On January 28th, a cold, wet, windy day in Zichron Yaakov I woke up to an apartment complex that was rapidly turning into a water park…which I suppose is part of the inherent risk one takes when attempting to use Escher as a source of inspiration for building design.
Floating my luggage down the stairs I called a taxi and made my way to the Kibbutz and checked in with the director of the program (Mike Flax) and was given my bed sheets, my room key and a warm (and dry) welcome. Making my way to my room to unpack my things (and dry off) I had the luxury of being first in the room, having the lions share of real estate I quickly staked my claims.
My roommates would move in later that day, one Ulpanist from Oregon, the other from the Philippines.
The Kibbutz is sprawling, decorated with gardens, fish ponds, sculptures and hidden treasures that hide themselves along the winding trails that spread out like the lines along the palm of your hand. Built up along a hill on the Kibbutz are numerous art studios and libraries, and the dining hall where Kibbutznicks and Ulpanists alike share at least one meal a day together…the food surprisingly healthy, a haven for Vegetarians and Vegans alike with Carnivores and Omnivores still able to find a fare suitable to their tastes as well.
This hill is the main hub of activity. From here you can never be lost (once on top, you can only go down…and if you’re walking ‘up’ anywhere on the Kibbutz you’re heading towards the hill). Depending on what direction you choose, you can make your way down past horses, and animals, and a major sports complex to three private islands that one can swim to from their beach on the Mediterranean, or should you choose to walk in the other direction you make your way towards the pub (open on Thursday and Friday nights), areas of work, class and housing for those of us in the Ulpan.
Dogs walk around here freely, joining us in the dining room, following us to our rooms, and playing with us at work: all of them incredibly well balanced in this Israeli paradise, one even carries it’s own leash in her mouth and walks herself…the others walk around without leashes. While a known fact that all dogs go to heaven, I fear for these dogs…because when they get there, I have a feeling that after Kibbutz Maagan Michael they will be sorely disappointed in their new surroundings and will ask to go back.
One does need to be careful where they sit though, cats are also found here in large numbers and they take great pleasure in jumping up on your shoulder and giving your hair a proper bath…whether you want another shower or not (they’re incredibly persistent).
This Ulpan has twenty countries being represented from all corners of the globe. Each individual on the Ulpan bringing their own perspective, their own background, their own link to Judaism (or lack thereof) and the Jewish people as well as their own baggage as a hundred people who may have never found cause to cross paths in life suddenly find themselves friends (or at the very least, forced acquaintances).
We are strangers in a strange land, getting used to a new system and a new way of life that is not only completely different than anything we have ever known but that is also completely different from how Israel operates outside of the realm of Kibbutz life. A wise professor of mine, my Arabic professor, used to say “Culture Shock is fine…you just can’t allow yourself to get electrocuted…” his words ringing in my ear as I try to do my best to fit into this new society that I - as a guest - find myself trying hard to understand.
Our first week here was spent taking placement exams (oral, written, reading comprehension and multiple choice). These exams would serve to determine our placement in either Kita (Class) Alef, Bet, Gimmel or Dalet (Alef being the first letter of the Hebrew Alphabet, and so on). We also signed up for work, giving our top three choices of employment while on the Ulpan with the Kibbutz having the final say about our job placement (we work four hours a day, and study for four hours a day, allowing us to ‘earn our keep’ as well as interact with the Kibbutznicks). I received my top choice for which I’m incredibly thankful.
Cowboys in the Holy Land
I work in the Refet. The Refet is the Cow Shed. Now to answer the question that immediately follows when I tell people I work with cows “No…really, what do you do?”…really, I’m a cowboy. I work with cows. 294 of them to be exact, and around forty to sixty baby cows (possibly the cutest baby animals to ever grace the earth).
Fortunately for me - as a Linguist - I work with Polylingual cows (they speak Hebrew, Arabic and English) so when I’m getting them to walk to the showers I go “Yalla, Yalla, Kadima, Aye!!!” (Arabic for ‘come on’, Hebrew for ‘forward’ and English for ‘come on’) and sometimes the cows look back and go “Moo” which as a Linguist I know can mean many things depending on how they say it, such as “sod off, I’m groggy…it’s 4am and you want to do what, where?” or “Hey!!!! It’s a HUMAN…oh my, I really wasn’t expecting company…I’m sorry, I’ll need a few minutes to get ready” So, really, their own language (that of Cow) is tone oriented, rather than stress oriented and I have to say I’m developing a remarkable fluency.
Much like the Ulpan which has Kita Alef, Bet, Gimmel and Dalet our cows are equally housed in Alef, Bet, Gimmel and Dalet (perhaps the Kibbbutz’s way of entertaining themselves and anyone else who cares to pay attention). Bringing each group to the washing zone from their home, we hit a button and they get their morning, afternoon or evening shower…and then they walk up and one by one get onto a carousel, where we hook them up to a milker. The carousel rotates clockwise to the exit. By the time the cows reach the end of the carousel they’re usually done being milked and the milking device drops off automatically…sometimes they stay on for another ride, chatting with the cow next to them and catching up about whatever it is cows talk about these days.
We are in a constant process of bringing cows from their homes, and back to their homes until the last Dalet cow goes home until the next shift.
Having a gate system and cows that are sorted by house, there are some games that you don’t want to play, Sort-A-Cow and Cow Soccer are the top two among them. For those of you not familiar, Sort-A-Cow normally occurs when one doesn’t work the gate system right and lets each group of cows mingle together…then two hundred or so cows have to be convinced (normally at the morning hour of 4am) to - in an orderly fashion - return to their homes…however, being cows they don’t quite see the importance of the sorting system and don’t exactly have the memory to know that the pasture they find themselves in, isn’t their own (since, to them, it looks identical). Sort-A-Cow is to be avoided at all costs.
Cow Soccer usually occurs when cows need to be moved from one pasture to another. Cow soccer is played with two teams, the Cows (comrpising about 150 of them) and the Refet workers (Two of us). One cow is nominated by the Refet workers to be the self moving soccer ball…the goal of the game is to let only one cow out of the pen…and have it be that cow be the cow that you want to move. The Cows’ goal is to have as many of them get out as possible (possibly leading to an impromptu pick up game of Sort-A-Cow, which the cows are rooting for). So far Refet workers are - at least in this Ulpan - undefeated…we hope to keep that score going (at least until I leave…after that, they’re on their own).
I love my job. My roommates, however, do not always feel quite as I do…especially when I just come home from work. I do however - generously - leave my Refet Clothes outside in a bag with the understanding that should someone steal them they’re not allowed to return them. Also - perhaps shockingly - when I drop my laundry off in the communal laundry bin (there’s a tag on it that indicates that my clothing is to be returned to my box in the Ulpan office) my laundry gets returned to me first. The running theory is that the laundry people like me…it could also be that they just like not smelling the Refet more…but I’m pretty sure it’s because they like me.
After I found out that sometimes we have to trim the cow hooves, I asked if it would be okay to perhaps give them a coat of polish (I was thinking something bright with sparkles) but was nicely told that perhaps that wouldn’t be the best idea.
The Ayalon Institute & Jaffa
Part of the Ulpan program is going on tours. For those of us who are Olim (new immigrants) it gives us a chance to explore areas of the country with a tour guide more in depth than perhaps some of us have done on our own. For those who will be returning to their own country, the goal is to make them experts on Israel…because they’ve been here, they will be able to advocate on our behalf in their communities. Among our tours, we will be going to Jerusalem, spending two days in the Negev, touring the Green Line and the security barrier, and many others that are still in the planning phases.
Last week we were blessed with going to the Ayalon Institute. The Ayalon Institute was setup to fool the British into thinking it was a Kibbutz, when in reality, beneath the ground underneath the laundry room and the bakery a group of young Israelis were making the ammunition that won the War of Independence for Israel.
Were they to be caught, they would have been shot immediately. What they were doing required secrecy, total disregard for having an ego, and bravery the likes of which I don’t think my generation has ever been asked to display. These brave young Israelis would later come together to form Kibbutz Maagan Michael…the Kibbutz that I presently (and proudly) call my home for the next few months.
The Ulpanists are incredibly excited to get to meet the founding members, to talk to not only heroes but people who - through their acts of bravery - forever changed history.
After the tour, and a group discussion we made our way with the tour guide the Kibbutz hired for us to Jaffa, which is south of Tel Aviv. Jaffa now comprised mainly of artisans has seen countless rulers - from the Egyptians to Napoleon - and because of this the history is incredibly rich…and so are the folk tales…and they’re all worth hearing. However, if you have the chance and some spare time ask a local who’s in the know about the Dance of the Seven Scarves because somewhere between fact and fiction, fantasy and reality, is an incredible truth…but if you want to hear the story, you’ll have to come visit…because it isn’t my story to tell.
Shabbat in Tel Aviv
While the Kibbutz is beautiful, being secular (and perhaps militantly so) it has a hard time meeting my spiritual and religious needs. Lighting candles, singing a song or two, and making a blessing aren’t enough to satisfy my cravings. However one doesn’t go into someone’s living room as a guest and ask them to change things around just for you (my Mother taught me better than that).
Finding a way to resolve my problem, two Shabbats ago I made my way down to Tel Aviv to my friend Itai’s apartment for a weekend filled with prayer and Torah discussion and as the Shabbat candles were lit, and the cell phones were turned off and I disconnected with the outside world, I could feel my heart connecting with the Jewish world through prayer and song and meditation and celebrating in not only the rich history, but the rich tradition of my, of our people. I anxiously look forward to the day when I can have a synagogue to go to regularly again…that, sadly, will have to wait until I’m at a different point in my life.
Shabbat will come each and every week, it is up to us whether or not we choose to observe it…but as Jews throughout history have been persecuted relentlessly, still today in many parts of the world we get constant flack for being Jewish…and for it, we should at least reap the fruits of our hardships and rejoice each weekend…it’s not something we have to do…it’s something we get to do, and that freedom is an amazing thing.
A Smooth Operator
Recently I’ve been reading the Song of Songs written by King Solomon; it is perhaps one of the smoothest, most erotic documents ever written (though it’s debated as to whether or not he was writing for Women or for God…though I contend it was for both) and it is incredibly easy to see how he could have 700 wives and 300 concubines and know exactly what to say to them at all times.
He was a smooth operator and with material like this, no hebrew school student should ever be bored and quite frankly, they should be taking notes. With lines like his delivered properly one will never find themselves alone on a weekend.
…I’ll let you know how well they work out for me.
Shabbat in Jerusalem
This past week went by rather quickly, and after a sleepless night (with most people having Friday off and the bar open on Thursday nights it makes for an interesting arrangement for those of us who have to be at work at 4am the next day) and a four hour work shift that ended at 8am, I made my way back to my room and washed and showered and changed and called a Taxi to pick me up in front of the Ulpan office.
The driver was eager to engage me in conversation and so we chatted in Hebrew for a bit and when he found out I was from New York he was thrilled and put in a CD he had burned with one song (Around the World by ATC) and another ten or so tracks of Ace of Base, happy to share his American music with someone who would understand the lyrics.
I reassured him, when he asked, that Ace of Base was certainly popular (omitting the time period in which is was popular). We wished each other a Shabbat Shalom and I made my way to the train platform where I met another woman who had made Aliyah 40 years ago and we spoke for some time until another Ulpanist from Uruguay showed up and together we made our way together to Tel Aviv, sitting next to each other on the train, practicing Hebrew together, and enjoying each other’s company.
Parting ways at the central bus station I opted to take a Sherout (a mini-bus that is sort of like a taxi) to Jerusalem. I find the smaller vehicles more comfortable (since they’re less jam packed than the bus) and for three shekels more ($00.75US) it’s worth it. They also let me off in a more convenient area in Jerusalem than the busses do (Ben Yehuda Street, instead of the Central Bus Station).
Dropping off my bags at my friend Shirah’s apartment, I touched base with my Rabbi and agreed to meet him at Jaffa Gate, one of the entrances of the Old City. This gave me about 45 minutes to catch up with Shirah and her boyfriend before I made my way down to where he and the group from my Synagogue back in New York would be.
One of my happiest moments of these past two months that I’ve been in Israel were seeing the bright blue and white T-Shirts that said “Temple Or-Elohim” on them, and seeing the familiar faces that went with them. This is not to say that I’m unhappy, this is not to say I’m sad…I’m elated, daily, to be in Israel…but there is something so wonderful and beautiful in familiar smiles and faces of friends who have become family. Taking into consideration that I’ve been with Temple Or-Elohim for sixteen years, it is quite fair to say that I grew up there.
I was also happy to see some members of the Choir that my parents sing in at the synagogue. My brothers and I were Choir Kids, we knew the other Choir Kids, and the choir knows all of us…depending on the day either we were baby-sitting the choir, or the choir was baby-sitting us…you’d have to ask the Cantor for a definitive ruling as to who was better behaved on a case by case, Shabbat by Shabbat, service by service basis.
I was so thankful to be invited to not only join them as they went shopping at the shook, but then again later that night to attend Shabbat Services with them, and then to a dinner where we heard an amazing speaker from Hebrew Union College (a political scientist) address the differences between Israel’s form of Democracy and the United States’ version of Democracy and then the next night to also be able to once again share a table with my Rabbi, my Rabbis Wife, and congregants just filled my heart.
What overtook me with emotion though was the tears of a 95 year old gentleman as we discussed what he was able to see in his life: Fred Astaire dance! World War II - he was a child during World War I, the fall of the USSR, a world where Israel as an independent state didn’t exist…and then a world where Israel as an independent state did!
When he told me that he never thought he’d make it back to Israel again and he began to cry…there were no more words that had to be spoken between us because I had those same feelings every day as I waited to return to Israel after I left this past summer and returned back to the United States and I cried those same tears when I landed and was welcomed back this past December 27th.
I am overjoyed to hear congregants from my synagogue say that they’re coming back! Some already planning their next trip, others chomping at the bit to tell their neighbors to come…that they were scared too before they arrived…but you have to go!! Newly minted Ambassadors for Israel, young and old, children and adults alike, who now have a wonderful connection with a place that they too - no matter where they are in the world - can call home.
I look forward to when my parents and brothers will be able to visit me, and I’ll be able to give them my version of Israel, a land where every step has history, and to next year when I’ll be able to see my Rabbi and his wife, during my Rabbi’s sabbatical in Jerusalem…of course then I’ll have a much different wardrobe comprised of a beret, a shade of green, and combat boots.
Right now I am in Tel Aviv, at my friend Itai’s apartment, about to head back to the Kibbutz where I’ll catch up on the rest of my email, some reading, finish my homework, shower, and get ready for another week of classes and cows. This Thursday night the Kibbutz - generously - is paying for us to not only get to Jerusalem, but to see Idan Raichel in concert.
Love to Everyone,
M
