A couple of weeks ago I spoke with a good friend on the phone about my acceptance to National Service in a hospital next year (I will G-d willing dedicate a whole post to all the shannagins that went into that some other time). My dear friend told me how happy she was for me, and she expressed her excitement that I was reaching a new phase in my Aliyah, a place where things were turning around and getting better. At the time, I accepted her congratulations and thought quietly to myself that Aliyah doesn't quite work like that, but maybe she was correct and I was looking at it wrong. Well, a few weeks later I realize my gut was correct--it doesn't work like that at all (sorry to my lovely friend, I know you were hoping for the best).
My sister is on a hike now with the other teenagers her age from our Yishuv (her Shevet). She didn't want to go, but we convinced her. "It'll be fun," we said. "It's good for you," we said. "Don't worry about the language, there will be English speakers there to help," we said. Well, I am officially eating my hat and sternly reprimanding myself for encouraging her to go on a hike she didn't want to go on, and for putting my head in her personal decision-making. I now understand why she didn't want to go.
It all started charmingly, her friend came to pick her up, and they set off to wait for the bus in good spirits. Before they had even left the soil of the Yishuv, someone heard my sister's friend speaking to her in English and said, "no don't speak to her in English, her house is in English, that's enough."
I was in shock. How could someone say that? How could someone pass that judgment on my sister? I am struggling to understand the insensitivity that one must possess to make a comment like that, even a passing one. I've been trying to understand this phenomenon for months now, and I still am no clearer on why people say these things. I hear people saying "yeah her Hebrew's not that good"--when I'm standing right there. This is not even touching on what people say to my face, such as "well, aren't you scared for the Hebrew? I mean I don't think you can do it." "Wait another year, it's too challenging for you."
Back to my sister and her hike: There is no way that that person knows what's going on in my sister's head. There is no way they know how much Hebrew or English she understands. What's the big deal if she likes to speak to her friends in English? Why is Hebrew so much better for her right now, at this moment in time--a mere 7 months after her arrival here? For the people that grew up speaking Hebrew; great! You've revived an ancient language. For the people that never set foot out of Israel and don't appear to posses one iota of compassion or one speck of imagination for what it must feel like to be in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, all bombarding you in an unfamiliar language; cheerio. Let's all clap, you are all like Itzchak Avinu (Issac our father)...or are you? Do you really think he would have said that to my sister?
My sister just got here. Yes she didn't come from a war-raging country, or a poverty-stricken province. Yes, we (her and I) come from a more "spoiled" place. But that doesn't negate the fact that we chose to come here, to what is supposed to be the Jewish home. Just because I came from a 1st world country is my Aliyah a joke?
It's hard to leave plenty for poverty.
It is onerous to leave understanding for judgment.
It's tough to leave grandeur for rubble.
It's trying to leave popularity for pariah-dom.
It is challenging to go from being helpful to being an oaf.
It is herculean to leave comfort for struggle.
It is a struggle to leave familiarity for the unknown.
And that struggle continues every day. Every wretched day. Does it come in waves? I would say so. Indeed, sometimes things look very bright and sunny. Every now and then I meet a really caring person, or come across a family who really wants all the Jews here, all of them home, and they do everything they can to welcome and help. But there are peaks and valleys, high and low points. I think as time wears on the stretches in between get longer, and maybe I will one day stay on the peaks permanently. But for now, there are still dips, and I ask G-d for help in everything I do.
People ask me why I'm here, why don't I leave? I came home, and home I intend to stay. I belong here, even if the natives don't seem to think so. Did I expect a warmer welcome, yes. Did I expect more understanding? Yes. Was I prepared for degradation? No. Was I prepared for continuous judgment? No.
Will I deal with it and persevere? You bet.
I remember hanging out with a lot of Saudi students in America. I was friends with many non-native speakers, and I learned a lot about other cultures. When I came to Israel and experienced being an immigrant for myself, I looked back on my experiences there and realized that I should have spoken slower, shouldn't have written such long messages and other retrospective tips. But overall, when I was there I tried to imagine what is was like for them and to show compassion to people far away from their home, food, language, and culture. I imagined, and even though I didn't get it right all the time, at least I tried to have compassion. I attempted to think about what it was like to be in a place where everything around someone is foreign.
And that's what I just don't understand. Didn't peoples' parents and teachers tell them that? Didn't peoples' counselors school them in the ways of compassion and kindness?
What happened to compassion?
היום אני במצב רוח רע. יש עננים שחורים ואני מרגישה בייאוש. אני מקווה שאנשים יהיו יותר נחמד בעתיד
Translation: Today I'm in a bad mood. There are black clouds and I feel in despair. I hope that people will be nicer in the future.
I remain, yours etc,
Shira
