And where are you from?

19 years ago I came to Israel for the first time with 30 of my classmates from the Colegio Colombo Hebrew, the Jewish day school in Bogota, where I grew up. It was a tradition for 10th graders to spend 3 months in Israel traveling around the country, getting to know the culture, studying (and I use the term losely, very very losely) and partying. It is an extraordinary experience that accompanies you for the rest of your life. Back then, the base for our trip was a place called Givat Washington. A student campus near Ashdod.

A few weeks ago, the director of the campus, the same guy who organized our trip 19 years ago and who still organizes the trip for the kids from the Colombo Hebreo, called my friend Ethel (who I know from Colombia and also lives in Modiin and who made aliyah right after high school) and asked her if she would be willing to spend a weekend on campus and give a peula (organized activity) to the kids attending this year's trip in order to promote aliyah. Ethel said yes, as long as she would be able to bring her dearest friends, the Warmans. To my husband, anything free is worth taking, so he said yes right away, before I even had a chance to remember the modest accommodations of the place. Anyways, we were committed to the plan and just a few days before going, I learn the additional detail that I as well was in charge of an activity for the kids.  I pulled out and dusted off old tochniot (activity planners) from my days as a madricha of the tnuat noar (counselor for the youth movement) and started planning. I was horribly nervous. If this 15 year olds were anything like we were, it was going to be a huge challenge keeping them engaged.

The day came to leave for our weekend at Givat Washington. We arrived on Friday right before shabat and as we drove through the gate, memories of my stay there 19 years ago started to hit me. Things looked vaguely familiar. Some of the buildings and pathways were the same, among a lot of new construction. We settled in our rooms and headed straight for shabat services and then dinner where we met for the first time the group of 13 kids from Colombia, now visiting Israel for 3 months, just as we did so many years ago. "13 kids, boy the school has shrunken" was my first thought. The security situation in Colombia hit rock bottom in the late 90's and a big part of the Jewish community fled, so now the school is about half the size of what it was when I studied there. Right after dinner, we went outside for our first peula. I was in charge of doing some ice breakers, and to my surprise, this kids were totally engaged. We spent about 45 minutes in activities and then sat down for some informal chit chat where the kids introduced themselves, this time not by name, but by the name of their parents or uncles, who we were more likely to know.

The next day we met for more peulot. Aliza, the Colombia's Ashkenazi community rabbi's daughter, who also attended the weekend had a peula organized for the morning and Ethel had one planned for the afternoon. During Ethel's activity, we got to talking about identity. What makes up our identity, who we are. How is our identity related to our nationality as living in Colombia or elsewhere and living in Israel.
It got me thinking and I got the chance to share with these 13 kids, who are about to graduate high school and make decisions that may affect the rest of their lives, how my identity
has been forged since the time I graduated high school, to my years in Miami, to now living in Israel. My identity per se, the way I am has been forged by my circumstances, but my identity as it relates to my nationality has been tremendously impacted by my move to Israel.
I was born and raised in Colombia. Growing up, I was Colombian at heart. I owned the jersey and my heart beat for Colombia. When I was 20 I moved to Miami, and despite having spent 14 years there, I never felt American. I did lose my Colombia identity though. I wasn't from here nor there. A citizen of the world as they say. It wasn't until 10 months ago, when we moved to Israel that my Zionism flourished. I feel here what I never felt in the US and what in retrospect I think I never felt in Colombia. This is my country, my land. This is where I belong. It's an inexplicable feeling having only been here 10 months, but I feel like my identity as a person and as a Jew in the State of Israel can be truly shown. I am Colombian, I will always be. When it is time to root for a soccer team, I will root "Si Si Colombia", but the land I love, my land and the land where I want my children to grow in is the State of Israel.
We left that weekend hoping some of these 13 kids decide to continue their future after high school in Israel and like Ethel, Aliza and me, realize that as a Jew and as a person, we belong here.




















 

Holiday A'la Esh

We've been in Israel for nine months now, so we've pretty much witnessed every holiday there is to celebrate in the Jewish calendar and I must say, there is no holiday that shows off the folklore of the Israeli like Lag B'Omer does.

If you’re not sure as to what this holiday is all about, you’re not the only one. It's a minor Jewish holiday turned big by Israeli's love of gathering. The literal meaning is straightforward: “Lag” is the acronym of the Hebrew letters ‘lamed’ and ‘gimmel’, which have a combined numerical value of 33, and the Omer is the period of 49 days between Passover and Shavuot that we count and observe as a period of semi-mourning. It’s said that 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva died during this period and that Lag B’Omer, the 33rd day, marked a respite from battle or disease. Anyway! The newly redefined version of the story is that Lag B’Omer is a day for weddings, first haircuts, festivities, and of course, bonfires.

Israelis are big on getting together with family and friends and have an innate love for cooking A'la esh (what us folk know as BBQing), so a holiday that combines both, well that's bound to be a huge success of a holiday. And Israelis are not about to make anything small. Competition for the biggest bonfire is not official, but evident. People bring doors and pieces of furniture to burn, they bring potatoes and hot dogs and all kinds of food to cook on the fire. Your little park ranger fire where you burn marshmallows is put to shame next to an Israeli bonfire.

Our son's class made plans for a bonfire at a park in the center of town. When we got there, there must have been about another 12 or 15 bonfires. People brought tables and chairs and gather around the fire cooking and singing. We got home smelling like bonfire. The entire city smells like smoke. And the fires will burn, all throughout Israel, all night long.

A country stood still

There is no way for me to describe only with words what I felt today as I witnessed for the first time in my life, the entire State of Israel come to a complete stop as the sirens were sounded throughout the Country in remembrance of those whose lives were taken during the Holocaust.

I had just finished pumping gas at a busy intersection right outside Modiin and was parked on the side of the gas station as a steady siren started to sound. Almost immediately, a bus came to a sudden stop on the side of the road, another car stopped in the middle of the highway and the driver got out of the car, people started getting out of their cars at the gas station, workers stood still. I followed and got out of my car and stood thinking how the entire Country, at this exact same time, was at a standstill. I used the time to think of the lives that were taken, but mainly, I thought of how lucky we are as Jews to have Eretz Israel, how lucky I am to be able to live in this Country, to raise my children Jewish in a State where Judaism is not only taught, but it is lived and breathed every day, in everything we do. I am so lucky to have made the decision to make Aliyah and so proud to be now an Israeli.

Am Israel Chai

To Jew or not to Jew

There's something about living in Eretz Israel that makes us Jews feel, well Jewish. There is no need to show off your judaism in order to feel Jewish. Now, dont get me wrong, I am not one to feel, like many who have made aliyah before me, that just because we live in Israel, we no longer have the need to follow certain halachot and therefore stop fasting on yom kippur, but I do believe that because we are here, the pressure to instill a Jewish education on our children is less, because at the end of the day, Judaism in Israel is inherent.

When we decided to make aliyah last year, we were very excited about the fact that our children would be raised as Jews in a Jewish State. What I didn't realize is that just because our public education sytem includes teachings about the Jewish Holidays in its standard curriculum, it is still our job as parents to instill our family traditions. A few days ago, Nathan, our 6 year old, was talking about how much fun he had during the "bycicle holiday" and how there were no cars on the road and he could ride his skateboard down the hill. It took me a minute to realize "bicycle day" is Yom Kippur. The holiest of the Jewish holidays has been redesigned by Israelies as the holiday in which no cars are allowed on the road and children can safely ridetheir  bikes and scooters. We are a few days away from Pesach now, a holiday that marks our freedom as Jews and which in my opinion is a breeze celebrated in Israel. Breads of all kinds, pizza, cakes, anything you want Kosher le Pesach. Everyone and I mean everyone, takes this two week hiatus to travel around the country. Hotels are overbooked and parks are overcrowded. My mental shock, just like with "bicycle day", is that Pesach break is becoming more commonly referred to as "chag aviv" or spring break. 

I understand and I appreciate that Israel allows us to be as religious or as secular as we see fit, but it has been this past few days that have made me realize that Judaism comes from home. 

The Chag of all Chags

                           Forget the High Holidays. In Israel, the chag of all chags is Purim.

This is our first year celebrating Purim since we made aliyah  and although I had high expectations having been warned by friends and family, I must say Israel really goes all out when it comes to celebrating Purim.

When I lived in Colombia, before kids, before marriage, Halloween was my favorite holiday. In  college, any excuse to have a party and dress up as ridiculous as an adult possibly can, is a good excuse. Then I moved to Miami and met my husband, who came up with this whole explanation about how Halloween is a pagan holiday and as Jews we should not celebrate it. Crazy in love as I was at the time, it all sounded so reasonable coming from him that we made a pact and since that day I never again dressed up for Halloween. Purim in America wasn't the same since kids dressed up, but adults would not get the equivalent celebratory mood that we got on Halloween, so to say the least I felt like I had gotten bamboozled.
One of the reasons I was so excited about moving to Israel was that once again I would be able to dress up for a Holiday and not look out of place.

We've been celebrating Purim for two weeks now. A party for Olim at the Iriya, a Yuval ha Mebubal concert, a Miki concert, Yom Hafuch at school, kids dressing up as something else each day of the week... To top all the craziness off, we decided to go with friends to the crazy Adloyada/Parade in Holon. Holon holds each year what is known as Israel's biggest Purim parade. Being olim chadashim , how could we let the opportunity pass? I mean, these are things you only do on your first year in Israel. And after having been there, I can say it will probably be the last :) We set a time and place to meet with our friends at the main street where the parade traveled through. The plan was scheduled pretty well, until we got there and discovered we needed to park 15 blocks away. We walked, as hundreds of other costume wearers did towards Weizmann St. Once there, we needed to find our friends, except walking among the crowd was a feat.   Thousands of people stood against the barrier that separated the parade form the crowd as my son Nathan sat on my shoulders in order to see the floats go by. What so many people say is nice about Israel is knowing that no matter where you go, everyone is Jewish. That's true, that is something I appreciate as well, but body odors are body odors no matter how Jewish you might be.  Being just two blocks away from our friends, we never found each other and watched the parade (or should I say the top of the floats) from two different corners. This was our first and last, but I am happy we went. I can say we've done it.

Tomorrow the celebrations continue locally as Modiin's parade will take place along a street not far from our house, so no 15 block away parking, just costumes and a good time.

Poster child? Nefesh B Nefesh thought so :)

It's been almost seven months since our Aliyah. It feels like yesterday we were packing our stuff in Miami, yet we've accomplished so much in such a short period of time, and we are so settled and well adjusted, that it feels like we've been here forever.

When we decided to make Aliyah, I was certain we were making the right decision, yet I was full of fear and sure that no matter how great a country Israel might be, there would be challenges along the way in settling in and getting acclimated. I wasn't entirely wrong, I mean moving to a new country, with two kids and a dog, enrolling them in school, learning a new language, getting the paperwork out of the way, meeting new people, keeping in touch with friends and family 7 hours behind schedule, not finding the ingredients you need when baking your favorite cake, shopping for groceries in kilos instead of pounds, driving in kilometers... yes, it's been an adjustment, but it has been a fun adventure and not as traumatic as I thought it might be. We are happy, we are settled and  I can't think of a better place to call home.

Are we the poster child for Nefesh B Nefesh? Well, they seem to think so and we couldn't be more thrilled. About a month ago, I received a call from one of NBN representatives asking if we would be willing to participate in a promotional video that would be featured in their upcoming Mega Aliyah Fair in the US. Willing? I felt honored to be considered. Nefesh B Nefesh has made our Aliyah an amazing experience. They have made every pain in the butt bureaucratic errand easy, they call us to make sure we are ok, they care that our Aliyah is a success, and to be able to do this for them, well that, although not at all comparable to what they have done for us, seemed like the least we could do to repay the amazing job they've done.

So we filmed our interview, and above, we would like to share with you a little bit of what we said...
If you can't see the video above click the link
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hRfbLCZ8Jmc

An Yidishe mame in every Israeli

Living in Israel is an experience in itself. The idiosyncrasy of the Israeli is very particular to say the least and you can spend your days complaining about it or simply embrace it, enjoy it, appreciate it and even laugh at it.

To describe Israelis requires more than words -perhaps the use of hand gestures-.  Israelis are referred to as Sabras (Prickly pear in English. The term is used to compare an Israeli Jew to the fruit's thick skin and tough exterior that conceals a sweet and soft interior), and they are nothing short of it. They are impatient, they yell, they speak with their hands as if about to hit you, they cut in line, they have no concept of customer service as we know it, but boy, are they there when you need them. You don't have to ask for advice to get it, and not because they are nosy, but because they care. You don't have to ask for help, because if they see you stranded on the road, they won't think about how late they will be to the meeting they are running to, but they will stop and help you. They genuinely care about others and have a unique way of showing it.

The first week we were here after making Aliyah (just three weeks before the High Holidays), we got invitations from total strangers to spend the Holidays with them. A few years back, my husband and I came for Passover break and after getting into a heated argument with a guy who cut in front of our car to steal our parking space in a crowded mall, he and my husband, hugged, shook hands and wished each other Hag Sameaj. Only in Israel.

Israelis are like siblings. They will fight, and yell and tell it to your face, but when it comes down to it, they will help you and care about you.

Israelis also have an Yiddishe mame complex. When it comes down to food, they "know" what's best for you. They won't let you have what you want, but they will tell you what you should be having and convince you until you have what they want you to have. It may be my ola chadasha face, but I may seem to attract "food advice" at every restaurant I go to. We went for pancakes this morning at the new Beit HaPancake. I like my pancakes plain with syrup on top. The store owner wanted to make them with walnuts and coconut, but he didn't just suggested it, he insisted they were so good I had to have them that way. At the gym , I never seem to be able to order my smoothie without "added" ingredients because they guy at the counter thinks what I order is too simple. At Pisgat Habaguette, even when I want a plate and not a sandwich, the owner insists on the bread being fresh and delicious and everything being better on a sandwich.

My experience last week at the super market put all my previous encounters with the Yiddishe mame to shame. I was buying cheese at the counter for a lasagna I wanted to make. After the counter attendant diligently searched through my grocery cart and replaced the pre-packaged cheeses I had gotten from the refrigerator with ones from the counter because as he said it, the ones at the counter are less expensive per kilo and better tasting, he "suggested" I put pesto in my lasagna. Now, I am not big on pesto sauce, so I told him I didn't like it. He opened his eyes as in disbelief and signaled me to wait (you know, the "rega" hand signal where they put all fingertips together upward) . He went to what I assume is a back kitchen, only to come back with a spoon full of pesto sauce, which he proceeded to feed me! I had no choice but to open my mouth and eat a spoonful of pesto sauce, because how dare I say no to an Yiddishe mame.

published article
http://issuu.com/modiinfo/docs/spring2014a/45?e=1720058/6976020