“At some point in time, the sleeping pills and the wine must have taken effect, because I woke up groggy, tired and with the worst kink in my neck about a half-an-hour before landing. I was not awoken by the flight attendant announcement to buckle my seatbelt or put my seat in the up-right position, instead, I woke up to the sound of people singing and dancing in the isles of the plane. While some people might consider this to be an amazing and heart-warming experience, please don’t forget my current state. I was hung-over . . . or still drunk for that matter  . . . and people, who in all reality look crazy, are dancing on a plane. I was absolutely in shock by what was going on around me.  Even though I was excited to be moving to Israel and to be making Aliyah, I didn’t feel any need to do the hora and make a fool out of myself. I again decided to leave that to the people wearing the kippas on their heads. I do have to admit that I did get a little caught up in the excitement of everything. After all, I was making one of the biggest moves of my life, what would it hurt if I sang a few songs? (Unfortunately I am tone deaf and I can actually do a lot of damage to peoples’ ears when I sing . ..  uhum .. . try to sing.)”For the continuation of this post, please visit The Move to Israel – Post 9.

As anyone who has flown on El Al knows, you have to go through an interrogation before being allowed to reach the ticket counter. I remember the first time I had to undergo this process and I was quite flattered, I thought that they were just really interested in getting to know me and I ended up developing a crush on the glorified flight attended. However, after enduring my plane ride to New York and anticipating a fight about my packed luggage at the desk, I was not in the mood to be interrogated like a terrorist. Luckily however, everything went smoothly – there were no cavity searches and surprisingly no complaints regarding the with the weight of my suitcases (I guess they knew that if I had bothered to pack all of that, then I must really need it or just simply they knew that I didn’t pay for my ticket so that there was no way I would be paying for my luggage). I was then handed my “Aliyah Ticket” – the first and the last free thing I would ever receive from Israel.For the continuation of this post, please visit The Move to Israel – Post 8.

I flew to Israel on a flight chartered by Nefesh B’Nefesh and completely full of other American Jews making Aliyah. They were people just like me who had packed up their entire lives, left their entire history behind them, in order to begin a new life in a completely strange and foreign country. I got to the check-in area and instead of seeing a bunch of young adults who are about to make their way in Israel by themselves, far away from their loved ones, I see hordes of families, little children running around screaming, babies crying, women in long skirts and hair coverings and men gathered together in one location praying. It is not that I have anything against the religious; I just wasn’t expecting to be on a plane that could double as a daycare center.

For the continuation of this post, please visit The Move to Israel - Post 7.

My luggage eventually made it on to the plane, but I only made it on to the plane after I had put on 20 pairs of underwear, three pairs of pants, five t-shirts, a sweatshirt and a sweater. (It felt like sorority pledge ship all over again, which I did not enjoy too much the first time around.) Did I mention that it was the middle of July and I also had to carry my winter coat? I had found out the hard way that it can get pretty cold in Israel when I spent the semester in Jerusalem and because of the bad heating systems and the desert architecture (which keep the cold in and the heat out), you unfortunately need a coat inside, as well as outside.

For the continuation of this post, please visit The Move to Israel - Post 6.

I have always been the type of person to say what was on my mind . . . no matter if it was nice or not. In the states, I was considered argumentative, loud mouthed and some even thought I was obnoxious, but in Israel, I’m considered sweet, friendly and innocent in comparison to the rest of society. Don’t get me wrong, I know how to hold my own here and how to speak up when necessary. Trust me, a sweet and innocent Midwestern girl would never make it here in Israel if she didn’t have some chutzpah! Forget the Arab terrorists, try keeping your spot in line at an Israeli supermarket on a Friday afternoon! If you aren’t willing to yell, scream, pull some hair and throw some elbows into the people behind you, there is no way you will make your purchase before the store closes.

For the continuation of this post, please visit The Aliyah Decision – Post 5.

Even after five years of living in Israel, people still ask me why I decided to move to Israel. While I have a long explanation about coming to visit when I was younger a few times, studying here while I was in college and doing a volunteer program, I don’t think that any of these explanations are the real reason. I think the real reason stems from the fact that I never really felt like I fit-in in the United States.  

While I am sure that my Zionist and Jewish upbringing had something to do with my decision, I don’t think that these reasons are what has kept me here. Because if there is one thing that I have learned over the years, is that you can not survive on Zionism in Israel.

For the continuation of this post, please visit The Aliyah Decision – Post 4.