It was simpler when there were just snow days

A lot of people have asked me about the upcoming school year in general, and about my program in particular, so here it goes...

I thought I was in good shape when I applied for a school year after two years of strikes, one led by the students and the other led by tenured professors. This year the associate professors were threatening to strike, but I wasn't so worried about that effecting me. What the university students of Israel are currently faced with is far worth than any of those things.

A couple weeks ago a letter was sent out to the students (well, some students, apparently I'm not important enough) saying that due to issues with the Ministry of Finance the universities are not getting enough money, and are collectively refusing to open this year. Negotiations are currently underway. Classes are due to start in a week. A week after that, if no settlement has been reached, the universities are shutting their doors.

I can't imagine that happening. Then again, this country hasn't been known to take education seriously. Last year while university students waited for their professors to come back to work thousands of high school students in Jerusalem wandered around aimlessly waiting for their teachers to end their strike. As someone going into education, I try to let it inspire me to fight for change, but sometimes it can be downright discouraging. It's hard to do much when the program to qualify me can't even start. What's a country without its flagship universities? When the announcement was first made I started saying that it was destroying my Zionism. Maybe that's a bit harsh, but it will be hard being proud of a country that lets its universities close their doors. I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime, I now have a better sense of what my program is, what I will enjoy about it, and the problems I have already had. Within the School of Social Work and Social Welfare there is a group of programs named of this guy Joseph Schwartz. I am in the Graduate Program for Early Childhood Studies. There is also one about non-profit organizations and a new program specializing in philanthropy. The general goal is to focus on the specific issues within these fields. My program combines classes from the School of Social Work and the School of Education.

Within my program, there are two tracks. It took me months to understand the differences between them. Even when I understood the words in the titles it wasn't clear, and no one seemed able to give me a clear answer. Here's the scoop: one focuses n development and one on administration. I am in the administration track. There are 9 people in my track and 20 in the other. Apparently there are people in my track who wanted to be in the other but even with the increased enrollment, they couldn't accommodate everyone. With just 9 people I wonder how many actually want to be there. I wish I was in the development track, though it might be my fault I'm not. I have a vague memory of which box I checked off on the application, but since I didn't hear anything since then I didn't think I was actually in a specific track. When I started the arduous task of signing up for classes, I saw some specified for each tracks but thought maybe this was something that happened in the second year. Then I got the news that I was in the administration track, and it should have been written on the acceptance letter I got months ago. However my letter came from the Department of Overseas Students and not directly from my program which writes in the track. So I had no idea.

Briefly, the development track trains students to work one on one as advisors to people working directly with young children. The administration one focuses on general, well, administration of organizations serving young children. I'm not what to think of, for lack of a better term, this mix up. My only concern is it seems like the other group gets more fieldwork, and one reason I chose the program was for it's combination of classtime and fieldwork. On the other hand, this means I can create my own fieldwork experiences. It even seems like I can get support from my professors if I sort of create my own project.

I'm strangely optimistic about my situation with the program. In either track I would enjoy some classes and detest others. And administration classes could be really useful for me considering I am terribly unqualified at many of the things they will in theory teach me. And as my brother put it, it could make me more marketable. I'm not worried that I will be denied a job because of which track of the program I was in.

In either case, school has to start for any of this to happen. I'm hopeful, but not holding my breath. As the title says, it was simpler when there were just snow days.

And I complain I have no friends in this country...

Yesterday afternoon I decided I was in desperate need of a nap. Harriet the Spy had woken me up every hour on the hour the night before, and I spent the morning at three playgrounds with an active 1 year old who enjoyed diving head first off of everything. I knew it would be a short nap because I was anxiously awaiting the return of my two roommates, due in throughout the following couple hours.

My phone rang. The caller ID read "Fischers." I thought "Cool, maybe the Fischers are inviting me for shabbat or to come over for a playdate." I answered the phone and heard a little voice say "Hi Rebecca!" It was Ruchama Fischer. She is seven years old. Actually maybe "little voice" isn't really a good description for a kid like Ruchama. Try "teenager with an attitude stuck in a little girl's body" kind of voice. We exchanged pleasantries and I waited for her to say something like "here's my mom," assuming that her mom wanted to call me but she asked to dial the number. I guessed incorrectly.

For the next 20 minutes or so Ruchama and I caught up on the last few weeks of our lives. We talked about our trips to the US, people we both know, and how we feel about brothers. After the 20 minutes I felt I had exhausted my list of things to discuss with a second grader, though it was obvious that she could have gone on forever.

Ruchama is a great kid, and a good sport especially when it comes to her little brothers. She knows that her four year old brother Raphi is my bestest friend, and is usually patient about sharing my time with him when I come to visit. In College Park when I would stop by she would answer the door and say "One second, I'll get Raphi." This was when Ruchama was 5 and Raphi was not even 2.

I guess she just needed someone to talk to, someone to listen to her complain about the stressful life of a seven year old. My favorite line was "I hate my brothers. I want a sister. All they do is beat me up, but I know Karate and they don't!"

Eventually I politely told her that I had to go, and we agreed that I will come for a shabbat as soon as I can. The phonecall totally made my day. There is no other way to say it.

"A friend in every port"

This phrase was said to me repeatedly throughout my trip to the US and the couple of weeks following it. It clearly started with my mom but has extended to siblings, friends, and even parents of friends. Okay, it's true, to some extent. I visited five major cities on my trip and had friends to see everywhere I went. In LA I had the luxury of leisurely meals to catch up and in Maryland it was a crazy series of 5-30 minute blocks of time... and I treasured every minute of them.

So I said to my brother, it's interesting that our grandmother keeps asking me whether our sister is making friends in her new home in DC when she never once expressed the same interest about my life in Israel. "You have a friend in every port. They never worry." Right. My sister is just as industrious as I am in situations like this. Before her move she contacted everyone she knew in DC, including good friends or nice people she met once and figured she'd wind up becoming better friends with upon arrival in DC. Or maybe they would know the kind of people she could be friends with. Whichever. While it's tough to start out anywhere, I am not about to worry. Besides, she gets to hang out with all of my best friends from college-- can't be that bad :-). (Hey, if I have to hang out with 30-year-olds she should have to hang out with 24-year-olds. It's only fair.)

I've written a lot about the challenge of making new friends and holding onto old friends. And I say that I feel a little guilty saying to a new friend in Israel who asks if I had fun in the US, "Well sure, I have so many friends there." "And what's it like being back?" Um, yeah.

It bothers me that I'm not as hopelessly optimistic as I used to be. And it's really too bad that so few people here realize that change. I returned to Israel thinking that okay, I was going to be alone in the apartment for three weeks so that already can't be fun, a lot of people are away, and in general it's going to be tough reconnecting with people. I didn't used to worry about such "trivial" things.

This past week has been so much fun. Not necessarily the hours spent filling garbage bags with clutter and unrecognizable food remains from the fridge. And thanks to a terribly anxious and upset cat I haven't had a good night's sleep since I returned. But besides that... There's been smoothie making, a lunchtime visit, a bar outing, catch playing, shabbat and yom tov meals, movie watching, and getting kicked out of a playground by the cops. There was also a quick playdate with Ben Zion who, though he hasn't seen me in awhile, had his face glued to his third floor window facing Keren HaYesod waiting for me to arrive. He had tears in his eyes when it was time for me to leave. Strangely most of those events (not the playdate) happened after 10pm. But all the better. I would spend a day moping around the apartment getting things done, be all ready to try to fall asleep, and suddenly I'd be wandering down Emek Refaim.

"You mean... you realize you have friends?" half-taunted a friend who just left my apartment. Well, YEAH. But I knew that. It's just the happy feeling that amidst my roommate-less loneliness and anxiety leading up to a grad school program that due to another strike might not start on time, I'm having a good time.

Am I happy? To be continued at the next 1am playground outing. Don't you hate when other people might be right? You just want to kick them. Or hug them. Whatever.

Except when they aren't right. Is there really a formula for why someone is your friend and how someone remains your friend? Can I scientifically look at the friends I made in the past twenty four years and figure out how and why in another twenty four years I'll be as close to them as I am now? It's not like I keep their business cards in my wallet. They aren't even all on facebook.

My whirlwind trips around the US are like a rollercoaster. It's a thrill ride. Every moment is exciting. I never know who I'll run into or what incredible conversation I'll have. The wild twists and turns can also be scary and gut wrenching. It's tough saying goodbye, and realizing that I have absolutely no idea when I'll see the person next. But rollercoasters are still fun. You keep going and going until it makes you sick. It's just a wonderful kind of sick. Does that metaphor work? I love the running around, even when it makes me sad. And will I go back to College Park after all my friends have graduated? For sure! Do you have any idea how soft the grass on the mall is? I could sit there all day.

I have this conversation all the time with people here about friendships. And I've realized that everyone had a different past when it comes to friends. Not everyone has a friend who lived down the street who they played with every single shabbat afternoon their entire life and after being away for six months can within seconds renew the same friendship. Not everyone has groups of friends who came over multiple times a week in college for movie nights, or piled into a living room for the newest episode of the OC. The basis of a friendship has nothing to do with how long it's going to last. Things happen. And it happens differently for each person.

So time to ditch that conversation and look ahead when I find myself in a park at 1am... whether it be with a new friend here in Israel or an old one at a park in the US. I'll happily enjoy the moment wherever it is. And it's all about what's going to make me happy...

Hi from downtown Silver Spring

... where I'm sitting on the ground by a random office building stealing some random company/person's wireless, and losing feeling in various parts of my body. But at least the weather is great. I feel like a homeless person, except I don't know of too many homeless people who sit around on an iBook. Anyway, I am here because I'm meeting up with a couple friends soon. Then I'm going to Kemp Mill to meet up with another friend and I'll go with her on a tour of Kemp Mill to see various friends including two who have a newborn baby. Aw. Can't wait. And then... going to College Park! I'm throwing myself a party there. How else am I going to see everyone is such a short period of time? I'm excited.

This morning I said bye to my sister, met two friends in Dupont Circle for doughnuts, then met one of my best childhood friends for an early lunch. She told me that she accidentally mentioned my blog to my mom once so... Hi Ema, are you reading this? Just curious.

She also told me which entry is one of her favorites, and I just reread it while waiting here ("I am Here," May 2008) and got all teary eyed. It was an interesting experience reflecting on it from here in the US.

I was just starting to actually miss Israel. I considered this a huge accomplishment. I was even starting to look forward to going back. Then I came down to DC and realized how many people I wanted to see in such a short amount of time, and how much it sucks that I'm practically allotting thirty minute slots for each of my friends (and some have to double up). Not nearly enough time to catch up, share my adventures, and hear about theirs as well. I am generally flexible, and willing to shlep all over, but there are sleeping schedules and work schedules and homework and, most importantly, of course, accommodating my friend who goes to a bar to watch the football game. I wish there were hours in a day. I wish there wasn't an ocean between me and everyone else I know. If only the East Coast of the US was 5500 miles closer... and hey, that would put Chicago and LA where other friends live not that far away as well.

Tomorrow I will hopefully see Lisa in Boston, and the following week I will see Alissa is Boston, and before I know it I will be back in Jerusalem curled up with Harriet the Spy. I will start thinking about when my next trip to the US will be. It will probably be shorter and I'll once again feel stressed about drifting away from everything and everybody. Seeing this friend at lunch today was almost a relief, as I will get to see her again briefly over Rosh Hashanah.

I decided it's possible to question one's decisions without it leading towards regret. I still never regret my decision to make aliyah. I look forward to returning, starting graduate school, and being reunited with my friends there. I'm still leaving bits of myself in different places... Boston, Philadelphia, College Park... everywhere that's important to me. I'll be visiting College Park long after everyone I know there has graduated.

I don't expect to write anything until after I get back, so I wish each and everyone of you... in Israel and all over the US, or the total strangers who come across my blog, and Healthy and Happy New Year full of new and successful beginnings, choices, and just simple day to day victories.

Teaching Gino and Ken how to cook kosher chicken on an Amtrak train

This morning I left my host's apartment in San Francisco and held my breath while walking down the street because it smelled like urine. Did I mention that last night I was offered drugs? At least a woman asked me if I "wanted any" and while "any" can mean lots of different things I'm going to guess from the other activity on the street that she was trying to sell me drugs.

Michael gave me a ride to San Jose for my ten hour train ride to Los Angeles. Every inch of the trip was beautiful. It's amazing how many people live in the middle of nowhere. Then suddenly we'd come to a place with like a hundred houses and there would be a train stop. The first half of the trip was all brown and green and the second half was along the gorgeous Pacific Ocean. It was fun being waved to by people on the beach.

The craziest part of this trip was my kosher food. I was really excited to get meals on the train because I hadn't eaten any real food for like forty eight hours. Besides the not-so-convenient availability of food and being slightly jetlagged in that my body didn't know when it needed food, I had been surviving on junk food and ice cream for two days. The banana split at Ghirardelli's had fruit-- that counts for something, right? Suddenly my body was like "hey, I need protein."

First I spoke to Ken. He was in charge of food arrangements. He told me that Gino, the guy who worked in my car, could bring the meal straight to my seat. Gino said he had to talk to Ken. Together they discovered that my food was being loaded onto the train at Santa Barbara, another hour away. This was after several hours of waiting and extreme hunger. Finally we arrived in Santa Barbara. Ken and Gino came to my seat with nervous smiles on their faces. Apparently the food that was delivered was raw kosher chicken. Great. So I carefully explained to Ken that my chicken could be double-wrapped and heated in the oven. They were so apologetic and didn't even charge me for the meal. It was cute because they also double wrapped the bowl of salad they brought me. Finally around 7 I got dinner. Mmmm protein. A random homeless lady at Union Station in LA got the rest of the chicken. Beats the drugs which seemed to make up most of what she was consuming.

Now I'm at my friend's house in LA. I hadn't seen her in like five years, so it's pretty awesome. Any suggestions of what to do tomorrow?

Travel log take 1

I suppose the next five weeks of my life do not directly connect to my aliyah experience, but seeing that I am visiting so many places and doing so many things I can't help but report on them. And besides, I am on a plane three hours from Chicago and, get this, there aren't individual TV screens. That's right-- in the course of a just over ten hour flight they showed two movies on public screens, neither of which I had any interest in seeing, and then that's it. Luckily the plane is practically empty and I have three seats to myself. Thanks to three pillows and two blankets I managed to get a little rest (thanks to pulling an allnighter last night... though I'm not entirely convinced it will help with the jetlag).

To back up a bit, I have learned some lessons about international travel. I used to fly all the time. Baltimore-Washington International Airport was like a second home, especially that time I got stuck there for eleven hours. I flew in and out of there at least a dozen times a year. I could time exactly when to get there keeping in mind bus times, walking to the terminal times, and security lines. I had it down perfectly. Except for the one time I messed up and got stuck for eleven hours. I thought by now I had Ben Gurion figured out pretty well too. Lines are long, Israelis are crazy, but hey, I've done this so many times before, right?

Wrong. Apparently nearly all the flights to Europe leave between 5 and 7am. And apparently Thursday is the most popular day to fly. Or maybe it was just today. But school is starting next week so where are people going? Needless to say the airport was a mess this morning. The first phase of security/check-in went okay, but then I was in line for the counter for over an hour. I got into this line at 4am. My flight was at 6:05am. You do the math. Thank goodness for those extra five minutes. And as if you can even call what I was standing in a line. It was mayhem. There was lots of yelling. There was a group of Ya Ya Sisterhood type women in front of me and they were happy to report to each other that most of the yelling and fighting was coming from French people and not “our own” as they said it. Finally at maybe 5:25 I arrived at the front of the line. Should be straight forward at this point, right? Wrong again. A year in Israel has taught me that nothing is straight forward. The clerk was confused about my teudat maavar (temporary passport-- I am not yet eligible for a real one). So she had to call up some supervisor and ask him about it. The clock was ticking. She told me to run. Duh. No McCafe fries for me this trip.

I ran. Then came passport control. Hurray, I'm an Israeli citizen, maybe my line will be shorter! The lines were all about the same length and pace. But then... I was two away from the front of the line when, excuse my language, wtf!? The sign above the booth switched from “Israeli Passports” to “Foreign Passports” which is apparently what it was supposed to be. Grr. Switched lines, more running. I know it was around 5:45 when I was in that line and I had to be boarded by 5:50. I made it. I squished down into my typical El Al plane middle seat and was so exhausted and stressed out that it took me ten minutes to notice some check-in sticker that got stuck to my leg. It was a short flight to Rome. I think I slept for most of it. I honestly don't even know how long the flight was. I think it was supposed to be four hours, but maybe it was three. This led me into another problem. I arrived in Rome and had NO idea what time it was. And there weren't any clocks ANYWHERE.

I do not recommend flying through the Rome airport. I think I don't recommend flying through a country where English isn't the main language, but there were enough Israelis and Americans around with the same looks and exclamations of utter confusion that we all figured out where to go. Or at least wound up in the wrong place. The airport is a series of random monorails and unclear instructions on where to go. My flight to Chicago was at 10:55, but the departure board was only listing flights up until 10:50. Great. Finally found security, made it through, then had to take a second monorail that I think went back where I came from. Once there it was completely unclear where to check in again. All the other airlines had semi-clearly marked counters but not American Airlines. And again, I had no idea what time it was and how long I had until my flight. So I stalked the gate, which I by then found the location of, and eventually I noticed a small line forming in front of an unmarked screen but there was someone behind the counter doing something that looked useful. Finally checked in and found out that I had about fifteen minutes until boarding time. Phew.

You can imagine the look of horror on my face when I discovered the lack of individual screens on the plane. We're so spoiled these days. But I have my three seats three pillows and two blankets and the food and service have been decent. About two and a half hours to go until I land in Chicago. Once there I have to figure out how to get where I need to go. That will be fun. Thus my adventure begins...

(This post was finally posted to the blog at 9:30pm Chicago time after an eventful trip to the North Side with my taxi driver who didn't speak English which didn't help with the unclear directions. But a Ken's Diner dinner later and lots of catching up later all is well!)

Cousins!

Last night was my cousin Chava Levine's wedding. Chava's dad and my dad are first cousins, and there are a slew of second cousins that I barely know, have only met once, or haven't met at all. Last night was a real treat. One cousin tapped me on the shoulder because she recognized me from FOURTEEN YEARS AGO. Okay, and she saw me on facebook, but still. It's really great having so many cousins around my age and I hope to get to know more of them better.