit could have been one of your brother: is one of your brother.

Actually walking into the cemetery was otherworldly. Thousands of people crammed into every corner of the mountain, and they were all remembering a loved one. I have been in Israel for nearly nine months; I have developed a routine; I know the bus schedules; I am comfortable here. I have never felt more out of place anywhere in my life than I did that morning. How was I supposed to feel? The entire country was mourning and there I was wondering around the cemetery just looking: intruding on something personal.

But then we left, and a few hours later we were talking about dinner. After a lot of failed planning, my friends Brian and Jason joined me for sushi. During our meal, the waiter offered us the Yom Haatzmaut special (yes, it was blue); the sun was just beginning to set and everyone in Israel was anxious to begin Independence Day.

Not IL: IL

 I grew up in the suburbs in Illinois. While the acronym for the state of Illinois and the state of Israel is the same (IL), that is nearly the entire connection between the two. Maybe this will clarify...

I was spending the night in Jerusalem at my friend's grandparents' house. He wanted to stay in to watch March Madness on ESPN America, but some other friends invited me to watch the games somewhere else near center city. It was only about a twentyish minute walk away, but it was a bit cool out so I wore a jacket over my sweatshirt. Usually, that's not an important fact to share, except that on my walk I would be going past the residence of the prime minister of Israel and that there are armed guards at the top and bottom of the street (and another nine or ten you don't see, but see you from the shadows).

As I approached the first guard I removed my headphone from one ear thinking, 'he isn't going to stop me, I'm a very American looking, average kid.' Then he said, יש לך נשק? If you don't know Hebrew, I'm not going to tell you what that says, yet; if you do, then this is the funny part. Partially because I had the headphone in, mostly because I'm American, I looked blankly back at the guard and asked "מה?" (what?) in my very American accent as I slowly reached to my back pocket for my wallet. I figured he just wanted to see my ID.

Just as I touched my wallet I quickly realized that he had asked me if I was carrying a gun. My hands shot back out in front of me, palms open, while I quickly explained, 'no, I don't have any weapons.' He smiled and waved me by; luckily, he was sure I didn't have a gun within two seconds of meeting me.

Somebody Take My Bag

Maybe fifty of us studied at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem and as part of that studying we did three weeks of a summer semester. Our program was nice enough to provide a bus to take us to our 9 am classes five days a week, but the bus always left on time (or at least the moment the bus driver decided "on time" was) and would wait for no one. Including me.

It was maybe our third day of classes during our minimester. I had eaten a little something at breakfast, but I was still in the 'everything tastes like garbage, why am I awake' part of my morning. I got onto the bus early and as I sat down I remembered that my professor had asked our class to bring a Tanach to class. I jumped off the bus and ran into the Conservative Yeshiva (conveniently located in the front court yard of our program's base for first semester) and asked if I could borrow a Tanach for myself and a friend, just for the one day. After a bit of convincing I got the books and ran back outside; the bus was nowhere in sight.

I called my friend I was going to sit next to and asked him to make sure my bag got to class; I was mostly concerned with him saving me a seat in the class to I didn't get the crappy corner desk next to the door. I could have replaced the notebook and water bottle but the air conditioning was right above that corner seat and it was way to close to the professor to accidentally (...) fall asleep. After I hung up, I wandered back into the dining hall where I was met by a very puzzled look from my staff member. She told me to hurry or I'd miss the bus; I told her I had bigger problems, like how the hell I was supposed to get a cab to the Hebrew U.

She walked me across the street to get me a cab (again, conveniently located right across the street from where I was living) and got me a ride for 40 shkalim (about 11 bucks). Now, in Israel you can bargain with the cab driver, and if they're feeling nice, or if you catch them trying to rip you off, you can usually get a better price instead of just relying on the meter and cooperative traffic. Unfortunately, twenty days into my year I was in no position to understand anything the driver was going to say to me, and I was already in a hurry so I just sucked it up and paid for the overpriced ride. About ten minutes before class started, the cab pulled up to the Aroma across the street from the entrance to the Hebrew U. Side note: Aroma; better than Starbucks. There. I said it.

That should have been plenty of time, except that I had minor foot surgery about three weeks prior to that day, and with all the traveling I was doing, well let's just say they weren't healing according to schedule. I hobbled through security, across campus to the international school, and up to the third floor in fifteen minutes. I sat down, in the corner seat where my friend had put my bag (damn it), and luckily my professor was late. Class started a minute or two after I got there.

Something Different

Admittedly, this blog is for me. For the past eight months I have been having the most incredible experience of my life. I have been fortunate enough to be sharing this experience with, who are now, some of my closest friends in the world. Many of them began blogging during the beginning of the year; I never picked up the habit. Prior to coming on the gap year program that changed my life, I had heard stories from alumni and sought their help in planning for my own adventure. Now, a mere twenty days before I return home, I realized that all those stories I was so excited to recreate are my stories. Instead of cataloging my year as it happened, I have decided to recall the year through a series of anecdotes.

I took a gap year in Israel, not because I wasn't ready for college, but because I wanted a year to step out of a classroom and approach life from a completely different angle. The program I joined is geared towards teaching people leadership skills, both for college and beyond. I did a little studying during the first semester, but I spent the second semester volunteering on a youth village. I spent this past year living halfway around the world, immersed in a language that was foreign to me, immersed in a culture that is misunderstood by a majority of the world, hiking with my friends, camping on the beach, learning bus routes, meeting incredible people, witnessing history, and chilling in the park with my buddies.

Taking a gap year is not a popular decision amongst American students. I respect that it's not for everybody and it certainly isn't easy to be so far away from your home for so long. I can not say that my year was more incredible than my friends who went right to school; we had completely separate, incomparable experiences and I have no way to know that. I can say that I have been having the most meaningful, educational, extraordinary year of my life.