The Move to Israel

(Continued from The Aliyah Decision Page)

 

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Post 6:

 

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.

 

I figured that this flight from Minnesota to New York was going to be the most uncomfortable flight in my lifetime – I was soon proved wrong. I was now on my way to Israel, the land of milk and honey . . . or of thorn bushes and cactuses?

 

I made aliyah through this amazing organization, called Nefesh B’Nefesh that basically hands out money to people who want to make Aliyah to Israel. When I first heard of it I thought it was like the Jewish “Make A Wish” Foundation, but for people who are not sick . . . at least not physically.

 

I found out later that the organization is a non-profit that tries to bring Jewish souls (not Jewish opinions . . . that would have been a disaster waiting to happen!) together in Israel. The funny thing about this organization is that some of its funds are raised from evangelical Christians that want all of the Jewish people to move back to Israel, which is supposed to bring about Armageddon and eventually the return of Jesus Christ. I wonder if they expect to get their money back if that doesn’t happen?  Cause us Jews are not that good about giving back refunds.

 

The organization is truly a spectacular concept and it truly helps with the Aliyah and absorption process. Besides handing out money, it also helps with the brutal Israeli bureaucracy. The things this organization can do to get around the bureaucracy should be documented as modern-day miracles, right up there with the biblical ones. On top of it all, Nefsh B’Nefesh also provided me a free ticket to Israel – just like Birthright does. I didn’t realize until after I landed that, unlike Birthright, the ticket Nefesh B’Nefesh gave me was only a one-way ticket. I guess that is how they keep us in Israel!

 

Post 7:

 

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. After seeing this scene, I stopped dead in my tracks and thought that this must be a sign from G-d telling me, “You are making a mistake, go back!” Now this is a very powerful sign for me, considering that I have contemplated the existence of G-d. Yes, its true, I’m Jewish and I’m a Zionist who has made Aliyah and I have had such questions, but that just goes to show that I am a truly complex, intellectual and deep individual. It has nothing to do with being confused, lost or depressed . . . at least that is what I’ve been trying to convince rabbis . . . and psychologists. Rabbis have recommended prayer, psychologists have suggested Valium . . . Now do you understand why I’d have the tendency to lean towards secularism? *

 

While contemplating my Aliyah decision, out of the sea of families, a young twenty-something year-old woman wearing pants and a tank top appears. Her name, from the Torah, was Ester (which I though must symbolize her grace and wit, but I later figured out later that it more accurately represented her ability to charm men). Ester and I quickly hit it off. We soon found out that we would be living, working and studying Hebrew together. I could already tell that we were going to be very close and go through a lot of amazing and probably difficult experiences together. I was thrilled to have somebody else to be a part of this amazing Aliyah experience with me. This instant friendship and incredible coincidence made me realize that I was making the right choice and I decided to leave the signs from G-d to the men with the kippas.

 

*Please note that this is meant as a non-offensive joke and should not be taken seriously. I do not have a prescription for Valium . . . unfortunately.

 

Post 8:

 

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 actually was quite flattered because I thought that they were just really interested in getting to know me and I ended up developing a crush on the glorified male 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 weight of my suitcases (I guess they knew that if I had bothered to pack all of that stuff, then I must really need it or they just simply knew that since I didn’t pay for my ticket 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.

 

After wandering around aimlessly in the airport for a few hours, spending my last few hours in the states sitting next to some strange, smelly Indian guy, it was finally time to board the plane. Unfortunately the parents that were at the check-in area were also arriving to the boarding area and had decided to bring their multiple children with them on the plane instead of leaving them to fend for themselves in the states. Now, I know that children have a tendency to cry and scream, but I don’t have a very high tolerance for them . . . especially not in small, enclosed spaces when my only options are to deal with them or dive out of a plane to an unpleasant death.

 

Imagine the reaction of a small child who has been told that he is leaving his friends and family for a different country, and not only do they speak an ancient language but buses and restaurants are blown-up on a regular basis. Obviously they spent the entire 11 hours crying, begging, pleading and trying to get their parents to turn the plane back around – good thing El Al has reinforced doors, otherwise there might have been a coup by those kids.

 

After pushing through the families, I finally got to my seat – next to two religious girls about my age. (Couldn’t I be sitting next to a cute guy on my Aliyah flight to Israel? Is that really too much to ask? I mean, there should be plenty of single Jewish guys on this flight.) I organize everything and sit down and get comfortable. Just after getting my pillow in the exact right position a religious girl standing in the isle looks at me oddly and walks away. I figured she didn’t like my tank top and I lay my head back down. Then two minutes later, I am disturbed by a tap on the shoulder and some blond-haired, tall guy asks to check my ticket. At the first sight of him, I think – wait, this doesn’t make sense – one of us is on the wrong flight – either he is supposed to be on Swedish Airlines or I took a wrong turn. It turns out, that this girl went to go tattle on me for being in the wrong seat. Yes, a 20-something girl tattle-taled on me on my Aliyah Flight. In the end, they double booked us. This guy, who had so rudely disturbbed me (an judging by his profile, was obviously part of the Jewish nation) offered to move me to an empty row of chairs up front. I quickly gathered up my belongings and left the tattle-taler with her mouth hanging open to go make myself comfortable.

 

I had expected that this flight would be one that I would never forget, as it was one of the biggest steps of my life. I didn’t imagine, however, that it would be full of babies crying, children screaming, men praying and nine cats meowing, yes NINE. Luckily the Israeli flight attendants would occasionally bring around food which would shut-up the children for awhile and some wine to calm the adults. I think there was even a point in time where I contemplated giving some of the really loud kids my wine so they would be quite. I did not do this of course, not due to any ethical or moral concerns, but because I wanted the entire bottle for myself. After using the bottle of white wine to help me swallow my sleeping pill, I was finally able to pass out for a couple of hours.

 

In between my pill-induced comatose, I met a few other young adults who had also decided that they also needed a change in their life – and a new pair of jeans just was not enough. One of the people I met even shared my last name – Fishman. I was so excited that I finally met another Fishman since I had never run into any others in the States. After playing some Jewish Geography and tracing our family roots, we realized that we were not related and to my dismay, I figured out that he spelled his name incorrectly – with a C! Who ever heard of an animal called “FisCh”? Despite this being an argument we continue to have 5 years down the road, the fact of the matter is that our last names are spelled the same in Hebrew and often people think that we are a married couple, since we look nothing alike. (I don’t know why we have yet to take advantage of this to get discounts – If you are reading, then we should really start doing this!) Then after being in Israel I learned that there are quite a few Fishmans, even one very wealthy and famous one. Wouldn’t it be great if I ended up being related to him?! Unfortunately, I have yet to be invited over for Friday night dinner at Tamir Fishman’s house, but give me time, I will somehow find the family connection.

 

Post 9:

 

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.)

 

However, at the time, I did not realize why everyone was so elated until a few days later. It turned out, that Nefesh B’Nefesh had arranged the impossible – getting an agent of Israel’s Internal Ministry on the plane. And not only that, the agent was actually working on the plane. I don’t know how they were able to trick an Israeli Internal Ministry Agent into actually working, but somehow they did. Didn’t I tell you that Nefesh B’Nefesh is a miracle worker? The agent was there to set up each person on the plane with an Israeli ID Card. (Since the Israeli Internal Ministry is either on vacation, on strike or has a huge line outside of it, getting an Israeli ID card on the plane was crucial to a successful and easy Aliyah process.) Unfortunately, since I was in a state of comatose for most of the plane ride, I did not receive my card. To this day, I do not understand why the agent did not wake me up. For crying out loud, it is not like being woken up for crappy airplane food!

 

People were still dancing in the isles after the seatbelt sign was turned on and there was no indication that the dancing was going to let up. After unsuccessfully asking people to sit down, the flight attendants began physically forcing people into their seats. I was surprised how strong the El Al flight attendants actually were – I wonder if that is a requirement for the job.

 

After everyone had been seated, Nefesh B’Nefesh began handing out ugly baseball caps and told us to put them on our heads. I couldn’t understand why the organization would want to enforce the stereotype of dorky Americans making Aliyah and I almost refused to put it on, but then I figured that was the least I could do for all the money they had given me.

 

Normally getting off a plane after 13 hours of being cramped up with a bunch smelly kids and cats is exciting enough, but when the doors of our plane opened up, it looked like the entire country was throwing me, yes me and only me, a surprise party. There were soldiers waving Israeli flags, people singing and even government officials who had come to welcome us to Israel. I was greeted by some of the highest political officials in Israel. I shook hands with Ariel Sharon and Bibi Netenyahu. (Now that I think of it, it might have been an election year and that was the reason they came. In any case, it meant no difference to me.) To this day I have a picture hanging on my wall with me standing in between Ariel Sharon, Bibi Netenyahu and Sallai Meridor (The Jewish Agency President). Despite Sharon being an extraordinary leader, I never noticed how extraordinarily overweight he was until I saw him in person. Then when I developed the photograph that I took standing next to him and I could barely see myself next to him, I knew that he was one of those people that I would not have wanted to be sitting next to on the airplane. Even worse was seeing that the shirt I had decided to wear on this unforgettable day when I was standing next to such a historic and respectable man was see-through!

 

Ariel Sharon and Me -

Upon my arrival in Israel 

 

I had just landed and I felt like I was receiving a celebrity’s welcome. Not only were we welcomed by the highest political personalities in Israel, but we also got luggage carts for free! I learned later that luggage carts in Israel are always free, which surprised me. For some reason, in Israel, where people like to make a shekel on everything, the luggage carts, which cost $5 in the States, and the wi-fi access are free. In my opinion, this is a type of false advertising for the country. Think about it! If you were a tourist in Israel and upon your landing you received free wi-fi and a free luggage cart, then imagine your surprise when you walked outside and tried to catch a taxi.

 

In any case, it’s a good thing that I did not get used to this special treatment, because as soon as the party was over, everything was back to normal – have to argue and struggle to get anything accomplished.

 

Post 10:

 

No more than five minutes after the amazing welcome ceremony ended, we were already hit with the notorious Israeli bureaucracy. (It was obvious that this treatment would not last for long.) I believe that the reason Israelis seem so angry all the time is because of all the frustrations caused by the Israeli bureaucratic systems. For instance, every year the Internal Ministry goes on strike. It is not technically a strike, because they are in their offices everyday, but the thing is that they do not actually work. They do not answer phone calls, they don’t return faxes and they do not meet with people; however, no one actually realizes that they are on strike because this condition does not actually deviate from their normal work habits. The oddest part about the strike is that it happens once a year at exactly the same time. It is almost as if it has become a national holiday. (The international media always makes a big deal about the Palestinians that have to weight hours at checkpoints and make it sound like it is the most inhumane treatment in the world. I don’t understand why there hasn’t been any coverage of the Israelis that have to weight outside the Internal Ministry for hours.) In fact, it is not just the Internal Ministry that goes on strike – it is the trash collectors, the banks, the airport, the teachers, the students, everyone! Each year, there is a period of about a week that all state workers go on strike. Trash piles up, nobody can get money out of the banks and worst of all, the airport shuts down, so there is no way to escape the mess and the stench. Where are all the NGO’s and the UN organizations during these closures??? The weirdest strike of all in Israel, is when university students go on strike to protest rising tuition. Only in Israel, would people go on strike against something they themselves are paying for in order to make a point. The funny thing about this is that one year the students go on strike because tuitions are rising and the next year the teachers go on strike because their salaries are too low. It’s almost as if they don’t see the connection between the two figures.

 

The wait in line in order to register myself as a citizen made the 11- hour flight short and pleasant, while the documents I had to fill out made the SAT’s seem simple. The questions I had to answer and the all the information I had to supply made me genuinely prefer to have been interrogated by the Shaback, and I’ve heard that that experience isn’t very pleasant.

 

At this point I also found out that I was the unlucky sole that did not receive a Teudat Zehat (an Israeli ID card) and they threatened me that they wouldn’t be able to help me. I fought to the bitter end and in the end, I received my Israeli documentation that would be necessary for all of the other government ministries and bureaucracy that I would be dealing with in the coming days, weeks and years (that is, when they are not on strike.) Most importantly I received my first monthly government allowance, which I realized would only be enough to feed me for the next few days.

 

Once I actually was free to leave the airport, I decided I had changed my mind. It was the weirdest feeling. I realized that I was leaving the airport and going home to a place that I had never been to before. No matter how much I loved Israel at that point, all I could think about was warm American apple pie – and not in the way that the movie uses it.

 

I quickly had to overcome my fear and panic in order to find a ride to my new home from the airport. Part of the welcome package from the government of Israel is a ride from the airport to anywhere in the country. I, like any normal, rational person, went straight to my new home in Jerusalem; however, if I had been thinking like an Israeli, I would have taken full advantage of this benefit and traveled to Eilat for a week of sun and fun on the government’s bill. Instead, what actually happened is that the taxi drivers, like true veteran Israelis, took advantage of being the end receivers of the government’s money and stuffed as many people into one car as humanly possible. This system allowed them to charge for multiple rides, while only having to make a single trip. They put us one on top of the other, holding suitcases, sitting on suitcases, on the floor – I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had tied us to the roof or put us in the trunk if they had thought that they could get away with it.

 

The entire ride to my new home, I was stuck with the people that had been on the flight with me, but by this point the men were smellier, the children crankier, louder and more annoying and the women were just plain worn out. It was the middle of July and the air conditioner was broken or at least that is what the driver said because he didn’t want to waste money or gas running it. The windows were open, but it didn’t help, the air that was whacking me in the face, felt more like a hot hairdryer than a burst of fresh air. Not to mention, that all of the air that was reaching me was streaming through the sweaty arm pits of the man in front of me. At one point, I asked if I could be strapped to the roof of the car just so that I could be allotted some fresh air. When I asked that the driver began yelling at me for not asking in the beginning because then he could have fit another person in the car. Now, this was a much more appropriate welcoming for Israel than the ceremony!

 

Post 11

 

After the two hours it took to get to Jerusalem from the airport and drop off every single other passenger, we finally got to my destination: my new home. When I got out, the taxi driver practically threw my luggage at me and I didn’t even have a chance to yell at him because he just took off, leaving me in the dust. At that point, I turned around to look down towards my new home and all I could think about was, how in the world was I going to get my overweight suitcases up to the third floor.

 

When choosing where I should live once I made Aliyah, I had two main options – due to financial constraints, either an absorption center or a private commune. The absorption center is basically a state run institution for new immigrants to live in for a few months after moving to the country and most closely resembles a cross between living in a homeless shelter and college dorms. I had previously lived in an absorption center while I was on a volunteer program in Israel the year beforehand. I was provided the bare essentials – a mini fridge, a stove top, a cot that was harder than the floor and a shower and a toilet that I could use at the same time. I was lucky enough to find some cardboard boxes that someone must have thrown out and turn them into some shelves for my clothes. The other residents at the absorption center were Ethiopian immigrant families that could barely speak Hebrew (and absolutely no English) and were not yet familiar with modern technology. They didn’t know what a fridge or a stove was and often would use them to store their clothes. Every time that a new family would move in to the absorption center, there was bound to be a few accidental fires until they got a hang of things.

 

The Ethiopian children at the absorption center were louder and more hyper than all the kids on the plane. I know that Ritalin is over prescribed in the states, but it was definitely under prescribed in this absorption center. These kids were so full of energy, that you would think that they sucked on sugar all day long. They never calmed down and it was weird, because their parents were always so calm and relaxed. I wasn’t sure if the kids had run them down or if they had used up all of their energy when they were kids themselves.

 

The other option, which in the end became my new home, was called Merkaz Hamagshamim, technically meaning A Center for people who fulfill their dreams. The name of the commune is reminiscent of the days of Israel’s establishment, when the Jewish people immigrated from all over the world to settle and build the country. The commune continued this tradition of gathering together all different types of people . . . no matter how odd, strange or peculiar. Built on the foundation of multi-culturalism, pluralism and tolerance, the center’s purpose was to help absorb Anglo-Saxons into Israeli society. Most of the residents were from English speaking nations, i.e. the U.S., Canada, Australia or England, but they tried to sprinkle a few Israelis into the crowd to give it more of an Israeli feel. With the variety of characters that came to live at the center, knowing how to accept other people’s views and opinions was crucial. The center had a way of attracting the most extreme people.  The center was a very colorful experience, from Uri, the quirky, very left-wing and outspoken film student who would eat and watch movies on the religious fast days to Tziporah and Yisrael, the young, recently married right-wing orthodox couple who recently moved from the states and was trying to get pregnant while fighting all of time, from Jackie, the openly and flamboyant gay guy studying to be a Rabbi to David, the overweight vegan, from Efriam, the guy who’s room smelled like something had died in it and downloaded porn for all the guy’s at the center while complaining about the lack of his sex life to Joey, the bald-headed guy that looked like a penis with his hat off and of course the two newest additions – Ester, who turned out to be a promiscuous thespian with breast implants exploring her sexuality and ME.

 

All of the residents would often participate together in different activities that the center held, from movie nights to yoga and from plays to Friday night dinners in the courtyard. These gatherings always proved both amusing . . . and a bit frightening. Typically when four Jews are put in a room together, there will be five opinions and a lot of yelling. This was also true of our dinners. Things would normally start out friendly and cheerful, but it only took a few minutes for things to turn nasty and for people to start yelling and screaming.

 

It would often start out with some jokes and people telling one another about what happened to them during the week. Jackie, the gay Rabbi in training, would begin telling us about the portion of the week, for instance, about Abraham and Isaac, but then he would be quickly sidetracked and begun telling us about the “totally hot guy” named Isaac that he met at the dance club earlier that week. This of course would bring about a response from the religious married couple about the sanctity of the relationship between a man and woman. However, they were quickly drowned out by the curiosity of Ester innocently wondering where he goes out and if she could come with him the next time. And then, Uri the film student would want to know if he could possibly tag along with Ester the next time she goes out and bring his camera. Over all of the commotion, the vegan wants to know if bread has any honey in it for flavor because if it does, he can’t eat it since the bees could have been abused in the process of making it. I would often look around at all of these people and think how incredibly weird they were and how happy I was that I wasn’t really one of them. (Unfortunately or possibly fortunately – I soon realized that I was one of them). There were times during my stay at the Merkaz Hamagshamim that I felt like I was participating in MTV’s Real World TV Show.

 

However, getting out of the taxi, I, of course, was unaware of the crazy atmosphere at the commune and had no idea of what I was about to get myself into. After the long trip that I had just been through, I was so happy to be able to finally be able to rest, that it didn’t matter to me where I was.

 

Post 12

 

When I first arrived everyone was very friendly and welcoming, especially the guys (I later found out that they were actually more horny and lonely than friendly). A few of the guys even helped me carry my bags up to my new room and spent the whole time bitching about the weight of my suitcases . . . I’m just glad they didn’t tell me I’d have to pay extra for my overweight bags because at that point, I would have pushed them down the stairs, suitcases and all.

 

We finally made it into my room, my new home, which was essentially four bare walls, a cot and a broken shelf. The sight of my “home” made me feel as if all those Jeff Foxworth fans who thought I was moving to the middle of the desert were correct. I almost started to cry. No, they were not tears of joy for having realized my Aliyah dream; they were tears of exhaustion and a bit of fear. Walking into that room, I all of the sudden realized for the first time how different the rest of my life was going to be from what my life had been up to this point. Everything was going to be hard, from learning Hebrew to going to the grocery store and from making money to my new mattress. However, at that point the only thing that mattered was sleeping and I knew that at least that wouldn’t be too hard to do. The one thing I did before I fell asleep was decide that I was going to have to buy a new bed as soon as possible.

 

The next thing I know I wake up confused and disorientated at five in the morning to a rooster crowing. I was not quite sure where I was or in which year. I thought that somehow I had been transported to the time of the founding of the State of Israel. That I must be one of the pioneers of Israel because that was the only rational explanation that I could figure out for why there would be a rooster crowing n the middle of Jerusalem. I am still tired and jet lagged and so I try to go back to sleep; however, after an hour of trying to block out the rooster crowing, I decide to get up and get an early start on my day.

 

I realized that I had quite a long day of bureaucracy in front of me, which meant I would need a lot of energy in the event that I would have to get into a wrestling match with someone. I started making a list of all the things that I needed to get done. I realized that I would need to go to the Internal Ministry to get my permanent I.D. card, the Absorption Ministry to get my Absorption I.D. card and sign up for my absorption rights, the bank in order to open up an account, the cell phone store in order to buy a phone and set up an account, to Hebrew Ulpan in order to sign up for Hebrew lessons, to the Insurance office to sign up for an HMO and the Education Ministry to transfer my university degree. While this might sound straight forward, don’t be fooled, nothing is easy in Israel, especially when it comes to governmental procedures. It is almost as if the government is trying to convince new immigrants to go back to their native country or give them a chance to re-think there decision. To me the whole process felt more like a test, as if the people that were able to make it through all of these procedures alive were officially awarded the privilege to be called an authentic Israeli and won the right to live in Israel and the others got sent away.

 

More on the Israeli Bureaucracy next week . . . .