A Bride in the Desert

The Bride’s Final Top 10: The Best of Israel

2011-09-14T20:16:00.003-04:00

I’ve sat down to write this post three times. The first time I opened a blank page, typed the title and closed my computer. The second time I got halfway in, then deleted most of it and closed my computer again. Finally, my third attempt I felt my final post was an appropriate end to the amazing year I have experienced.

Maybe that is a bit of commentary on how much I have fallen in love with this country and how I can never quite be done with her really. In four days we leave Israel and it is getting harder to say goodbye. Even though we know as clear as day we will be back, we also know it won’t ever be the same. Like any great love affair, your first time is always the one you cherish the most.

This year has afforded us the opportunity to completely explore our world, our relationships and ourselves. We have discovered passions and unearthed strengths we didn't know we had. We have grown to appreciate life and each other at a new level. We have created a new life, a new family within her borders. For that I thank her.

1. Her Beauty. Where else in the world could you sink your toes in the warm, blue Mediterranean waters, float in the lowest point on earth, climb the greenest hills of the Golan and hike through dry desert sands all in one day? Here in Israel.

2. Her Spirituality. Jerusalem is the center of the universe for the world’s three major religions. It is hard not to feel the presence of God here. A walk to the store turns into a history lesson, a daily commute passes through some of the holiest sites in the world, your backdoor opens to the land God touched.

3. Her Warmth. As much as I complain about the Israeli attitude, I know it is only a ruse. Israel is one big neighborhood and we’re all just friends and family living nearby. My dry cleaner told me she is sad she won’t be able to meet our baby. My cabbie wished me blessings for safe travels and said he hopes we come back home soon. No one is a stranger here and friendships are forged for life.

4. Her Humor. It’s dark, sometimes morbid, always sarcastic and more often than not, politically incorrect. Israelis are hilarious and only those who have survived living in this crazy country could ever understand.

5. Her diversity. The bag boy at my grocery store speaks 5 different languages, my neighbor upstairs is an Argentinian woman, my ulpan class of 25 people was comprised of no less than 15 different nationalities, my best friends here are from Canada and New Jersey. I’m a Christian gal from the South married to a half-Israeli/half-American Jewish guy, but we fit right on in.

6. Her Sense of Community. Never in my life have I experienced such a deep sense of community. Gilad Shalit is every Israeli’s missing son. The terror victims are every Israeli’s brother. Tragedies and memorial days send the entire country into mourning and we can pull 400,000 people together to rally to improve living conditions for our neighbors in one night.

7. Her Resiliency. Terrorism, intifadas, unwinnable wars, internal turmoil, entire countries who wish she would disappear. And yet she hasn’t disappeared. In fact, she’s grown stronger, bigger, better through all of it. It’s a beautiful thing.

8. Her Contradictions. The modern and the ancient. The religious and the secular. The freedom and the restraint. The safety and the danger. The happiness and the heartbreak. You can have all of it in Israel.

9. Her food. Hummus, olives, shwarma, lamb kebab, hummus, schnitzel, couscous, fresh fruit, sweet dates, falafel, hummus, any of DH’s family’s Libyan dishes, warm challah, iced café. Did I mention hummus?

10. My family and friends. I was accepted into DH’s beautiful family with open arms immediately. They are wonderfully warm and kind people who profoundly love. There are cousins, aunts and uncles who without them we wouldn’t have survived. My mother-in-law has been our saving grace and my brother-in-law our dearest friend. I’ll miss having my son grow up around his wonderful family here and I promise him every night we’ll come back often. And the girls, you my darlings, are my heart. Your love and friendship has meant the world to me.

I will end my final post with a request. If you travel, visit Israel. If you give, give to Israel. If you pray, pray for Israel. It isn’t the first time and probably will not be the last, but she is facing enemies who want to destroy the beauty I fell in love with and crush the spirit that is a beacon in a region of darkness. We need Israel and right now she needs us.

Goodbye Israel, you know we’ll always come back to you.

One Year

2011-08-31T15:41:00.001-04:00

One year ago today we moved to Israel. Are you thinking the same thing I am? Yep, I can't believe we survived either.

Wow, an enitre 365 days has passed since we stepped off that El Al flight and dove head first into this crazy adventure. Prior to moving here, I had so many mixed emotions about the road that lay ahead. Today, one year later and 2 weeks until we move back, those mixed emotions have come back in floods, with the uncanny ability to drown my heart both in joy and heartbreak within minutes. Well, maybe that has a little to do with the raging pregnancy hormones too.

It hasn't been always easy or fun to live abroad. It hasn't been all terrible days either. In my final few posts, I thought I'd share with you some of the things I'll miss and things I won't miss about Israel. Let's start with those particular gems I absolutely will not miss about living here:

The Bride's Top 10 Reasons I Question My Sanity for Living Here List

1. The difficulty. Little things like paying bills, dealing with bureaucracy, shopping and transportation are compounded by the language barrier and cultural differences. I'll be glad when it doesn't take an extra half hour to argue with the check out lady. Or I don't have to get my husband to translate how I check the Israeli phone's voice mail and understand how to pay my cable bill (or if this is even the cable bill I'm looking at). Or I don't ruin another baking/cooking project because I don't understand the Hebrew written on the package--olive bread for your french toast anyone? Yeah, I did that.

2. The missing out. I feel I've missed out on so many events back home with my friends and family. I missed holidays, births, weddings and milestones of the people who matter most to me in the world. My friend's children and younger cousins have grown an entire year without me. I have missed them more than words can say.

3. The expense. How can such a tiny country cost so much to live in? Moving to Israel was definitely not the most sound financial decision we've ever made. Taxes are nearly double here than in the States, so are the price of cars and apartments. Our 800 square foot, one bedroom apartment is a few hundred dollars more than what we paid for our 1,500 square foot 2 bedroom in the United States. A new Kia compact car here almost $15,000 more than in the States (and that doesn't include the $7/gallon gas prices). Even the price of deodorant here is almost enough to make a gal want to stink for a few days.

4. The poor quality of everything. If the unreasonably tiny fridge and stove, leaky air conditioning units (no central air in the desert is an entire other complaint of mine), scary electrical outlets that may or may not electrocute you and door handles/cabinet doors/light fixures that decide to fall off for no reason in particular haven't driven me insane yet, then the clothes that disintegrate after 3 washes, the parchment paper thin furniture and the mind numbingly slow internet (ironic for a country that practically built the technology) just might.

5. The hard as nails Israeli attitude. Sometimes it is just easier to be nice my darling Israeli friends. Sometimes it is not worth the fight. Sometimes a smile will go further than yelling. Try it once in a while, you may like it.

6. The customer service. The customer is never right in Israel. Even if you are right, you aren't. Even if it would take an extra 2 minutes to fix, it won't get fixed. Even if you miraculously manage to get someone to do something for you, it is with disdain and loud complaining.

7. The ridiculous holidays. There are some times I honestly think Israelis make up holidays so they don't have to work. Word of advice, don't move to Israel a week before Rosh Hashana like we did. You will get nothing accomplished for an entire month. Then be aware of the random Jewish holidays that shut down the country on any given day.

8. The bureaucracy. The day we decided to move back to the States was a glorious day for the simple knowledge I wouldn't have to set another foot in the Misrad Hapnim (Ministry of Interior). If the Israeli government could make you wait in line to sign a piece of paper before you could pee, believe me they would. Israeli bureaucracy is tedious, illogical and unnecessary 95% of the time.

9. The cats. This one is purely for Marilyn's sake. It is a cat eat cat world out there and my dear pooch is just trying to survive.

10. The T-rex sized bugs. This one is purely for DH's sake. I grew up in the South and even I haven't seen bugs the size of these suckers and have the tenacity like they do. I think I actually saw a roach look at me with revenge in his eyes.

Life Interrupted: Terrorism in the South

2011-08-19T11:49:00.002-04:00

As I was busy packing for our move yesterday, a coordinated terrorist attack struck in South Israel near Eilat.

Life interrupted.

Most of the victims were returning from or going to Eliat for vacation. Yesterday, they only wanted a short reprieve from their hectic lives. They only wanted to laugh and relax in the beautiful resort town. Today, they are dead.

Life interrupted.

Families have been torn apart. Fathers have been taken from their children, wives from their husbands, sons from their mothers. I am angry at the senselessness and that I have to once again help my host country mourn for her citizens. Before moving here, I had hope for the conflict. I had hope the violence and hate would end and peace could come to the region. I couldn't understand the hopelessness that Israelis felt about it.

Today I understand. It is easy to take a break from the conflict in the States. Every once in a while, I would flip on the news and for 5 minutes feel sad for my husband's homeland. I would turn off the television and go on until next time. My life was uninterrupted.

When you live it. When it is miles from your front door. When hold your breath hoping you don't know a victim. When you pray this time it won't escalate. When you fear for your husband, your friends, your family during the hours following. When you cry for their dead children as they celebrate your children's death. When you can't get away from it ever, not even on vacation.

The bitterness, the anger, the hopelessness inevitably seeps in. I pray for this country and her citizens. I pray they can one day live without the senseless hatred their neighbors use as an excuse to interrupt their lives.

Moving Again: The Dog's Innermost Thoughts

2011-08-18T10:55:00.000-04:00

Really guys? Is that what I think it is? Are those...moving boxes? I hate you.

Let's go over this one more time. I hate moving. I hate it as much as I hate cats. And you know how much I hate cats, because I try to eat them. Are you trying to make me eat you? I'll do it. Don't think I won't. I've been eyeing that Mom character for years now. You know I'm not completely thrilled about her anyway. She's the other woman and we've always had this love/love relationship. She loves me and I love to drive her insane.

Okay, I've been your loyal companion for eight years now. In those eight years you've tortured me with this moving crap. I've followed you from our hometown to college to Atlanta back to college then to Washington, D.C. back to Atlanta to Israel and now back to Atlanta. Make up your minds people! If I had thumbs, I'd have hitchhiked my way back home a long time ago.

Yes, I admit I haven't always been the most willing participant in these moves. I may or may not have destroyed and/or peed on your belongings in an attempt to sabatoge. I may or may not have willfully eaten things to divert your attention. I won't say, but if I have it is totally your fault.

Whaaat? What do you mean I have to get on that damned plane again?! That's it, no more Mr. Nice Guy...I'm eating you.

The Crap Stays: My Packing Method the Second Time Around

2011-08-09T16:12:00.002-04:00

I don't know if the huge international move almost exactly a year ago traumatized me for life or I just don't care anymore, but my moving methods and stress level have both been noticably different this time around.

Between the 200,000+ protests a mile from my front door in Tel Aviv, the crazy riots in London and the scary-sounding-but-not-quite-sure-what-it-means downgrade from S&P in the States, I'm pretty sure the world around me is coming to an end anyways. So therefore as long as I manage to throw some crap in a suitcase and get myself, DH and the dog safely on the plane to live out our final days in Atlanta, I think we'll be okay.

Or maybe it has something to do with the fact I'll be inching closer to 7 months pregnant at the time of the move and cannot imagine lugging 2 oversized suitcases, a carry-on and pulling the world's most ridiculously large dog crate around an airport. Can't we just stick the dog in a box and FedEx her back please?! I'll cut some air holes in the cardboard, I promise.

Plus I'm pretty sure it is against the law to make a pregnant lady move abroad. I keep telling DH he should be grateful I'm not reporting him to the police for this indecency. But then again, I think I got a pretty good deal out of it. Back home, we have an entire storage unit of furniture and probably close to a dozen boxes filled just with books that I will only be lifting a finger to direct our hired movers to move.

Whatever the reason, I don't even have an ounce of stress over this time around. It may come back to haunt me when I realize I really kind of do need those crucial insurance documents and 5 pairs of jeans I left on a random streetcorner in Tel Aviv, but seriously if I leave half my closet behind I really could care less--except my shoes. I will have my shoes on that plane.

So in less than six weeks this awesomely exhausting, inspiring and insane Israeli adventure will come to an end. I am both content with our decision to leave and heartbroken to see it end. I will never ever be the same person for this wonderful experience.

As always, check back again 24-48 hours prior to and post move, I may be singing a different stress-induced out of key tune about moving.

Made in Israel

2011-07-08T11:44:00.002-04:00

Okay guys...if any of my loyal readers are still left, I fully admit I've been a bad, bad blogger Bride. I am truly sorry for my absence, but I promise I have a good excuse. I have been preoccupied with other things.

Things like...growing and incubating a tiny baby in my womb. And as all pregnant women know, pregnancy wreaks havoc on not only your poor body, but on your attention span as well, so my dear blog has suffered immensely. My thoughts are all baby all the time. I’m sure besides DH and my little one's first-time grandmothers, most everyone else thinks I’m a complete conversational bore anyway. I mean is anyone else really that interested in how many times I puked in 24 hours or what our fetus is growing today? Did you know at 8 weeks buds for 20 baby teeth are already present?!

Sorry, there I go again.

Looks like we'll need one of these soon.

Believe me, you haven’t missed much. If I wasn’t agonizing over my fridge trying to decide what didn’t make me want to hurl or craving something only available in the United States (does anyone know where I can get American cheese in this country?! This pregnant lady NEEDS a grilled cheese sandwich!), I was sleeping.

Oh the sleeping. DH made fun of me most of my first trimester for my frequent naps. I was tired man! Lay off me! I reverted back to kindergarten and required a nap at mid-day or else I was an uncontrollable, emotional, useless pile of hormonal mess. It wasn’t pretty.

I recall one awful Wednesday afternoon nearing 9 weeks knocked up when I had to skip my daily nap after work (gasp!). Instead I gave into the pleading of DH's rumbling stomach and headed directly to the grocery store or else it seemed he might have withered away right in front of me. At least that's what he said, but I don't think 3 hours since your last meal consitutes "starvation".

After wandering aimlessly for 20 minutes with only a bag of pretzels and a can of peas to show for my effort, I came across a 4-year-old boy throwing a tantrum in the middle of the cereal aisle. For a split second, I considered joining him, rolling on the dirty linoleum, sobbing hysterically, kicking the air in the direction of his weary eyed mother and demanding Cocoa Puffs right now! What? It seemed perfectly rational at the time.

Mmmm...chocolatey Israeli Cocoa Puffy knock-off goodness.

Israel has a high birth rate. Like, I'm pretty certain there is a covert government agency who's sole purpose is to spike the country's tap water with secret fertile women hormones high. Well, maybe that's a bit conspiracy-theory crazy, but I'd still buy bottled water just to be on the safe side if I were you. Considering that fertility treatments are free for its citizens, the religious populations and...oh that little mandate to the Jewish people by God to "be fruitful and multiply", it really isn't a big surprise that she boasts a 19.2% birth rate compared to the United States' paltry 14.1%. Taking a quick stroll around a Tel Aviv block will prove this.

In one city block, you'll happen upon a litany of pregnant women. Some barely showing baby bumps and others with large bellies swollen with soon-to-be bundles of joy. Because of my current state, DH has noticed this phenomenon even more. Last week he pointed out 4 pregnant women during a quick trip to the mall across the street from our apartment. He leaned over, nervously glancing at my growing belly as if he'd uncovered our plan to take over the world and whispered in my ear...

"Your people are everywhere."

Yes, darling, and don't think we haven't noticed the sympathetic glances and head nods you husbands exchange in passing. We know...we see eeeeeverything...we have meeeeetings {Insert evil laugh here}. Okay, okay now I was just screwing with him.

We also have made another monumental decision in our lives. (See? It wasn’t all fun and games.) We are moving back to the States in September. We’ve loved each and every second of our time in Israel and my heart breaks a little everytime I think about leaving, but this is what is best for our growing family.
I can't say anything more about the move right now. I’m just not ready. I'm not ready to say my goodbyes yet. To this blog or this beautiful country. I don’t know what will happen next as we close this chapter of our adventure and embark on our next to become parents, but I do know I will savor each moment I have left in Israel. I will write down each experience, treasure every photo, so this little life inside me will someday know how much we adore this country and how blessed we are.

Springtime In the Holy Land: Part 1

2011-05-13T13:23:00.001-04:00

Spring really is a beautiful time in Israel. There is really no need to check the daily weather report in Israel during Spring. But if you did, it would just say “perfect” everyday.

Spring is also one of two holiday seasons in Israel. Beginning with Purim in March through Passover in April and ending with Holocaust Memorial Day, National Memorial Day and Independence Day in May.

Purim is a festive holiday to celebrate Queen Esther who helped defeat Haman’s plot to destroy the Jewish people. Much like it’s American cousin, Halloween, children dress up in costumes and grown-ups get drunk. No, seriously, the Talmud states one should drink wine until you cannot tell the difference between "cursed is Haman" and "blessed is Mordechai." Sometimes the Jews really know how to celebrate. Mishloach manot, or delivered gifts, are a traditional custom of Purim as well. DH and I nibbled for weeks on the baked goods and candies we got from the family. Amongst the drunken adults in fairy costumes and the hamentashen covered children in fairy costumes, DH, my brother in law and I spent a very untraditional Purim by waking up at 3 am to climb Masada at dawn. Nonetheless, it was a wonderful holiday.

Next up was Passover, by far my all time favorite Jewish holiday. I have always enjoyed Passover seder no matter if I spend it with our ultra-Orthodox friends or our ultra-Reform friends, either way I have a grand time. This Passover was certainly one for the books for two reasons. First last year at the end of seder we proudly lifted our glasses and said the traditional “Next year in Jerusalem” knowing that in fact next year we would celebrate Passover in the Holy Land. Second, for nearly 9 years I have heard about the Israeli family’s Passover traditions from DH.

I finally experienced the traditional family Passover I’ve heard so much about. Well, I use the term “traditional” very lightly. This was actually one of the least traditional Passovers I’ve ever had. DH’s family usually holds a huge barbecue and karaoke night a few days prior to the first night of seder. Word of advice, if you are ever invited to this event I highly suggest arriving late as DH and I did. I was immediately placed at a table and served bbq chicken, lamb, beef, kabob and Israeli salad until I had to beg them to stop filling my plate. At one point, a cousin just placed a giant pan of chicken wings in front of me until I got my fill and only until she was reassured I couldn’t possibly eat anymore did she pass it along to the rest of the family. Then the karaoke began. Oh the karaoke. Thankfully, I also come from a karaoke loving family so I knew what I was in for. For the rest of the night, traditional Hebrew songs lovingly sang several notes off key pierced the night sky.

A few nights later the family gathered once again for the first night of seder. Although I cannot say this was the most religious or tradition laden seder I’ve ever been to, I can say it was one of the most satisfying. The next day at lunch, DH and my youngest bro-in-law taught the Israeli cousins how to play American football. Needless to say, I don’t think it will catch on amongst the Israelis.

During the seven days of Passover, one is forbidden to eat leavened breads and grains. In the States, this was always a difficult week for us. But in Israel, the supermarkets cover the aisles of chametz (foods not kosher for Passover) with large plastic tarps and don’t sell anything that isn’t kosher and restaurants only serve kosher for Passover foods. Apparently it is much easier to observe Jewish holidays in the Jewish state. Huh, who’d a thunk it?

Photo credit: The IsReal World

Easter was at the end of Passover this year and I observed it by reflecting on the blessings I’ve encountered in God’s land. He has given me so much to be thankful for and I can honestly say I will look back on my life and always say these were some of my best days.

Shattered: The Jerusalem Bombing

2011-03-23T19:34:00.003-04:00

“Most importantly... is to return to your normal lives so that the terrorists don't think they can win.” --Jerusalem Mayor, Nir Barkat

I was half-watching the news on the tv behind the receptionist’s head and half-eavesdropping the lady’s conversation next to me when scenes of wailing sirens, blood drenched sidewalk and broken glass flashed across the television screen. The reporter’s urgent and rapid Hebrew was too fast for me to catch.

“What did she say?" I asked DH, eyes glued to the screen.

“A bombing...in Jerusalem,” he said, his voice grave and low.

Moments ago, I was playfully ribbing my husband about his terrible sense of direction and getting us lost once again. Now, my quiet afternoon was ripped apart. My heart sank. I feared for my friends in Jerusalem. I was heartbroken for the victims and their families.

Today’s bombing tore through a busy bus stop in central Jerusalem, injuring 39 and killing one. While the loss of innocent life and injury is first and foremost devastating, the shattering of the 7-year cessation of bombings in Jerusalem was deafening. Every Israeli’s throat tightened as horrific memories of the intifada resurfaced.

As I watched the news, the green number on the front of the Egged bus caught my attention. 74. What do they do tomorrow? What do those people who ride bus 74 everyday back home do tomorrow? What do those people who stand at that bus stop everyday do tomorrow?

They go on. We go on. We continue our lives as normal. Israelis have a determination and resilience that is unrivaled. With blood stains still on the street and heaviness in the nation’s collective heart, the usual evening traffic resumed and I walked into my doctor’s office just as planned.

Today’s sadness will turn into tomorrow’s resolve. They won’t terrorize us. They won’t win.

Drenched in Blessings: A Day at the Beach

2011-03-14T18:46:00.000-04:00

Israel is a tiny nation full of extremes. Her weather, it should be of no surprise, is one of many. After an especially long, devastatingly fevered summer, the entire nation of Israel prayed for rain in November to extinguish the relentless flames of the Carmel fires. God answered our prayers and has dropped torrents of rain on us for months ever since. Winters in Israel are bursts of blue skies in between afternoons of drenching rains and biting cold winds. These dreary unpredictable days are punctuated by the occasional thunderstorm loud enough to wake a sleeping dog from lovely dreams of total feline domination and promptly send her beneath the covers to intertwine herself around your legs.

But more often I am peeling off my grey wool cardigan and enjoying the warmth of the Middle Eastern sun on my bare shoulders. I have learned to enjoy the mild weather and take advantage of these occasional temperate days. In a few weeks the sun’s gentle warmth will turn fierce once again. My daylight deprived and European-lineaged skin will surrender to it more easily than I want. I am not blessed with my darling husband’s Middle Eastern complexion. His slightly olive skin browns nicely beneath the desert sun. Mine broils.

Yesterday was one of those days I took full advantage of the mild weather. Marilyn, our favorite fur bucket, has never experienced the beach in her whole eight years of life and I thought it was the perfect time and weather to take her on this adventure. If I were a betting woman, besides adoption day, I’d say this was hands down the best day of her life.

Upon reaching the cliff overlooking the Med’s crashing blue waves, Marilyn’s excitement was already at a fever pitch. I could barely contain the bouncing, barking bundle of fur at the end of the leash. She pulled me down the steep rocks towards the sand where she set forth upon her greatest achievement...digging the deepest hole she has ever dug. After a good dig, she trotted off to inspect the water. Wading in a calm pool between the rocks, she cautiously inspected the salty warm waters of the Med.

Her ears cocked in curiosity, she watched the waves crash on the shore in the distance. In a second, she was off to catch the wave on the beach. After 40 or so rounds running back and forth trying to catch the wave on the shore before it ebbed back into the sea, she realized she could actually catch it mid-break in the water. She’d back up 5 feet on the shore for a running start and dive into the frothing wave snapping at the water. After another several rounds of wave diving, it was time to go home much to her despair. I dragged her away with promises to return soon.

In such a simple day, I found immense joy. I have had quite a few days like this of late. God seems to periodically drench me in blessings in my life here in Israel. I have to remind myself to take advantage and be thankful of these blues skies.

Queen Esther: A Heart of Gold

2011-02-20T09:00:00.000-05:00

I first mentioned my work with Save A Child's Heart (SACH) just a few weeks after my initial meeting. Now nearly 4 months later, I wanted to share a video with you of one of our current children in Israel. Esther is a 9-year-old orphan from Tanzania who traveled to Israel for life-saving heart surgery. Fortunately, now Esther is back in the children's home and healing nicely. Her bright smile and gentle hugs warm my heart when I see her in the house.

I have found a home in SACH and strongly believe in the work of this organization. Whether it is Save A Child's Heart or any other deserving organization, I encourage you to find a charity with whose mission you connect and give a little time and treasure to make this world a bit better than we came into it. I promise you'll get double the blessings than you will give.

Esther's story: http://www.jerusalemonline.com/specials12.asp

Jaffa/יָפוֹ: A Photo Journey

2011-02-18T10:22:00.004-05:00

Jaffa or Yafo, an ancient port city just south of Tel-Aviv, is thought to be the oldest ports in the world. DH and I spent the day there, mostly eating and sightseeing, but of course I couldn't pass up the deals in Shuk Hapishpeshim either.

Hey, I wanted the unabridged version!

I couldn't agree more

Stumbled upon this little find on our excursion.

St. Peter's Monastery, built in 1654 over a 13th Century citadel.

Lunch!

Our view from the restaurant, not too shabby, eh?

Sheshbesh, an Middle Eastern favorite pastime.

Hookah, another favorite Middle Eastern pastime.

Shopping at Shuk Hapishpeshim, my favorite pastime.

We heared the Friday evening call to prayer as we left marking a beautiful end to our day in Yafo.

Neighborhood Watch: Middle East Edition

2011-01-27T18:15:00.001-05:00

With the recent fall of the Tunisian and Lebanese governments, stalled peace talks and the riots in the streets of Cairo, Yemen and Jordan, Israel’s neighbors’ are in a state of turmoil. Turmoil is a frequent guest in the Middle East. We’ve seen her here before.

I feel for my neighbors. Maybe it is an unpopular opinion, but I honestly do. I enjoy my freedom. I enjoy my security. I cannot imagine living any other way. Any mother still grieves for her child and any father still fears his family. And this is their everyday. Just a few hours from my doorstep, unrest and violence reign. It is hard to ignore, but easy to forget.

Because right now my day goes on. I wake up to the beautiful voice of my upstairs neighbor singing opera. I catch the 501 to work and am greeted by the smiling faces of children. I walk my dog in the quiet, hidden park near my house. I meet girlfriends for an early dinner and complain about our husbands. I sleep soundly, safely in my bed.

Without the assurances of stability for tomorrow, with the knowledge of 60 years past and with fresh memories of recent war lingering in every generation, Israelis have become used to this life. It is a fact. It is inevitable. As an stranger in her borders, I find an odd comfort in this that I never thought I could.

We have a stake in these conflicts. We are vigilant for any uptick in violence. We make plans. We consider the worst and hope for the best. But in the end, our days continue. They have to.

Neighbors, I am praying for you.

Just Deal With It

2011-01-17T10:57:00.002-05:00

Sometimes living in a foreign country, you have to learn how to just deal with it. DH and I often compare our “good” Israel days against our “bad” Israel days. The latter always of course more memorable than the former. The honeymoon period in our love affair with Israel has ended. Lovers’ quarrels and spiteful glares have replaced the endless hours of warm embrace and blind adoration that comes with any new relationship.

Yes, we all keep close tabs on the ongoing Palestinian-Israeli conflict. We’ve all heard rumors of the possibility of another conflict with Hezbollah since the fall of the Lebanese government. I’m telling you the real war is within these borders.

Israeli Health Care-3, Us-0

After nearly a week of high fever, sleepless nights and driving me to the brink of crazy and back, DH finally decided to go to the doctor again. The first attempt ended poorly with pat on the back and a prescription for useless antibiotics.

The second attempt ended more or less like the first. He spent two hours waiting in the clinic office, 60 shekels on cab rides, an hour constantly fighting with other Israelis trying to skip in line and 30 minutes arguing with the doctor. All this got him was another prescription for more over the counter pain relievers and generic cough drops (which he only later discovered because the prescription was in Hebrew). Bruised and battered by another bout with the Israeli health care system, he returned home still miserable, no closer to getting any better and with a prescription for nonprescription drugs. After he retold his tale of defeat, I turned to him and landed the fatal blow. “And you want me to give birth in this country?” I said.

The War on the Home Front

As my husband is entrenched in a lopsided war with the healthcare system, I am fighting my own skirmish with the Ministry of Interior. Me on one-side, an enemy of insurmountable power on the other…a mean old Israeli lady with a stamp, mountains of paperwork and a boss with zero common sense. I’ve almost resigned to the idea I may never get my temporary residency. I’m almost okay with the fact that I have to leave the country every three months. It’s a full time job to get a visa and let’s be honest…it doesn’t pay well anyway. So instead I plan my “foreign diplomacy” trips to the U.S., Italy and Jordan and push off the next conflict and the lady with the stamp as long as I can.

Infighting

Ahhh…the battle between Israelis has to be the country’s favorite form of entertainment. As long as I am not directly involved with the argument, I do find them quite amusing as well. But on occasions, we find ourselves inadvertently walking into a battlefield. Just a few of our recent daily melees include:

• The Israeli cats’ covert assault on Marilyn by continuously giving her fleas. Poor thing hasn’t had fleas in 7 and a half years and is being brought down by her worst enemy.

• The lady in front of us at the supermarket hurling insults at us when we asked the cashier where to buy dog shampoo. Eize kifla! Apparently she thought it quite absurd we want to give our dog a bath…with dog shampoo. Then she continues her assault by again insulting us when we tell her we don’t have a savings card she can use. No savings card and dog shampoo? “Get serious, it’s about time” she says.

• The cab driver who tells us he will only drive us halfway to our destination because he doesn’t feel like driving over the bridge…after we get in the cab.

• The bank that refuses to let us touch our own money since we changed branches (not banks, branches of the same bank).

• The cashier who won’t ring me up until I go get 2 more cans of whipped cream, because it is a 3 for 1 deal and she can’t in good conscious let me leave the store with only one. Three weeks later I have 2 expired cans of whipped cream in my fridge.

• The Hebrew teacher who refuses to give me any work to catch up over Christmas break because it is too much work for her.

It isn’t perfect. It isn’t always easy. But it is our life and sometimes you have to just deal. Although in the moment of present frustration, I cannot always see a lesson to be learned. But maybe it will make us better versions of ourselves, more patient with our children, more vigilant with our time, more appreciative of our blessings. At least that's my battle cry.

Who Says You Can't Go Home?

2010-12-31T17:58:00.002-05:00

The Bride was back in the homeland, if only for a short while. Just 10 days in the States and I learned that there is such a thing as "reverse culture shock". I missed the States, I missed my family, I missed my friends, I missed the familiar. It was good to be back.

Reverse Language Mishaps
For the past four months, I have spoken Hebrew on a daily basis. It was odd to switch to exclusively speaking English the moment I landed in the States and my brain had difficulty adjusting. The customs officer at JFK did a double take when I answered him in Hebrew and the elderly lady in the bathroom looked very confused when I said "slicha" (excuse me) after accidentally bumping into her. It took a good 48 hours of interacting in the world to not immediately think to speak in Hebrew. Strange...especially since it is not my first language.

Driving
I haven't been behind the wheel of a car since a week before we moved to Israel. Those who know me, know my penchant for "love bumps". Well, if I'm being honest, I think the only original piece of my BMW was the two side mirrors and the driver's side doors. Most everything else had to be replaced. So needless to say, I wasn't the best driver to begin with.
My parents were brave wnough to allow me to trek around in their shiny cars with my history, but alas I learned you never forget how to drive a car. I found myself giddy with that forgotten power that comes with having a car at your disposal. I was 16 again...windows down, music up, going anywhere fast.

Walmart/Target
A choir of angels greeted me as I entered these glorious establishments. Armed with a list a mile long of much needed goods, I mostly wandered around a bit overwhelmed by...everything. Nice to go to one place to buy my Crystal light, taco seasoning, socks, towels, cell phone charger and favorite body wash. We Americans don't always get it right, but these amazing stores are pure genius. I had to go a couple of times since DH called me every other day and reminded me of something else to bring home.

Rockstar
It was hard to leave family and friends because I have missed them so very much and realize it will be a long time before I see any of them again. But....I was kind of spoiled from day one upon my arrival. I was the rockstar, the Israeli rockstar in my own home. My darling parents bent over backwards to provide me with every comfort I wanted. And my friends were just happy spending time with me. Don't let me lie to you...I ate it up. Each little morsel and it was delicious.

Frequently heard quotes in the States: Let's have Mexican again tonight!! No I'll cook you breakfast, you stay right there laying on the couch in your comfy slippers and fuzzy robe all morning. Don't be ridiculous I'll refill your wine glass, you sit right there and relax. Need for me to pick you up and take you somewhere...anywhere? Hey, you are awesome.

Let me preface this by saying, I love my DH with every ounce of me and I missed him to the point that it is actually a little pathetic how much I missed him. That being said...

I open the door to my apartment after nearly 24 hours of traveling and reality hits me in the face...nope, not a rockstar. Not even close. Just a plain old, much needed, sorely missed wife, cooker, bathroom scrubber, grocery shopper, laundry folder, dog cuddler, dish washer, husband comforter, general family and household care-taker. I swear you could fill buckets with all the relief that was in their eyes.

My DH and puppy were happy to see me because they missed me of course, but I wonder how much of that happiness was due to the fact that they both know they won't have to sleep on dirty sheets and live off of pizza crusts anymore. Gotta love this family of mine.

After only four months of living abroad, I come home and suddenly realize home is all relative. I call the United States home...it is where my family and friends live, where my citizenship isn't in limbo, where I understand the conversations of strangers around me, where I can read the billboards without intently concentrating on the words, where grocery shopping, paying bills and getting around the city doesn't take up half my day. I call it home because it is my roots, it is easier to live, it is where my past and memories dwell. She is my first love, secure and familiar.

But really, home is there in Israel with my darling husband and puppy. Home is where my other friends and family live, where I'm a welcomed stranger, where my everyday has immense purpose and fulfillment, where I am learning that I will never again question my ability to learn and adjust. I call it home because it contains my present, it is an everyday adventure, it is where my new life dwells. She is my mistress, exciting and new.

It is odd to be torn between two places, two lives. Each of them fits somehow. I can imagine building a life in each place, but I can't imagine living apart from either place. Maybe I won't make Israel my permanent home, but right now she is home. And I missed her. It is good to be back.

Where Am I?

2010-12-01T18:44:00.000-05:00

Mike’s Place: Iron Bowl Weekend

I find myself sitting in a Tel Aviv expat bar steps away from the American Embassy and yards away from the Mediterranean. The sea’s slow methodical lapping against the shore contrasts the scene inside. The crowd is a mix of expats and Israelis. The bar is filling and her inhabitants are taking their fill of alcohol.

The annual Iron Bowl game on the big screen, my boys in Crimson versus our in-state rivals…that cow college across the state. The decibel level has steadily increased and I find myself leaning to debate DH about the Alabama secondary’s poor showing in the second half. The live band is playing a rather pitiable version of Sweet Home Alabama, but the familiar riff and lyrics soothe my soul. The waitress asks for my order in Jersey-accented English.

Budweisers and billiards. The lonely American Marine desperately trying to get the attention of the scantily-clad blonde woman in the corner. For a brief moment I forget….for a brief moment I’m in a bar in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. In reality, I’m spending my evening at Mike’s Place in Tel Aviv with a lone solider in the IDF who still vaguely resembles the 18-year-old kid I met in college and his perfectly sweet, flawlessly pretty girlfriend.

Just for a brief moment, I forgot where I was. I almost forgot the tragic history of Mike’s Place. The suicide bombing that ripped through the bar in 2003, cutting short three lives and injuring 50. Israel has a strange way of reminding you where you are. Of her history and tragedy.

Tel Aviv Central Bus Station: First Day of Chanukah

Dreary eyed from my lack of iced café (I’m seriously trying to limit these delicious devils to once a day), I stumble into the empty Tel Aviv bus station earlier than usual this morning. I nearly pass the twinkling lights, Christmas trees and smiling Santas without taking a second glance. Then it hits me…

I stop mid-step. Jolted by the irony. Half the fourth floor of the bus station is decked out in Christmas décor. Twenty to thirty bare plastic green Christmas trees in heights ranging from cutsie to extravagant stand in the corner waiting for a forever home. Nearby, red and white trimmed Santa costumes (and naughty Santa costumes?) are carefully hung. Hundreds of baskets of colorful rhinestone studded ornaments and ceramic Santas plaster tabletops stretched down the center of the floor. Signs in jolly letters proclaiming Merry Christmas to All! adorn the walls.

A confounded Bride stands in the middle of this paradox, wide-eyed and awed. Where AM I?

Theory one: Jolly Ol’ St. Nick had one too many eggnogs, took a wrong turn somewhere over Italy and thought it would be hilarious to decorate the Jewish State’s main bus terminal.

Theory two: I wandered into the Israeli version of Punked. I’m still waiting for Kabbalah’s favorite boy toy, Ashton Kutcher, to jump out.

Theory three: Even though we’re a small minority in this country…we Christians sure do love our Christmas!

I walk back towards to my platform and wait for my bus. The aroma of fresh sufganiyot (Chanukah filled-doughnut) wafts through the terminal. Once on the bus, the nahag (driver) greets me with a toothy grin and hearty Chag Sameach! (Happy Holiday!). Chanukah songs play loudly over the radio and a child next to me is drawing a picture of a menorah in blue crayon. Chanukah begins tonight and the whole country knows it. Israel has a strange way of reminding you where you are.

From The Bride’s family to yours…Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukah!

My Israel: A Photo Journal

2010-11-16T18:41:00.004-05:00

Whether you have graced her soil or not, Israel has the uncanny ability to become one's very own. She is a homeland to those who have never crossed her borders and a holy place to those who have never experienced her divinity.

In the 10 weeks we've been here, Israel has wrapped me around her finger. She has bore into my heart and something tells me she will never leave, even if I do. Her tawdry and her beauty. Her complicated contradictions. Her affability and her brashness. Her flaws. Her angst. Her tranquility. They have become my own.

This is not everyone's Israel. It is impossible to disregard the conflict when you are trying to describe this tiny nation. So I will not ignore it. To do so would not only be naive, but also disrespectful. No matter my political persuasion or personal opinions, I can only say this is not everyone's Israel. My Israel is not my husband's Israel. My Israel is not a soldier's Israel. My Israel is not a Holocaust survivior's Israel. My Israel is not a Haredi Jew's Israel. My Israel is not a Muslim's Israel.

This is my Israel:

My typical Israeli parking

My Mediterranean

My park in Tel Aviv

My sweet ride
Photo credit: vosizneias.com

My morning, mid-afternoon, evening, middle of the night headache
Photo credit: sviva.gov.il

My neighbor's pride

My neighbor's pain

My favorite fruit juice stand

My outdoor cafes

My walk to school

My city's resident feline population

My city's open door policy for furry friends

My heart

Home is Where the Heart is: Volunteering at Save A Child's Heart

2010-10-21T12:43:00.003-04:00

Two weeks ago, I began my volunteer work with Save A Child's Heart. SACH is an "Israeli-based international humanitarian project, whose mission is to improve the quality of pediatric cardiac care for children from developing countries and to create centers of competence in these countries."

Part of my time is spent in the office helping with PR and marketing efforts while the other half I spend time in the children's home, where children and their caregivers live before and after their surgeries. In just two weeks time I have fallen in love with not only the mission of SACH, but the children at the home as well.

I nearly didn't volunteer for SACH. Before my initial meeting and after researching the hour long and two bus commute, I was certain their offices were just too far to travel. After meeting the wonderfully dedicated and tireless staff and interacting with a few of the children that first day there was no doubt where I would volunteer my time.

These children and their parents travel from all over the globe to come to Israel for life-saving surgery. They spend weeks and months in a foreign country away from normalcy, away from everything they know and love. The parents spend sleepless nights and worrisome days tending to their ill children. The children smile everyday, laughing and playing even though they have recently endured open heart surgery. The staff and volunteers go above and beyond, putting the needs of the children and the organization above their own. I can certainly give a few hours of my day.

Just today, I went to the children’s home and was happy to see two of my most favorite boys. Abduraim, 13-years-old and Sintayehu, 12-years-old , both from Ethiopia. These darling and wild-eyed boys are the always the first to welcome me back to the house. Of course Sintayehu stole my camera again as soon as I came in. But Abduraim sat quietly on the couch. Another volunteer told me he hadn't been feeling well all day. But he still managed to greet me with his bright smile and a high five.

I have been involved with many nonprofits over the past few years. I have been proud to be a part of them all. Each one holds a special meaning, each one doing amazing work in their own right. But Save A Child’s Heart has stirred something inside me. Everything about SACH inspires me. The children, the staff, the volunteers, the doctors, the donors, the mission. I have found a home in SACH.

In a region where hate and conflict are omnipresent, SACH is unaffected by the relentless discord. The organization’s Israeli doctors hold clinics and perform surgeries alongside Palestinian doctors to save the lives of children from Gaza and the West Bank. They provide full outreach training programs and surgical and teaching missions for medical personnel from all over the world.

SACH crosses the racial and religious dividing line. And all for the sake of children. Save A Child’s Heart heals hearts in more way than one. To learn how you can help Save A Child's Heart, visit http://www.saveachildsheart.org/.

The Bride's Top Ten: Lessons from an American in Israel

2010-10-19T13:48:00.002-04:00

Lesson 1: Everything is negogiable and haggling with style is an art form.

Cabbie: Where to?

Me: Dizengoff Center. Please put the meter on.

Cabbie: Why? I take you there for 40 shekel. 40 shekel a good price.

Me: Ma?! Mapetom! ( What? That’s ridiculous!) No way.

Cabbie: Okay, okay because you are blonde…only 30 shekel.

Me: And because I’m not a freier (sucker), I’ll pay 25.

Cabbie: Oooh..you tough blonde. Okay 25 for the tough blondini.

Lesson 2: Learn this phrase: Ani oleh chadash/a (I’m a new immigrant). It can get you out of a jam.

Mean old check-out lady: No, I don't take credit card.

Me: Please?

Mean old check-out lady: No.

Me: Come on, this is all I have.

Mean old check-out lady: No.

Me: Ummm…Ani oleh chadasha.

Mean old check-out lady (in her sweetest voice): Ahhh…mazel tov (congratulations!)! Okay, here is what you do…..

Lesson 3: Even if you’ve never experience motion sickness in your entire life and literally doctors have given you a transplanted stomach of steel, you’ll get car sick in Israel.

And bus sick. And taxi sick. And mini-bus sick. And you think it wouldn’t be possible, but you will get train sick too. Israelis suck at driving. FYI: They suck at parking too.

Lesson 4: Hairy 45-year-old Israeli men will always refer to me as motek (sweetie) and ask if I’m married. Always.

Chewbacca’s middle aged Israeli cousin: Allo motek. How is yoo?

Me: Good.

Chewbacca’s middle aged Israeli cousin: Ummm… iz yoo married?

Me: Uh, yes, very much so.

Chewbacca’s middle aged Israeli cousin: Oh no! Why iz yoo married? I wants for yoo to marry me.

Me: Um…no thanks.

One hairy Israeli husband is enough for me. I’ll pass on the offer, but you save yourself for some other “lucky” lady, Mr. Chewbacca sir.

Lesson 5: If you pride yourself on your perfect punctuality…get over it.

I’m never early, rarely on time and constantly late in Israel. And it’s okay. Most people are seemingly in this strange Twilight Zone-esque time zone…I call it Israeli Standard Time (IST for short). It’s about 30 to 40 minutes behind the rest of the world. Especially if said persons rely on public transportation.

Me: Slicha (sorry). I’m late. I really really apologize. The bus. Then the traffic. You know.

Friend: Ein baya! (No problem!) I just got here.**

**Note: This conversation can occur in reverse order as well. This order only takes place if the other person has actually arrived before you. If other person has failed at arriving on time as well, replace yourself with other person. Even if you think you are late, you probably aren’t as late as the person you think is waiting on you.

Lesson 6: Tel Aviv traffic is a nonsensical balagan (mess).

Me: I just can’t make sense of Tel Aviv traffic. When is rush hour?

Hebrew Teacher: Well, it begins about 7 am and ends around 6:30 am the next morning.

Yep, that seems about right.

Lesson 7: You may need to readjust the decibel level in which you speak. Just because Israelis are yelling doesn’t mean they’re mad or it may in fact mean that they are mad. You can’t tell the difference. They yell. That’s what they do.

Guy yelling at me: LOUD HEBREW WORDS!! LOUD HEBREW WORDS!! LOUD HEBREW WORDS!!

Me: I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE SAYING!! Ani lo medeberet ivrite (I don’t speak Hebrew!)

Guy yelling at me: LOUD HEBREW WORDS!! LOUD HEBREW WORDS!! LOUD HEBREW WORDS!!

Lesson 7B: When all else fails, yell.

Lesson 8: If you plan on driving in Israel, you must quickly learn the rules of the road. And by rules of the road, I don’t mean the standard issued learner's manual rules.

I mean…do you know what a long honk, three short honks and 2 medium length honks mean repeated in short order? Do you know who has the right of way when 2 cars and a bus are trying to get into the same lane? Do you know how to properly swerve your car in front of another car then slow down quickly enough to hold a conversation with your buddy, Moshe, who is in the car next to you? Do you know how to speed around a roundabout so that even you get a little scared of your driving? Do you know how to perfectly time to open your car door if a toos-toos (moped) speeds up to pass you after he’s been honking at you and on your rear for the past half-hour?

See? You need to know the real rules of the road. Aren't you glad I informed you? You could be driving around oblivious to the honking morse-code.

Lesson 9: Marilyn will forever think Israeli cats are special made spawn of the devil.

Marilyn: You better watch out cat, I’m gonna eat you.

Israeli cat: Hmmm…I no thinks you eat me. I thinks I stay right here.

Marilyn: No, I will really eat you dumb cat. Here I come.

Israeli cat: Yawwwn. No, you no eat me. I Israeli. This is my patch of sidewalk. You go away now.

Lesson 10: You will miss strange things from home. Others you could care less if you ever see again.

Besides a big hug from my friends and family, I would trade my right kidney for some good Mexican food, Wendy’s chicken nuggets and a Target ASAP. I really miss watching Bama football with fans (and at a reasonable time).

I really don’t miss my favorite American TV shows even though I could watch them anytime I want. I’ve gotten so used to not having commercials that I get really annoyed when I watch American TV on our slingbox. Having a car would be more convenient, but I don’t miss driving. I don’t miss the ridiculous stressed vacationless fast paced American life. Things here are definitely just as busy, but not so under pressure. Maybe that’s just me though!

One Month in Israel

2010-10-01T11:50:00.000-04:00

Today marks one month since we've moved to Israel....

And I still love this beautiful country.

All Roads Lead to Jerusalem

2010-09-26T18:27:00.003-04:00

Since I’ve never been to Israel before the moment we landed nearly a month ago, each trip we take is brand new, exciting and emotional. Even my first trip to IKEA was pretty exhilarating. I mean, it was my first trip to IKEA and my first trip to Netanya. Okay okay, maybe comparing IKEA and Jerusalem is a bit exaggerated…alright maybe even a bit sacrilege, but you get the point.

I’ve been looking forward to going to Jerusalem since…well, since I was a little girl in Sunday school actually. It has only existed in my Bible and in the news. This city, one I’ve never stepped foot in, means so much to me in ways I could never explain. An odd feeling, but I’m certain I'm not isolated in that sentiment. Only a city so rich in history, so sacred to many, so rife with conflict could engender such emotion.

DH, his brothers and I got on the road early towards Jerusalem. Not that I minded getting up early though, because I couldn’t sleep anyway. We made a stop at Latrun, a memorial to the Israeli Armed Corps. That’s what I get for sightseeing with three boys. After the boys got their fill of playing with tanks...that’s right ladies, they never grow out of it…we finally get back on the road to Jerusalem.

Boys and their toys.

Jerusalem is nestled in the Judean Hills and the flat coastal land gently climbs higher as we make our way east near the Holy City. We park in the uber luxurious Mamilla Mall. Even the Mamilla Mall, with its Rolex store and 5-star hotel, hides tiny reminders of its place in history. Mamilla was a Jewish/Arab business district that was nearly destroyed and was literally a no-man’s land after the 1948 War of Independence. Blue numbers are etched into the bricks of some buildings. These numbers were carefully marked during reconstruction so that each brick could go back to its rightful place.

The Walls of the Old City from Mamilla.

We entered the walls of the Old City through the Jaffa Gate and walked through the Armenian Quarter and Jewish Quarter towards The Kotel, or the Western Wall. I separated from DH and his brothers and slowly made my way towards the last remnant of the Second Temple. I was almost too overwhelmed to pray. Thoughts fumbled, words failed. But I’m sure He knows my heart anyway.

Western Wall and the Dome of the Rock

We then toured through the Temple Mount and the excavations of the sites surrounding it. I stood in the presence of where Jesus overturned tables of the moneychangers, overlooked where Abraham bound Isaac and saw the Mount of Olives, where Jesus ascended to Heaven.

My first trip of many to Jerusalem was truly an emotional journey. I was exhausted and eager to get back home to Tel Aviv. DH and I decided to head home early and made our way to the central bus station. As we settled into our seats for the 45 minute trip back to Tel Aviv, we noticed the air conditioning wasn’t on. Surely the bus driver wasn’t going to make us ride in this heat. Yep, he had the full intention of letting us ride in this heat.

It didn’t take long for the sweltering 95 degree heat to unnerve the natives. After each and every passenger yelled at the bus driver to turn on the air conditioner, he finally caved and grudgingly blasted the icy air on us. Calm once again settled over the bus. As we drove up the steep hills of Jerusalem, I noted how slowly we were going and that half the population of Israel were passing us in their cars. I wasn’t the only one. The natives once again yelled at the bus driver to driver faster. He ignored their requests until again each and every one of the 40 passengers yelled at him to go faster.

“I can’t go faster,” he said. “The bus is tired.”

The yelling continued.

40 angry Israelis, 2 exhausted Americans and 1 tired bus pulled into the Tel Aviv station exactly 2 hours later. Apparently all roads do lead to Jerusalem, but the ride back is a little bumpy.

Our First Yom Kippur in Israel

2010-09-18T19:30:00.002-04:00

Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is one of Judaism’s holiest days. During the 25 hours of Yom Kippur, one is not permitted to work, refrains from any form of entertainment and must abstain from eating and drinking throughout the entire day.

My husband has opened the doors to his faith to me and shared with me the traditions and personal connections he has to Judaism. As I have shared my connections to my faith with him. We are in this strange dance of faiths that is impossibly in perfect step with another. Although Judaism is not my religion and doesn’t feed my own spiritual needs, I find beauty in her traditions and comfort in her presence.

As a non-Jew, living in a Jewish household, I have observed Yom Kippur with my husband during the past few years. I attend services, fast and refrain from work out of respect for my Jewish husband and our Jewish household. Well, if we are being completely honest here, half out of respect and half out of avoiding the peril of eating a juicy double hamburger with a side of fries and a large milkshake in front of a famished man who feels guilty about all his past regressions. I mean, come on, I don’t enjoy torturing my loved ones. Unless it is the dog and I’m putting her in ridiculous outfits and then it’s just downright funny.

I do not, however, enjoy the experience of Yom Kippur. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to. I mean repenting, in general, isn’t the most fun task one can partake in. And fasting? Oh the fasting. As a rule, fasting must be taxing or else you certainly aren’t doing it right. So fasting and repenting, repenting and fasting all the live long day.

Oh and lest I forget the services at temple. Where I wish I could turn off the giant neon Non-Jew sign that appears over my head the instant I walk through the synagogue doors. Its incessant blinking only annoys the other congregants. I am like a child playing Simon Says except Simon is giving directions in ancient Hebraic prayers. I watch my husband for the cues when to stand, when to sit, when to do the hokey pokey and turn myself around.

As an American, it is ingrained in my psyche to always do. Do something at all times. Multitask. Be relevant. Move your ass. Entertainment and work are America’s biggest exports. No wonder we cannot relax.

Yom Kippur defies every instinct to constantly be on the move. I don’t know how to not do. I don’t know how to take pleasure in the nothing. It has always been difficult for me to not focus on when Yom Kippur is ending and rather take this each minute of the day for what it ought to be. Reflecting on my life. The year ahead, the year past, my blessings, my faults. God’s infinite love.

This has been my experience with Yom Kippur.

Our first Yom Kippur in Israel, I expected no different. But here, in a country where Yom Kippur is everyone’s holy day, where every store is closed, every television station is off, every street empty of cars, the guilt of not doing faded away. Almost intrinsically, I forgot about my grumbling tummy and what I could be doing and instead focused on enjoying the silence. I took pleasure in time to myself and to reflect on God’s presence in my everyday.

Late on the eve of Yom Kippur, DH and I decided to take a stroll around the neighborhood. We expected a quiet walk on an empty street, instead we were met with peals of laughter from neighborhood children and the screeching of their bicycle tires.

As we turned the corner to the main street, we witnessed hundreds of kids playing in the middle of the street, old couples walking hand in hand, young parents with their new shiny babies in their new shiny strollers. It was an experience to behold. The entire neighborhood, the entire country it seemed had come out to take time to enjoy the life and family God has blessed them with. Not an experience one would witness in the States.

Halfway through our walk, DH asked me if I was happy. “Happy?, Yes, I am very happy,” I told him. But I do hope this happiness turns to contentment. I feel happiness is fleeting. One cannot be happy all the time. Maybe a good percent of the time, but not all the time. Other feelings, sadness, anger, loneliness can come in and steal your happiness away. Take its place, set up residence and live there for as long as it likes. You can sink into contentment, make a home, make a life. Other emotions may stop in for a visit, but you live there in contentment.

Our first Yom Kippur in Israel was as it should be. It reminded me that I am happy and grateful for this experience and God’s blessings.

Hebrew: The Bane of My Existence

2010-09-15T20:09:00.001-04:00

If I were to take a leisurely stroll along the exquisite Mediterranean and happen upon a magic lamp, my first wish would not be two large shipping vessels full of size 6 Manolo Blahniks nor would it be for Paris Hilton to have never been born (although they would be my second and third wishes respectively). No, my dears, my very first wish would be to immediately speak, read and write perfect Hebrew.

“You’ll pick it up so quickly,” they say. “In six months, you’ll be able to converse with ease,” they say. I know! I know! Be patient. Rome was not built in a day and I certainly cannot learn a entire language, as good as Rosetta Stone may be, in one day. So in light of this fact, you will have to continue to be entertained by my language mishaps.

Mishap 1: Learning the hard way...

I bravely head to Shufersal , our neighborhood supermarket, by myself to pick up some bottles of water. Easy task, no? DH and I have been in Israel for 2 weeks and cannot find anything to drink in this desert of a country. We don’t drink a lot of colas and have subsisted on the only drinks we find familiar, Sprite and Coke. We’ve tried the Israeli juices…way too sweet for our taste. Crystal Light, our drink of choice, doesn’t exist. And water from the tap tastes like you stuck a metal rod in your mouth. Bottled water is our saving grace.

The trek to the store is a brief 2 or 3 block walk, but in the heat it feels more like 2 miles uphill both ways backwards on your knees. I walk into the store, see an aisle of bottled water, look for the largest bottles I could manage to lug back and look for the word ma’im written in Hebrew. Yep, there it is...a whole shelf of ma'im…water! I pull out my shekels and pay for my ma’im and walk out the door head held high. Success!! I have confronted the scary grocery store by myself and was handsomely rewarded with two deliciously cold bottles of water.

After the 2 mile hike uphill both ways backwards and on my knees I finally reach home. I deserve a tall icy glass of water. I break out our brand new glasses, throw in some ice…clink clink…and pour. The satisfying swig of water in my mouth is suddenly disrupted by a strange taste swirling around my tastebuds. Wait…what is that? My mouth curls in disgust. I spit out the water and take another gulp. Ugh! What is that? It tastes like cough syrup flavored watered…like grape cough syrup flavored water. Yep, folks, apparently I didn’t know the word for grape in Hebrew. Now I do.

Also available in lemon, apricot, grapfruit and Robatussin Cough flavors.

Mishap 2: Marilyn and the Menace

For those of you who don’t know or haven’t picked up already…Marilyn, our precious pup, has quite a few quirks. One of these quirks is that she is a rule follower. I’m telling you…this dog is the tattle tale in grade school, the annoying HR manager who refuses to bend the rules, the police officer who pulls you over going 57 in a 55. She hates hates hates dogs without their leashes on. She stands on the balcony and barks at dogs without their leashes. She picks up her leash and walks herself if we let it drag behind her. And although I completely agree with her on this one, Israelis do not. Israeli dog owners are infamously non-leashers.

This morning, I had a relaxing walk with Marilyn around the neighborhood. I am getting comfortable in my bubble, straying a bit further each day, exploring my tiny piece of the Holy Land. We are entering our building and walking up the second flight of stairs when I hear a dog barking wildly above me. Usually, I am not nervous around dogs at all. But this bark was menacing

I wrap Marilyn’s leash a bit tighter around my hand and take another step. Again the barking, but louder and getting closer. All of a sudden I see a huge dog barreling down the staircase towards us, without a leash and barking. Marilyn goes wild. A frenzy of snarling ensues. I see a tornado of teeth and fur in my future. I’m yelling Stop! Stay! No! Go Away! to this strange dog, while holding Marilyn back and balancing myself on the narrow stairs. I realize this dog doesn’t know commands in English and I don’t know any commands in Hebrew!!

The owner of this devil dog strolls down the stairs slowly and rapid fires Hebrew to me. I yell at him back in English to control his dog. He says something again in Hebrew and motions me to go back down the stairs. He finally grabs his dog by the neck and moves him past us. DH shows up at the door 3 seconds later, half-asleep and freaking out. Great timing. I now know the word for sit, stop and stay in Hebrew. And a few more curse words.

Marilyn's best impression of the Devil Dog.

Rosh Hashanah in the Holy Land! Happy New Year!

2010-09-13T11:23:00.001-04:00

Rosh Hashana is finally over! Thank God! I can’t eat any more. Seriously I think I may have stored enough food to last me through the sweltering Israeli summer. Have I mentioned it is freaking hot here? It is. The kind of hot that makes you want to jump off a high rise just so you can feel the breeze on the way down. We’re currently in the dry and hot season..up next rainy and hot season…oh joy.

The holiday season in Israel is in full swing. Our holiday season begins on the eve of Rosh Hashanah Sept. 8-10, through Yom Kippur Sept. 17-18 and ends with Sukkot Sept. 22-29. There are a couple of other holidays thrown in between too, but I have no idea what there are. I even forgot about Labor Day back in the States (does that make me a real Israeli yet?).

We spent Rosh Hashana with DH’s family. All of them. Have I mentioned DH has a huge family? He does. They are very warm and inviting and funny…even in Hebrew. I have spent many a Rosh Hashanah in the States, but had no idea there was more to this Jewish New Year other than eating apples and honey. Apparently there are tons of symbolic foods to stuff yourself silly. Since the entire seder was in Hebrew I didn’t catch all the symbolism, but here’s just a few of the traditions:

Wine (blessing for the fruit of the vine)
Figs
Green beans
Squash
Pomegranate (for as many blessings as the seeds of the pomegranate)
Apples and honey (for a sweet new year)
Challah
Fish head (yes, you read that right-so that we’re always the head and not the tail)
Spinach
Leeks

Who knew? Not this shiksa.

Then there’s dinner. And breakfast. And lunch. And dinner again. And another lunch. These aren’t small meals either (think all out holiday feasts for each meal for two and a half days). It was a gastrointestinal adventure and I thoroughly enjoyed it all. Now if I could only find a gym.

We’ve also taken quite a few trips around this tiny nation and spent some time bonding with DH’s cousins. We took a day trip to Caesarea, an ancient Roman port city, and lunched with a fellow expat amongst the Roman ruins.

DH and I are definitely heading back there to go snorkeling for 45 shekels (about $12!).

We also went to Dimona in the Negev desert to see my brother-in-law graduate from commander’s course. And boy was it a desert…complete with camels and nomadic Arabs on horseback.

That wasn't a speed hump you just drove over.

We had a late night in the company of a few pints at a pub named The Hobbit in Zikhron Ya’acov. Apparently they only had 5 songs in English and kept playing them over and over again. We even took a quick dip in the warm waters of the Mediterranean Sea at Herzliya beach. I saw more naked children and half-naked adults than I ever wanted to see in 2 hours.

And of course, last but not least, we finally moved into our own apartment this week. Life is beginning to take form. We live right in between DH’s school and my ulpan and a short walk to the supermarket, the dog park and the best mall in Israel (uh oh). Life is really different, but exciting. We’ve become a walking family, we’ve learned which stores have the best prices, learned how to haggle prices at the shuk, learned how to pay our bills, learned the train system.

We still have a long way to go. Our apartment is just a shadow of what we want it to be, we have to figure out how to transition to life without a car, we still have tons of trips to the government offices in the next month, ulpan and school begins in a few weeks and we’re still settling in our new world. I am even getting a little more comfortable doing a few things on my own. I’m trying to give myself time, but when life is coming at you full speed and in a different language it is hard to get on fast enough.

Oh and the dog is back to normal (i.e. charging at cats and other small animals, getting into the trash and thinking everyone in the world is in love with her). She can’t handle the heat very well yet and takes a long nap after just a 30 minute walk. She even has a new vet near our apartment building.

Making Israel Home

2010-09-07T05:27:00.000-04:00

So our first full day in the Holy Land didn’t go quite as expected, but in the days following we have gotten much more accomplished. We have DH’s teudat oleh and teudat zeut, we opened a bank account and we have an apartment sof sof (finally)! Israel is feeling a little more like home every day.

I won’t sugarcoat it though, it’s been hard. I miss my family and friends like crazy. It’s hard not knowing what is going on around you a good 75% of the time and everything in Israel is just a bit harder than it was in the United States. In the States, I lived so very well with many comforts I didn’t even realize I had. The lack of water here makes one think about leaving that faucet on while you brush your teeth or take that extra minute for the shower to heat up.

Dud Shmesh...funny name for an important piece of the Israeli home. Solar powered water heater on every roof in Israel.

Your safety is always somewhere lurking in the back of your mind. Security is tight, but relatively quick and easy. Most everywhere you go during a normal day—the mall, the grocery store, the train station—means you’ll go through a metal detector and get your bags checked (Israelis, fortunately and unfortunately, have become experts at keeping maximum security with minimum disturbance to one’s life) . And it will be a while before I don’t do a double take at seeing a soldier’s assault rifle slung around his body while I stand behind him in line at McDonald’s.

The language barrier is the most daunting. But small victories like asking where is the bathroom and actually understanding the response or buying an iced coffee by myself does wonders for my confidence. I’m not a math whiz or computer genius, but luckily language is my forte. Everyone told me before I arrived in Israel that it would become natural to pick up the language once immersed in it. I couldn’t imagine what they meant until I actually got here. I am compelled to speak Hebrew and am amazed by how quickly it comes to me.

Both DH and I have had some hilarious language missteps in the past week though. A security guard was very confused why my husband was asking him the location of the world (olam) instead of meeting hall (ulam). His sarcastic Israeli response? Yoo are here. Zis is ze world. Welcome.

DH’s family had a good laugh when he said he said he went fishing all the time in my dad’s pot (sir) instead of his boat (sira).

The couple walking by us on the street in Tel Aviv probably wondered why I told DH I wanted to live near the monkey (kof) instead of the beach (chof).

Apartment hunting in Israel was a…umm…new event to undertake. To get the overall experience of the apartment search in Tel Aviv, please follow these directions:

Open the front door to your standard 2 bedroom American apartment. Walk inside. Look around for the bedroom door. Open the bedroom door and walk inside. Look for the closet door and walk inside. Shut the closet door. Throw your clothes around the closet. You are now in your Israeli apartment. Rent is due: take out your wallet and set it on fire. Oven, refrigerator and closet space not included.

Israeli apartment building: Shown in actual size.

We looked at 6 apartments in different areas of the city before deciding on our lovely 2 bedroom near Tel Aviv University. During our search, we made several phone calls throughout the day to see a particular apartment we were very interested in. The owner, Shiri, posted the apartment on Craigslist and asked that interested parties call Moses, the current renter to schedule an appointment. Moses was working all day, so we hung around the local mall waiting for a few hours. Finally he said we could come see it at 8:30 that night.

Moses invited us in and sheepishly told us he wasn’t planning on moving out. He was totally shocked and confused why we wanted to look at his apartment. His lease was ending in a couple of days and although he told Shiri he planned to stay another year, she hadn’t made time to meet him to renew the contract. Instead of driving all the way to see him, Shiri posted the apartment he is still living in on Craigslist to be rented without his knowledge.

We apologized profusely and felt terrible to imposing on him. Instead of shooing us out the door so he could get back to dinner and his own life, Moses showed two complete strangers around his apartment to compare to others we’ve seen, gave us advice on how to negotiate the rent and how much we should pay in property taxes, provided a guided tour of the area and gave us a ride to the train. Only in Israel.

Our living room of our new apartment. Beautiful, huh?

There are things that I have encountered in Israel that drive me three types of crazy and other events that warm my heart and let me know I really have made the right decision. I have learned from bright olim (immigrants to Israel) who have come before me to take it one day at a time, give myself a little leeway and make the best of the journey that lies ahead. I think I’ll take that sage advice.

The Incomplete Complete Day: First Day in Israel

2010-09-04T10:07:00.000-04:00

Lesson one: jetlag is a good form of torture. I am almost certain you could get me to spill state secrets for just one night of normal sleep. But since I am not privy to state secrets, you’ll have to settle for my old email password which doesn’t work anymore since I forgot it once and had to replace it with a simpler password. If you know any easier way to get over jetlag, you can be the proud owner of an invalid password.

After falling asleep at 6 this morning and waking up at the ass crack of noon, DH and I remembered we actually are in Israel. It was like a little extra gift left over from Christmas morning. Re-energized, we quickly made a list of the most important things to get accomplished on our first day in Israel.

Open a bank account. Money doesn’t grow on trees here in Israel, only citrus and sarcasm.
Get our Israeli cell phones. Or pelephones—fun Hebrish word of the day.
Go look at a few apartments, so I can feel like less of a homeless drifter.
Buy dog food.

This list is painless enough to accomplish in one day. We decide to make our first day as uncomplicated as possible as not to overwhelm ourselves. Lesson two: uncomplicated doesn't translate well in Hebrew.

First we call Bank HaPoalim. They aren’t open. What?! It’s 1pm on a Thursday. Why isn’t the bank open at 1pm? Lesson two: Israelis have the equivalent of a siesta time from 1pm until 3pm. Man, I’m loving Israel already. So, we wait around the house until 3 and head to the bank.

We’re told to put DH’s teudat zeut number (Israeli social security number) into this an ATM type machine and in return it gives us a number. When our number pops up on the screen, someone at a window will help us. DH and I patiently wait for 2 to flash across the screen and when it does, we excitedly jump from our seats. We then realize the screen doesn’t say which of the 20 windows to go to and every window is already full. We ask a woman behind the counter and she sends us to Mr. Cohen, the director of the bank. We wait for Mr. Cohen for 15 minutes and Mr. Cohen tells us to go to Hanna in the 3rd window. Hanna asks us to sit at her desk while she finishes up the last bit of paperwork from her previous customer. When Hanna comes back after another 15 minutes, she kicks us out of her office and tells us to go see Ayala.

Ayala takes our passports, marriage certificate and DH’s aliyah documents to make copies. She tells us it will only take about half an hour to finish the paperwork and get our bank account open. Half an hour later, Ayala comes back with the copies and asks for DH’s teudat zeut. DH writes down his number and hands it to her. No, no, no!! Ayala needs his actual teudat zeut card. Which we, of course, don’t have. Ayala informs us she cannot help us without a teudat zeut card. DH, of course, doesn't want to be a typical American frier (pushover) and tries to talk his way out of it. No luck this time.

We have to go to Ministry of Immigration to get his teudat oleh then go to the Ministry of Interior to get his teudat zeut in Tel Aviv. And the Ministry is closed on Friday and Saturday. We can’t get cell phones without money, we can’t rent an apartment without a bank account. Our first day is over exactly where we started. Oh, we did manage to buy dog food thanks to my amazing fellow expat friend, Blondini, who emailed me the address of the closest pet store in Hadera. Thank you Blondini! So we did get one thing accomplished!

The first and maybe most important phrase I learned today is yi’yeh beseder. If you were a fan of Disney’s The Lion King, it is sort of the Israeli version of hakuna matata and it is a salve for any affliction. This is not the first or last time we will run into roadblocks. This is not the last of the frustrating bureaucracy.

We head to DH’s Aunt and Uncle S's house for café and oogah (coffee and cake). It is quite something to watch DH relive his childhood. He says everything in Israel smells the exact same as he remembered, a mixture of onions and spices and lemons. But everything is much smaller than he remembered. Probably because he is much bigger than he was 15 years ago. The cliff in the front yard is really only a few steps high. The giant stone wall in the kitchen is only a few feet across.

After Shimon’s house, we then head to his Safta’s (grandmother’s) house. Her house is perfectly cared for and white. Everything is white. The walls, the furniture, the floors. The backyard is filled with exceptionally tended to plants and trees of every kind. My mother in law cuts off a piece of aloe vera from the yard to put on the massive mosquito bite on my arm (apparently Israeli mosquitoes only have a taste for blonde American blood because no one else was bitten).

Safta kisses me on both cheeks (the customary greeting in Israel) and is embarrassed she doesn’t have any gifts for us. She is upset with my mother in law for surprising her. She would have had a feast prepared if she knew we were coming. In any case, she brings out 3 heaping plates of nuts and fruit with 3 different types of juice to choose from. Everything tastes a bit different here. The fruit and nuts are more flavorful. The juice is sweeter. Eighty seven years have carved Safta’s face. I marvel over this small woman and am a little intimidated by the matriarch of this huge Israeli family I have been thrust into. She welcomes me with open arms and says “No English, motek (sweetie).” I can’t figure out if she doesn’t want me to speak English or she is apologizing for her inability to speak English. Either way, she’s accepted me and that is one less hurdle to cross.

I’m introduced to another aunt and uncle and one of 30 more cousins I have to meet. I hope there isn’t a family tree quiz after this. Most of the family doesn’t speak English well enough to feel comfortable talking with me, but I am amazed by how much Hebrew I picked up already and DH and my mother in law are wonderful translators.

We didn’t achieve much on the official to-do list, but I got so much more out of spending hours with DH’s family.

I can’t explain the culture shock, the moments of absolute fear and joy I feel during small moments like these. The weird and wonderful feeling when I once again remember that this is now home. It will take time to get used to, but in the end...yi’yeh beseder.

Beginning the Adventure: NYC to Tel Aviv

2010-09-02T18:42:00.002-04:00

Since our flight from JFK Airport to Tel Aviv didn’t leave until 7pm, we spent the next morning eating pancakes in bed, snuggling with the puppy and watching American tv. This day also happened to be our second wedding anniversary. I can’t wait to see how DH tops this anniversary gift.

On our way to the airport, the butterflies started up again. I am a worrier by nature so I did what worriers do best. I worried about the dog in the airport, I worried about dragging our luggage around the airport, I worried about missing our flight, I worried about the dog on the plane, I worried about us on the plane. DH parked me, our mountain of luggage and the dog near the El Al counter and did what he does best…get things done. While he ran around like a madman telling every El Al captain, co-captain, flight attendant, ticket agent and even a few random people he passed that the dog was going to be on the flight, Marilyn did what she does best…be the belle of the ball.

As the only dog in the airport, she caused quite the to-do and as I mentioned before, this was no ordinary Marilyn, but her alter ego, Super Marilyn, the most obedient dog on the planet. She sat patiently at my feet letting everyone pet her or ignore her as they saw fit. She never once barked or jumped or pulled on her leash. She simply sat quietly the entire time and never once bothered another soul. One lady, who passed by our docking station several times in the course of a few hours, exclaimed, “That is the most well-behaved dog I have ever seen!”. What? Where? I searched the airport for the amazing dog she was talking about. No other dog was to be found. Wow, someone actually used Marilyn and well behaved in the same sentence. The devil is surely freezing his ass off in his humble abode at this very moment.

Missing Dog: A hyperactive husky too big for her britches.

Because of the dog, we were able to skip all 400 passengers in line to check our bags (let me tell you that made us a lot of friends on the plane and was a really fun walk from all the way from the back of the line). We then tried to get someone, anyone to tell us where we should drop off the dog. No one had a clue what we were talking about. No one could tell us where to go or who to see. Everyone had different suggestions. My uneasiness grew from a flicker of worry to a blaze of anxiety.

After nearly 2 hours of yelling, we finally found out where to drop her off leaving us only 30 minutes to go through security and catch our flight at the last gate on the furthest terminal. We again were ushered ahead of the 400 other people waiting in the security line. We again made tons of friends on the way.

We rush through security, sprint to the gate and are nearly the last to board the plane.

Finally we are seated in the very middle two seats in the very middle of the plane--perfect. DH once again reminds the flight attendant that a dog is on the plane. He knew exactly who we were and called us by first and last name. I guess we made enough of an uproar for the airline. That was precisely the plan.

The 10 hour plane flight is nothing short of miserable. Like any 10 hour flight, sleep was intermittent, food was unrecognizable and every screaming baby ever born seemed to be sitting right behind my ear. And only the Messiah himself (during either the first or second coming—whichever you prefer) could get me to watch “Remember the Titans” again. I used to love that movie, but when it is the only thing playing in English for the fourth time…you decide it is the worst movie ever made. But the second before landing in Israel is worth every bite of airline chicken (at least I think it was chicken), every flight attendant waking you up with a cheery “Ma’im?” (Water? No thank you. Lukewarm water is not worth being woken up for) and every crick in my neck and knees.

The next two hours were spent picking up lugguage, anxiously waiting on Marilyn and packing up our 12 passenger van my mother-in-law rented to pick us up from the airport. During the 40 minute drive to my mother-in-law’s house, I was off in my own world. DH, his mother and Herzl, our driver, were babbling in Hebrew while I stared out the window in awe. We are actually here. After a four hour nap and four course meal, DH and I spent the next 6 hours unsuccessfully trying to go to sleep.

Checking where to pick up the dog at Ben Gurion Aiport. We're here!

Tomorrow is our first full day in Israel.

Beginning the Adventure: Atlanta to NYC

2010-09-02T08:24:00.001-04:00

Yes, we all know time flies when you’re having fun…but who knew it would travel at break neck speeds when you are moving abroad. Eight months ago I posted my first blog. Eight months ago, the idea of moving to Israel was just that…an idea.

And so it began. As we leave Atlanta on Monday morning, we pass through the city one last time to say our goodbyes. Our bags are packed and puppy is stowed safely in our rented mini-van or “the green monster” as DH has so lovingly named it. Don’t let him fool you though, he was in love at first drive. My darling self-professed badass, cooed over the smooth drive and great handling. I got the impression he was this close to turning that van around on I-85, quitting his job, adopting a small brood of youngin’s and declaring he wanted to be a stay-at-home dad simply for the perk of this great wonder he's discovered.

Our entire world fits into 5 suitcases, 2 carry-on's and a dog crate.

We drop off Marilyn at Continental PetSafe Cargo , but not without a few tears shed. Poor pup clearly has no idea what is coming and I feel like a terrible puppy mom. The flight to New York is a typical flight to New York, including but not limited to a take-off, the normal amount of time spent in the air, and a landing. We realize we are actually moving to Israel about halfway through the 2 hour flight. And almost at the same exact moment. We give each other a sideways glance and laugh only the way two people who have gone through so much and waited so long to get to where they are now can laugh. We don't stop laughing until wheels touched down. No turning back now.

Somewhere in the air over these great United States between Georgia and New York, probably somewhere near Delaware, a great and monumental change occurred. Why Delaware? I don’t know. Delaware just sounds like a place where great and monumental changes occur. I mean, it was the very first state, so it just makes sense, right?

This epic conversion, though we’re still unsure of its permanence, materialized in a dog named Marilyn. Since picking her up in LaGuardia, Marilyn has been miraculously transformed into a well-behaved dog. Either she’s too exhausted to cause her normal ruckus or someone switched out our precious precocious pup with a normal dog. Only time will tell.

By the way, top 3 things that confuse Marilyn in New York City: maneuvering through revolving doors (hands down funniest event I’ve ever witnessed), where to pee when there is no grass (she insisted on holding it as long as possible instead), orthodox Jewish men with black wool hats and long bushy beards (first time in her life Marilyn has ever refused a belly rub. This one may be an issue in the Holy Land).

Checking in to the hotel in NYC

Finally settled in to our posh NYC hotel and after much cajoling of Marilyn to actually pee outside, eat a little food and convince her that no, we weren't putting her in the giant bird again today...DH and I realize we have a long day ahead of us, order room service, watch Craig Ferguson and promptly go to sleep.

Marilyn's face says it all...we're so tired!

When people asked me if I was excited about moving to Israel my usual response was that it was hard to be excited. With all the work ahead of us to get there, I couldn’t imagine sitting on the plane when everything was said and done. As I sat on the plane and everything is said and done. I could catch my breath. I’m no longer thinking about the next chapter, but living the story.

Surreal doesn’t accurately describe it.

I’m sure the next year will fly by too. I have 52 weeks to take it all in, to live with no regrets, to experience all Israel has to offer. I promised myself I would put no expectations on the year ahead. I will not assume I will love it or hate it. I will not assume it will be difficult or easy. Wrong or right. Whatever the year in Israel brings me, I will try my best to see it as a memory in the making. Etching each individual moment in my mind and keeping them close to my heart so that so that someday in the near or not-so-near future I can dig them out and take pleasure in the time I had.

Only God knows His plans for me and I trust in Him completely.

I take comfort in knowing no matter how much I miss my family and friends, no matter how misplaced I feel, I have taken a leap of faith and am making the best of it. And I can be proud of that.

Next stop Israel.

Missing in Action

2010-08-27T02:34:00.001-04:00

I have to apologize for my severe neglect of this blog lately. But as you can imagine, my hands were full with projects which we shall file under “Miscellaneous”. Besides, I am quite sure you would not be the least bit entertained by the events that occurred in recent weeks. I’ll give you the abridged version:

Pack a box, wait in line to get paperwork signed, cry, goodbye party, pack a box, wait in line to get paperwork signed, cry, goodbye dinner, pack a box…

There were some funny moments, some sad ones and some brilliant realizations tucked in between.

My emotions have been all over the place these past two weeks. I promised my husband between the anxiety attacks, spells of utter elation and crying jags that I’d find his sane wife and return her promptly. To date she has not yet been located. If you see her, please notify the authorities immediately.

If I get nothing more out of this move, I have learned so much about myself in the process. I have learned that I can. I can run into a brick wall, wipe away my tears, brush myself off and keep on going. I can fit all 20 pairs of shoes into my suitcase. I can live without sleep. I can be uncompromising. I can laugh at my mistakes. I can feel scared. I can be uncertain and completely sure all at the same time. I can get things done when no one else can.

I have also learned DH is the most patient man in the world.

With only 5 days left, the stress level has been strangely reduced to a trickle and replaced by waves of anticipation for the impending adventure. But check back with me while I am sprinting through LaGuardia to JFK with 6 extra-large and overpacked suitcases, a pissed off puppy and a frazzled husband…

Bring on the life boats.

A Picture's Worth: In Search of a Home

2010-08-06T17:24:00.005-04:00

Whilst in search of a proper living space in Israel via this magnificent creature called the inter-webz, I have become quite amused by one example of the seemingly universal Israeli I couldn't give a rat's ass attitude.

Throughout my quest I have observed Israelis lack the staging a home method of their American counterparts. As a twenty-something, never quite ready to purchase a home, I've done my fair share of apartment hunting in the States. Perfectly photoshopped, cropped and propped apartments almost gleam from the home pages. The masterfully manicured apartment complex with an equally manicured name, like Summer Oaks or The Estates at Stone Creek, entice you to come live the dream. Beautiful model homes with Martha Stewart kitchens and Pottery Barn bedrooms allow you to take a brief moment to imagine your flawless life in your flawless home.

Israelis, on the other hand, are a bit more...understated. Their apartments are named “2 room/small but good enough/no pets allowed”. Two scenarios usually occur in search of an apartment in Israel: either one will come across photos of the resident’s belongings strewn across their apartments or the apartment is still under construction with bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, a broom tucked into the corner and half- hung cabinets lying on the dusty floor.

I have seen condoms sitting on a bathroom counter, dogs sleeping in unmade beds, a family enjoying dinner in the unkempt dining room and piles of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. If you are a Nosey Ned at heart, then apartment hunting in Israel is the perfect place to get your rocks off.

My favorite is the amount of obscene photos I have unearthed. One apartment was perfect...minus the sofa-sized poster of a woman's bare chest hanging above the living room couch. And I found another gorgeous 2 room townhome in a great location featuring a perfectly nice photo of a dog in mid-poop in the backyard.

Word of advice, if you are ever in the market for an apartment in Israel:

“2 rooms” means 1 living room and 1 bedroom
“Fully furnished” has a variety of meanings from “the last resident left all his crap and now it’s yours” to “one built-in cabinet and a toilet in the bathroom”
Few Israeli apartments include a stove, oven or refrigerator
Arnona, a municipal tax based on size and location of your home, isn't usually included in monthly rent.
Sometimes the Vad Bayit, or a building maintenence fee, isn't included either.
Ask if the building has a dud shemesh, a solar panel on the roof that heats water, saves electricity and the environment!
Storage space is very limited! You may end up using your safe room (if you even have one) as a second shoe closet.

It is just one example of a difference in Israeli attitude. No better, no worse. I may come to appreciate the honesty and authenticity. With Israelis, what you see is what you get and just maybe Israelis feel there are far more important things to worry about than what a stranger on the internet thinks of his humble abode. In fact, who actually lives like the picturesque, carbon-copy photos we see of American homes? It certainly doesn’t represent my house...with the dog fur on the bed and dust on the top shelves.

Although I do love perusing catalogs imagining a house better than mine with finer things than I have. Things I could own if I worked a little harder and reached a little higher. After all, isn’t that the American dream? Bigger, bolder and attainable for all.

Essentials to take to Israel: Hockey Pucks and Black Heels

2010-07-21T14:56:00.001-04:00

Although the mere thought of moving abroad could have sent my marriage into a stressed-induced tailspin, my husband and I have managed this move considerably well. Very well in fact. We’ve doled out responsibilities, supported each other, set up weekly “aliyah meetings” over relaxing dinners together and become hyper-aware of the other’s needs.

We are a well-oiled aliyah machine. Kicking ass and taking names. Just call us the Chuck Norris of moving abroad.

That is until the packing began. I have mentioned before my other half may have pack rat tendencies. I, on the other hand, can fill exactly one box of “things” that I have an emotional attachment to. If allowed, DH would fill an entire walk in closet, plus a office and a small hallway closet of items he deems important. Oh wait…he already has.

In marriage, one learns much about his or her partner’s eccentricities and in marriage one must love his or his partner in spite (or because of) those eccentricities. As a self-professed type A control freak married to a self-professed pack rat, I have learned the art and beauty of ignoring the clutter. If it is out of sight, I do my best ignore it-which is far from my desire to go in the closet armed with only industrial sized trash bags and enough Red Bull to get me through one glorious night of organizing. Oh yes, that closet would call me daddy after I was done with it.

I only learned this after our previous move from Washington D.C. Admittedly, in the process of packing, I threw out his prized hockey puck. In my defense, it looked like a regular ol’ hockey puck to me and he hasn’t played hockey since Vanilla Ice had a hit record.

So yes, I threw out his precious hockey puck. But lesson learned….my husband is a borderline hoarder and I am a heartless witch.

Back to this packing adventure. It may be better understood if I simulate an hour of packing in TheBride’s residence:

Me: Toss it, Keep it, Pack it up. Toss it, toss it, toss it, keep it, pack it up. Toss it, toss it, toss it, keep it, pack it up.

After an hour, I have successful packed up the entire living room and half the kitchen.

DH: Oooh…I forgot about this!! Then proceeds to plays with new found toy for 5 minutes. Throws away 3 old CD’s, keeps 15 old CD’s. Hon, do you think I need my boxing gloves in Israel? You know what, I’m taking them. Goes through my trashed items to make sure I haven’t thrown away anything of his. Throws out a basketball…neither of us play basketball.Takes back the basketball and packs it just in case.

After an hour, DH has managed to pack 15 CD’s we will never use, a basketball that hasn’t been touched in 3 years and of course his prized hockey puck which he made me retrieve from the dumpster after I tossed it during the last move.

I’ve had it. I’m about march into that spare room and tell him what’s what when he casually says from the other room: Hon, do you have to take all 10 pairs of black heels with you?

So yes, maybe we all have our eccentricities. I love shoes. He lets me love shoes so I will let him take his boxing gloves to Israel. And that damned hockey puck.

Visa Blessings from an Internet Angel

2010-07-12T11:16:00.003-04:00

As I am sitting here, taking a much needed break from filling out tiny boxes on countless pieces of paper, making endless phone calls, harassing government officials and deciphering the demands of the Israeli government, I marvel at the implausible blessings we’ve been given during this process. But I guess all blessings are unbelievable and surprising at the time.

As in a previous post, I told you I don’t believe in signs…but sometimes it is really hard not to. We’ve always said the reason we’re moving now and haven’t before is because it seems like today…right at this moment…all roads lead to Israel. Windows open when doors slam shut. New roads open up when dead ends block our way. Blessings are given when we feel like giving up.

I got another one in the form of an internet angel this weekend.

Getting me a visa to enter Israel has been a long and draining process. We are never given the answers we’re looking for and when we do, we are usually pointed in the wrong direction anyway. I have been warned before that the Ministry of Interior is quite conservative. They really don’t like dealing with intermarriages and seemingly make life a bit more difficult for non-Jewish spouses of Israelis.

DH and I were told last week that all I needed to get my B1 visa was to show up at the Ministry of Interior with my passport and marriage certificate once we arrived in Israel. That seemed too easy. It wasn’t possible that it was that easy and that made us even more uneasy. Then my angel arrived, out of the internet abyss and handed me a key to the madness.

As you can imagine, there are not too many interfaith families immigrating to the Jewish State. The Jewish Agency and Nefesh B’Nefesh who are helping my husband make aliyah don’t really know how to handle my situation, so they try their best, but end up with as many questions as we have. My angel came in the form of a fellow international blogger, the author of From 外人 to גוי, who is a non-Jewish gal married to an Israeli guy trying to figure out the maze of Israeli immigration (check out her blog…it’s insightful, well-written and has some amazing photos and videos).

Apparently, as I had anticipated, I don’t just have to show up with my passport and marriage certificate to get my visa. Apparently, as I had anticipated, there are quite a few hoops to jump through before I even step foot on that plane leaving August 31.

Here’s the list of items one will need to get a visa and/or permanent residency from the State of Israel. It’s a little more than a passport and marriage certificate I’d say.

1) Apostilled background check, “Letter of Good Conduct”, with both maiden and married names from the FBI/State Police (You need to be fingerprinted at your local police station.)

2) Apostilled proof of being single from State of Residence and State of Marriage (this document doesn’t exist some states, but the state of Alabama CAN get you one)

3) Apostilled marriage certificate

4) Original birth certificate (if before 1989, no need to order certified and apostilled copy)

5) Passport, plus photocopy of front page and tourist visa

6) Two passport pictures, Israeli size (slightly smaller than American versions)

7) Evidence of shared bank accounts

8) Letter in Hebrew explaining how we met, signed and dated by us

8) Evidence of financial support while in Israel, signed by Israeli lawyer

10) Copy of Israeli apartment deed, signed by Israeli lawyer

11) Signed affidavits in Hebrew with contact info from three Israeli friends vouching for validity of marriage

12) Photos from before, during, and after wedding as evidence of valid relationship

I'm off to get fingerprinted, apostilled, notarized, stamped, copied, signed and checked. Wish me luck.

Israel: The Weird Kid In Class

2010-07-01T18:01:00.003-04:00

The Israelis have requested yet another passport photo of me and DH. I’m serious. Another one. After we’ve already sent them 10. What are they doing with those things? No, you know what...I don’t wanna know. They can keep their weird government secrets.

I’ve come to realize the Israeli government is sort of like that weird kid in your 4th grade class. He was a little strange and nobody really liked him, but he was mysterious and intriguing all the same. His only friends were the other loner kids that nobody really liked either.

In fact, Israel is a lot like that weird kid. You know who I’m talking about, you had one in your class too.

You hung out with him during the summer because he had really cool toys and was kind of fun. But once school started again he always tried to talk to you in the halls, but you were scared of being seen with him so you turned your back to him. He'd ask you why you ignored him and you felt bad. You knew he was right, but it wasn't the cool thing to do.

The teacher would scold you in front of the whole class if you picked on him and sometimes even threaten to take away your recess. But someone always picked on him anyway, because... well, what is a little yelling really gonna do? Besides the teacher never followed through with any of those threats.

Those weird kids, they were tough s.o.b’s. Mostly because everyone was always trying to fight with them all the time. He’d kick some ass too. He’d go home with a black eye, but always come back to school the next day ready to forgive to make some friends, but willing to fight all over again if he had to.

So yeah, Israel is a lot like that weird kid.

The Bride’s Top 10: How to Move Abroad

2010-06-29T17:49:00.005-04:00

While I’m not quite an expert in moving abroad yet, I do have some pretty good experience in the area so far. Some I've learned, some I've heard. I'm passing these bits of knowledge on to you, just in case you may be planning your own little adventure.

1. Pick it! Uh…no not that. Pick somewhere to go. Anywhere. Believe me...you don’t even have to speak the language (But you do have to learn the language eventually, so you might as well get started). Toss a dart or follow your heart (oh dear...did I just rhyme in a post?!). Bear with me, now I’m going to be sentimental and philosophical for a hot minute: You’ve only got this one life, so go for it. Be adventurous. Be bold. Or if living abroad doesn’t do it for you, live out your dreams in other ways. Okay sentimental, philosophical rant over. I promise I’ll never rhyme in a post or get so transcendental on you ever again.

Next, pick a move date. It can be a flexible day in the future for a while, but then you have to pick a firm date to get you and make you stay on track.

2. Visit it! Go to your new country for a vacation. Try it on for size and see if it really is possible for you to live there. Although a short holiday is not really a great predictor of how life truly will be in your new home. I encourage you to mingle amongst the locals and stay off beaten path as much as you can. You’ll have plenty of time to do the touristy stuff when you actually live there!

3. Save it! Save yourself the hassle and headache of financial worry. DH and I are fortunate enough that he has an amazing job with amazing bosses. But before he spilled the beans about our impending move to his bosses, we weren’t sure if they would be up for the idea of having one of their employees live 6,000 miles away on completely different work day hours.

We started a special Israel savings account immediately. Admittedly, we would have had to tighten our proverbial financial belts if DH’s grand “Hey guys, I’m moving to Israel, please don’t fire me, this is going to be great for business” memo wouldn’t have convinced the higher ups. In the end, because we religiously stuck to our savings budget, we would have been just fine.

4. Research it! And then research some more. You can’t be prepared for every little experience you may encounter or issues you may come up against, but there is far too much information in this strange place called the internet for one not to be informed. I am a member of several expatriate boards, yahoo groups and follow bloggers who have gone before me. I have several new "friends" who I am sure roll their eyes everytime TheBride's name pops up in their inbox. I don't care. I'll pay it forward someday too.

Learn from other's mistakes and successes. Ask questions and become familiar with the culture and lifestyle before you get on that plane.

Also, research how are you going to enter the country, make a living, where to live, how get around, good schools in the area, the living expenses. You know...the basics of life (apparently I am an expert at life, so if you need help in life let me know...see Visa Fail.)

Hey...did you know most countries don’t just let you waltz across the border and set up shop without going through mountains of paperwork and applying for some sort of visa? Wow...funny how those things work.

Know your legal obligations, visit the country’s embassy or local consulate and be prepared for lots of late night phone conversations with government authorities.

5. List it! I am the Queen of Lists. My husband has dubbed me so. I’m a big believer in to-do lists and advise you to start a list of pre-move and post-move to-do’s at least 3 to 6 months before the big day.

I make lists for almost everything one can make a list for. No, seriously I have an addiction. I make packing lists, grocery lists, to-do lists, what to put on to-do lists, lists for DH, work lists, vacation lists. I basically run my entire life in several notebooks of lists. Maybe it is a little more serious than an addiction...

But, it will make your life so much easier. For example, the top things on your pre-move list should be: Find a place to live even if it is temporary, find a job and school for the kids, secure health insurance, learn the language if needed, find out immigration requirements and start to close up shop in your home country. The top things on the post-move list should be: Open a bank account, set up shop in your new country, (buy home necessities, set up communications , set up your bills, etc.) and visit with the necessary government agencies.

6. Share it! One of the most difficult things I have encountered in this process is sharing the news with friends and family. Although I am excited about the move, it also means I have to say goodbye. I have amazing friends I won’t see that often, if at all, during our time in Israel. And I’ve enjoyed the close proximity to family during these past four years. It will be hard to be so far away, but luckily we live in the 21st Century and have access to wonderful contraptions like the internet, phones and airplanes. Stay in touch! You’ll need a strong support system both before and after you move.

Then, notify all the necessary "others" in your life: doctors, credit card companies, employers, schools, banks, your great Aunt Sarah on your father’s side who never forgets to send you $5 on your birthday every year since you were 6.

7. Pack it! Or sell it or donate it. Or toss it. I figure I will just throw all of my belongings away. That should make for easy packing, right?

Figure out what you want to bring or what you can bring to your new home. In some countries, your current electronics won’t fit into local outlets or don’t run on the same voltage, so it is useless to bring it with you (see Research it! above). To limit stress as much as possible, DH and I started to de-clutter our home 6 months before we even thought about packing. I started with clothes I don’t or can’t wear in Israel (hey, did you know I won't be needing a wool winter coat in the desert? Thanks Capitan Obvious DH) and then I moved on to other miscellaneous furniture, knick-knacks and paperwork we just don’t need.

Decide if you are selling your cars, shipping your furniture or starting fresh in your new country (does anyone need a car or two by the way?). I would highly recommend bringing personal items that will make your new home feel…well, more like home even if they seem rather useless. Family photos, his hand-knit baby blanket of Mickey Mouse and my Alabama football jersey are on the top of that list for us.

8. Do it! After all the research is done, paperwork is complete, goodbyes are said, belongings are packed, now is the time to do it! Buy that plane ticket, take off and step foot in your new country. Now comes the hard part. Wha-aat?! Yes, the hard part. Setting up in a new country is not easy. Take a day or two to get over the jetlag and then hit the streets to begin the process of making this new country your new home.

Depending on your resources and what you brought with you, you’ll need to set up cable, electricity, water, buy furniture and go out on your first grocery shopping trip in your new country. Yes, it will be fun trying to decipher whole milk vs. reduced fat milk in a foreign language!

Then set up meetings with the multiple agencies you’ll need to visit like immigration offices and the DMV. Be sure to bring multiple copies of photos and important documents with you. And don’t forget your patience and a cool head. This will be a frustrating process. There is nothing that you can do about it. Put on your big girl panties, wait in line and get yelled at like everyone else.

9. Network it! The biggest predictor of your success in a new country is how quickly you find a reliable support system.

How do you do this? Seek out and befriend other expats in your area, join a sports or hobby related group, talk to a stranger on a bus, have lunch with a co-worker or frequent a local park or hangout or just pay them to like you. That's my plan. I am going to find random cool people on the street, hand them $20 and tell them to be my friend for the day. That may get a bit expensive. So $20 if you were an excellent friend for the day and only $5 if you really sucked at being a friend.

Feeding your social needs is as important as feeding your physical needs. Put some time and effort into making new friends. It will be worth it!

10. Enjoy it! Even though it is a long and hard process to move, once you are there take time for yourself to enjoy the experience. Get out of the house or office once in a while and take in your new surroundings. Most importantly, give yourself time. It will take hard work and patience to fit in this new world. When things get difficult don’t give up so easily. Go back and think about why you moved in the first place (adventure, opportunity, seeing the world!) and the good things you’ve encountered on your long strange trip abroad.

Have you moved to a foreign country or would like to one day? Do you have any advice you'd add?

Ode to Empty Boxes

2010-06-22T15:27:00.001-04:00

Oh, moving boxes...why must you taunt me with your emptiness?

Are you that unfulfilled in life, oh empty moving boxes? So void of purpose?

There you sit...hoping for a smidge of acknowledgement each day I enter the room, only to be disappointed when I do not even glance in your direction.

There you sit. Patiently waiting to be carefully filled with ~~the pack rat's~~ DH's adored collection of dozens of the same copy of newspaper, his beloved anthology of long forgotten computer parts and random wires and the ratty college t-shirt compilation that still lingers with the sweet acrid stench of fraternity basements and all-nighters.

With Grandma's creepy painting of an owl that always frightened me as a child and kind of still does.

With the pencil drawing of Jesus holding a lamb. Oh picture of Jesus holding a lamb, you always held a special place in the hall closet of our Jewish home once my husband figured out you were not just some guy holding a fluffy puppy.

And other useful items I have acquired in these nearly 27 years of life. You longed to be filled, oh poor barren moving boxes.

But I do not come. I am content in my procrastination. You will have to wait until I am ready.

Don't be surprised if this is how I leave this world.

How do you say "Breakdown" in Hebrew?

2010-06-17T17:40:00.006-04:00

In two and half months exactly, I will be on a plane flying over the Atlantic with one happy husband, four over packed suitcases and a pissed-off husky on my way to my new home in Israel.

Right now, at this exact moment I am freaking out.

During certain moments in the past few months, I have allowed myself brief periods of complete anxiety induced breakdowns. I don't have any triggers per se. I don't know when or why they occur.

Let's go back to Thursday of last week for example. I woke up on a beautiful Thursday morning, had a relatively normal day at work and the drive home was equally as uneventful. I walk into my apartment and BAM!...DH enters a firestorm.

As I am frantically tearing through the kitchen drawer for my notebook to re-check the June to-do list, simultaneously I am pacing the kitchen floor, figuring out how many blankets, winter clothes, toiletries, picture frames, books we can fit into the monstrosity of box we're shipping and coming up with a brand new entirely worthless list of items we need to purchase before we go.

Let me share a few thoughts a crazed type-A will come up with during a anxiety-induced-I'm-moving-half-way-around-the-world breakdown:

Oh no, I don't know the word for Tampax in Hebrew.

I wonder if they will let me pack stuff in the dog's crate. Aha-there is room!

Sweet baby Jesus, my hair straightener won't fit into Israeli outlets. I'm going to have to live with frizzy hair forever.

If I get to Israel on Wednesday, sleep off the jet lag on Thursday, get back on a plane on Friday then I can make it to the first Alabama football game on Saturday.

I need to go to Costco to buy 300 ibuprofen and a jumbo box of grits.

Normally, I am a perfectly rational human being, excited about the adventure that awaits and who thinks logically about this move most of the time. During these periods of sheer panic, I am not.

Today, as if it were the first time my brain realized it, I am freaking out because I can't speak Hebrew. Most days I am aware that learning a new language will take time. I usually give myself credit for taking on such a daunting task. Today, I am freaking out. Tomorrow, I am sure I will return to normal, but today...

Listen All Y'all, This is Sabotage

2010-06-11T15:03:00.004-04:00

We had our last pre-aliyah meeting this past weekend. A middle-aged Orthodox woman from Nefesh B'nefesh came to meet us at the local Orthodox shul. We went through the last bit of paperwork and asked her the last of our questions. I'm always wary of these meetings. I feel because I'm not Jewish that I have to work extra hard to prove I'm commited to Israel and raising Jewish children. I randomly pepper the conversation with useless tidbits of Jewish or Israeli knowledge just to prove my point.

I guess I'm hoping they will try to understand me a little more. Accept us a little more. Feeling accepted is not an unusual need for anyone. Although it is a need we all try to hide. We don't like to think of ourselves as shallow, because we've been taught the need to be accepted sabotages ourselves.

In the end it's just human nature, another feeling we all have but don't admit. From the time I first ran home crying from middle school because I was wearing the wrong shoes to today as I desperately try to find my place in this new world, I am constantly struggling to be true to my beliefs and finding a way to fit in.

Trust me, I'm usually a staunch defender of interfaith relationships, but that nagging feeling of trying to be accepted has a funny little way of making you sabotage even your most basic truths. I don't care what this woman thinks of my marriage. I'm not worried if she thinks I'm good enough to become Israeli and to raise Israeli children. I don't hide my faith. Usually.

Fortunately, she was an angel. She took my hand and tried to make me feel comfortable. Just a nod in my direction made me feel a part of the process. She said she hoped we would be blessed with healthy children in our future. And, of course, in typical Israeli fashion invited us to Shabbat dinner no less than 10 minutes after meeting us. We left feeling more energized than ever. More accepted than ever.

In related news, Marilyn's pre-move sabotage has begun. Ever since we moved empty packing boxes into the spare bedroom on Sunday, she has been giving us the side-eye. Call me crazy, but I swear that dog knows.

DH and I were getting ready for dinner on Wednesday when I absentmindedly left my prenatal vitamins on the coffee table. I should really know better. I've known this dog for 7 years and in those 7 years her penchant for stealing and eating said stolen goods has only increased.

30 minutes of panic, 45 minutes on the phone with Poison Control, the emergency vet clinic, and Animal Poison Control (how did we not know they exist?), 4 ounces of milk, $65, a hell of a lot of worrying and a whole lot of kicking myself later, we learn dogs can in fact eat prenatal vitamins and be perfectly fine.

Let me rephrase that. We learned Marilyn can in fact eat prenatal vitamins and be perfectly fine. Add this to the ever growing list of items Marilyn has eaten and survived. Including, but not limited to:

A half pound bag of almonds
A pound of chocolate chip cookies
A pound of raw bacon
An whole chicken carcass
2 roach traps (roaches not included)
A large pot of frying oil
The fluffy insides of 3 couches
The outside coating of ibprofen (yes, just the coating)
Suisse Mocha instant coffee
My favorite shoes
My favorite necklace

Now I realize that stealing/eating habit is quite possibly just in her nature as the worst dog ever to live on this planet. But I cannot help to find a correlation between the moving boxes, her most recent adventures in digestive curiosity and the fact that this incident occured the night before we planned to take her to the vet to get her bloodwork and vaccines updated for Israel. Plus I swear she was taunting me all night.

Coincidence or Saboteur?

PW7E8ZTHKF3K

Bucket List

2010-05-18T11:45:00.014-04:00

I am of the firm opinion that everyone should have a bucket list. Whether it is only those 2 unfulfilled dreams bouncing around in your head or that perfectly precise, color coordinated and sequential list of 200 objectives taped to the bathroom mirror, one should find satisfaction in making and attaining goals.

I am caught somewhere between the invincibility of youth and the eventuality of age. It is a perplexing state of limbo. Too young to forget the anything-is-possible approach of my 5-year-old self and too old to deny the remorse that comes along with another dumb decision. I am stuck somewhere in between and I kind of like it.

I take pure pleasure in paying off my Discover card instead of blowing my paycheck on a spur of the moment girl’s weekend to the Keys. But I am also in love with the fact we know that moving halfway across the world could quite possibly be the most self-indulgent decision we’ve made, but absolutely revel in the adventure and opportunity anyway.

I've also noticed I am slowly slipping into only looking towards the future. Since our moving date is getting so close, all of my decisions, all of my days have recently revolved around Israel. I am forgetting I still have a life to live here and now. And I hate that.

My Pre-Israel Bucket list should keep me pretty busy

To do

Learn the Hebrew alphabet

Learn 20 common Hebrew phrases

Run a 5K in 25 minutes

• Practice photography more

• Get another article published

• Go bungee jumping

• Take a ballet class again

• Finish chapter 2 & 3 of my book

• Learn how to surf

• Go horseback riding in the mountains

Gather and complete a book of family recipes

• Spend an entire weekend with just the girls

• Write a will

• Pay for a stranger's meal at a restaurant

• Stay up all night and watch the sun rise with DH

• Learn how to mix a cocktail like a flair bartender

• Never touch another cigarette again

• Teach a child to tie his shoes

• Give out teddy bears to sick children in the hospital

• Help a terminally ill person fulfill a wish

• Learn a song on the piano

• Go white water rafting

Follow-up letter to the Ministry of Absorption

2010-05-13T11:07:00.001-04:00

Dear Ministry of Absorption,

After DH stayed up until 2 am to speak with someone in your office, worked tirelessly throughout the next morning and contacted literally nearly every Israeli in the country, we have recently been informed that I will indeed have to get a B1 work visa until I can obtain an A5 permanent residency visa. I apologize for my previous letter in which I may or may not have made reference to a deficiency in logic, although I still stand firm in my opinion at the utter ridiculouslessness in this matter. Unfortunately, I have a much longer journey ahead of me than previously expected so that I may become a resident of your great nation. I am disappointed, but you have not deterred me in my quest to become a citizen.

As per your request for my B1 visa application:

For the application, you need to prepare letters from friends and family that know you as a couple, from your employers, parents, a mutual Bank account, a contract of a flat rented together, photos of the two of you in different places and periods, prints of your phone bills to show that you call each other and so on.

Ha...are you sure? I have eight years of photos, eight years of bills, contracts and bank account statements and no less than 100 people who are ready and willing to inundate your inbox with glowing letters proving the legitimacy of our marriage. And a royally pissed off very Israeli, very protective mother-in-law who is on a mission.

May I make a suggestion? You may want to open a special office to handle the incoming phonecalls/mail/emails/visits from a pissed off mother-in-law for The Bride. Thank you for making this a bit more difficult for me. I love Israel and you made me realize just how much I do.

See ya soon!

Sincerely,

Visa Fail

2010-05-11T11:08:00.016-04:00

Date of Departure confirmed-check. Plane ticket purchased-check. Pet import documents-check. Acceptance letter from the IDC in Herzliya-check. Aliyah paperwork complete-check. And yet a little more than 3 months left until we move and I still don't know how I will be entering the State of Israel. The Ministry of Absorption has recommended I get a B1 or a B2 Visa.

The B1 Visa "is for a person whose stay in Israel is approved for a limited period of time for the purpose of work. This visa is given to experts and artists, among others, and is granted solely with the approval of the Ministry of the Interior."

The B2 Visa is "issued to visiting scientists and to accompanying persons. Granted to participants in short-term programs such as conferences, Ulpan (Hebrew school), academic meetings, etc."

Dear Ministry of Absorption,

I have a bit of a problem with your visa suggestions. Please allow me to respectfully explain my frustration with your...shall we say...a complete and utter lack of logic that any normal human being with an IQ above a functional level should possess.

But I digress.

A) I will not be working in Israel therefore I cannot be sponsored by a company to work in Israel. Period. No worky=no B1 visa. Working was never mentioned in any of the mountains of paperwork I have filled out or in the hours of phone conversations I have had to discuss the nature of my move to Israel. Did you spin around 10 times real fast, close your eyes and point to a visa? This is the only logical reason you would suggest I get a work visa. Or am I just that brilliant that you have seen to label me as an expert at life? I expect to paid accordingly by the State of Israel for being such an expert at life.

B) I am pretty sure I do not fall under the category of "visiting scientist" or persons "participating in short-term programs". I can only deduce from this suggestion that you have the absolute worst outlook on my marriage and consider my participation in it as a "short term program" and therefore will not be needing a long term visa. Thank you, Israel, for warning me of my impending divorce. Or once again, have you decided I am that brilliant and I should work as a bio-chemist in your most prestigious university? If this is the case, please forward my paycheck accordingly.

Thank you for your consideration for letting me into the State of Israel. I truly look forward to becoming a citizen of your beautiful country and hope you will allow me to do so. I will be the best citizen you've ever had. I promise. I think you can find some common sense in the third aisle of the Super Shuk in Tel Aviv, right next to the Instant Nescafe. Buy some and get back to me.

Sincerely,

Our American Expiration Date

2010-04-21T10:10:00.003-04:00

It is strange to have an expiration date...

A time when our old life will end and a new will begin. In the eight years we've been talking about moving to Israel, we've always referred to our moving date as "someday" or " when we get there".

Now it is August 31, 2010.

Exactly two years from our wedding day. How poignant is it to be beginning our new life together on the same exact day we began our life together? Nefesh B'nefesh charters their flights to Israel to fly over new immigrants and gave us a couple of dates to choose from. I don't believe in signs, but if I did....well this one would be a doozy.

It is a bit unnerving knowing the day of our departure. I am a bit overwhelmed in the reality. August 31, 2010 is just so very real, so very soon. It is not just politely knocking on my doorstep, but pounding furiously. Announcing itself in such grand fashion and forcing me to view the next few months in sheer "how-am-I-going-to-do-all-this" panic. 131 days to get make the last 8 years of planning and 26 years of living fit into a 10x15 storage unit and 4 suitcases.

There are boxes to pack and furniture to store. Cars to sell and aparments to find. Paperwork to finish and Hebrew to learn. Memories to make and goodbyes to say. All before my time expires.

Like anything with an expiration date, use it too far past due and it can leave an strange taste in your mouth. Maybe this will hold true for my American life....maybe the further on the other side of August 31 I will begin to feel more Israeli than American. More now than when. The further I get from my old life, the less I'll remember what it tasted like, smelled like, felt like. The more I'll fit into the new.

At least that's what I am hoping for.

Shali-what?

2010-03-17T15:44:00.002-04:00

Today we are another step closer to Israel. We met with our shaliach at the Regency Hotel in Atlanta. A shaliach (pronounced with the guttural ch in the back of the throat), for those who aren't into the aliyah lingo, is a legal emissary of the Jewish Agency. They help you fill out all that fun paperwork and interview you before you make aliyah. And they also help stupid Americans get a first hand look at their life in Israel.

She's already 10 minutes late (but that is still early in IST-Israeli Standard Time). When she finally arrives, she babbles on in hebrew for a good 5 minutes before realizing I have no idea what she just said. The interview proceeds in a haphazard fashion while she jots down notes in hebrew. We're topic jumping like ADD school children and every 10 minutes we are interrupted by her ringing cell phone. I can barely keep up with the line of questioning much less get a grasp on how these questions have anything to do with making aliyah. Most of them just seem like nosy neighbor questions.

Before we know it almost 2 hours had passed already. We're doing more laughing and gossiping than interviewing at this point.

She goes on to tell us some interesting interviews she's had. Like the ancient orthodox husband and wife she interviewed 2 weeks ago. Apparently he'd forgotten to mention to his wife of 10 years that he'd been married three times before. I'm guessing that one didn't end well.

During the interview, she repeated over and over again that she thought we were such a very lovely couple, but seemed quite confused how a Southern Christian girl who has no plans to convert would ever be roped into moving to Israel.

Her: "So, yoooou vere born to de Jewish parents?"
Me: "No, I'm not Jewish."
Her: "So, when do you plahn to convert?"
Me: "No...no plans to convert. I'm happy in my faith."
Her: (Looking at DH) "Ahnd yooou are okay vit zat?"
DH: "Yes"
Her: (Looking at me like a confused puppy) "Vat about de baybies?"
Me: "We're raising Jewish children."
Her: "Ehhh..." (She's still not convinced)

And while some may think this line of questioning is rude and taboo, not to Israelis! This is a perfectly acceptable topic of conversation. Just like your salary, how much you pay in rent, your political leanings and favorite sexual position. Growing up in such a hospitality driven society, I used to cringe at the thought of living amongst such rude people and thought I'd be eaten alive there.

Israelis think Americans are phony and hyper-sensitive while Americans think Israelis are rude and pushy. I've been exposed to both cultures and know better. While we just think of ourselves as polite, Israelis think of themselves as honest. It's a different culture and I'll have to continually remind myself of that fact. So if I come back to visit and you find me a little more hardened, don't take it personally blame it on my new found chutzpah.

A good link about the difference between Israeli and American society: http://www.israelpr.com/doingbusiness.html

I have also been devouring this blog: How to Be Israeli

FAQ (or Take A Number)

2010-03-17T15:38:00.012-04:00

In sharing the news of our move, we have encountered a few questions more than once. I wanted to pass along a few to you just in case you haven't been brave enough to raise your hand in class, but were wondering the same thing.

Or if you could care less why we are going, that's fine and dandy, too. This just isn't the blog post for you. Much more intruiging musings to pique your curiosity may come in the future. Like what an interesting experience this will be:

No? I can't order a Quarter Pounder with cheese? Okay...one Supersized McFalafel, but hold the hummus.

Take out your #2 pencils, boys and girls. These will be on the test.

Isn't it dangerous?
This is probably the first question most people ask. Well, no I take that back. "Are you crazy?" usually preceeds this one. First, no we are not crazy. Lots of people move to foreign countries. Lots of people move to Israel. We are not the first and will not be the last.

Second, safety is a totally relative term.

Is it safe to drive over the speed limit while talking on the phone and eating your lunch? No. Do you do it? Yes. Do we think it is safe to live in NYC after 9/11? Yes, absolutely. Israel is no different. Just because it plasters the news when something happens in Israel doesn't mean it happens everyday. In fact it doesn't even happen every year anymore. Car wrecks do happen everyday, but we still get in our cars. New Yorkers continued to live their lives on Sept 12 and continue to do so today. So do Israelis.

I agree it takes a strong person to become an Israeli citizen and I dearly respect those Israelis who endured the intifadas. What most people think of when they think of Israel are those horrific images of burned out buses and blown-up restaurants during the second intifada suicide bombings in the early 2000's. Israel and the Israeli Defense Forces (like my brave brother-in-law!) have taken great security measures since then and Israel is a relatively safe country these days. In fact, the crime rate in Israel is very low compared to most cities in the U.S. While I wouldn't feel safe walking in downtown Atlanta by myself at night, I would in Tel Aviv!

The only exception is Israeli driver...but that's a whole other post in itself so I've heard.

What is it like over there?
Why don't you come and see for yourself? Seriously, we are more than happy to have you. We think if you can handle the 11 hour flight, you definately deserve a free place to stay. We'll even feed you...

Airfare not included.

I don't really know what it is like there except for what my husband and Israeli family tell me. So instead of doing the work myself, here is a great posting from a mother of an Israeli soldier about what it is like.

Isn't it controversial to live in Israel?
Depends on what you think. I don't think so, but then again I am married to an Israeli, will raise little Jewish babies, will be a proud card carrying Israeli citizen myself and have always been a staunch defender of Israel's right to exist and defend herself. I encourage you to do your own research (with multiple and varying resources), ask questions, become involved in your world and form your own opinions about the Middle East. I will listen to your opinions if you will listen to mine.

Why are you going?
From abstract reasons like Zionism to practical reasons like education. And all the reasons in between.

We have a huge family in Israel. My mother-in-law and youngest brother-in-law live there as well as my Darling Husband (DH)'s grandmother (safta) and too many aunts, uncles and cousins to name. We've also had the pleasure of befriending several Israelis during our time in college (Hi Pinhas!) and in Washington D.C. (Hi Jordana and Ginsberg!). I can't wait to reconnect with all of them again.

Furthering our education, learning hebrew, living in a foreign country, having a family, having adventures, traveling, getting to know my Israeli family, volunteering, job opportunities...the reasons are endless.

What will you be doing there?
DH will be pursuing his 2nd Master's degree in International Diplomacy at the InterDisciplinary Center in Herzliya, and volunteering/working. Why? I have no idea. He loves being a student apparently. I honestly believe his personal goal is to be the world record holder of miscellaneous degrees. An M.A. in cyber feminism...Why not? A Ph.d. in the history of blacksmithing...hell yes! Do me a favor and please no one tell him about the Master's of Gaming at Liverpool John Moores University in the UK (check it out, its real!). We'll most certainly be headed to the UK and I will be forced to hear that yes, he can play Playstation for a living if you do. Oh and he will also be moonlighting as my very own personal tour guide of State of Israel.

As for me? Well, most of my time will be spent in ulpan. Ulpan is the 10th circle of hell (See #9 for a reference point). It is 5 hours a day, 5 days a week for 5 months of learning hebrew in an intensive immersion class. And that's just the first level. There are also 5 more levels if you are up for it. The rest of my time will probably be spent volunteering/working, writing/photography (and yes even taking Master's courses myself).

Is it me or does anyone else think hebrew closely resembles hieroglyphics?

We also both desperately want to travel all over Europe, Africa and the Middle East. Who's in for a Mediterranean cruise?

How long are you staying?
There is no straightforward, easy answer for this one. Mainly because unfortunately God hasn't given me the gift of psychic abilities. We may only stay a year or two. We may fall in love with Israel and want to raise our family there. We may discover a new found wanderlust and continually travel towards a new adventure. We just don't know. We're both up for anything that life throws our way...I highly recommend this lifestyle!

We still have questions of our own and may never be able to get the answers to all of them. But I hope you will come visit us and take part in our life in Israel. At the very least I'd have a new story to tell on my blog if you did.

PS: If you were expecting a short multiple choice quiz, you don't know me very well. I am an essay kinda gal.

A Husky in the Holy Land

2010-03-01T11:22:00.005-05:00

For the past 7 years, we have been the proud parents of the most adorable, brilliant, mischievous, willful pup I have ever known. For those of you who have not been blessed by her company, let me introduce her and summarize her life:

This is Marilyn Monroe. Please disregard this undated photo. It was taken during what we like to refer to as her "not so husky" years. She has since put on some weight...mostly due to an insatiable appetite for anything edible (or what she perceives to be edible) and a total refusal to go outside when the temps rise anywhere near 60 degrees.

And if I must say so myself, she is also brilliant. She oft outwits most mammals both of the four-legged and two-legged variety. She amazes us with her quickness to learn and knack for stealth and cunning. But then again, we are her parents.

Although she may tell you otherwise (she can be quite the kvetcher), her life is nothing short of comfort and ease. It has been noted that she doesn't adapt to change very well and is resistant to any disruptions in routine. Even the slightest variation in her daily habits results in general pouting, loudly announcing her disdain and/or stress induced fur loss.

God forbid dad miss a feeding by 15 minutes! Marilyn will let it be known to the entire neighborhood. Some of you may have even witnessed her prompt bedtime routine. At exactly 10:30 pm Marilyn will stand in the bedroom doorway and glare at us until either a) we get the point and join her or b) she gives up and takes the entire bed for herself.

The worst comes out shortly after big, life changing events. We lived in Washington DC before we moved to Atlanta and it took Marilyn nearly a year to adjust to her new home. She would bark, tear up furniture, destroy any personal belongings of her parents, whine, raid the pantry and fridge (we still haven't figured out how she got into the fridge) and cause a general menace to our lives and our neighbor's lives when left alone.

After a few months of coming home to complete destruction, 6 weeks and hundreds of dollars worth of professional dog training, many a late night visits to the vet due to a variety of ingested substances and replacing everything from cell phones and favorite shoes to pounds of chocolate chip cookie dough and couch cushions, Marilyn finally began to settle in her new home.

Fast forward another year. DH and I decide to move to Atlanta to be closer to my family. Just us packing boxes sent Marilyn into a stress induced tailspin. She began losing her fur in clumps and destroying the moving boxes in defiance. I cannot tell you how many times I repacked the same box over and over again. I don't know how she knew what these cardboard boxes meant, but she did. She was a complete emotional mess.

The actual move to Atlanta came and went smoothly enough. Mostly because we had learned what a God send benadryl is to parents of a neurotic dog. A few days in our new home, we watched in horror as the 6 weeks of professional training, hundreds of dollars and years of at hard work slowly circled the drain again. It didn't take as long for her to acclimate to Atlanta as it did in DC and she is now quite a happy, content and well-adjusted dog.

All this brings me to the purpose of this post: Marilyn will never forgive us for this one. As of now, she is blissfully unaware of the 11 hour flight and balmy 85 degrees that await her in a few months. I can only imagine her thoughts after we get her off the plane:

"Really guys? You take me, a highly anxious husky, halfway across the world...to the desert? Mom, I hope you enjoy cleaning out dog vomit from inside your shoes...on a daily basis."

She's gonna be bald by the time the flight is over. Lord help us.

Sign here...twice here...initial here...

2010-01-29T15:54:00.006-05:00

Ah, the Israeli bureaucracy has begun.

We happily started our online application to Nefesh B'Nefesh (a Jewish agency to help immigrants move to Israel) in January. In this day and age, moving to Israel is just a click and send away...right? Right?!

Ha! Israeli bureaucracy is infamous. I think it can be likened to beating your head against a brick wall, expecting it not to hurt when you hurl your head against it again and then having a brash Israeli tell you that you aren't doing it right anyway.

I have heard the horror stories of waiting in lines for six hours at an Israeli government building only to find out you didn't get the right piece of a paper signed at the other Israeli government building...and you should go back there to wait in line for another 3 hours.

Or that you need one document signed to get the second document signed, but you can only get the first document signed if you already have this third document you didn't even know existed. And this document can only be signed between 9 and 9:15 am every third Wednesday of months beginning in J, not including the month of the summer solstice. Rinse and repeat.

Yes, it is utterly frustrating and obnoxious. But we haven't even moved to Israel yet and I fully expect it will only get worse. Right now, we're still sitting in our lovely and comfortable Atlanta apartment filling out papers in English, speaking to people on the phone who speak English and who are perfectly helpful and polite.

In Israel I will be filling out papers in a language I do not know, speaking with people who either a) don't know English or b) know English but refuse to speak it with me AND for some reason they will be yelling at me.

Also, each person in this aliyah process requests 2 passport sized photographs (well, Israeli sized passport photos which are of course a different size than American sized passport photos). My Darling Husband (DH)and I have both given out at least 10 passport sized photos of ourselves to different agencies. Hmmm...strange.

While I cannot be certain, I can only determine Israeli citizenship is based purely on beauty (if this is the case, I can only hope Israeli supermodel Bar Refaeli is not the standard in which I will be judged) or they are passing out our pictures to Israelis to let them know exactly what dumb Americans look like so they can begin yelling at us when we get there.

I want to look like her when I grow up.

Maybe this whole aliyah process is just a test to see if we can really hack it in the holy land.

You're doing what?! Where?!

2010-01-28T13:27:00.024-05:00

Yes, we are moving to Israel.

Some of our close friends and family have known of our plans for quite a while. Others are only just now finding out. It has been a pervasive, yet quiet, part of our lives for quite some time. The time we've talked about moving to Israel can be logged in days, months, years. We've done enough talking to fill libraries of books it seems. It has become part of our everyday, a dream always living in the back our our minds.

And now all that talk has become all very real.

Almost eight years ago I met my husband as a freshmen in college and I could have never imagined my life would turn out quite like this. He is a half-breed in the very best sense. My darling half-Israeli, half-American, but fully Zionist husband ♥. Although I have always thought of myself as a Christian Zionist at heart, Israel was always a far-away land to me. That place in my Bible stories. That tiny land on tv where they keep fighting. That place Over There.

That is until I met him.

Over the past eight years, Israel has evolved into a very real place for me. It is my husband's homeland. It is the place where an entire half of my family lives. It is a place of unparalleled opportunities and adventure. It has become my dream. And in a few short months, we will make Aliyah. Aliyah in hebrew literally means "ascension" and refers to a Jewish right and responsibility to return to the holy land.

So this blonde Southern belle will make her home in the Holy Land. I will no longer be surrounded by the familiar. No more sweet tea and soft Southern twangs. No more sticky Georgia Summers and Alabama football Falls. I don’t expect the transition to be easy.

I imagine I will grieve for home and long for normalcy. I anticipate feeling like an outsider for awhile...homesick and frustrated. There is a part of me that is terrified about leaving the warm comforts of what I know and diving head first into cold waters of what I don’t.

My life here is of relative ease. My closest of friends and family are a short trip down the road. The customs and language are my own. And there is security from understanding my environment. The simplest of tasks in Israel will be a grand undertaking. Buying groceries, making friends, paying bills, deciphering the local slang. I will feel like a child, lumbering and simple. But with it I will experience childlike awe and discovery, a long forgotten gift lost through responsibility

And although my life will be nearly unrecognizable during the first months abroad, the biggest part of me looks forward to the adventure. I am ready for the unfamiliar and the unexpected.

I am eager for the change.

And so the journey begins. Shalom Ya’ll!