Aliyaversary #2

Two years ago we embarked in this crazy adventure. We left friends and family in search of a more meaningful life. We left the comforts of a big house in order to find our home. We exchanged hamburgers for falafel. In two years we've learned a language, we've made new friends, we've been through war, we've traveled the country in every direction. We've seen the red and arid desert and in the same day we've dipped our toes in the ocean, that's how magical this land is. In two short years we've accomplished so much, yet we are just getting started. One thing i can say though, without the shadow of a doubt, and that is: we are home. 

Thanks churri (Ivan) for getting this crazy idea of moving into your head (and mine). What an incredible adventure it has been.

Now that you are here, drop some reishes

Things that will get your Teudat Zehut revoked

We made it here, all the way from the other side of the pond and as hard as we try to blend into Israeli society, there are certain things that will just give us away. We concentrate in clusters in either Jerusalem, Modiin, Beit Shemesh or Zichron, our first question when we walk into a place is “ata medaber anglit?” and mastering the “reish” has proven to be a lost cause.

I’m not saying you should become a kibbutznik and get high with the smell of cow manure and smoke hookah or a Tel Avivnik who holds weekly debates supporting the underprivileged Somali youth at his tiny studio apartment, but when in Rome…

Here is a list of a few things that now that you live in Israel, you should immediately adopt to avoid the risk not only of being spotted from a thousand miles away, but of getting your Teudat Zehut revoked.

1. You must barbecue on Yom Haatzmaut. Let it be a public park, forest or your friend’s backyard, turn that mangal (grill) on and get your Al ha Esh going.
2. Go big or go home on Lag Ba’Omer. Bringing anything smaller than a door to a Lag Ba’Omer bonfire is simply embarrassing.
3. Hit the road on Chol Hamoed. Those very rare, very precious few days in which work and school are off and the Jewish law allows you to drive, you need to spend stuck in traffic for hours on your way to, anywhere really, doesn't matter the destination, it’s the slow-moving journey that counts.
4. Sandwiches at a picnic? no way! If you don’t want your TZ revoked you must at the very least bring corn on the cob, boiled eggs, julienned red peppers and any left over food you may find in the fridge before you head out.
5. Picnicking, Israelis’ favorite pastime, involves seating on the floor. You don’t want to seem like an amateur at this, so you’ll find money well spent is money spent on an oversized wicker-looking mat. We used to have this trendy soft mat we brought from Miami where me and the baby could sit comfortably on the grass for tummy time or a snack. Forget that! that is an embarrassment. You need to get a colorful Israeli mat. A grass-flattener if you will. One of those where you can sit three families and you don’t need to wash, ever.

And then there are things that perhaps won’t get you your TZ revoked, but that you can start doing if you want to earn some extra brownie points and let your Israeliut speak louder than that American accent of yours:

1. Bring a WHOLE watermelon to the beach. None of that cut up pieces in a Tupperware nonsense. Bring a kick-ass size abatiach, a knife and get cutting.
2. Get into the matkot madness. There is no beach in Israel where you won’t find a few paddle ball matches going.
3. Be loud, sound angry when you really aren't, speak with your hands
4. Throw a bucket full of water and squeegee it out to the balcony or the yard when you are cleaning the floor
5. Although a complete fashion faux pas and I would certainly frown upon it, if you are feeling really daring, wear sandals with socks!

You know what they say, when in Rome, do like the Romans did and so now that you are an Israeli, step out of your comfort zone and let your reish-induced, hummus-breath, sandal-wearing, mangal-lighting, easy-going personality flourish.

#CampYael no more

Is my gift for planning cool weekend getaways gone?

It has been just a little over a year and a half since we made aliyah and following on the footsteps of my good friend Lisa and her #camplisa initiative, we made it a mission during our first year in Israel to visit different places each weekend. We did some great stuff. We went north, south, we hiked, we went to different beaches, museums, parks, small towns, smaller towns... We did so much stuff that I even started a “cool things to do in Israel” list, which I began to proudly share with others. Mostly I was in charge of coming up with plans and everyone was happy with the results. Up until a few weeks ago that is.

After reading so much about the Darom Adom festival and how the fields are covered with beautiful red kalaniyot (flower-anemone coronaria) and seeing picture after picture of red fields, I planned our weekend outing to Shokeda. THE place to go see kalaniyot according to the many facebook groups of which I am a member. If it’s on the internet it must be accurate I thought, and so armed with my DSLR camera, pretty dressed children in almost matching but non-cheesy outfits, a cooperative husband and a bag full of snacks, we took on the road southward bound.

As we got off kvish 6 we realized we were getting closer. Lines and lines of cars were parked on the side of the road next to a forest and hundreds of Israelis with their wicker mats under their arms were walking towards the entrance to the forest (did I ever mention how every Israeli has a wicker mat for picnicking? Apparently its the kind of thing they can revoke your Teudat Zehut if you don’t have one… Anyways, that might be material for another article). We parked our car and joined the wave of Israelis as they entered the forest in search for the beautiful red fields. We walked, and walked, and walked, and walked some more and suddenly we started hearing others say what we had only been so brave as to admit inside our own heads: “where are all the kalaniyot?”. After having driven an hour from home I wasn’t about to get my plans ruined, so I told my husband, “let’s find another field”. So we got back in our car and drove a bit more until we saw another wave of Israelis making their way into the forest and we parked on the side of the road. The kalaniyot were beautiful! All 5 of them! I strategically positioned my kids for a picture that anyone who saw would think “wow” of, clicked on the shutter button and snapped a few photos before making our way back into the car and driving all 120km back home. Upon our return, we discovered there were more kalaniyot in the field behind our son’s school than there were in Shokeda. After a year of planning great activities, it isn’t a big deal to have one disappointment, is it?

A couple of weeks later, after having heard from my friend and coworker about an incredible place called Maskeret Batya, we made a plan to visit. Maskeret Batya is one of the oldest towns in Israel and according to my friend and her pictures, a town full of charm and plenty to do for everyone in the family. We woke up on Saturday morning and headed out to this enchanting town, only to find out that it’s a ‘religiousy’ town and EVERYTHING is closed on shabbat. My husband and my son wanted to kill me, no, I’m not exaggerating, they really wanted to take my life away. They were hungry and there wasn’t even a convenience store open. My daughter is the only one who had my back, but only because she is two and she had no idea what was happening. She wasn’t exactly vocal in her support, but I sensed it was there.That day, I was banned from making further plans without the prior consent of, and further investigation by my husband.

My busted plans must have frustrated my husband so much that the last two weekends, his usual lazy-let’s-stay-in-bed-all-day personality has been completely reversed to a 9 o’clock get up and let’s go attitude for which he has been making the plans. We went to Caesarea one weekend, walked along the beach, saw ruins, spent time with friends, ate a great italian place and came back home happy. Last weekend, we went to Utopia, a tropical rain forest with orchids, animals, musical fountains and plant mazes near Netanya. We then went to Rishon Lezion for lunch and got home in perfect timing for kid’s bath and bed.

I must say, I’m liking this no-pressure-to-come-up-with-activities thing. While I might relinquish my baton to hubby for a while, it’s not easy with my OCD personality. It has been a total struggle to relinquish, so I have committed to this change of hands just until after we go to Banyas, a gorgeous hike in the north and this fantastic beach festival in Dor beach that will require complete and utter dedicated planning over the next two weekends.

Credit to my editor in chief, Adinah Brown

This is MY land

They say one of the hardest things about moving to a new country is adjusting to its food. The truth is I love Israeli food and since we moved here we have eaten in some of the best restaurants I've ever eaten before. Food is kind of like a passion to me (eating it of course, not so much cooking it), so I like trying new flavors. 

Grocery shopping however, well that is a whole different story. I must admit I have never been one to enjoy my trips to the grocery store and since moving to Israel, my hate-hate relationship with the grocery store has gone to new levels. It isn't just not finding the products you are used to, the fact that 1% milk is as fat-free as you can get, that a year supply of Haagen Dasz costs as much as tuition did in America, that figuring out the names of the cuts of meat requires a PhD, or the fact that the employees of grocery stores here do not seem to have gotten the "customer service" memo and will run you over with their dollies as they take up 3/4 of the aisle while replenishing the shelves. My biggest pet peeve, one that I cannot seem to get over, is the fact that in order to get a grocery cart, I am required to deposit a ₪5 coin in a little slot that causes the chained cart to become lose. I get the idea behind it. Depositing ₪5 ensures that I will return the cart to its designated place once I am done using it instead of leaving it behind in the middle of the parking lot, but c'mon, I am about to spend close to a thousand Shekels inside, can't the supermarket afford someone to retrieve the carts from the parking lot? Is it not enough that I just bagged my own groceries? 

Yesterday morning was like any other Friday morning at the grocery store: a complete zoo. Lately I have been doing my grocery shopping online, which I must say, is a complete wonder, however, my last purchase was short a few things, so a visit to the brick and mortar was necessary. I arrived a little after 10am with my two year old daughter and shuffled through my purse to find ₪5. The best I could come up with was a ₪2 and two ₪1 coins, which meant I had to get change because the grocery cart retrieval requires an exact ₪5 coin. I scanned for the possibility of a lose cart to no avail, so went inside to get change from the "customer service" desk (note the quotation marks are to denote sarcasm). There were three people in line for the same reason I was and the woman at the desk was on the phone. After a few minutes of waiting, armed with my ₪5 coin, I retrieved a cart and started my battle for grocery shopping on a Friday morning. 

I finished rather quickly, except for the line at the register which held me back about 35 minutes, and all the while I was waiting, ideas of using my blog to vent about the ₪5 situation flowed through my head. As I was bagging my groceries, talking to the lady behind me and the woman at the register, they noticed I have an accent and asked where I came from. People can't believe I left Miami (paradise to them) to come here. The woman behind me asked how I liked Israel. Grocery shopping aside, I love living here, so with a bright smile I said "I love it, we are really happy". She was surprised and said "wow, that's wonderful to hear. Even with all the problems we have, you are happy here". Without hesitation, I said "there are problems everywhere, but here these are OUR problems". Even I couldn't believe my own answer, I really meant it. I feel that even after only a year, this is MY land. And so I left, having said shabbat shalom to both women, proudly pushing my sideways-running grocery cart (what's up with that by the way?). 

Making an Impact

Growing up I had always been involved in community projects, I liked making a difference and impacting the lives of others, but sometimes I found myself going against the establishment because "this is how things have always been done".

One of the reasons I was so excited about moving to Israel, is that I knew that I could make an impact; that no matter how small my presence, every single effort could make a difference. I knew that if I didn't like something, I wasn't limited to complaining about it, but I had the right and the responsibility to change it.

Israel is such a young country and its people are so passionate about making things better, that everyone can give something back, and no matter how small, it can make a difference. I wanted that for myself, but I mostly wanted that for my kids. I wanted to teach them that it isn't all about ourselves, but also about others. That if we don't like something, we can work to make it different, better.

We've only been here a year, and I am still working to find my place, but in this short time, we have volunteered to make a video for Nefesh B'Nefesh to promote aliyah, I've had a few articles published which I hope inspire others who have recently made aliyah and two weeks ago, when someone from the Ministry of Absorption called me to ask if I could volunteer to be interviewed by the local newspaper about our experiences during the past year as new olim, I didn't hesitate. It makes me feel so grateful and so unbelievably good that in such a short period of time, I have been able to in some way, as small as it might be, touch the lives of others who have come to this country with theirs suitcases packed of dreams and hopes and are trying to settle and find their own place in a new land.

I am hoping that with the new year, comes new opportunities to give back, to impact change and to make a difference.  

An olah chadasha no more. Ani localit!

As hundreds of new olim arrived this summer on the Nefesh B'Nefesh charter flights, full of dreams and hopes, ready to begin a new chapter of their lives in Eretz Israel, we celebrated our first year of aliyah.

Just like these new olim, we arrived in Israel with our two kids, five suitcases and a 20ft container packed with all of our belongings. We faced a new life, a new language, a new culture.

Today, a year later, our older son is getting ready to enter kita bet (2nd grade), he has made friends and speaks Hebrew with a heavy "reish". Our daughter, who is a year and a half old will be a total Israeli, but for now, I noticed she has a mishmash of languages in her head as she said the other day "Ima, los shoes". My husband and I finished six months of ulpan and although far from fluent in Hebrew, we can carry along a conversation. We know our way around the city, we have managed Israeli bureaucracy as we set up our business in Israel, we lived through a war, we have made friends, traveled the country, we have settled.
I am now asked for directions around Modiin and I can give them! In Hebrew nonetheless!

A few days ago, as I stood in line at the checkout line at the fruit store, I ran into the owner of a local sandwich shop where we eat often, who knows us since the first week we arrived and he was proudly telling the fruit shop owner how he met us a year ago when we had just arrived and now, look at us, we speak Hebrew and we have settled nicely.

To an Israeli, I may be an olah chadasha. To the system, I am an olah chadasha, but when I see the families who have just stepped off the plane, and when I say out loud I am an olah chadasha, I don't even believe the words as they come out of my mouth. I am a local. Ani localit!

My post was published!

The Colombian Jewish community newsletter published one of my posts!
Read the post translated into Spanish here

Am Echad, Lev Echad

What do you say about the past week's events that hasn't already been said? The impact the death of our three boys (OUR boys because after 18 days of searching for Gilad, Naftali and Eyal, of hoping they would come home, they became our boys), had on every one in Israel was immense and when we heard the devastating news that they would not be coming home because they had been brutally murdered by terrorists, the loss wasn't just for their families, but for every one of us. 

I have read article after article from people from different points of views, from different levels of religiousness, from different backgrounds and nationalities, but all with the same message of support and same tone of sorrowfulness. If I wrote about this week's events, my blog wouldn't be any different. I feel the same sadness, the same anger, the same sorrow that everyone has felt this past week. So instead of writing about the three boys and the terrible loss this country had, I want to share the impact today of all days this week has had on me.

Today, I went with a friend and her family to visit the shiva of two of these boys' families. I didn't want to intrude during this very sorrowful moment, but at the same time I wanted to show my support. To be like one of the thousands of people who have shown the families during these past few days that they are not alone. And so I went, and what I saw and felt was incredible. 

The amount of people at the Frenkel's house was unbelievable. Naftali's parents were sitting under a tent in their backyard surrounded by tens of people tying to give their condolences. Among those, was Sherri Mandell, whose son Koby was brutally murdered by terrorists in 2001. I was not farther than a yard away when one of those moments in which the world starts moving in slow motion took place. Sherri Mandell and Rachel Frenkel saw each other. Two women who had never met, but who recognized each other from TV and who now share an inexplicable bond held each other's hands. I couldn't hear what they said, but I could feel the intensity of the moment. 

We then visited Gilad's family's home. We had the incredible opportunity to sit with Gilad's parents and one of his sisters in their living room and listen to stories about Gilad and we talked about how not only in Israel, but in the US, in Colombia, in Panama and everywhere in the world, the boys are being remembered and memorials are being held in their names. Bat-Galim, Gilad's mother told us how a month ago the parents of these three boys had never met, but today, they share an incredible bond and they have found a new family in each other.

And just like the Mandells and the Frenkels and the Sha'ers and the Yifrahs share an unbreakable bond, Am Israel has bonded together over this tragedy, like we usually bond over difficult times. I have been utterly amazed at how an entire country mobilized to first find these children and now to comfort their families. Am echad, lev echad. The people of Israel is one nation, we are one heart. 

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.




















 

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

Raising an Israeli

A move is a big deal, especially one that involves being half way across the globe, learning a new language and having a seven-hour time difference with the people you love. Moving with children makes a move like this that much more challenging.

We knew when we started to plan our aliyah that our then 9 month old daughter wouldn't even notice, but for our five (going on 40) year old son, things would be "noticeably different" to say the least. Nathan is a smart boy (as any Jewish mother would think of their kids) and very mature. He has no problem making new friends, and because we decided that regardless of how scared or freaked out we would get about the big move, that we would put everything on a positive light and show excitement about the new things to come, he took the move amazingly well. Of course he was sad about leaving his friends and family in America and seeing his room empty, but he was happy to make aliyah.

They say kids adapt quickly, much more so than adults do and I now have no doubt about it.

After only two short weeks of having made aliyah, it was Nathan's 6th birthday. We had celebrated it big in Miami before we left because he had asked to celebrate with all his friends, and as a parent, full of guilt for moving your kid across the globe, who were we to say no. Nevertheless, a birthday should no go unnoticed and because I had figured he wouldn't have any fiends yet after only two weeks in a new country (and one week on school), I had planned to go to dinner just the four of us. Well, as it turns out, two days before his birthday, he says he wants to spend it with his new friends. 15 kids came to Nathan's 6th birthday party! he had more friends after only two weeks in Israel than I ever did in Miami!

We are here now five months and every week I'l get calls from three to four class mothers wanting to set up playdates with Nathan, not to mention our neighbor who practically lives with us.

The kid is popular ok, he has no barrier with the language and he has had no issues adapting to the life in Israel. Today however, I realized we are starting to raise an Israeli. Our next door neighbor was at our house as we were getting ready to leave for a chug (extracurricular activity) and as we are heading out the door, her and Nathan exchange some kind of understanding about her taking one of Nathan's toys. As I witness this, I figure she is taking my son for a ride (she is two years older than him and after all, Israeli) and I say "why would you give away your toys? they are yours!" and he turns to me and says "No mom, I didn't give it away, I sold it to her!"

Proud Ima

You're moving to Israel? you realize your children will have to go to the army right?

When the thought of making aliyah stopped being a vague idea flying around our heads and became topic of discussion among our families, many tools and weapons were used to convinced us not to move, but one con that my mom thought for sure was going to make me doubt my decision, was "your children are going to have to go to the army".

I think I am a great mother, I love my children more than anything in the world, but does it make me a terrible person that that life-changing-immensely-important-fact didn't even make it onto my pro-con list?

Maybe it's the fact that my oldest son is only 6 and the army is years down the road, or the fact that the army weighed against all the wonderful things I can give them by moving to Israel doesn't seem like such a big trade off.  The fact is that my children going to the army didn't stop me from making aliyah.

I am here now and I get to witness every day the role the army plays in this society and in the life of every Israeli and the role society and every Israeli play in the army.

Yesterday, thanks to an invitation from Nefesh B Nefesh, we had the opportunity to attend a graduation ceremony for Hel Avir, the Israeli Air Force. We made a trip out of it and spent the entire day on base looking at planes at the Hel Avir Museum, we watched a flying demonstration of different air crafts. Prime Minister Netanyahu, the Zar ha Bitajon, and various commanders gave speeches congratulating the new soldiers of Hel Avir.  It was all very exciting, but my heart was with the soldiers. Seeing this kids - because that's who they are, kids- turn into soldiers and thinking that one day my kids will proudly wear that uniform turned my heart upside down. Not in a bad way though. Not in a way that made me think of my mother's words before I moved, or that made me regret making aliyah. Not for a second did I feel scared that one day it will be my kid defending this country. Yesterday's ceremony made my heart turn because I felt proud of this kids and of our country. My heart turned because I realized that one day, I will be like one of the many proud parents who were there yesterday to see their children. My heart turned, because I heard my little 6 year old who has only been in Israel for 4 months sing the Hatikva.

I can't even come close to imagining what a mother of an 18 year old kid must feel when she sees her little boy dressed in army green, carrying an M16 leaving out the door to defend our country. She probably doesn't sleep at night while her son is gone, so you and I can. But as scared as she may be, she is also proud that her little boy is responsible for your and my safety.

Yesterday, as much as an Olah Hadasha as I looked, I felt very Israeli.

OUR LIFE IN BOXES (PART DEUX)

Two hundred boxes made it across the Atlantic and were delivered to our door on Migdal Oz just a couple of days ago. The sight of boxes piled high and covering every square meter of our apartment is nothing short of overwhelming. I thought it would be a good idea to stay at the fully furnished apartment we rented until our container was delivered, for a couple more days until we get a chance to unpack a little, but after a month of being nomads, the idea of sleeping in our own bed sounds very alluring. We had shipped our stuff about 3 weeks before we traveled and stayed with my aunt in Miami for that time and then rented a temporary place in Modiin for 10 days. We decided it would be better to be uncomfortable for a month where we know our surroundings and feel "at home" rather than in a new place where we don't know how to move around, so we are lucky that after only 10 days of having made aliyah, our stuff has arrived and we can begin to build our new home and our new life with our own stuff. I am grateful for this, but still, the sight of 200 boxes invading our apartment is not a pleasant one.
I am maniac, obsessive, compulsive and un-diagnosed with every related disorder when it comes to having my house in order. "one day at a time" and "leat, leat" are not part of my vocabulary. I have unpacked all my prior moves in two days, so I figured now that I have two kids on board, I should extend the deadline a little. Erev Rosh Hashana (a week from now) I want every box, every piece of bubble wrap and packing material gone! We have been unpacking for 3 days straight and are down to about 15 boxes.

As one of the many surprises we have encountered here, we have been informed, after having purchased all of our appliances and having had them delivered, that the delivery guys do not install. This is a separate transaction that needs to be scheduled, so we now have 6 appliances sitting in our apartment boxed up (as if we don't have enough boxes) and have been calling for two days to schedule the installers, but have not been able to achieve what seems like such a simple task. Is it too much to ask for a little customer service? I guess the "the customer is always right" memo got lost in the mail on the way to Israel. Did I mention we have no refrigerator (we have been eating out breakfast, lunch and dinner for two weeks) and a pile of dirty clothes and nowhere to wash it? Grrrrr... There. I vented. I feel better.

Overjoyed and Overwhelmed

When we decided to make aliyah, we knew that one of the benefits provided to Olim by the Israeli government was a paid flight to Ben Gurion Airport. We soon found out that one of the ways to fly to israel, rather than coming by yourself on a commercial flight, was to join a Nefesh B Nefesh charter flight.  A flight where every passenger on board was making aliyah. We saw some videos on youtube of past arrivals and I immediately thought "if we are making aliyah, we are making it big and we have to get on a charter flight".  It was a challenge, because the flight left from JFK, which meant, our husband and I, our two kids, our dog, our 6 suitcases, a stroller, a pack and play and two car seats needed to make it to JFK from MIA somehow. It didn't matter how difficult it was going to be, the dream of joining this flight and making part of the incredible atmosphere aboard this plane was going to be worth it. And boy, was it worth it... As we arrived in Israel, we realized we were making history as it was happening before our eyes. The atmosphere aboard the plane was amazing. A mix of nervousness and excitement, nostalgia and hope from every single passenger aboard this plane. As we started to descend onto Ben Gurion Airport, passengers started singing Israeli songs, clapping, celebrating. Only on El-Al does the pilot have to ask more than once for people to please stop dancing and take their seats so we can land.  As we landed and the doors of the plane were opened, we descended a flight of stairs onto the tarmac where as Israeli music was playing loud, staff of NBN, hayalim and the families of those arriving, greeted us with signs reading "welcome home" and handed us little Israeli flags. The feeling of joy was so great, tears started to uncontrollably run down my face. The faces were a blur, as we didn't know anyone, but at the same time, they all looked familiar. They were greeting us as if we were family, which in a way, I guess we are. Finally, at the end of the welcoming line, a familiar face; my uncle who had come to greet us. We proceeded to a welcome ceremony, where the fact that it was 2 in the morning in America and we hadn't slept hit us. The adrenaline was starting to wear off and fatigue settled in. We still needed to pick up our teudot oleh and our ride home (or wherever our first destination would be). About 4 hours later, we got to a small apartment in Modiin where we would stay for about a week or two until we move to a more permanent home. Our friend Ethel was waiting for us at the door to the building. She had picked up the keys form the owner earlier that day and had filled the refrigerator with basics which would later that night when our jet lagged stomachs awoke, save us from hunger (not sure if this is an Israeli thing, or a very-special-person thing, or both, but the fact that she went to the supermarket and took the time to buy groceries for us was an incredible gesture).

From that moment on, our few days in Israel have been filled with incredible joy coated by overwhelment. Still feeling like a foreigner while trying to get settled in what is now our home. Trying to use my poor Hebrew to communicate so that I can start practicing turns into an entire new language with too many English words in it. We have so far picked up our teudot zehut, registered for health insurance (very easily done at a fair held by NBN-one more of the benefits of making aliyah in bulk), opened bank accounts (we are yet to see how the banking system takes us for a ride as everyone has advised us of the banking fees they charge, even for depositing cash into your account),  have registered our older son in school, have Israeli cell phones and have applied for a file in customs to have our shipment released. We have accomplished so much, yet there is a laundry list of things to do that grows by the yard after each meeting we have with the different coordinators and advisers.Our shipment has arrived, which means next week will probably be unpacking at our new apartment. My cousin has offered help which I have gladly accepted. We will need to transfer the electric, cable, gas, etc to our names, which we have yet to figure out how to do. We need drivers licenses so we can buy a car, go to the ministry of absorption to register for our sal klita, buy uniforms and school supplies and so many other things that I must not bore you with and that there is no point in writing since I have them already neatly listed on a Basecamp application on my phone :)  . Checking things off the list gives me such a great feeling of accomplishment!

Having been able to make aliyah in one of Nefesh B Nefesh' charter flights was the best opportunity we could have had. First of, NBN is an incredible organization. The red carpet of aliyot. They helped and guided us through the pre-aliyah process from gathering paperwork to recommending vendors and choosing the right city for us to settle in, they greeted us at the airport and helped us through the check-in process, held a farewell ceremony, took care of immigration from aboard the plane and since we have arrived, they have made the entire process of settling in (obtaining teudot zehut, registering our kids in school, obtaining medical coverage, etc) more manageable and less stressful. We have been lucky to have been able to make aliyah with their help.

11:11 - It's time to go

No, our flight doesn't leave at 11:11, nor does it leave on 11/11, but lately, in fact, since we made the decision to make aliyah, I have become more and more drawn to glancing at the clock whenever it's 11:11.

Numerologists believe that events linked to the time 11:11 appear more often than can be explained by chance or coincidence. Some authors claim that seeing 11:11 on a clock signals a spirit presence. (excerpt from Wikipedia)

I have never really found any significance in this number, other than our family on my dad's side used to call this "la hora del tito" (my grandfather's hour). He always found this time "interesting" and the number always called on his attention, so much so, that two of my cousins have tattooed the number on their skin in his memory.

My grandfather (el tito) was born in Palestine. At a young age, his parents took him to Colombia to pursuit the dream of a better future. When he turned 18 years old, just as Israel was fighting for a Jewish state during the Israeli war of independence, he decided he needed to go. He left his family behind and in pursuit of an ideal that back then didn't even exist, he traveled thousands of miles to enlist in the Palmach. Zionism already traveled through our family' veins. In Israel he met my grandmother, had two of their three children and after some years moved back to Colombia.

I am not sure if it is pure coincidence or my grandfather hoorraing for us from above. I'd like to believe the second one is true. I may be fantasizing, but I'd like to believe that our decision to make aliyah is part of some great plan, part of my family's legacy being realized, my grandfather supporting our decision and making sure this time around, our moving to Israel sticks!

OUR LIFE CONTAINED

"The year 1866 was signalized by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and inexplicable phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten. Not to mention rumors which agitated the maritime population, and excited the public mind, even in the interior of continents, seafaring men were particularly excited. Merchants, common sailors, captains of vessels, skippers, both of Europe and America, naval officers of all countries, and the Governments of several states on the two continents, were deeply interested in the matter." (20,000 Leagues Under The Sea)

No, my life was not written by Jules Verne, and I am pretty sure that our 20ft container filled with every one of our belongings does not quite "agitate rumors amongst the maritime population", but to me, this is huge! I never thought a container traveling half way across the globe would make part of my life. This is very exciting! And to think of the journey that it is about to embark on. Wow.

The guys from Omega Shipping have been here for two days straight. Great crew by the way, would highly recommend them. Yesterday was packing and today, loading the container. We are crossing our fingers as we were told that we may not be able to fit everything in the container. What this means is an extra shipment, which is not only more money, but as Olim, Israel allows us three tax free shipments, so two separate shipments means using up two tax benefits. We are full about 2/3 of the container. Will keep you posted on the progress.

OUR LIFE IN BOXES

And so this light stomach pain that feels like a mixture of an unsettled stomach, a knot and butterflies all at the same time, and that I have been feeling for the past couple of weeks as our aliyah date approaches and moving to Israel seems imminent, has today manifested in the shape of my first shed tears as our home (and what feels like our lives) is being packed into boxes. The kids’ rooms that we painted grey and pink for Ilanit and grey and blue for Nathan are now bare and breath an air of emptiness but at the same time are filled with so many memories. This hasn’t been our home for too long, but this is where our oldest son grew from a crib to a big boy’s bed and where our daughter was born. This is where we shared as a family, where we invited friends over for barbeques and shabat dinners and Passover seders. And I get it, I do, home is where the heart is, but I can’t help but feel nostalgic.