Discovering Ramla and Shabbat

I am bad at this blogging thing. I have realized that it is a lot harder than I thought to try and write down everything that is happening to me, when it is happening. The truth is that there is just not enough time in the day, enough days in the week, or enough weeks in the month.

Shakshouka night at Yoseftal!

This week was pretty much a carbon copy of the weeks before it, with some new thrown in here and there. The week ahead of us, we start volunteering! Mazi, our house mother, was over one night, and made us a fantastic dinner. Shakshouka is a traditional middle-eastern dish made out of onions, tomatoes, and poached eggs. I am trying so many new things while I am here, food included, and I cannot wait to try and create my own shakshouka!

At the beach in Rehovot.

Strangely enough, I keep discovering how much I truly enjoy Shabbat. This past Shabbat, I went to a very nice beach with some great new friends that I met on Thursday night, and saw the biggest waves I have ever seen, waves that I didn't even realize existed. The were feet high in the air, and dangerous. People were surfing, kite surfing, and getting knocked over by the pure strength of the sea. (I keep having to remind myself that it is the sea, not the ocean.) It was a wonderful experience, so different from the beach back home. Most who know me know that when I go to the beach, it is an all day activity. You pack lunch, a book and some tunes, and set out until the sun sets. Here, this is not the case. The sun is too strong, the water is to menacing, and beach trips are quick.


We went out on Thursday night to Rehovot by way of a sherut. We just went to a small bar called Dublins (good pizza!), and next week we will go out a little bit bigger for my birthday, maybe to Tel A'viv. I am continuously surprised by the establishments in Israel, like bars, where people can smoke inside. 


I am also shocked on a weekly basis when Shabbat comes around, by how much I actually enjoy it. I have decided that I would like to synagogue shop, yes, synagogue... Shul is Yiddish and Temple means the literal "great" Temple in Israel, so synagogue it is, while I am in Israel. Rachel and I were fortunate enough to run into someone who took us to synagogue Friday night. The synagogue was a hop, skip and a jump away from our apartment, and it was, of course, a mechitza, where the men and women are separated. I don't really know what my feelings are on this concept. Part of me relishes in it because the balcony is normally a community of great women who make sure that you are welcome and that you are following the service. The other part of me can't get my head around the fact that the women are made to sit upstairs (in a lot of synagogues, not all) and cannot see the Rabbi or even hear the service a lot of the time. The services here are also primarily Sephardi, and I am Ashkanazi, so the services are very hard to follow. I am determined to learn though. Part of me, a very small part, feels like a poser, because I am so clueless while I am in synagogue. I barely knew what I was doing when I was at my temple in Stoughton, and now that I am completely out of my element, I am turned upside down. However, I know that I enjoy synagogue, and I like how I feel when I am in synagogue, and I believe that that is all the more reason for me to continue to synagogue-shop, and continue to learn.

Scaling ancient stairs at the White Tower.

The four of us girls are lucky enough to have met a friend, Moty, who has the literal "keys to the city". On Sunday, he took us on a tour of Ramla, so we could see what exactly the city was all about. We went to the underground water cisterns, the White Tower, and the Carmel, a place where the people who govern Ramla watch over the city to ensure that there isn't any trouble. It's really something. All three activities were wonderful, my favorite being the cisterns, where we were able to paddle a row boat around underground and explore. The White Tower was also great, because at the summit you could see all of Ramla, in its expanse, and the city is much larger than I thought. It was a great day, filled with a lot of great experiences. I believe that it is good to know something about the town that I am living in.

We ended Shabbat by walking around Ramla after the sun went down. We got pizza and frozen yogurt and watched the city come to life again. It really is an amazing experience, and even though we do it every Saturday night, it is different each time. I am determined to spend at least a few weekends while I am in Israel in the Shomer-Shabbat manner. It fascinates me, and I think that it might actually be good for me to try something completely out of my norm.

Efo at rotsa l'gor? Ani rotsa l'gor b'Jerusalem!

This weekend, my roommates and I had the esteemed pleasure of spending our second Shabbat in Israel in Jerusalem. What a weekend it was! I feel like I should start from the top, and explain to the world that I have never had the need to take public transportation before. Now, however, I believe that I am going to be a pro, in a very short time. A walk to the Central Bus Station, or tachanah h'merkazit, a bus ride to Jerusalem, a quick switch at the tachanah h'merkazit there, and to Harris's house we go! How he handled four girls in his apartment for three days, I'm not sure, but we are very grateful! (* Harris is a very good friend that Rachel and I know from ATC, our Temple in Stoughton, who made Aliyah three years ago.)

It seems to me that every time I set foot in a tachanah h'merkazit, I have an experience. This time of course, was no exception. After about twenty minutes on the bus - a coach bus mind you! In Israel, a lot of the city-to-city buses are coach, but have standing room as well - the driver pulled over to the side of the road. At first, there was no concern, it is quite common for bus drivers to let passengers off in the middle of nowhere, instead of at an actual bus stop. However, when he pulled over for the third time on the side of the highway, and the air-conditioning on the bus went out, the sleepers started to startle, the Haredim began to become impatient, and I started to have a panic attack. The bus, we deduced, was indeed broken. Luckily, two other buses heading the the tachanah h'merkazit in Jerusalem were passing by and pulled over to lend a hand. There was a mad rush to the rescue vehicles and the whole ordeal must have lasted nothing more than five or seven minutes. We arrived in Jerusalem, sweaty and overwhelmed, but in one piece. And what a nice surprise! Harris was waiting at the tachanah h'merkazit to take us back to his apartment (by bus of course).

Thursday night the girls and I went out to Ben Yehuda Street, where people dance in the street before and after Shabbat, and there are many shops (offering many touristic things) and all different kinds of restaurants. We ate dinner, played in the street some, and then took the bus back to Harris's apartment to sleep before our busy Friday.

Friday was a day like no other. Five years ago, I went to the Kotel and the Old City of Jerusalem with my Temple Congregation. I did it again a year later with Birthright. My heart has strings that reach from Stoughton, MA to Jerusalem, Israel. That is the only way I know how to explain it. Really, there are no words to explain what Jerusalem does to me, and there are even less words to explain the song those strings play when I walk through the Jaffa Gate. For me to be able to do it again, on Shabbat, and know that I will be able to do it however many times I want to during my months in Israel, puts the biggest smile on my face. 

Rachel and Harris
as we walked
through the
Jaffa Gate.

I have tried for five years to explain to Rachel what the Old City looks like, who lives there and what they do. I've tried to tell person upon person what it feels like to touch Jerusalem stone, to kiss the Western Wall, to precociously lift yourself up on chairs to witness the men on the other side davening. There are no words. Having the good luck to witness someone experience the Kotel and the Old City for the first time is something I pray that everyone has, and to see Rachel's face as she walked through the Jaffa Gate for the first time only added to the magic of Friday. We spent a significant amount of time at the Kotel and browsing through the Old City, having lunch and hitting the Arab Shuk for a few hours to shop for scarves and bags. It was a wonderful afternoon. 

I have never, in the past, really done the whole "Shabbat" thing. I have gone to Temple on Friday nights, of course, but I have never sat down and had dinner afterward. Harris took the four of us to his Shul, a whole thirty second walk from his house (it's across the parking lot!), and what an experience it was! First of all, the Shul is Sephardic, and the four of us, separated from Harris because the Shul is also Mechitza (meaning that the women are separated from the men, whether they sit on a balcony or there is a divider) had a very hard time trying to follow the melodies. The women were beyond nice to us though, they came over and made sure we were on the correct page several times and really made us feel welcome. They were friendly and it was over all, a great experience. The service took about an hour and fifteen minutes and before we knew it, it was time for Shabbat dinner. Harris made chicken, potatoes, matzo ball soup, knishes, broccoli, salad... there was challah and desert, so much food! And it was all wonderful! I really enjoyed doing Shabbat Harris's way. I loved that dinner took hours to eat, what with the talking and the relaxing. After all, isn't that what Shabbat is all about? The food was good, the conversation was good, as was the company. I cannot wait have Shabbat at Harris's again. 

A view of the Kotel

Saturday was also a great day for me. I was able to meet up with Gery, a good friend of mine who happened to be the guard on the ATC trip in 2006, and his fiance Netta. They picked me up at Harris's and we went out to a wonderful lunch. It was fantastic to see him and wonderful to meet Netta.

As I said before, there really are no words to explain Jerusalem. I understand that some people can go there, and not feel anything at all. In the past though, I have attributed a lot of my connection to Judaism to Jerusalem. Something happens to me while I am there. I don't know that I have really felt that I was actually in Israel until I put my fingers on Jerusalem stone this weekend. I am now confident in my abilities to get there, the bus isn't that scary after all, and as Harris so many times told me, that's how you get there. 

Me, Rachel and Naomi
inside the Israeli Shuk

SIDE NOTE: While Matana, Rachel, Naomi and I were walking through the Old City, actually on our way out to head back to Harris's to ready ourselves for Shabbat, a man stopped us to make sure that we had somewhere to have Shabbat dinner. What an incredible thing. To be honest, I don't know that that would happen in America. Inviting total strangers to your house for dinner? I highly doubt it. People have been so nice, everywhere we have gone so far.

SIDE NOTE II: I learned a lot this weekend. Harris is always able to answer most of my questions with ease, and believe me, I asked a LOT of them. On a funny note, I this fun-fire owning, suburban girl learned what "end of the line" meant (much to Matana's dismay!). Coming back from the Old City on Friday we just happened to hop on the right bus, but going in the wrong direction. Unfortunately, the term "end of the line" is universal, and when we got to it, we were forced off the bus and what was supposed to be a twenty minute ride, turned into one that lasted almost two hours. But, you know what they say? Hakol Beseder. It's all good.

Thank you Harris!

Leaving Jerusalem is always hard, and this time was no exception. We said goodbye to Harris though, and hopped in a cap to get to the tachanah h'merkazit (public transportation is a little bit different on Shabbat) and caught the first bus back to Ramla. 

*A song to check out: Jerusalem, by Anouk.

Yoseftal Street

Yoseftal Street

In the past week, whether it was at the small party at the community center, or on different Sherut's, or in the Shuk, the fact that I am American has been noticed. Imagine that! I have been bombarded with questions, where am I from? What am I doing here? How long will I be in Israel and why don't I speak any Hebrew? Will I learn Hebrew? I answer these questions to the best of my ability, explaining that Yale is much too expensive a school to even consider attending back home, and that I live in Ramla, Israel. This is a huge surprise to most Israeli's, and they want to know what I'm doing there. Most of the time, when I explain that I am volunteering, they nod their heads, and agree that Ramla indeed needs a lot of work. It makes me feel good to know that I am in a place where I can actually do some good.

Ramla is beautiful in it's own way. The buildings are different... they rise from the ground, sitting on stilt like poles. We live right across from a bakery, a Shwarma shop, and a very small convenience store. The Shuk is just a short twenty minute walk. From what I understand, our apartment building is very centrally located. Yesterday, the smells coming from our building as our neighbors got ready for Shabbat were incredible and I now feel as if I have to learn how to cook a proper Shabbat dinner. 

Across from our building.

Perhaps for me the one thing that will take some getting used to is the fact that this is a city, and that there are cars, trucks and people everywhere. I have never seen so many people! At night, the sounds never stop, and the city barely sleeps, even on Shabbat. The noises are something that in time I will get used to, and in time, as my Hebrew gets better, will understand.

Ramla, Israel

To be completely honest, I have been avoiding writing this blog. This is the problem I always have as a writer. It's not that I am lazy, or that I have nothing to say, it's more of a fear of not being able to say all I want to say. How can I possibly convey all I am feeling through my writing? I have taken classes before, and will take classes again in the future, on this subject. I know it's possible to absolutely envelope a reader in my words, I even believe that I have done it a few times before, but I have this constant pit in my stomach that no matter how much I write, and no matter how much I explain, my experience will get lost through the wires. And so I know, that each Saturday when I go to try and write my blog, or journal for my own personal benefit during the week, I will sit in front of a blank screen or a blank notebook page for a few minutes, deciding what exactly the course of my words should be. I know that between each paragraph I will pause, and let the words settle on the page, let the ink soak in.

I have arrived in Ramla. Actually, I have been here since Monday. The flight was wonderful, and it was great to see Harris at the BG (complete with CRANBERRY JUICE!). The trek from BG to Ramla was not really a trek at all, in fact, it was about twenty minutes and sooner than I expected, I was at my new home for the next five months, on Yoseftal Street. I met my my roommates, and the activities began.

In the past week, I have already been to the super market, the Shuk (my favorite place on Earth!), and gone on a crazy nature hike near Mount Carmel. I also went to Haifa, to the Bahai Gardens, which were beautiful. We ate lunch in a Druze Village, and explored the gardens dedicated to Baron Rotchild, also where he is buried. I have been to two different malls already (one in Tel A'viv), by way of the Sherut, a shared taxi, with the other girls based in Ramla. What an experience! And no, I didn't blow too much money! 

Experience at the Tel A'viv Central Bus Station: On the way back from the mall, the seven of us got separated. We had to take separate Sherut's from the mall to the central bus station. I was on the first cab, and when we got the bus station we tried to find shade to wait for the other cab full of girls. It was very hot, and on the verge of Shabbat, and the cab drivers were yelling at each other, fighting over passengers and right of ways, and there was a lot of general commotion. In the midst of all the anger, a fight broke out between two men. One of the men ended up on the ground, and had his head stomped on a number of times, and I now understand the concept of "pool of blood". The fight was broken up and the man who was doing the stomping was taken away. A driver was kind enough to let us onto a Sherut to wait for the other girls. It was a scary experience, but it just proves that inner conflict happens everywhere. While we were waiting for our driver to take us back to Ramla, another Sherut hit OUR Sherut. I am going to have to get very used to Israeli driving. 

I will not lie. I was shocked when I saw our apartment, for reasons that aren't really worth getting into on my blog. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and above all, scared. I love Israel, and I have been waiting years to get back here, but I have never been here in the aspect that I am here now. I have been with my mother, and on Birthright, but this is different, one hundred percent different. But I am here, and I am going to learn to speak Hebrew, and this small town, suburban girl, is going to learn to take public transportation, something that I have never had to do before, but will be an expert at by January. I am also going to overcome my weaknesses when it comes to direction. Before long, I will be able to get myself places without the help of my human GPS, Rachel. :)

At Temple the Friday before I left for Israel, Rabbi J spoke about the amount of people coming to Israel this year from Ahavath Torah. Rachel and I are here now, Sherry and Dana will be coming soon. What an incredible thing it must be too see so many people leave for Israel with a mission, be it lending a hand, or studying, and anything in between. 

Tomorrow I begin Ulpan. I have a minor in Spanish, but I will openly say that I can understand and read much more than I can speak and write. This is problematic, especially because I spent so many years in a classroom, and devoted so many hours to the language. I will say though, despite the amount of time that I spent on Spanish, I goofed off a good amount as well. We had a fantastic class at Westfield, and because the size of the minor was so small, I spent a lot of time chatting rather than studying. This will not be the case with Ulpan. I am determined to learn as much as I can during my studies here. I am really going to put my all into learning Hebrew.

This small amount has taken me about an hour to sort through, and I am not satisfied with it. But as I said before, I haven't yet figured out how to completely explain what I want to explain through my writing. I want this blog to be deep, and meaningful, but perhaps that's asking too much. Perhaps a travel blog should be an account of my experiences, a few pictures, with a deep thought thrown in every now and then. I guess I'll have to shoot from the hip.

 

Ani bi Israel

The girls of Yoseftal Street, our home for the next five months.

Two suitcases, one carry on, one personal item

Two suitcases, one carry on, and one personal item. Perhaps Delta just doesn't realize how much clothing I actually have? 3 pairs of jeans, 15 dresses, 10 skirts. Six handfuls of shirts, a few shorts, a long sleeve-r or two. My Victoria's Secret sweatshirt, 1 pair of leggings, and 180 pairs of underwear.

Israel here I come.