I’ve missed writing this blog. I’ve missed the joys of the creative writing process. I’ve missed the challenge of finding just the right words or syntax to portray the abstract thoughts swirling around in my mind. I’ve missed the connection I feel to those who reach out about what I’ve written, saying something that resonated with them. I’ve missed the vulnerability of sharing my inner thoughts with the small piece of the world that reads this blog, and with it, the mini burst of nerves and excitement I feel when I finally click post. I’ve definitely missed this…so why haven’t I posted in almost 3 months?
The truth is, this blog is so special to me because I’ve always been honest about what I’m going through…but I guess it’s a lot easier to be honest when things are going well. Unfortunately, friendships, family, relationships, work, and all of the other little pieces of our lives get messy and hard sometimes; and the thought of sharing those messes with all the people who read this blog seemed impossible to me for a while.
I felt like I was at a crossroads: Should I share the difficult things I’ve been dealing with, or do I just stick to the easy and happier things in my life? I knew I definitely wasn’t ready for the first option, but the second felt inauthentic and wrong. So I did neither; I simply stopped writing.
I think many of you probably share my concerns about people only sharing their “highlight reels” on social media, but it’s really hard to be the one to actually take the leap and share the ugly stuff too. I want to be honest in telling people that moving away from home is really hard. It took time before I was hit with the reality of life in a new country, because I was seeing everything with rose-colored glasses for a long time.
That being said, I’m not posting this to detail all the ways in which my life has been hard lately, or to complain that what I’ve been going through is so enormously difficult or sad or anything like that (because it’s really not). I’m posting this to say I’m human and because I’m human, I have trouble admitting to you all that life isn’t always sunshine and rainbows.
I am overcome with relief and excitement as I finally write for this blog again. I look outside and see that the spring season is finally here; the season of renewal. I feel this opportunity for renewal in many aspects of my life, and it seems like the perfect time to start writing again.
Kalanit (Red Poppy) flowers blooming all over Israel
My decision to make aliyah (become a citizen of Israel) at the end of my Masa program feels easy in a lot of ways. Since I’ve made up my mind, I haven’t really questioned it. I know it’s the right choice for me. I know that these past few months I have felt so free and happy and at peace–probably more than I ever have in my whole life. As I have begun creating my own path and my own life here, I can’t imagine just picking up and leaving in 6 months.
I love it here. I love the beautiful, little routines I am creating for myself. I love learning Hebrew and practicing it with random people. I love speaking with Israelis and other immigrants who have completely different belief systems and life experiences from my own; who challenge me to re-think what I have always thought to be “right” and “true”. I love the kind strangers and new friends I have met here. I love exploring my religious identity and spirituality. Most of all, I love what Israel is teaching me about humanity and community.
One of my best friends and I have always said that people come into our lives to teach us lessons, and when there are no more lessons to be learned, the relationships end in some form or another. Some friendships and relationships last a lifetime because you complement each other’s growth and continue to learn from them. Others last for a shorter period, teaching a lesson or two before it’s over.
I feel like this frame of mind applies to places too. I felt bored of New York when I left, and I knew that was because I was no longer being challenged there. Ever since I arrived in Israel, each challenge I have faced has ignited a drive within me to grow in some form or another. I have felt a renewed sense of purpose and passion for life. I still feel like I have so much to learn from this place, which is why I know I can’t leave so quickly.
So now that I know why I want to stay, I’m stuck with the question: How can I possibly feel that I’m living my best life here, all the while missing the most important people in my life? It’s a weird thing–to simultaneously miss people back home tremendously and actively choose to live across the world from them.
I miss my family and my friends so much. It hits me at the most unexpected times, in the most unexpected ways. I don’t even understand it myself; why this life here seems so worth the pain of missing the people I love. It’s certainly not easy, especially with a 7-hour time difference making even just a phone call that much more difficult.
It’s hard to make the choices that nobody in my family has made before. It’s hard because most of them won’t fully understand it, no matter how much they want to. They may even blame me because I’m the one who left…and I guess maybe I am partly to blame. I know how it appears. I chose to move away from home–from my family and friends and everything else I’ve ever known.
That being said, I know that just because other people may not understand it, or just because it’s really challenging, or just because I miss my family and friends, doesn’t mean it’s not the right choice for me. How can I possibly explain that the same voice that’s reminding me how much I miss everyone is also the same voice that’s telling me to stay?
Gratitude is really powerful. It’s cheesy and cringey, but also beautiful and magical. Lately, there have been so many moments where I’m overflowing with gratitude for this life I have the privilege of living. When Izzy, Katie, Dani and I set out on our ambitious road trip over Hanukkah break, I had no idea how many moments like this I would have.
Me, Izzy, Katie, and Dani in Tzfat!
Starting in the North, we drove to Tzfat expecting to stop in all the cute little shops that make up the old city. Unfortunately, almost all of the shops were closed because tourists couldn’t come into Israel (this was 2 days after Israel “closed their skies” to tourists again after the Omicron variant became a concern). It was both eery and beautiful to walk through the empty streets that are normally packed with people.
The empty streets of Tzfat.
Afterwards, we headed to Tiberias where I swear I had the best schnitzel of my life…at a restaurant attached to a gas station. The Google reviews were right when they advised “not to let the gas station deter you”. As we enjoyed one of the most delicious meals of our trip, we witnessed the entire restaurant suddenly become completely silent.
Unlimited salads and delicious schnitzel….what more could we ask for?
Moment of Gratitude #1: We looked over to the front of the restaurant to see that the staff had all gathered to light the Chanukkah candles. It was so beautiful how the entire restaurant stopped to watch and join in prayer. After the candles were lit and the prayers were said, the whole restaurant burst into song. The pure joy and sense of community I witnessed in that moment was breathtaking. It felt like the entire restaurant was one big family. Getting to experience that moment–a moment where my religious traditions were so publicly and proudly celebrated made me extremely grateful to be living in this country where Judaism is practiced so freely and openly.
All smiles at Tabor Winery.
We spent the rest of our time in Tiberias hiking Mt. Arbel, enjoying a wine-tasting at Tabor Winery, and relaxing by the Kinneret before heading off to our first campsite: Natura Ecological Farm.
Hiking Mt. Arbel.
Before setting off for the day, I made everyone peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the road. On our way to Natur, we stopped for a lunch break. We parked on the side of some random mountain we were driving down, hopped over the barrier, sat on some rocks overlooking the beautiful landscape in the north, and ate our PB&J’s.
Moment #2: I don’t know why this memory is so special to me; maybe it just felt really wholesome, maybe it was the beautiful view, or maybe it just finally sunk in that we were really setting out on a road trip across my new home–I really don’t know. I do know, however, that I felt really grateful to be in that moment, completely and fully present, with people who had quickly become my family away from home.
When we arrived at the campsite and took out the tent we had borrowed from our friends, we found that they had forgotten to put the poles in the bag. This setback had us contemplating sleeping outside in the woods with no covering or just sleeping in the car. The manager of the campsite came over and saw our dilemma, and he set up a tent for us to rent for the night. When he saw the super thin mats we brought to sleep on, he said he couldn’t in good conscience let us sleep on them. So, he brought over nicer mattresses for us, free of charge. The night really turned around as the sun went down and the cold set in.
We quickly bundled in as many layers as possible and got to work with dinner. We cooked over our little camping stove, lit the Hanukkah candles, played some card games, and went to sleep.
Moment #3: Waking up to the silence and quiet sounds of nature was so peaceful. We slowly made some coffee and toast for breakfast, and then we just hung around the campsite for a while. I loved the simplicity of waking up in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nature, with no rush of anywhere we had to go. It was the perfect slow morning.
Before we headed to the south, we bought a new tent and stopped at a hidden hot spring on the border of Jordan. The hot spring ended up being so hot that we couldn’t stay in it for more than a few seconds, but it was still a really fun experience.
hidden hot spring
Next, we drove south for a few hours until we reached the campsite in Ein Gedi. Setting up our tent in the strong winds was a challenge, on top of the exhaustion setting in from traveling, but nevertheless we prevailed. Our tent overlooked the Dead Sea and it was just so beautiful.
Ein Gedi Campsite.
While we were in Ein Gedi, we went to the Dead Sea, attempted to make campfire nachos, and went on a hike. We even woke up to see the sunrise over the Dead Sea.
The Dead Sea at sunset.
Sunrise over the Dead Sea.
The next day we loaded up the car once again to drive the farthest south I had ever been in Israel, Timna National Park. This was the part of the trip I was most excited for, and it proved to be just as awesome as I had hoped.
The Vanishing Lake.
When we arrived at the Timna Park campgrounds, we realized that we broke our tent the first day we had it…and we were having a hard time fixing it enough to get it to stay up. Thankfully our tent neighbors, Ido, Keren, and their wonderful dog Bailey, saw our struggles. Ido came over to introduce himself and immediately got to work on trying to fix our tent. He spoke in a way that assured us he wouldn’t leave until our tent was functioning, and his kindness was much appreciated. After several minutes of struggling, we got it to work!
Timna National Park campsite.
Ido and Keren’s incredible dog, Bailey!
Moment #4: True to what I have come to learn about Israelis, Ido and Keren proved to be gracious tent neighbors throughout our time in Timna. As a testament to this, Ido gave us hiking recommendations for the following day, and when we didn’t return to our tent until well after dark (because we had gone to Eilat for a few hours), he got worried that we were still out in the desert. He was so concerned about us that he actually went to the front desk to ask if anyone had seen us return.
Hiking in Timna National Park.
When we finally returned to the campsite, we could see the concern on his face as he admitted how glad he was to see us return safely. It’s a beautiful thing when random strangers care enough to go out of their way like that. Part of why I feel so safe in this country is because this is how the average Israeli treats others. Ido isn’t a singular kind soul, he’s a product of a culture that breeds and encourages this type of mindset.
The last night of Chanukkah!
The final moment of gratitude: On our last night in Timna National Park, we decided to find a big rock to watch the sunset from. We climbed to the top and sat down to enjoy the view. We sat there for a while, talking about everything and nothing, but I could just feel that we all were on the same page. We all just felt at peace.
We started talking about how lucky we are to be living during a time where Jews could actually live in our homeland. We thought about how many Jews have fought throughout centuries to make this a reality, and how blessed we are to be here, living out the dream of so many others before us. I don’t take this privilege lightly, and I can’t help but feel insanely grateful to be here living this dream life.
Another thing we spoke about was how this road trip opened our eyes to how much more we want to do and see in Israel. As I sat up on that rock watching the sunset, I felt so excited about my future here. I couldn’t imagine moving back to the U.S. in just 7 months. It was on this rock that I decided I want to make Aliyah. I want to become a citizen of this country that has become my home so quickly.
As I put these memories into words over a month later, I genuinely feel it growing in my heart–the gratitude, happiness, and peace I felt that week. I can’t explain why these small moments have impacted me so greatly, but I think I can attribute a large part of it to finally living in the present and truly living my life to the fullest.
During the first week of school, the janitor told me and Melissa (the other teaching fellow) a long story in Hebrew. We didn’t understand a word of it…even with his accompanying hand gestures. His hand gestures were even so extreme that at times it almost felt like we were playing charades, not just having a conversation. I stumbled my way through saying “אני לא מדברת עברית (ani lo medaberet ivrit)” (I don’t speak Hebrew), but that didn’t stop him.
As he continued to speak in Hebrew, you can imagine our surprise when he suddenly broke into song (in Italian). Melissa and I legitimately got serenaded in the teacher’s lounge, and we don’t even know why it happened because we didn’t understand the story. Finally, one of the teachers explained to us that he was saying how much he loves Italian music, and she told him that we were English teachers and didn’t understand Hebrew.
Since that first week, we continued to have entire “conversations” every time he sees me. He tells me long stories in Hebrew, somehow expecting me to know what he’s saying. He always speaks slowly and simply for me, and of course uses those over-exaggerated hand gestures. He never gives up until I understand (or at least pretend to).
I can tell my Hebrew is improving though, because now I understand about 40% of his stories. So far, I’ve learned that his friend lives in America and got robbed twice since being there, and that he thinks he is much stronger than President Biden even though they’re the same age. At the start of the school year, I couldn’t even imagine getting to a place where I understood one full sentence in Hebrew, and now here I am, sort of getting by in a conversation.
Ulpan (Hebrew lessons)
I didn’t get to this point without effort, though. I have fully accepted my nerd status as a try-hard in my Hebrew classes. I study my vocabulary on the bus and before bed. I practice any chance I get. It takes time and energy, but everytime I successfully ask for an English menu or order falafel or understand how much my groceries cost, it feels like a huge win.
The first time I practiced speaking Hebrew with a stranger was in a taxi in Tel Aviv. The driver spoke some English, but I was determined to use as much Hebrew in the conversation as possible. He was patient and kind as I took way too long to form a couple broken, grammatically incorrect sentences. Even though I spoke horribly, I really tried and learned from the experience.
I’m beginning to realize that I can’t be a perfectionist as I learn a new language; in fact, I need to do the opposite. I literally have to make mistakes. I can’t learn how to speak a language by studying words and phrases and suddenly speaking it perfectly in conversation. I learn by stumbling through those awkward sentences and pronunciations.
Sometimes I’ll say the wrong thing and people will laugh, but it’s okay because so will I. It’s actually really funny sometimes. Just last week, I accidentally told someone (in Hebrew) that I don’t speak English (to which he responded in English saying “It sounds like you speak English pretty well”). It’s moments like this where all I can do is laugh at myself and do better next time. My favorite Hebrew slip-up of all time, however, was when my roommate said her favorite snack was d*ck instead of olives. It really happens to all of us, and it’s okay. I would much rather speak terrible, broken Hebrew than never try to speak it at all.
I see now that learning Hebrew is doing more for me than just adding a language to my resume, or helping me get by in a foreign country. It’s teaching me to let go of some of my perfectionism, to be more patient, and to laugh at myself. I’m also learning to celebrate the small wins, because that’s how progress is made. Nobody learns to speak a language fluently overnight, but little by little I will get closer. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll understand the janitor’s stories without the hand gestures.
Growing Through. 