• 04:10 Has a day off on Sunday too! My love 2 everyone #

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• 11:45 is waiting in the sun for over an hour for his missing unit soldier #

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• 22:45 @stevivor *hugs* #
• 22:46 @halavais I’m excited to see how this is going to go over! #
• 22:46 is getting ready to go back to base tomorrow! #

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These two pictures are taken right after leaving Bakum (which is where you get all your gear and do your army intake once you’re officially enlisted)…they are, rightfully awful, since I started my day at 0430…real pictures of me in my uniform (where you can see everything) will be posted later tonight

• 20:23 Gets to leave base for Shabbat tomorrow! #

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• 03:56 is in the army now! #
• 06:52 is at the place where he’s supposed to meet with 30 minutes to spare. #
• 07:12 Just re-read a certain story with cheerios while waiting…thanks Goodall #
• 09:05 Found other American Chayalim Bodedim…have made a bloc of friends. #
• 10:23 At Bakum…waiting on a bus… #
• 16:36 I’m in uniform! #

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Standard disclaimer applies: You Plan, God Laughs

I used to get a lot of flack when I’d say “I’m going to do this” and a bunch of people would go “You can’t do that!” It didn’t matter what exactly it was I was going to do, what program I was going to apply for, or what newspaper I was going to talk to (it could have even been something as simple as saying ‘I’m going to bake a pie’)…all of a sudden a dozen people who have their glasses perpetually three-quarters of the way empty would pop out of the wood work and start whining telling me why something wouldn’t work, was impossible, or just unable to be done. To this day, I’m not even sure why they thought I couldn’t do something…barring it being banned by international law…and even then I didn’t see anything stopping me.

What would inevitably happen is that I’d do whatever it was I said I was going to do, turn around and say “hahahah, looks like I just did” (I’ve always been a bit more mature than the rest…clearly…) and they’d go back to their respective corners.

I think it all started when I had a teacher tell me in Middle School that I’d never graduate High School (dipshit that he was), but now a few years and five-ish pieces of paper later, I have a proven track record so I’m not all that worried at this point since I seem to have left that crowd behind with their last big out cry of “you can’t move to the Middle East!”…and oh look, I did!

However, I did realize that if I didn’t figure out (incredibly roughly) where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do with myself in life, I might be floundering (time moves too quickly to leave everything to chance, and the divine architect(s) help(s) those who help themselves). I don’t want to wind up 40, with no career…or just breaking into my field. I need a nice mixture of chaos mixed with a dash of order.

Being here in Israel, my mind has never been more clear, more confident, more introspective…I’ve had my love of God just increased to levels where my heart swells with happiness on a daily basis (even on the bad days). I see the rising sun, the green leaves, the desert sands, the gush of flavor from the freshest fruits all as divine acts and beautiful gifts of grace.

I no longer take the ocean or sunsets for granted, but find them to be things I’m thankful to have created. I don’t know if I’d say I was more religious (a word that has so many different connotations - both positive and negative - to so many different people), but I would say that I feel more cognitively aware, or perhaps more full of praise. No, I don’t wear all black, no I don’t have a beard, no I’m not getting rid of my tattoos…God and I understand each other well enough to the point where I don’t need to dress like I’m from the shtettle, though I have taken to wearing a Kippa on a daily basis for a multitude of reasons.

I’ve had hours to myself this past month to put serious thought into what I want out of life (because if I don’t work for it now, where will I be when I should have what I want?) and really, I want a job that lets me lead a life of service. I want a job that will let me dedicate my life to the Tikun Olam, one that will also let me travel, one that will incorporate my love of the outdoors and my love of writing, and speaking and my love of social justice, and my love of language…all together into one package.

So below is a rough road map, a general idea, a prayer, an inkling, a hope, a slight wish, subject to the usual chaos that life throws in, but it exists nonetheless:

August 2008
August 20, 2008 - Begin 1.5 Years Army Service

September 2008
In The Israeli Defense Forces
September 2, 2008 - I turn 24

October 2008
In the Israeli Defense Forces

November 2008
In The Israeli Defense Forces

December 2008
In The Israeli Defense Forces
December 27, 2008 - In Israel for 1 Year

January 2009
In The Israeli Defense Forces

February 2009
In The Israeli Defense Forces

March 2009
In The Israeli Defense Forces

April 2009
In The Israeli Defense Forces

May 2009
In The Israeli Defense Forces

June 2009
In The Israeli Defense Forces
June 15, 2009 - Lease Expires on Apartment, Re-sign lease?

July 2009
In The Israeli Defense Forces

August 2009
In The Israeli Defense Forces
August 20, 2009 - One Year in the Army

September 2009
In The Israeli Defense Forces
September 2, 2009 - I Turn 25

October 2009
In The Israeli Defense Forces

November 2009
In The Israeli Defense Forces

December 2009
In The Israeli Defense Forces
December 27, 2009 - In Israel For 2 Years

January 2010
In The Israeli Defense Forces

February 2010
In The Israeli Defense Forces
February 20, 2010 - Complete My Army Service

March 2010
Visit The United States, Toronto, Quebec (Harass Anne & Dominic)

April 2010
Visit Dharm Sala WIth Jeruen (correct timing?)
Visit Carrie in Austria

May 2010
Make My Grand Return to Yaoi North, Reclaim my Panels
Visit Lizzie in Panama, Learn Spanish, Date Hot Latinos as a Study Aid, Do Volunteer Work

June 2010
Visit Lizzie in Panama, Learn Spanish, Date Hot Latinos as a Study Aid, Do Volunteer Work

July 2010
Visit Lizzie in Panama, Learn Spanish, Date Hot Latinos as a Study Aid, Do Volunteer Work

August 2010
Intensive Hebrew Ulpan at Tel-Aviv University

September 2010
Work (Freelance, Drag, Tutor, etc.)
September 2, 2010 - I Turn 26

October 2010
Work (Freelance, Drag, Tutor, etc.)

November 2010
Begin Givat HaViva (An Arabic Language Intensive - 100 Hour a Week - Program)

December 2010
Givat HaViva
December 27, 2010 - In Israel For Three Years, NBN’s Golden Handcuffs Removed

January 2011
Givat HaViva

February 2011
Givat HaViva

March 2011
Givat HaViva

April 2011
Givat HaViva

May 2011
Givat HaViva

June 2011
Givat HaViva

July 2011
Givat HaViva
Complete Giva HaViva
Fly to the United States

August 2011
Begin Graduate School on Long Island, Masters in Social Work (MSW) Program.

September 2011
MSW Program, Year 1
September 2, 2011 - I Turn 27

October 2011
MSW Program, Year 1

November 2011
MSW Program, Year 1

December 2011
MSW Program, Year 1

January 2012
Vacation in Israel

February 2012
MSW Program, Year 1

March 2012
MSW Program, Year 1

April 2012
MSW Program, Year 1

May 2012
MSW Program, Year 1
Yaoi North

June 2012
Internship Potentials: Doctors Without Borders, Hillel, Rape Crisis Services (For Male Victims), Tourette Syndrome of America, others, something in Washington, D.C.?

July 2012
Internship Potentials: Doctors Without Borders, Hillel, Rape Crisis Services (For Male Victims), Tourette Syndrome of America, others, something in Washington, D.C.?

August 2012
Begin MSW Program, Year 2

September 2012
MSW Program, Year 2
September 2, 2012 - I Turn 28

October 2012
MSW Program, Year 2

November 2012
MSW Program, Year 2

December 2012
MSW Program, Year 2

January 2013
Vacation in Israel

February 2013
MSW Program, Year 2

March 2013
MSW Program, Year 2

April 2013
MSW Program, Year 2

May 2013
MSW Program, Year 2
Yaoi North

June 2013
MSW Program, Year 2
Graduate MSW Program

July 2013
Vacation in Israel

August 2013
Begin Graduate School in Vermont, M.A. in Arabic
Get Hired by Hillel

September 2013
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 1
September 2, 2013 - I Turn 29

October 2013
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 1

November 2013
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 1

December 2013
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 1

January 2014
Vacation in Israel

February 2014
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 1

March 2014
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 1

April 2014
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 1

May 2014
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 1
Yaoi North

June 2014
Volunteer Abroad

July 2014
Volunteer Abroad

August 2014
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 2

September 2014
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 2
September 2, 2014 - I Turn 30

October 2014
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 2

November 2014
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 2

December 2014
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 2

January 2015
Vacation in Paris

February 2015
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 2

March 2015
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 2

April 2015
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 2

May 2015
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 2
Yaoi North

June 2015
M.A. in Arabic Program, Year 2
Graduate M.A. in Arabic Program

July 2015
Vacation in Israel

August 2015
Find someone who wants to hire a Social Worker fluent in English, Hebrew & Arabic, who can get by in Spanish, who wants to work in war-zones, who can also do work with the LGBT community and who wants to work with refugee populations, a TESOL/TEFL/TESL Certified Teacher, with a passion for hiking and the great outdoors, black coffee and standard poodles. Travel the world working for aid organizations, work in New York City with the LGBT and Homless communities, work in Israel.

September 2015
September 2, 2015 - I Turn 31

Happy Birthday Paula!!!

Israel Travelogue XI (From the Golan Heights to Myrtle Beach and back to Tel Aviv)

The Refet & Adventures in Artificial Insemination

For those of you just tuning in, I have been living on Kibbutz Ma’agan Michael, next to Zichron Ya’akov and just 15 Kilometers south of Haifa for the past five months, where I studied in their Ulpan (language program) for four hours a day and worked in their Refet (cow shed) as a Raftan (cowboy) for four hours a day.

Working in the Refet (Cow Shed) I was afforded with certain experiences that I’m relatively sure will not only last me a lifetime, but are relatively hard to have elsewhere. Since this is the last travelogue for awhile that will find me working with cows I thought it important - to give you the real flavor of Kibbutz life - that I share with you my adventures in artificial insemination. I would be remiss in my duties if I left out this very crucial part of Refet life.

Every few days a man drives up to the Refet in a custom designed truck. In the back of his truck is a specially designed computer, and desk with lots of very long, very thin drawers. In these drawers are arm length, blunt syringes containing vials of sperm collected from bulls all around the world. Who’s job it is to jack off a bull, I’m not sure…but I imagine it wasn’t the first thing they spoke with their guidance counselor about when discussing their after high school options…I remember Pirate, Spaceman and Dinosaur Trainer being on my list of after High School careers, somehow ‘Bull Semen Collector’ never made the cut.

Before beginning his work, he grabs a cup of coffee in the office. Usually he arrives just as the sun is beginning to make it’s appearance over the cow sheds, while the air is still cool and most of the country is still sleeping quietly in bed and those in Tel Aviv are heading home from the clubs and the dust is still settled around where I work…this lull in the morning, is my favorite time of day on the Kibbutz, I watch the sunrise through the steam of my coffee as I look over the brim of my cup.

Nadav, one of my managers, jokes with me that the man who drives up in the truck (I, sadly, never caught his name) is the best bull in all of Israel while he himself laments that Israeli women are no where near as easy as our cows are. I complain - on behalf of the cows, since someone should have their better interests in mind - that they aren’t treated to wine, dinner and dancing before our ‘bull’ begins his work which I still maintain is patently unfair in the grand scheme of things and should be handled as soon as possible. I have been outvoted every time I’ve brought a motion to rectify the situation.

We stand, leaning on the fence, drinking our morning coffee as the man begins to get ready. I’ve already finished milking with my team by the time that he’s ready to begin his work, and I can’t clean the outdoor area (one of my jobs when I work a morning shift) while there are still cows in the medical pen, since the pressurized water will scare them and that wouldn’t be good for anyone.

First, he places a long medical glove on, all the way up to his shoulder. Then he has one of my fellow Raftanim (plural for people who work in the Refet) lift the tail of the cow. Inserting his arm all the way up to his shoulder gently into the cows vagina (also referred to, using the technical terminology as her ‘hooha’) he then takes from a special holster attached to his boot, the long, blunt syringe and much in the way that a turkey baster operates, he proceeds to impregnate the cow, to the cows surprise and sometimes chagrin. Thus begins the miracle of life…it’s like poetry, in a way.

Usually within in 10-30 seconds, the excess semen drips out of the cow and she trots off to the pen and moos for a bit (translated: “OH MY GOD you’re not going to BELIEVE what just happened to me! Girls, I need a smoke…Vodka! Vodka!”) and in nine months, we’ll have a baby cow or two.

All in a days work.

So you can imagine my surprise as I finished getting the machine ready and began milking the cows at 4:00am the next morning when I looked up to verify the cow number (something we have to do, to make sure we don’t milk a cow that is on antibiotics), and the only thing I remember seeing - in slow motion - was the vagina of the cow standing above me, as I stood in the milking pit, beginning to flap with such force that I was worried she was going to propel herself forward and take off…as used bull jizz was rocketed towards my face…and hit its mark…after it had percolated inside of a cow’s hooha for twenty for hours in the summer heat, nicely roasted under the Middle Eastern sun.

All I managed to get out was “Sweet Mother of Moses Bessie!” as I pulled the emergency stop cord on the machine to go wash my face while I was attempting to figure out just how she had managed to squeeze her legs tight enough to not allow the excess jizz to drip out like all of the other cows did…and just what I must have done to wrong her, for her to believe that I deserved this kind of treatment…and then I began looking furiously for my eye drops.

It’s a story I plan on re-telling for years to come at formal sit down dinners, holidays and corporate events & fundraisers.

Jerusalem

Our second to last trip with the Kibbutz was to Jerusalem, a city whose ancient stone walls I know like the back of my hand, and every time I visit the old city I feel renewed and refreshed. As I walk through whatever gate I’m using to enter Jerusalem, I thank God for allowing me to walk around his old city, for allowing me the privilege to make it here once again in my life, to stand where others were not allowed to, and for being able to roam my city freely and safely.

I’ve spent countless hours wandering around and finding my way through the old walls of what is arguably the crown of Israel ever since I first stepped foot in Jerusalem a year ago on my Pre-Aliyah trip.

On the first day that I entered Jerusalem I walked through Jaffa gate with my friend, Itai, and as I touched the Mezuzah on the city walls I had an overwhelming feeling of belonging just rush over my body. When my Rabbi and congregation came to visit a few months ago, the ability to call my Rabbi on his cell phone and hear him say “Let’s meet at Jaffa gate” seemed like the most natural thing  in the world to do.

Here is a city where we are told the walls expand and contract to fit as many people as need to fit in. Where - despite the schisms that you read about in the news - everyone belongs. Jerusalem is a city where Judaism, Christianity and Islam come together to meet (though not necessarily to agree or even agree to disagree), where the relationships that bind us and the city together are more complex than the neurons that run through our body…where old meets new and East Jerusalem meets West. It’s organized chaos, both loud and soft at the exact same time neatly dusted with the ancient smells of incense and spice.

Before leaving me to make his way home, after dropping me off in Jerusalem a year ago, my friend Itai told me that the best way to make Jerusalem truly yours is to get lost within the ancient walls, and get lost I did…the difference is that when you get lost in Jerusalem compared to other places in the world, you find your feet always bringing you back to where you started…it’s a hard concept to grasp for me still, but in Jerusalem the best way to get around is to think about where you want to go and then just walk there…to let your feet direct you there…don’t worry, they know where they’re going even if you don’t. Jerusalem has a magic to her that exists no where else in the world.

We spent the day walking around the old city, walking with our tour guide and learning about her Jerusalem: where she grew up, what she experienced as a child, for better and for worse and as we poked our heads around and laughed the sun was shining brightly and the happiness of the group was palpable. We ended our tour of the Old City by heading to the Kotel (the Western or Wailing Wall) to pray, and as we finished our prayers, I walked backwards (never turning my back on, or to the Kotel…the wall that spiritually holds me, and many other people, up) to return to the group…however, our tour was about to take a somber turn.

Mount Herzl

Mount Herzl is a cemetery that deserves a bit of a back-story and certainly an introduction. Mount Herzl is the national cemetery of Israel. Here our leaders are buried and here our fallen comrades find their final resting place. In the Jewish tradition, one does not destroy a life to memorialize another…which is why we don’t place flowers on a grave when we visit. Instead, we place stones to show to others that the person buried underneath is remembered.

Here is where Olim (new immigrants) and those of us that are on the cusp of becoming soldiers for the first time…felt vulnerable.

I was incredibly moved a few months ago when I saw the movie Entebbe and then had the opportunity to talk to a former soldier (Rami, a Kibbutznick at Ma’agan Michael) who was part of the team that rescued the Jews and the flight crew from the Air France plane that was hijacked by terrorists on June 27, 1976 (non Jewish passengers were released, and sent on their way…the flight crew remained, in solidarity with their Jewish passengers who were being threatened with death if Israel didn’t give into the terrorists’ demands).

While I understand that movies embellish reality, a scene from that movie stuck with me. The Israeli Defense Forces are finally moving in to Entebbe Airport in Uganda, to rescue the captives and a little boy hiding under the table who for sure thought he was going to die, whispers “The Hagana, but how!?” - his rescuers were there, knights in the shining armor of the IDF…he was going to make it out alive.

This operation set a precedent that Israel is responsible for the defense of Jews worldwide, and that whenever and wherever Jews are attacked or held captive, borders cease to matter.

Yonatan “Yoni” Netanyah, who lead this brave, and cunning rescue sadly died on his way back to Israel from a wound sustained during the operation…we stood at his grave, covered in stones…so many, they were falling off. I placed two stones on his grave, one for me and one for my congregation back in Jericho, New York.

Walking further we were lead to the grave of a soldier, and it was pointed out that he was an Oleh Chadash like my friends and I. He was killed in combat, and his parents flew to Israel to bury their son. They expressed great fear on the phone to the army as they were making their plans to come over. They worried that no one would be there for the funeral, who would come for their son? Who knew him?

Imagine their surprise when over a thousand people turned out to pay their respects and to hold up the family when they could not stand on their own.

And as we looked at each other through our aviator glasses, tears  - hidden by the mirrored lenses - ran down the corner of our eyes and our cheeks, and for the first time my friends and I who are going into the service felt separated from our tight-nit group. Here we stood, looking at each other, trading glances, trying to look into the future. I had no comment to make, so as to not be a false prophet.

The Golan Heights

Our last trip was a hiking trip through The Golan Heights.

We woke up at our usual trip wake-up-hour of 4:30am (an hour later than when I normally got up, if I was scheduled to work at the Refet) to meet in front of the Ulpan office at 5:00am. Riding next to me on the bus was one of our security officers, who had a hard time getting comfortable in the seat - his gun kept digging into his side. After he finally got settled, we got to know each other a bit and I had an opportunity to practice my Hebrew…with my teacher sitting in the row across from me to chirp out corrections and grammar points as we went along.

Pulling up to the start of our trail, we unloaded the bus and everyone pitched in getting the breakfast setup. After a hearty meal of hummus and pita (and of course, chocolate milk…the ambrosia of Israeli society, without which civilization as we know it would grind to a screeching halt) we began our hike.

As we started walking, I noticed something wonderful…all around me…were dozens of cows.  I love hiking, and I love cows…and this trip combined two of my favorite things. I was in heaven.

I turned to the security guard and assured him I could translate for him, if he wanted. He said “Sure, so what are they saying?” to which I listened to a few of the “MooOooos” doing my best to nod at all the right moments to make sure he knew I was listening carefully. Finally I turned to him and replied “she says Hi.”

The director of my program, Mike, realizing the situation and the potential for imminent disaster looked at me and told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t allowed to go in and pet the cows which I agreed to on the condition that if I saw one of them walking towards a mine field I was going in and turning the hike into a rescue mission - no cow left behind, not on my watch!

No bovines were hurt in the making of this tour.

The Golan Heights is stunning, while the terrain is quite rocky, there are wonders to see all around you.

About half way through our hike we sat down under a natural canopy, each taking a rock that made for stepping stones on the lake beneath us, to talk with our guide about the political nature of The Golan Heights…not an easy discussion, but a necessary one…and perhaps one made easier with the floating flowers underneath us and around our stone seats. I’m not sure if anyone’s mind was changed at this juncture in the tour, but sometimes it’s good enough that people become familiarized with all sides of an issue.

Continuing onward, we made our way down a canyon and were greeted with the stunning site of a natural grotto. Quickly changing into our bathing suits, we went for a swim as tiny minnows swam about with us and we cooled off in the water, which would evaporate off of us as soon as we would make our way out onto the hot rock surface above us. There was no need to worry about getting our clothing wet, it would soon be dry anyway.

Our hike continued as the radiance of The Golan Heights shone all around us, leaf and flower extraordinarily brilliant in color.

Finally, we made our way to a former IDF bunker, now converted to a self guided museum…and making my way to the top of the bunker (which is buried in the mountain face) here I stood, the wind rushing past my ears as I stared out over Lebanon and Syria, looking down at the vineyards below…the importance of The Golan Heights became permanently clear…I could have sent a paper plane across international borders, and had I not promised my mother that I wouldn’t start (or coerce someone into starting for me) an international incident, I might have.

From here we would head up north to a series of hot springs to relax and refresh our minds in natural baths, and swim in specially cooled pools, later enjoying a dinner with our friends that night at a nice hummus restaurant, with all the pita, hummus, falafel and fries we could eat, and all the lemonade we could drink. A truly generous treat provided to us by the Ulpan and the Kibbutz. No one left hungry.

Lehitraot, but not Goodbye

It was hard to say Lehitraot to Kibbutz Ma’agan Michael, but it was easier because it wasn’t goodbye.

In Hebrew, Lehitraot means “until we meet again” — it’s not a goodbye, just a confirmation that temporarily we’re parting ways. It was with mixed emotions that I said Lehitraot to the friends I had made on the program over the past five months, the Kibbutznicks who made us feel like we were at home, my cows and my cow-workers. Here I met people from all around the world, from all different backgrounds, political and economic perspectives who had nothing joining us together but our want to learn Hebrew and our collective Jewish Heritage.

On the Ulpan we worked incredibly hard, we studied hard, we struggled together towards a single, yet individual goal: to expand our horizons and to further define our connection to Israel, through the context of language. While I am sad to have to say Lehitraot, it was time to move onto the next adventure as I packed my bags, cleaned my room (over, and over, and over again to meet move out requirements and Mike’s surgical room standards) and then made my way to my new flat in Tel Aviv.

Derech HaHagana

Despite peoples’ irrational fears of South Tel-Aviv (”It’s where the immigrants live” some people tell me, to which I respond “Yes, me, I’m an immigrant!!”) I moved into a flat with a friend from University (though she went to the same high school as me, we didn’t really know each other until we crossed paths in Arabic class). We found the flat from my friend Itai, who had decided to move back to the United States to pursue some new adventures of his own in Oregon.

Entering the flat there is a foyer, if you turn right there is a hallway that leads to the bathroom, and the kitchen which has a three panel moving window the size of a wall that lets us see a spectacular sunset every evening and creates a wind tunnel in the apartment that negates the need for us to purchase an air-conditioner. If you decide to walk forward through another door in the foyer, you’re in the main room of the flat, on the opposite side is a balcony where we have two chairs and a table between them that provides us with a wonderful view of the street-life below.

My next door neighbor is named Nico, he has been fabulous company and a wonderful guide and we’re quickly becoming friends. He has also been instrumental in introducing Shirah (my roommate) and I to new people in this city of white.

I spent two days in the flat before I made my Pre-Army journey home.

A Trip Home. Bagels & Brunch

Gathering my things (I went souvenir shopping in Jerusalem before I left which required some extra finesse in packing) I hopped onto the train that is a mere three blocks from my flat, and 13 minutes later I was at Ben-Gurion International Airport.

My flight home was wonderful, I had an aisle seat. The person in the middle seat decided not to show up, and the woman who had the window seat was a grandmother, and an avid hiker and world traveler. We spent the entire flight napping, sharing snacks, and discussing places we like to hike, want to hike, have visited, or would love to visit. It was a wonderful time.

Landing and making my way through customs I was greeted by my Mom and Dad…and it was so incredible to hug them not using a web-camera, but in person - I have missed them both terribly over these past six months (I had been in Israel one month before my program began on the Kibbutz). We were all overjoyed…even if my parents had to experience the rare and often sought after opportunity to see the sun rise of New Jersey…it was worth it to see them, and to hear them and to hug them once more.

We immediately drove to my Grandparents’ apartment, where we caught up and shared a real breakfast of authentic bagels (something you would be shocked to find that Jews in Israel have yet to even come close to replicating) and left stuffed. As usual my Grandmother outdid herself with an entire brunch spread, full of every possible topping one could want, cherries, and fresh coffee.

It was perfect…in fact, it was divine…and it was wonderful to share that meal with my grandparents and my parents.

Mom, Dad and I then began our twelve hour journey to Myrtle Beach.

Stopping on the way down, we toured civil war museums with my father acting as guide (he himself, a now accomplished civil war re-enactor) and in between historical stops we listened to music and comedians on the radio as we enjoyed the parking lot-esque highway and the Summer Travel Season.

Camp Kokomo

I had never been to Myrtle Beach (despite meaning to go down many times before), and our family friend Margie happens to have a wonderful vacation home there which is referred to as Camp Kokomo, and not wanting to miss the opportunity to spend the Fourth of July where it’s celebrated like the national holiday it is, we had made plans months prior, to go down for a week and make a real event of it.

Our first stop was not at Camp Kokomo, however.

Our first stop was to Ed & Nancy’s beach house.

I have heard so many wonderful things about both Ed and Nancy for some time now that I could not wait to meet them.

Ed is a fellow Civil War re-enactor with my father and Nancy is an artisan like my Mother and Margie. They comprise part of the cast of characters that I have been hearing about, lovingly, for years now (I’ve met some of the cast, but I haven’t met all of them yet…that will happen on my next trip down when I make it back to North Carolina) and I was incredibly excited to meet both of them.

They did not disappoint, between Margie, Ed & Nancy I hadn’t laughed that hard, or that long, in quite some time…though while I won’t go into details, I do believe that my Father and Ed have a racket going during Dominos (which we played intensely, every night)…there’s something funny going on here *insert Elmer Fudd laugh here*

From Ed & Nancy’s place, we drove over to Camp Kokomo.

Arriving, I was overjoyed.

We were a mere hop, skip and jump away from the beach (with incredibly warm water), close to all of the local attractions and together we had nothing planned but going to the beach, then to the pool, then drinking beer, and then heading back to the beach, and then back to the pool (though not necessarily in that  particular order sometimes we had more beer and less beach, or some other similar combination)…together with a few trips to local attractions…we had an amazing week in front of us.

The Womb

A week prior to the end of the Kibbutz, I had pulled out my shoulder at the Refet while climbing up on the machine to deal with a cow (something we have to do three to four times per shift). My arm had come nearly out of the socket, and combined with the weight of my luggage…my body was yelling at me on the ride down (I neglected to mention the codeine that I was supplied with to make it through the flight…which I had to finish before landing and walking through U.S. customs so to avoid violating any drug laws).

However, I was in luck…because Margie has a spare womb.

It is not just any womb…it is *The* Womb.

The Womb is a couch…no, that’s not fair…this is not just any couch…this is a couch that has been imbibed with magical properties. I fell in love with The Womb within the first few moments of sitting down on it…I have never been in outer-space, but I imagine that weightlessness would feel just slightly less as comfortable than this couch. If the couch should, at any time in the near future, go missing…you were with me the entire time, we didn’t leave the flat, and we watched movies on T.V. the whole night.

Between the Womb and the ocean my shoulder worked itself out nicely by the end of our week long paradise vacation.

Pizza & The Gay Dolphin

While my Father and Ed managed to make themselves busy by getting into some kind of trouble that hasn’t made the national news yet, Mom, Margie, Nancy and myself made our way to get some Pizza.

Pizza is another food that is next to impossible to get properly made in Israel - don’t get me wrong, I love Israeli food…but Pizza is one of the Five Major Food Groups and I was raised on it, alongside Ninja Turtles…it’s a hard habit to break.

We found a Brooklyn-esque Pizza Place and we ran in…it was a slice a heaven.

Behind us was a loud group of teenagers that reminded me why animals in the wild eat their young. Since moving to Israel I’ve developed the habit of scanning who’s in a room quickly when entering, and also determining where the safest structural point is in any given building should an air-raid siren go off (this has turned into a reflex, I don’t even realize I’m doing it anymore).

It wouldn’t have even come up had the charming youth behind me not felt the need to display his knife, clipped onto the back of his pants like it was a handgun. It wasn’t so much that I minded he was carrying something obviously to use as a weapon, so much as I minded the fact that he was fronting with what was blatantly a five dollar piece of tin from China that couldn’t cut butter let alone be worth anything in an altercation (unless some peanut butter challenged you to a spread off). For those of you who are familiar with Crocodile Dundee “that’s not a knife… now this, this is a knife.” I’m sure one day he’ll advance to something more menacing, like a caviar spoon…just after his mother removes the training wheels from his bike. Ahhh teenagers…once again, I am elated that I can’t accidentally have one.

After finishing up our feast, we headed down the road to a store that one wouldn’t expect to find on the main drag of Myrtle Beach…but there it was, in all of its Gay Dolphin Glory…The Gay Dolphin.

The Gay Dolphin is an amazing souvenir store, and souvenir shop we did…for hours. It was well worth it, if nothing else, to leave with a large paper bag that had a larger than life Gay Dolphin screen printed on the side of it.

On the way home, realizing that we were perilously close to being out of potato chips (having recently been introduced and addicted to Dill Pickle Pringles and Budweiser Lime) we made our way to a multi-level supermarket where Margie showed us a lookout point that you can climb up to, and see all of Myrtle Beach below you.

The Fourth of July

That night, Mom, Dad, Margie, Ed, Nancy and I spent the fourth of July watching fireworks go off over the water and singing songs written about America, as well as our national anthem, followed by our national hymn (which is a different song than the National Anthem)…despite what criticisms we have of our government, and where we each stand politically…at the end of the day, we all love our country, which is a separate thing from loving, approving, or disapproving of those who lead it…and that’s something that everyone around us could agree on, as we sang in unison as the firework display ended, singing “O beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain, for purple mountain majesties, above the fruited plain….” in what turned into a group sing along…it was a very moving night.

Broadway at the Beach

On our last night at Myrtle Beach my Father took everyone out to dinner at one of the restaurants at Broadway at the Beach.

The best way to describe Broadway at the Beach is to imagine Main Street USA (from Disney) being combined with Clifton Hill from Toronto, and then putting this creation on steroids. It is beyond cool. The difference between Broadway at the Beach and Main Street USA is that you have the thrill of a theme park around you…with no admission fee. There are stores there are rides and restaurants and numerous attractions…but each one of them an individual entity, so you can walk around freely without paying an exorbitant entrance cost and have an incredibly enjoyable day.

I decided to have desert for dinner, because life’s uncertain and you only live once…and after the fried banana crepe chocolate drizzled sunday…my life span may have actually gotten shorter…but it was worth every artery clogging bite (after all, I was - and am - well aware of the Basic Training schedule that awaits me so it’s calories well earned, and soon to be burned).

That night we made our way to see Don’t Mess With The Zohan, which - if you live in Israel - is hysterical…based on everyone else’s reaction, it’s even funnier if you don’t live in Israel.

Pamplin Park

Saying our goodbyes Mom, Dad and I packed the car and made our way to Pamplin Park.

Of all the historic places that my father has taken us, I think that this (excluding Williamsburg and Gettysburg) was one of the best museums I have ever seen that has focused on the Civil War.

From the moment you walk in, your are drawn to the human aspect of the war and you become personally invested and interested and involved in the individual soldiers lives that fought during the bloodiest war in U.S. history.

After watching videos about the war and seeing re-enactors demonstrate some of the weaponry, you choose a soldier to follow throughout the war. While wearing headphones, you walk through reconstructed battlefields and camp grounds and only at the end do you discover if your soldier lives or dies…all the while getting to see historic records, documents and photographs that show the gruesome reality and absolute horror of combat.

It was stunning and it was shocking.

Arriving home later that night, we began a few weeks of Schwartz Family Madness

Moo with me!

I had been wanting to see RENT for years, but had never gotten around to it. Hearing that it was closing, Mom and I made plans to go in and see it the next day. Meeting up with my friend Kat (who is finishing up her MFA at NYU) we stood in line at TKTS (which was more of a mosh pit, but if you’ve been dealing with Israeli ‘lines’ for the past five months, it looks like a well choreographed ballet) we managed to score two mezzanine seats that had a view of the entire stage (Kat wasn’t going to join us for the show, since she had work to do, but she did join us for lunch).

The show was better than I could have hoped for, and I cried four times during the duration of it. It is gripping, and moving, and real. I do not want to give away a single piece of what you should experience first hand before the show closes, but for those who have seen it:

“Moo with me!”

Friends & Family

My week at home was spent catching up with my friends and my family, and while I want to list everyone who I got to see and hang out with, I don’t want to leave a single person’s name out by mistake. So please know if you made it out to New York - even if only for a moment as you made your way somewhere else - whether by plane, train, or automobile…it meant the universe to me to be able to see you, and to share your company and for those who weren’t able to make it to New York, believe me I understand and I look forward to visiting you the next time I’m home.

It was also wonderful beyond words that I have to describe the motion, to be in the same room, with my two brothers again, and to spend time with my grandparents and my parents.

West Palm Beach

Before I left, Mom, Dad, Sam and I made our way down to West Palm Beach to visit my Grandmother in Florida. We spent three wonderful days and two wonderful nights visiting with her, hanging out with her, meeting her friends and of course, enjoying my peoples’ ethnic food of choice, Chinese.

Sadly though, it had to come to an end and I had to make my way back to Israel so I could prepare to fulfill my obligations as a citizen.

The Bright Lights of Tel Aviv

Arriving bleary eyed and tired in Tel Aviv, I made my way back to my apartment and promptly passed out. The next week was spent acquiring furniture and all the necessities a new place requires. What free time I had was dedicated to responding to the plethora of calls and subpoena like letters from the Israeli Draft Board calling on me to bring them various documents from various places that has virtually leached my savings account in travel related fees.

Needing a day off, my neighbor Nico invited me to join him on a walk around Tel Aviv with his friends which I was more than happy to do. It was good to get out and stretch my legs and while I didn’t have the money go go clubbing, there are plenty of social watering holes that don’t require cover charge that have great music and interesting people…and we hit every one of them.

Eventually we wound up at the beach, at four in the morning, and as we stripped down and jumped into the still piping hot Mediterranean water in our underwear all of the stress just leaked from my shoulders, as if the ocean knew and was taking it away fro me.

Here in the night, the waves crashed upon us with the air gently wrapping around us and it makes everything fade away in the black, beautiful, reflective waters.

Today in Jerusalem

Having to complete the last paperwork hurdle, I needed to get my degree in linguistics transferred to Israel and verified by the education ministry. I woke up early and left my flat, taking a Sheirut (a gang, shared taxi very similar to a mini-bus) to Jerusalem from Tel Aviv, waking up with my iPod. Upon arriving in Jerusalem I walked to the education ministry.

The education ministry is large, intimidating, and grey…perhaps modeling the design of their building after the most effective teachers. The inside, however, has a warm and friendly feel to it.

After making my way through security I walked up the round staircase that leads to the office on the first floor and took my number. Finding I was second in line, I sat down satisfied that I wouldn’t have to wait long.

Being generally kind, despite that Israelis like to pretend it bothers them, does in fact get you a long way in Israel.

I sat down and presented the clerk with all of my documents (Proof of Legal Name Change, University Degree and High School Diploma - original and copies, Israeli Identity Card, Israeli New Immigrant Identity Book, Official Transcripts and the list goes on) and she apologized to me for taking awhile, so I told her not to worry about it she could take her time.

She told me that if that were the case, it might mean we were going to be there until closing, so I told her that it was still fine with me so long as there was coffee. She said there was coffee, but it wasn’t free…I said I’d suffer along with her - we were quickly becoming friends.

I asked her how long it would take to receive the certificate, and she told me that it takes a month. I told her that I guess I wouldn’t have it in time for the army, but at least it was good to have. We completed the paperwork getting to know each other and I asked her if it would be mailed to my address or if I would have to come back for it in a month and she told me to hang on for a moment. Coming back a few moments later, she told me if I would come back before 1:00pm it would be there and waiting for me.

Arriving at 12:20pm (a little under two hours later), she stopped what she was doing - left people standing online, walked and got my certificate, handed it to me and wished me luck in the army.

Later Today, I met up with a new friend, Lisa.

Lisa is also a new friend of my pen-pal Rachel (formerly in California, Rachel is now in the process of moving to Minnesota) which is how we met. Lisa is a leader in the Jewish Community of Minnesota and is on a  summer program here in Jerusalem, Rachel told us about each other and we made plans to meet up. We spent the evening together, sipping coffee and walking around Ben-Yehuda street. It’s was wonderful to meet her.

I made my way home, three hours later.

Changing My Clothing For A Shade of Green

I enter the Israeli Defense Forces in 14 days, two weeks from Today.

I am incredibly excited. I enter with anticipation and a positive outlook. While I know that a lot of what I’m about to go through over the next year and a half will be incredibly hard, and at times frustrating I also realize how rewarding this opportunity is. I am excited to see how this experience will weave itself into the tapestry of my life and how it will further define who I am and where I stand.

True to Israeli form, I have been given a different story by every officer I speak to about my placement after the army Ulpan, this has lead me to believe that my job is going to be so secret, even I won’t be allowed to know what I’m doing

What I do know is that I will be spending two and a half months on the Mechve Alon Paratrooper base where I’ll be in an Army Ulpan and from there I’ll find out what unit I’ll be serving in and then entering Basic Training.

A new adventure is about to begin.

Another travelogue much sooner than it took me to write this one (between moving, the final exam, and travel I didn’t have much the time to write).

Peace and Love,

M

God, what an amazing city…I know I’ve been promising a post soon, but believe me…it’ll be worth it (after a nap) I was up for close to 48 hours, had to head to Haifa at 4:30am, came back for a nap at 9:30am and need to snack and rest again for a bit…and I’m almost caught up on two months worth of email now that I have my own internet.