Halomot

I wish I could start this post with a great sigh. It’s been 4 months since I’ve returned from Israel, 5 since my last post… My grandfather complained that most of my posts seemed to be about boys. In my defense… well… I don’t know, I disagree. And if most of them were, then you know–I set out to Israel saying I was looking to fall in love. With the land. With the language. With myself. And yes, perhaps a boy. So here it is. I will warn you. THIS POST IS ABOUT A BOY.

 

They say love finds you when you’re not looking, when you least expect it. I had to travel the world to find love right at home. I had to shut out all the negativity, all the obligations to other people, and simply focus on me. My dreams. My goals. My heart. In Israel, I made some amazing friends. Some of which I wrote about, too many of which I didn’t. Tracy became my best friend on OTZMA. She is caring, funny, outgoing, kind, and grounded. Of course I needed someone like her in my life since I happen to be caring, funny, outgoing, kind, and lost in the clouds. 

 

Side track.

 

When I was young, I proudly exclaimed to my father that “I want to go to a nice, quiet university, so I can study.” At 9, my parents let me fly to the East Coast by myself (to meet with my family and to be joined by my mother later on). During that trip I took the official prospective student tour of Harvard. At 9. I bought the dorky Gilligan’s hat, the sweater, the folders. Veritas. Truth. My heart was set on that small school in Boston. When I later grew out of the dream of a small, quiet school, Boston stayed on my mind. How’s this for a throwback? My Myspace name was e@$tco@$t@<3. East Coast at Heart. (Yeah, I’m appalled at the fact that I wrote it with symbols, too.) I applied to universities in Boston when it came time to, but obviously that wasn’t the time for me to go.

 

Fast forward.

 

Today I am sitting in a lovely Boston suburb. Tracy is sleeping in the room next to me, her father down the hall. They are helping me realize my dream of living in Boston. And although I am still struggling to make it work, financially, I have no worries, no regrets. Because I am following my heart. Because following my heart led me here. Because I am in love.

 

Vomit.

 

I am in love. Why does it sound cheesy? Who cares. I have found a sweet, hard-working, funny, inspirational, loving, Jewish man. One who puts a smile on my face on a daily basis. One who buys me flowers and coke zero every time I visit. (And by the way, the fact that he buys the coke zero puts just as much of a smile on my face as the flowers do.) One who laughs with every cell of his body, whose smile is contagious. One who cares about my thoughts and dreams. One who loves me just the way I am. So yes. This post is about a boy. Sort of. It is about me, too. It is about following my heart. It is about chasing my dreams. It is about realizing that I’m living one. 

Shalem שלם

I wanted to write something on Yom HaShoah but never got around to it. I guess that is life in Tel Aviv for you. The past few days have been indescribable. Not the physical type of indescribable that is like a sunset whose colors have no name because of the way they blend and radiate. Not in the sense of emotion like a parent describes their love for their child. Just something equally intangible. I am feeling a sense of completeness, the kind most would describe as “coming full circle” yet I am arriving somewhere new.

First there is the big circle. On October 25th, 2009 at 3:07 p.m. I submitted my application to be a participant on OTZMA. Exactly 600 days ago.  Remarkably and purely coincidentally to the minute! In writing this, I wanted to understand the significance of 6 in Judaism and I recalled that 6 is the number of days it took HaShem to create the world, the day the heavens and the earth became shalem, whole, complete.  Here I am, 600 days later and nearing the completion of OTZMA. I have so many emotions but I think the thing I focus on the most is the fact that I have successfully started and finished something. I set a goal and was cognizant along the journey of working towards that goal. Not to mention conscious of the effect that completing such a task would have on me. I would like to think the effect has been obvious to those I surround myself with, but allow me to relate to you all the things I’m experiencing… Pride, satisfaction, confidence, happiness. Direction. A sense of calm (most days). And not as a temporary moment. Every. Day. Every day I am happy with where I am at and proud of what I have done/am doing/will continue to do. What a remarkable feeling!

Then there is the Israel circle. When I arrived in Israel I had a relatively clear picture of what I wanted to accomplish, checklist-wise, during my year. If you see an earlier post, you see I accomplished a lot of things right away. But as I get ready to pack up the life that I’ve built for myself here, I realize that booking a ticket 10 days after the end of my program was possibly a mistake. Not because I won’t see more things, say hi to people I need to say hi to, etc. But because there is nothing left to do that would make me feel more accomplished than I already feel. Yes, I could see more of Haifa or visit some friends in the Negev. And I will enjoy it. But I realized that I could leave tomorrow and leave satisfied. I’m not even sure if I could list every city I’ve seen. More than most Israelis, I’m sure!

Then there is the personal relationships circle. With the relationship I had, there were high highs and low lows. Recently he has come back into my life and the goal is to build a friendship to replace the long-term relationship I wanted with him that he didn’t want with me. Today we sat on Pinsker, Tel Aviv occasionally whizzing by in the form of bus, dog or person, and ate breakfast together as if no time had passed at all. Well, except for the fact that we finally took the time to rehash the damage we had done. But in a healthy, positive way. Anyway, as we took the bus together back to Kiryat Gat I noticed something bizarre. We met at a conference, but in the dining hall as everyone was waiting for their buses to go home. He happened to need to get on my shuttle (going to K. Gat) and we began talking so we sat next to each other. On the bus, we sat on the left side–me at the window and him in the aisle seat. The whole ride, we listened to music and let our hands and legs graze each other the way one does when someone is unsure and wants permission to touch. Why I remember this, I have no idea. Today, as we returned to Kiryat Gat, this time from Tel Aviv instead of Jerusalem, we sat on the left side–me at the window and him in the aisle seat. We listened to music. There was a little less grazing of legs and fingers but also clearly less need to ask for permission. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. When I told him why, he responded by saying “I just thought about that. I guess we’ve come full circle…?” Yes, my dear, we have.

A few moments ago I was granted another moment like this, this time with a friend. He is intelligent, kind, talented and genuine. In other words, he is a rare breed these days. Unfortunately. When we met, he welcomed me into his life, his home, and his circle of friends. I’m not sure if I ever articulated what his friendship meant to me. We spent just a few short days hanging out and managed to keep in touch and run into each other since that wonderful weekend. Tonight he called me to tell me he was outside my house to say hi/bye. I warned him I looked like a bum, to which he responded: “No, you always look beautiful.” We then got in his car and he took me to a local gas station to drink some soda and eat cookies. Haha. No really. We drove around, talking for about 30 minutes, reminiscing and day dreaming all at once. He then hands me a small bag, a gift from his equally sweet girlfriend.  ”‘D’ wanted you to have this. She remembered that you said you liked it…” This girl literally had just given me a necklace of hers that I had made a passing comment about months ago. To be fair, the necklace is beautiful. Needless to say, I was speechless for so many reasons. I think I responded with something along the lines of “OH… man… thanks wow… I have no words like… whatever… I have no words. Thanks!” Yes, at one point I really did say “whatever”. How else do you respond to overwhelming generosity, to remarkable thoughtfulness, to such genuine acts of kindness. I failed in every sense and my only relief is the belief that one day we will see each other again and I will be able to come up with words that reach far beyond “whatever”. He also told me that my departure from Israel would be a loss for the country… Again, speechless. So yet another friendship, starting and finishing this chapter and anxiously awaiting to see where in the world the new chapter will begin.

So there you have it:

1 relationship, start to finish (T.R.)

2 motorcycle rides (Athens, Tel Aviv)

3 cities to call home (Ashkelon, Kiryat Gat, Tel Aviv)

4 seasons which have come and gone since I’ve last been home…

5 e-mails addressed to future self (www.futureme.org)

6 roommates (Shosh, Madeleine, Elissa, Vlad, Vanessa, Red)

7 new family members (The Barmochas)

8 books completed (Eat, Pray, Love, Stones into Schools, Three Cups of Tea, What is the What, Things I’ve Been Silent About, Reading Lolita in Tehran, Tales of a Female Nomad, Alone in Berlin)

9 memorable holidays (Rosh HaShana, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Channukah, Passover, Purim, Yom HaShoah, Yom HaZikaron, Yom HaAtzmaut

10 countries by 2010 goal accomplished (this year I added: France, Greece, and Egypt)

Yes HaShem created the world as we know it in 6 days, and on the 7th he rested. That active rest gave us Shabbat, which we are getting to ready to enter–me with my beautiful host family in Kiryat Gat. But the 7th day was equally as important as the others. Just as the next step in my life will build off the last year and be equally as definitive and telling. Here’s to awaiting the coming adventure.

Lehitpalel להתפלל

The root of להתפלל is פ.ל.ל. which means to judge or clarify. Lately I have been using prayer to figure out why I make the decisions I do; to reach a certain level of introspection. If it wasn’t obvious before, I was going through an internal struggle last week. It lead to a lot writing: unsent poems and letters, e-mails to family and friends and a personal prayer.

Gd, let me be strong through this challenging period. Let the person I have hurt remember my soul. Let them know the power of forgiveness and let me be grateful for that gift. Let me learn from these mistakes and move forward. But most of all lead to me happiness. If this was meant to happen, so be it. But if not, grant me the chance to prove myself. To once again become whole in their eyes. Amen.

Gd provides.

I find myself sickeningly happy. The girl with a smile on her face for no good reason. I find myself content with life’s direction and anticipating how the future will unravel. I find myself “going with the flow” and loving every moment.

The power of prayer is something I never truly understood. I’ve always believed that the energy you send out into the world will return to you. My way of praying has evolved. I started at Hillel and Chabad, pretending to follow along and reading the English translations. Soon I learned the tunes and melodies and started picking up on words and phrases. Next, I became OBSESSED with Elohai Nitzor and lost myself in that poetic end of the Amidah. As my Hebrew improved I started being able to follow along without looking. And in the last year the conversation started flowing. Lighting candles was accompanied by a thank you for the week that passed and hopes for the week to come. The Amidah was enriched with personal thoughts and prayers.

But still something is missing. When it comes to personal prayer, I find that part of me growing by the day. And through the low-points of the previous week I couldn’t stop talking to Gd. But when it comes to the Siddur, I am confined to Friday nights. I’m positive it is connected to the warmth and community that comes along with Friday night services. But that daily dose of silent devotion still escapes me.

The question is: Can you pray to connect with Gd?

Shinui שינוי

You know how they say you can’t change people? If that’s reflexive, we are in trouble. I started this blog intending it to be about the challenges of becoming more observant or about my year here with passages from the Torah. Instead it turned into a blog about trying to find love. Which is fine in theory until I examine the path I took. The same path of heartache, disappointment and failures. (I love that it’s raining right now. Sunshine wouldn’t feel right.)

I stumbled upon someone great but the path I took to get to him was filled with mistakes that came back to haunt me. I came here to Israel thinking I had learned a lot about myself and about love. And slowly, those lessons faded away. Those old memories and negative thoughts crept back in. And 19 year-old Laura returned, along with her old ways and repeating old mistakes.

I know somehow it’s different though. I know that in the end I was a little bit wiser than the 19 year-old me. Somehow it doesn’t feel like it makes a difference. Can you say you learned from your mistakes if you repeat them?

In nature, our model for change and growth is the caterpillar to the butterfly. But the caterpillar doesn’t just magically turn into a butterfly. First it must weave around itself a cocoon. Upside down, the blood rushes to its head. Watching those threads fly by, doesn’t it get dizzy?

Dizzy from trying to change.

How painful is it to become a butterfly, I wonder? And in the end– isn’t it only a caterpillar with wings? All it ever wanted was to be pleasing in your eyes. That’s all I ever wanted too. But then again, four to five days after rebirth, that butterfly is looking for a mate.

I guess we are all looking for love or something like it.

Maybe some things never change, but I know I can. Soon I will emerge from this hard time a better person and hopefully then you will appreciate the long road I’ve taken to get here.

Shover Lev שובר לב

Heartbreaking.

This week has been a week of tragedy for Israel and the world around us. The thing that the media deemed most tragic (and indeed is) has been the devastation facing Japan post-tsunami. Here in Israel, tragedy has struck a little closer to home. Last Shabbat, a terrorist broke into the house of a family living in the West Bank. Viciously, 3 innocent children and their parents were murdered. 2 stabs to the heart for the 3 year-old. A slashed throat for the 3 month-old. If this wasn’t bad enough, the incident is being reported in the Arab world as a “natural response to the Zionist occupation.” I wasn’t aware a 3 month-old could be a Zionist.

HEART.

Living in Israel has given me a better sense of the daily dose of sadness people face. If you think poverty or teen pregnancy or drug abuse is something to lose sleep over, how do you respond to rockets, murder, kidnapping?

BREAKING.

While here, I’ve had to respond to sirens by running to a bomb shelter. I’ve watched the Arab world revolt around us. I’ve watched another year go by with Gilad Shalit in captivity (we’re nearing 5 years). And now this massacre. I somehow still feel like an outsider but I also feel blessed. (As if experiencing this tragedy is a blessing.) In a way, my experiences have drawn me closer to the Israeli community. I’ve visited the tent in front of the Prime Minister’s house and spent 5 minutes in silence in solidarity with the Shalit family. I’ve sat in on a talk with children with special needs, trying to verbalize the Itamar massacre. My friends have helped build and decorate bomb shelters. I’ve educated high-schoolers on current events and Middle East history and taught them to be critical of the news. I’ve accepted a job with a coexistence organization in Tel Aviv with offices on the West Bank.

I can never bring those lives back. All I can do is allow my heart to break a little. To bleed. To then numb my senses to such tragedy and move on. To be strong enough to act. As Avraham Infeld has said, there is no such thing as Jewish history. Only Jewish memory. The difference? The understanding that what happened in the past is intricately connected to me.

The only thing to do is to try and piece together your heart in this broken world.

Goral

I believe in fate.

Such a simple proclamation might already make you different from me. Fate, signs, things happening for a reason. It has nothing to do with superstition, just a general instinct that there is orderliness in the world even if it doesn’t fit into an equation or if it defies laws of physics or logic. I believe.

What I can’t figure out, then, is where it’s leading me now. Can my actions change fate or is that paradoxical? I guess it’s a matter of scope but all I can think about is ‘What the hell am I doing with my life??‘ Dating in Israel sucks. I will forever be a tourist to them until I have that Israeli passport in my hand. Even then, I will never be a Sabra. And until then, no matter how many people I’m drawn to or are drawn to me, I feel like meeting new people with the intention of a romantic relationship is pointless. Even if I’m considering Aliyah, it’s not good enough and I’m tired of being let down for something that’s currently out of my control. באסה…

And then there’s the bigger question… Work. Step one: Pick a country. Step two: Attempt to narrow it down to a city (good luck!) Step three: Choose a general career path. Like I mentioned to my Otzmanikim, Carl Jung’s personality test gave me no answers. I was hoping it would tell me I should be a doctor or something and then I would go be a doctor. Instead it gave me a longer list of potential career paths that seemed to be designed for American women circa 1950. Carl Jung thinks I should be a secretary. (Or should I call my future occupation ‘administrative assistant’?)

Fuck you Carl Jung.

Instead, I listened to the sage advice of my grandmother. (No not her anti-Hitchhiking advice. “It’s the best way to meet rapists… That I know of.” I’d like to see the rest of that list later, Grandma.) No, instead I made a pros-and-cons list. It consisted of: a foreign service officer, a Jewish communal service… person, or a psychologist. I think I’m off to a good start.

Now I’m waiting for a sign!

P.S. Here is the ACTUAL list of the jobs that ESFJ-ers like me are best-suited for:
Home Economics
Nursing
Teaching
Administrators
Child Care
Family Practice Physician
Clergy or other religious work
Office Managers
Counselors / Social Work
Bookkeeping / Accounting
Administrative Assistants

HaAravim

So here I am, sitting in my living room and listening to some horrible Maroon 5 song playing on Galgalatz. Hey, at least it’s an Israeli radio station, right? I am killing time surfing the internet, looking for that amazing internship that will close out my time in Israel (for the time being). So far the internship that I am most interested in is with an organization called Windows for Peace. I would be working with children/teenagers in Tel Aviv who are Jewish, Arab-Israeli or Palestinian (from the territories). Together we would learn about each other, be exposed to various experiences and viewpoints and even put together a monthly magazine or some other creative expression of the interaction. I think it would be fascinating and I feel well-qualified for it, especially after OTZMA’s 5-day seminar in Jerusalem/”the settlements”/the West Bank. It was so interesting to hear all these speakers from the psychotic far left to the extreme far right and everywhere in between. It made me so grateful for Mohammad and all his friends because they taught me so much about the people side of things. While I learned a lot more about the history of the conflict (instilling me with a general hate of nationalism–thank you France), I felt like it was me who was able to offer the counter-perspective. Yes, we met with a Palestinian man who was living in a cave in the West Bank as well as a Palestinian-Christian who is a professor (with bad information). However, I felt my experiences, my efforts to learn about the other side, was tangible because I could say “Well actually, I’ve had 92341908471897 conversations about this issue with many Palestinians and this was the consenus.”

I currently work with a group of Israeli teens on Israel advocacy in America and there too my past relationship affects me. I’ve expressed to them the Palestinian perspective and it fills me with hope that maybe I am changing these kids. I’ve heard Americans who’ve made aliyah to join the IDF tell me “The best Arab is a dead Arab” and my soul dies a little bit everytime I hear it. This is of course an extreme point-of-view, but I feel a general fear of the Other here. And perhaps justifiably so, especially here where rockets hit the exact location where I currently work with the aformentioned teens. Nevertheless, I make it a point to advocate for BOTH sides and it makes me feel like maybe I am making a difference here. Afterall, I loved Mohammad and knowing him made me a better person. I owe it to that love, the relationship, to honor what we had by getting both sides to understand each other a little better.

I myself am definitely changed. The other day I was talking to a guy at a bar and I thought he was cute but was trying to really get to know him before I made up my mind about seeing him again. We got into a conversation about past relationships and I told him that my last (and only) relationship was with a wonderful, Palestinian man. I braced myself for the reaction, which varies from disgust to shock to indifference, and he surprised me. He said “That’s cool. I mean, they’re people too so what’s the big deal?” Such a simple response, but it totally captivated me.

Who knew respect for your fellow mankind could be such a turn on?