On EKGs and Growing a Backbone

Hello dear readers,

I recently went through an experience where I had to stand up for myself in my position in National Service and I'd like to share a few (haha, as if) words about it here:

During the course I took before I started my job I learned several things, including biology, anatomy, how to draw blood, how to measure vital signs, and how to do an EKG test. My job as a medical assistant can include all of those, but I understood a typical day included showing up at 7:00 am, doing blood work, sitting in on morning conference if time permits, following the doctors on their rounds and in general assisting the doctors with paperwork, consultations, phone-calls, etc.

A few months ago I got a phone call from a woman who told me she was in charge of the EKG's getting done in the Internal wards and that she was having trouble scheduling a woman to come do them for the whole ward on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and that she understood that I had learned how to do them. I agreed to help her out twice a week because I thought I was being nice. In hindsight, I should have checked with my doctors and boss if this was okay, but I just thought I was helping...so I didn't think to ask.

As time wore on the woman began calling me on Sundays mornings often because the usual woman was late, and could I take over for her? She often woke me up on my long bus rides. A few weeks ago it happened that lady who usually does my ward was sick all week. I wasn't told that at the beginning of the week, but each day it was thrust on me. At one point I got a phone call from a different woman who was very nasty to me on the phone and asked me what I was doing at that moment. I said I was in the middle of a procedure with a patient. She asked what procedure. I said an urgent EKG the doctor had requested. She said "well you can wait for the doctors to request each one or you can get off the phone and do the whole list." She was so horrid to me on the phone that afterwards I sobbed. I was being spoken to like an animal or a slave. Everything was just my "job." I had had enough. I was feeling abused. Yes, I had learned how to do EKGS in my course, and yes of course if a new patient arrived in the middle of the day, or someone complained of chest pain I was definatly the girl to call to do an EKG. But a list of 15-25 patients daily? No, that wasn't my job,

It's a physical job,
I was missing rounds (I also do research for the head of the ward during rounds),
sometimes older men could be inappropriate during an EKG,
and many of my friends in the same position as me had similar stories.

 We complained to our coordinator, who sent us to our wards. At one point the original woman who had called me came to explain to me in person what was going on. She happened to be American and she explained to me in English that it was a plan to have the Medical Assistant girls take over from the beginning, that it was our job, etc. I told her I felt like a technician, I hated coming to work, and I had been told I was to do EKGS only if they were urgent or sudden, not on a regular basis. Neither of us yelled and I recall working hard to keep my body language open. I must have repeated a dozen times that I didn't want to do it, although I didn't shout once. She also explained that until she had an order from higher up she wasn't going to do anything about it. She said we all have to do things outside our job description, it's part of working within a system, and essentially grow up and deal with it.

But despite not cursing each other or even raising our voices, we each got our points across in our quiet, polite, and very controlled row. She sent a different woman to do the EKGS the next day and the woman said "yes I came today because I was told you were fed up."  I didn't go back to the original woman because I knew she didn't care five cents about me, and would only change if I got someone higher up involved. Before she left I said "want to come with me right now to my coordinator?" to which she replied she "had no time and was under a lot of pressure." No surprise there. In the end we had to go higher up, and we had a meeting with the head or Human resources. In between I spoke with the head nurse of my department who remained diplomatic for the most part. She also started to lecture me on team work and reliability. I was very frustrated by these speeches I kept receiving, as I work hard at being a diligent and reliable worker. I remembered my Israeli friend counseling me to cry because in Israel things start to happen when it gets emotional. So even though I felt like and actor and a fraud, I started to bawl on que:"I feel like a technician," I wailed. "I'm just a volunteer," I whimpered. "You know me, I come every morning with so much zest and energy to work, and now I don't care. I don't care to be on time. I just hate it. I wake up angry every day," I wept,  I let the water works flow, and when the head nurse asked why I didn't feel like a blood technician when I took blood every day I told her the truth---I knew that was my job from the course, so I was expecting it. I knew before I was supposed to help daily with blood work,

The head of Human Resources took care of it for us, but the meeting with her wasn't exactly a rosy experience. From the about half that I actually understood, she seemed to think that we were snobs who thought we were above everybody else. She outright told us that the other National Service girls in other positions work harder than us. From what I understood we were being scolded for being hoidy toidy. My one Israeli friend who had repeatedly told me how much we had to stand on, how deeply it wasn't our jobs, and had assured me she would bring a copy of a law protecting us...did none of those things. She sat quietly and let less articulate girls butcher their arguments. No one seemed to be able to maneuver the conversation in our favour, and as for me, well I was so busy trying to parse and translate the words this woman was spewing quite quickly from her angry mouth, there was no way I could correctly  translate what she said, formulate a response (because I probably had a good one as I had thought about this issue a lot), translate it back to Hebrew in my head, and then say the words without butchering them. Absolutely no way. And the woman seemed in such a hurry and without patience even for the native Hebrew speakers, I didn't dare try much more than mono syllable responses.

In the end, she did get them to stop using us for EKG technicians. But we all left with the feeling of being told off. The situation isn't fun for me, I know the EKG people are overworked and understaffed. But I also know it wasn't my job either. I feel really bad, but when I think back to how the EKG boss woman viewed it, what she said to me in English so I know I couldn't have misunderstand it, I was appalled at how she outright told me she was informed she could "use" National Service girls for this job. You use a spoon to eat, you don't use a person.

Some reflections and lessons I learned from this difficult situation:

*In my expereince Israelis don't seem to hear or think I mean anything I say if I haven't yelled or cried. I feel a cultural miscommunication because for me I would swallow a lot before I asked someone to stop doing something annoying. The first time I ask, it's as if I yelled. If I have to repeat myself, it's as if I have shattered a plate, and if I have to say it a third time, so help me G-d I called all their friends and family and boss and they are in serious trouble. But I could do all of this in a calm voice. Alas, my verbal and non-verbal cues don't seem to mean very much on this side of the hemisphere.

*Sometimes in life the right thing to do feels like the wrong thing to do. To make ultimate change for everyone we have to stand up and admit there are problems, and start fixing them. Even though I have caused more work for people and I do feel very bad for them on a personal level, maybe they will now see that people should be treated better. Girls made a bug fuss when they weren't treated right and hopefully this will stick with some of the involved parties.. Every day in the lunch line for water at the hospital cafeteria at least two people cut me off in line to get drinks first. I always go to the proper place in line and wait my turn. Instead of "learning to be Israeli" and starting to cut, I figure if I don't cut enough times, perhaps someone will see it and notice. If 500,000 more polite people move to Israel and don't cut, maybe we can change the etiquette here. I love Israel and a lot of what Israelis represent (bravery, kindness without question, etc) but I don't think there is any religious or cultural benefit to being impolite or uncouth.

*At one point I told a coworker some of what was going on and how uncomfortable I would feel with older men flirting with me during EKGs. She told me that this was the lot of women in life. I couldn't believe my ears. How easy she said this, like she accepted it. She admitted it was wrong, but was already beyond hope it would ever change. This gravely saddened me, and I saw that here for many workers this kind of attitude and expectation is the norm.

*I (re)learned that for most things in life it is better to rely on yourself and trust as few people as possible. No one can do the job you want how you would do it, so just do it. I was disappointed that my friends who speak and understand Hebrew weren't more organized, and didn't stand up and present themselves and our arguments better. I should have known better than to rely on anyone else, and just maybe I should have piped in my two cents in English. It is a sad lesson, but reliance on others is not always optimal.

*I learned not to agree to anything here without explicit permission and much thought. For my innocent unschooled brain it was hard to halt all my curiosities. It was difficult to train myself not to just answer "hey I can do that!" But I am learning it, and it is making me profoundly question my career choices; if I want to own my own business and or clinic, and many other relevant issues. It's shaken up my personal universe,

As always, my stories are a mix of coming of age, the trials and adventures of a foreigner in her homeland, and the tales of a  sometimes rather unlucky girl. Thanks for reading. :)

I remain yours,
Shira

A Small Study

Dear Readers,

Okay this is me posting...no for real this time! It's been two months people! That's a long time, you know. 

So today let's talk about the people I spend most of my day with. The species with which I communicate daily, that is the ever feared and sometimes revered ISRAELIS.

Let's analyze a typical evening for a bat sherut (girl doing national service, literally daughter of service): Last night my friend and roommate came back to the apartment complaining of red, itchy eyes. Her eyes were quite swollen, and had been all day. She works in the hospital like me, and she told me she had told the nurses all day. Finally at the end of the day one of them said to her it sure looked like pink eye and she should take eye drops. Another nurse protested, don't give her drops until we know what it is! Send her to a doctor first. They couldn't manage to get a doctor to write her a referral to the emergency room (although really he could just scrawl "please take so and so to the ER", and as long as he used his doctor stamp it would work. But whatever), and of course she can't just go to the eye ward of the hospital, it "doesn't work like that." She was told all this and then given a number for a clinic. When I saw how much she was suffering and how hurt she was by the less-than-helpful hospital staff she worked with, I told her "yallah we'll go together, maybe we can even grab dinner on the way back." Of course she got red puffy eyes on Valentines day. <3 

We interacted with six individuals/sets of people. Here is my synopsis of the Israeli condition from the following sample. 

1) When you ask a girl for help and the nearby male jumps to the rescue. 

Know those types? The dreamy, dark, former Combat soldiers with bulging muscles, sultry skin, and fathomless eyes? Yup, we talked with him. After descending from the bus on the main street, we weren't sure how to get to the side street we needed. We went in to a little health food shop on the main drag and asked the female teller how to get to the street we needed. From a different part of the store the aforementioned hottie hollered "I'll show you! Come with me." He promptly lead us out and in typical Israeli fashions pointed and a lot and gesticulates with his hands. He even called us back to say he wasn't sure if it was two or three traffic circles. What a sweetie. He was NICE. 

2) When you go to the doctor and he's angry at the world and makes you feel like a twit for being sick

We arrived and the harried secretary gave us a number for room 6 with a family doctor. Sababa, we went to wait. As we watched the others in front of us in line enter the room we began to get apprehensive as the doctor kept walking in and out and slamming the door, Nevertheless we waited our turn and then entered. 

Doctor: Who are you? 

Roommate: I'm sick.

Doctor: Good sit here. And who are you?

Me: Friend and roommate,

Doc: Fine, sit there. 

He then proceeded to demand her symptoms, hardly actually checking her, let alone making eye contact with her. She meekly described what she was suffering from as he furiously typed, pounding on the keys and typing the lord knows what, since he wasn't actually discussing her symptoms with her, 

The short visit continued like this, my friend timidly repeating what the nurses had suspected, and he decided she may have a small infection and proscribed her some eye drops. Oh, her throat hurts? Well okay he'll just slam a wooden paddle down her throat...only to proclaim "nope, all clear."

As we were ushered out, my roommate, who grew up in America, was telling me how appalled she was. She was so angry, and had never encountered a doctor who actually made her feel foolish for coming to him! With her blood boiling, I tried to calm her down. He was NOT NICE.

3) When the checker patronizes you instead of screaming. Not sure what's worse actually

We went to the 5 shekel supermarket which was nearby and new to the area. We excitedly piled our items at the checkout and I added a coffee chocolate bar (super yum), After I had paid and was bagging (yes, bagging myself. Help with bagging is a major luxury here), I realized I had accidentally bought dark chocolate not milk chocolate. When I asked the checker if I could switch because I hadn't noticed it was dark she responded with "No honey." "Why not?" I asked. "Because cutie, then I would have to use a different code. You have to tell me before you pay." And she gave me the you're such an idiot I feel bad for you look. She was NOT NICE.

4) When the bus driver yells at you for putting your rav kav (special bus card/pass) in the wrong way-classic

My poor, sweet roommate. We waited at the bus stop for a bus to the mall and we saw one and ran to a different stop a little bit up the street because here, the buses sort of only stop where they want, and when they want. So if you see one you must wave your arms like a crazy person and hail the bus the way people hail cabs in New York. Strange place.  Anyway, as we breathlessly got on he told me to go back and use my rav kav in the machine in the back part of the bus, My roommate didn't hear it and stuck her card in the front machine, Mistake! She was told off and he readjusted her card. He was NOT NICE. 

5) When the security guard jokes around and then you flirt back :D

We made it to the mall. My roommate's flying back to The States to visit her family, so we decided to go there to look for jewelry for her sisters and mother. The security guard looked in our shopping bags from the supermarket jokingly remarking "so what did you bring me, Oooh, I see bamba!" to which I immediately insisted he take a bag. "I even bought two!" I told him, He didn't go for it, but he smiled quite prettily and I think we made him laugh. He was NICE.

6) Shopkeepers sort of have to be nice if they want you to buy stuff...

And indeed they were, Totally polite and understanding about our tiny budget since we're broke bnot sherut. We ended up getting gifts for her mom and sister. They were persuasive but also NICE. 

So there you have it. One night, six encounters, three nice and three not nice. The Israeli is indeed hard to figure out and they often leave me stumped. The same girl who can yell at you for 10 minutes strait about your place at work and being out of line can turn around the next day and spend hours helping you with boy trouble. The same super sweet, polite, doctor can be tired one day and yell at all the patients. To be honest, I'm still baffled.

Until next time, I remain yours etc,

Shira

Temporarily not posting in Hebrew because only have English keys on the laptop. I'll work on that :D

But to go with the theme, this is a funny little snippet of something that happened today:

Roommate: Ugh, there are no little markets around here.

Me: What are you talking about? There's one down the street! *Points in direction of market*

Roommate: No, it closed.

Me (somewhat reflectively): So that's what that long, handwritten sign in Hebrew that I didn't bother to read that was posted on the door was about...

December: Tests and Nice People

Hello dear readers,

It is now mid-December and a coolness has settled over the land. To be honest, it feels more like Autumn to me, but I guess I come from a much colder climate.

I have been doing well overall, thank G-d. I've been feeling quite tested lately--mentally, physically, in all areas really. Perhaps it is because I was an unschooler for my formative years, but I still have not grown accustomed to graded examination of any sort. There is something quite unpleasant about another person being granted the judgment of how adequate I perform a task. There is something subjective and downright unfair about the whole operation. In any case, I detest examinations by anyone except myself, performed on myself. Self-testing I accept because I recall learning in a course entitled "Thinking" that testing is an effective way of learning. Testing--but nothing about grades. Just the act of recall aids in the encoding process. One of the exams I had to take was earlier this week. It was yet another theoretical exam (this time just on phlebotomy) in Hebrew. I made enough of a fit that I received help in English. I had wanted to write a blog post chronicling all deceptions and outright lies I was told about it, but I have decided I lack the energy to write about it. I am just relived that exam is over, and all I have left for phlebotomy is a practical exam this upcoming week.

I have digressed and lectured you all long enough on my enmity of testing. Let us discuss what else is new in my life. I have been working in the hospital, and really enjoying it. I work with an excellent team of doctors, nurses, CNAs, social worker, and secretary. They are all so kind and understanding. They know I struggle with Hebrew, but they also know I am an extremely hard worker. Once, one of the doctors approached me and asked if I could call a different hospital to make inquiries about radiation treatment for a patient of ours. He explained to me what to do, but tacked on that if I found it too hard to do on the phone it was alright, he could do it when he finished rounds! His consideration astounded me. I, of course, wanted to try, so set out to the secretary's office. I told her I wanted to try to phone the hospital on my own, but would she mind if I did it in her office just in case I ran into any trouble or misunderstanding? She complied, and I made the phone call. Thank G-d the woman who answered was patient and understandable. I got the information I needed and passed it on to the doctor. Every component of the above tale testifies to the sheer amiability of the staff I work with!

And it is in this condition I find myself enjoying work, despite it being in a hard ward. I disfavor working in Internal Medicine, as I find it very sad. I had never fully realized just how ill people can be. Sometimes we have patients with such an extensive list of ailments, it takes several minutes before we reach the current complaint. Death is also a part of daily life for me. It's very difficult and painful for me. I intend to pen a poem on the very topic, and perhaps when I do I will share it. Suffice it so say that the sound of grief is no stranger to me now, and that is not something to be proud of at all.

Well, there is always more I could tell. I could describe the less pleasant encounters I have at work, they are almost exclusively Hebrew related. But, let us just dwell on the positive for a while. I will just be grateful in this moment to G-d, my family, and friends that I am doing alright today, well over a year after Aliyah.

  לי בארץ אני מרגישה 'ה כמאת כל יום. יש המון דברים קשים לעשות ולעבור ותמיד הם לא בשפה או תרבות שלי. מה אני עושה? עובדת כל כך קשה ומתפללת ומדברת איתו. הכל יהיה בסדר

Translation: For me, in Israel I feel G-d nearly every day. There are lots of hard things to do and overcome and always they are not in my language or culture. What do I do? I work really hard and I pray, and I talk with Him. Everything will be okay.

I remain yours etc,
Shira

The Pit and the Weasel

Dear Readers,

Hello! All is well here, thank G-d. 

I’ve been out of comission for two days due to a stomach bug but hope to return to normal life tomorrow. Being ill in an empty apartment on one’s birthday is not the most pleasurable experience, but at least this blog post is finally all finished! :)

Anyways, I would really like to share this very happy experience that happened to me a couple of weeks ago. The story has a few parts, but ties together in a serendipitous fashion that I find extremely pleasing. :)

• Part one: About a month ago two dear friends of mine came up to visit for Shabbat (Sabbath). These friends are girls I had learned at Midrasha (Seminary) with and so obviously over Shabbat religious topics arose and one of my friends was asked to give a Dvar Torah (Torah thought/idea). She related to my family that she was learning Tractate Tannit and there was a really interesting story she had learned that goes like this: a man happens upon a woman stuck in a pit and he tells the woman that he will only rescue her if she agrees to marry him. The woman promptly accedes. After rescuing her they share details, and the whole issue is settled. The man looks around and sees a wesel nearby. He tells her that both the pit he rescued her from and the weasel will serve as their witnesses for the agreement. They then part ways. The woman waits and waits, but the man never comes to call on her and marry. Meanwhile the man had married a different woman and had two sons, completely forgetting his agreement with the woman from the pit. His first son dies from a weasel attack and shortly afterward the second one falls into a pit and dies. The man’s wife tells him these are strange ways to die and asks him if he ever did something that would cause such unusual punishment. The man suddenly remembers the pit, woman, and his agreement. His wife tells him to divorce her and go make it right. He gives her a get (religious bill of divorce), and marries the other woman. The story ends there, and that was what our friend shared with us that Shabbat.

• Part two: Two weeks ago my mom invited me to her book club meeting because they were having a special guest speaker, Jeffrey Saks. The book for the month was a short story called "Tehila" by Shai Agnon, available in both its original Hebrew as well as translated into English. I printed out the short story and read it on my bus ride home that week (the book club was on a Thursday night). I didn’t actually make it through the whole story, but I read as much as I could on the buses and trains I took to get home (when you live in the North but work in the Center getting home always takes hours and many modes of transportation). Once I got home, my mom served me copious amounts of pizza and then ushered me to the Yishuv (settlement/community) library where the talk was being held.

• Part three: Earlier that same  week I saw on my facebook feed that the same friend from Midrasha was having a Siyum (completion ceremony) for Tractate Taanit scheduled for Thursday night in Jerusalem. I debated heavily about going to it, but in the end decided to go home since it takes me so long to get there and I really wanted to be home. I hoped many people would attend in person to celebrate with her, but I would have to celebrate from afar.

• Part four: At the talk many layers of the story were brought out. Jeffrey Saks is an expert on Shai Agnon and a superb translator. He had even prepared a source sheet that we loosely followed. We discussed historical events concerning Shai Agnon, biography, his talents, etc. Finally we came to a source from Masechet Taanit. The speaker began by saying that few had heard of or learned this uncommen piece of Gemara, but that it tied in nicely with Tehila. He began to tell a story...the story of the pit and the weasel! I was in shock. As he methodically made his way through the short story I felt a grin spreading across my face like wildfire. I snuck a glance around the room and nobody else seemed to be having my reaction. I whispered to my mother that I knew the story! I knew the obscure story! I was so excited, my blood was pulsing through my veins, I felt my cheeks warming and I was beginning to bounce in my seat. I could hardly contain myself! The parallel was drawn between the part in the story where the “coincidences” were simply not adding up in the sad life of the protagonist Tehila and the death of her two sons. Although it is a rather unfortunate story and parallel, I was utterly elated that I recognized a random piece of Gemara that is not so well known, and that this happened on the day of my friend’s siyum!. Afterwards I immediately phoned my friend, and excitedly told her what had happened, and all on the night of her Siyum. I felt very connected. I felt like I had truly celebrated with her, and I felt the lifeline of Torah being spread, just like blood in the body, as it passed from one to another.

Well dears, that's a happy event that transpired. I hope you enjoyed this little tale. I hope you are all doing well wherever you find yourselves. Don’t forget, the sky's the limit! (Except when it isn’t, but more on that another time…)

I remain yours etc,,

Shira

Hebrew is from google translate because on my laptop. Dreadfully sorry.

היום הייתי חולהולא היה לי זמן לחשוב על הרבה דברים . התחלתי לחשוב על אם השמים באמת הוא הגבול . זה ממש קשה לפעמים כאשר הסיכויים מרגישים שנערמו נגדנו ,ואני עדיין לא בטוח מה הוא הגבול ... עוד על כך בפעם אחרת.

Translation: today I was sick and I had time to think about a lot of things. I started thinking about if the sky really is the limit. It's really hard sometimes when the odds feel stacked against us, and I'm still not sure what's the limit... more on this another time

P.S. I realize that often I have begun to use blood references and discuss things in terms of veins and blood flow etc. I hope this has not offended anybody, it is simply due to the fact that part of my job every day is drawing blood and since I am still a beginner I am still getting used to it and thus it is on my mind a lot. On a comical note, veins are all I seem to notice about people these days: strangers on the bus, friends, family, cute boys, everyone! It’s all just veins veins veins!

On Getting Lost and the Question "Where are You From?"

Hello Readers,

In typical Shira fashion I haven’t posted in over two months. It is now fall, although I really don’t feel it when I step outside. During the daytime summer lingers and at night winter is hinted at. I know, however, that in another week or so it will be winter already. I’m enjoying the use of a light jacket while I can.

What have I been up to these past months? I started Sherut Leumi (National Service) on september 1st and I’ve been very busy with that. I spent the first three days at the hospital I will work at, and since then I’ve been attending a course at a different hospital. The course is all in Hebrew, and I miss large chunks of information, but aside from that everything is dandy.

I have great flatmates (two are American as well!) and am already making some good friends. I call them children or babies because most of the people I interact with are eighteen. At least one of my flatmates is twenty though, and she and I jest at the expense of the youngsters at every chance we get! :D

A quick narrative I can share is the time I got lost my second week. During my my first week I had gone out to pizza with two of my flatmates. We had heard there was a mall near our apartment so we set out to find it with our GPS (Waze). We soon found out we were not good at navigating Waze when on foot so asked for directions from some passerby. They were very kind, and happened to be heading to that mall or very close by so offered to walk us the whole way. We followed them, and managed to find an affordable and delicious pizza joint. As the time neared to leave, my flatmates started looking around worriedly and expressing concern on how we would return. As it began to get dark they fretted about how they had no idea how to get back and what would become of us. I asked them why they hadn’t thought to pay attention to where we were going so we could get back on the way there, and they returned that they had been thinking about pizza and the mall. I had paid attention to the way and led us back without incident, the whole time mulling over their immaturity and, fine I’ll admit I had the thought--idiocy.

The next week I began my course. I had expected a terrible first day and was surprised by how tolerable it was and how kind the staff were to me. I got on the bus at the end of the day with a friend of mine who lived in the city right next to my apartment and didn’t think anything of it. During the bus ride my friend mentioned she’d be getting of before me, but I assumed the bus went to the central bus station which is a short walk from my apartment. Soon after she got off, I realized I wasn’t recognizing the roads and asked a fellow passenger if it went where I wanted it to go. I was directed to the driver who told me no, I had to go the opposite direction. I descended from the bus, crossed the street to a bus stop and promptly began freaking out. In my cocky self-assurance I hadn’t thought I would need my phone battery so had just about used it all up on the bus rides. I shot a text at my mother’s second cousin who lived in the area and then tried to conserve the small amount of battery I had left in the meantime. I tried to ask people around, but everyone was on their phone. I started to cry. Then I asked a bus driver of a bus that stopped at the bus stop and he told me to take bus #2 and explained to me where the bus stop was for that line. His explination sounded like this to me: “go to kbdhljhdwdndlkwe and then kdhsosme after you ahdjfjkkf and fkfjhwellponbcklks.” Suffice it to say it wasn’t so helpful. At this point I was starving, and my water was out. I finally got the guts up to ask a woman who explained it clearly to me and made sure I understood. As the bus stop came into view my mom’s second cousin called me and I told her hurriedly that my phone was dying and I thought I had managed. After I hung up my phone really did die, and I had to wait in mystery for the bus to come, since I couldn’t check where it was or what time it was at on my phone. For all I knew it didn’t run at that time of day! Again, I was starving, thirsty, and exhausted. The bus did come, and the driver was kind and told me when to get off. I made it back to my apartment, a starving tear-stained mess and after some tuna and a shower I surfaced with a little more compassion for my “immature” flatmates and basically felt like a failure at life. I’m much more careful now, though. Well, I try to be. I still managed to lose a bag of all my notes on a bus later that week...I guess I’m talented.

Gee whiz that was not very “short” at all. Ah well, on another note, this last Shabbat I spent Shabbat in Kiriyat Shemona, a city further north. I spent it with nine girls from my shevet, and it was also all in Hebrew (there was one other English speaker there, thank G-d. Thus she was able to smooth over and small issues and prevent catastrophic misunderstandings). When I stepped into the car with my friends to drive up one of them turned and said, in Hebrew of course, “wow Shira, a shabbat all in Hebrew. Yay for you!” I turned to her and bestowed one of my sourest looks. I responded that I preferred to think of it as a Shabbat with friends, not one in Hebrew.

I will note that it was a very enjoyable Shabbat. I didn’t cry once (a major accomplishment). I managed to feel somewhat at ease and savor a weekend in pajamas and tasty food. I definitely could not have done that a year ago. With all of that said, I still didn’t understand much of went on, and the girls made plenty of exceptions for me during games we played. It’s difficult to explain precisely, but more than simply the frustration of not understanding the physical words spoken, it’s the feeling of being secondary (not competent, subpar) in its entirety that I dislike. I detest always having to ask for help, being the one who everyone has to make allowances for. I am irritated that I cannot do things on my own, and unaccustomed to asking for help with simple tasks or concepts. I am habituated to giving aid, and being the one approached for help, not the other way around. I can’t express how depressing it is to sit in circle of friends, understand the topic of conversation, have meaningful ideas to add, but not being able to. I often feel constricted, choked, stifled, and bound. There are so many ideas and words spinning in my head and yet they will never be said.

I still liked it and had fun. I really adore the friends I have made here, and perhaps even more so because I had to work a little bit harder to earn their friendship due to the language barrier. Also, before I close this post, I just want to mention and share an awesome TED talk I watched recently. The woman talks about the idea of where people are “local” as opposed to where they are “from”. As a Hybrid and a new immigrant I really related to much of what she said as well as appreciated her eloquence and vocabulary. I won’t spoil it by sharing more of my thoughts until after you have all watched it. I will quote one thing she said during the talk that really struck me: “When somebody asks ‘where are you from?’ or ‘where are you really from’ they are actually asking ‘why are you here?’”

https://www.ted.com/talks/taiye_selasi_don_t_ask_where_i_m_from_ask_where_i_m_a_local

Thanks for reading and feel free to comment!

Yours etc,

Shira

P.S No Hebrew this time and not edited for spelling, grammar, or clarity. Both of these calamities are due to the hour (nearing two in the morning) but I dare say if I don’t post right now it may never happen.

The Darker Side of being a Hybrid

Dear Readers,

It is mid-July and shamefully hot on this side of the planet. The days are long, the nights are cool, and the afternoons are nightmarish. Napping is an excellent use of one’s time, and all physical activities and chores are to be postponed until the nighttime. With all of that grumbling out of the way, it’s also sensationally beautiful every day, the sunshine is sanguine every day, the wildlife is diverse and scampering about in the open, and being on vacation is always so refreshing.

Being on vacation gives one a lot of time to think though, and this writer’s thoughts are all jumbled up. I used to think part of moving was reinventing myself, and it was very valuable to create the new and improved Shira. And while I understand moving presents one with the opportunity for growth and expansion, I also am beginning to comprehend that there is something to hoarding the old aspects of myself and to gaurding the pieces of Shira that just may be more essential than I thought.

There is something comforting about using the same dish I used when I lived in America. It is soothing to see the same pictures on the wall, and reassuring to be staring at the same computer monitor. When I first arrived in my new home I thought I wanted, or rather needed, everything to be new and fresh. but hindsight has taught me that perhaps it’s wise to

hang onto the old as well. I suppose in the beginning it was too painful to see all the mementos and too hurtful to act as I used to. But after nearly a year, it now feels good when I use the objects I used in my old house. It is pleasant when I do the same activities I did there.

Sometimes I get this dark feeling inside of me. It’s not really “homesickness” because I have it while sitting in my home here, but I’ll call it that because it is the closest feeling I can think of. It’s also a little bit similar to homelessness. I reminisce a lot about the places I used to go, the streets I knew like the back of my hand, the supermarkets I could navigate with ease and finesse. I recollect the friendships I nurtured and tended, the buildings I called my second home, and the people  and experiences that shaped and moulded the person I am today. And frankly, I miss them.

Last post I wrote about being a hybrid, focusing on the positive aspects. All those lovely facets exist of course. but they are accompanied by feelings of loneliness, peculiarity, singularity, and the overwhelming feeling of not belonging. I grew up very unique, so I’m used to not fitting in. I was homeschooled and that’s considered strange in mainstream society. I am an orthodox Jew, and grew up being one of the few such individuals in a 100mi radius. The list is extensive of all the things that are uncommon about me and my upbringing. Now, however, I’ve begun to realize that language and culture can be added to the tally. I always had an accent, and I still have one here (if anything I finally sound more American here than I did in America! Go figure). I often used a vocabulary more suitable for books than conversation and I find myself doing that here as well.

One affair that I find particularly vexing is when English words have different usage and meaning here. Sometimes when I say one of the words listed below I get looked at like I’m a martian. I am annoyed because I’m not being ridiculous at all, if I said any of those things in my hometown nobody would bat an eyelash. Really they wouldn’t!

Consider the following brief catalogue:

Word	American meaning	Israeli meaning
Coke	Coca Cola beverage	The Drug. Must say “Cola” if want to drink Coke.
Ice Coffee	Coffee made with milk and ice instead of hot water	A blended iced drink of coffee. Cold coffee is what I have to order for ice coffee.
Tights	What we wear under fancy skirts	Leggings. What the heck?!?!

I always mix up words here, and sometimes I get discouraged and frustrated. I am very gung ho about learning Hebrew and improving my vocabulary, but when I get corrected for the seventh time in two minutes I feel like I’ve had enough. I love to read, and I realize how important it is to read books in Hebrew for language development, but when I have to check with my dictionary for more than 70% of the words on the page I get dispirited. People are always correcting my spelling when I send text messages so I started leaving voice notes instead, but apparently I still pronounce words wrong and it is daunting to hear “what word are you asking about? I’ve never heard that in my life!” The old me would only get that response because I used a word of too high a caliber to be understood by my conversation partner, not because I was botching up a word so badly even Dr. Suess would have trouble understanding me.

I keep going all the time, and I’m up for the adventure. The more I spend time with people here, the more different I realize I am. I had theorized that my idiosyncrasies were because I was Israeli, but now living amongst the Israelis I posit that no, that is just me. I’m learning an awful lot about myself. When people ask me about getting married, I’m really hesitant because I only feel like a shell of myself here. So much of my identity is tangled with immigration still, that I would feel like whoever I dated was just in a relationship with a husk of Shira.

Well, that’s the musings for today. A little bit of nostalgia, a drop of complaining, and a pinch of self discovery. Enjoy the rest of your day or night wherever you are!

הייתי בטיול עם חברות שלי מישוב לפני כמה ימים. היה ממש כיף אפילו שרק הבנתי 60% ממה קרה :) שחינו ואחר כך אכלנו פיצה שהיתה טעימה לגמרי (עם תוספות!)  בנוף מאוד יפה על יד הכנרת. הרגשתי שסוף סוף יש לי כמה חברים בארץ אבל באותו זמן התגעגעתי לחברים שלי בחו"ל. אני חושבת עליהם הרבה ואני זוכרת ימים יפים שהייתי איתם לדוגמה כשהיינו שתינו קפה ביחד או טיילנו. אני עדיין אוהבת אתכם!

Translation: I went on a trip with my friends from the community a while ago. It was really fun even though I only understood 60% of what went on. :) We swam and afterwards ate really delicious pizza (with toppings!) on a beautiful lookout by the Kinneret (sea of Galilee).I felt that finally I have friends in Israel, but at the same time I missed my friends that live around the rest of the world. I think about them often and I remember great days that I was with them, for example drinking coffee together or going on hikes. I still love you guys!

Yours etc, 
Shira

Initial Musings on Being a Hybrid

Hello friends,

I think a quick life update is in order. It is the end of June and I am off for the summer. :)

I completed my time at Midrasha (Seminary) and learned a lot while there. I spent about three or four months there, and I had so many experiences! I lived away from home for the first time (with just one sister, so I think it really ought to count as on my own). I lived on the campus of the school in a dorm. It was fascinating to live with people who weren't my family members. I learned a lot about myself, and how much I am like my parents. I understand this is a very common phenomenon when young adults leave the nest. I also learned that I really am an Israeli-American hybrid, and frighteningly, have been my whole life. 

It's kind of unsettling actually, to feel like I don't really belong in either place. I'm just so Israeli to my American friends. And here in Israel I'm unforgivably American. This came up at Seminary in a couple of different episodes. Once, upon discovering my strong revulsion of Chalva (a deplorable yet popular snack in Israel made from Sesame. Yuck!) a roommate of mine proudly informed me that she had finally found one thing she was more Israeli than me in. Imagine that! I was a little bit taken aback by her comment, especially because she said it so passionately. I guess The Roommates had caught on to my tendency to take short showers (water-saving), eat rich breakfasts (as opposed to just cereal and milk), wash dishes by first lathering soap on all of them and only then washing them (the water-saving way), my bone-deep love of sunflower seeds, and my fondness of wearing sandals for just about every occasion--irregardless of the formality of the function. Most of these habits I'd picked up from my father in America without any concise thought. Of course I picked up just as many quaint American manners from my mother, like waiting in proper lines, saying “excuse me” if I bump into somebody, and not sharing my personal opinions or life advice with strangers I happen upon. In any event, I’ve began to realize that I'm really half--half and it's time to embrace this identity. Not only am a citizen in this country because I am Jewish and chose to return to my homeland, but I've been a citizen since birth! 

This realization has given me a lot to ponder, and in some ways has bolstered my confidence, while in other ways rattled me to the core. This epiphany has aided me in fielding some of people's unwarranted comments and general feeling of foreignness because I feel a really strong right to be here, and also I don't feel the same longing to be "Israeli" that I've seen in many of my friends and acquaintances. I have met people who really feel (or at least seem to me) that the end-all goal is to speak Hebrew “like an Israeli,” and be culturally “Israeli” in everything they do and think and feel. I don't really understand this desire for two reasons:

1)    You can’t help where you were born, in what country, time, or region. It’s not up to you what your mother tongue is, or how many languages are spoken in your home. Why try and pretend or make up for an upbringing that wasn’t yours?

2)    If you moved here for religious reasons, and with a desire to settle the land then just being here and living life here is fulfilling that commandment and/or dream. G-d said live in Israel. G-d didn’t say “be Israeli.” If you are Israeli and you live in Israel—wonderful. Then your culture and language match your region. If you’re not Israeli but live in Israel, well try very hard to learn and use Hebrew (it’s the language of the land), and it is definitely smoother if you understand it’s a different culture than where you came from, but you can’t be “Israeli” if you grew up in a different culture. And it seems painful to keep pushing for this unattainable and sort of silly goal.

Many people talk about doing “Israeli things” and integrating into society as a goal of the highest importance. I’ve even heard of families who come from America and only let their children be friends with Israeli kids and no other Olim children who speak English because they want their kids to be Israeli and not have any problems in society.

From the above example it would seem that it’s the most important thing ever to assimilate into Israeli society. Yet I remain unconvinced. I think it’s important to try and understand it, and not to feel the need to change it. It’s very useful to know what is rude here, and what is expected. I’m not in America anymore and I’ve realized that. Some things that I would modify maybe should not be changed because they have reasons based on how Israel functions, where it’s located on the map, and a whole bundle of other really fantastic reasons that my newbie self has little or no knowledge of.

With all of this I’m still American and I’m not sure why people think that’s such a bad thing. Is the Hebrew-only speaking Sabra fulfilling settling the land of Israel better than I am just because he doesn’t get confused at the bank and doesn’t take two and a half hours to fill out an application? It’s certainly easier for him to live here but I don’t really see how he’s doing anything more than the French Oleh that made Aliyah to be a lone soldier in the IDF, or the family from Britain that moved here to build a life here. We all; are living in a time where we have the privilege and blessing of being able to live in our homeland. We all can reap benefit from this amazing gift.

Anyway, those are my impressions so far. I don’t understand a lot of things I see and hear here, but I’m learning more and more every day. I’m probably writing too much again, so I’ll end here. Hopefully I will write more of my experiences and impressions of living in Jerusalem in the next post. Until then dear readers, be well and I hope everyone everywhere is staying cool.

כשהייתי מדרשה פעם אחת אכלתי עם כמה חברות שלי בדירה שלהן. באמצע הסעודה רציתי להגיד להן שהיה יותר מדי אוכל אז אמרתי "ואי יש הרבה אוכל ואהיה שמנת!" כולכן צחקו עליי ושאלתי "מה? מה אמרתי?" הן הסבירו לי שהאנגלית אמרתי "I am cream" במקום "I'll be fat" מה שהייתי צריכה להגיד היה "אהיה שמנה" :)

Translation: When I was in Midrasha one time I ate with some of my friends in their apartment. In the middle of the meal I wanted to tell them that there was too much food. So I said "Why, I'll be cream!" All of them laughed at me and I asked "what? What did I say?" They explained to me in English that I had said "I'll be whip cream" instead of "I'll be fat." :)

I remain as always, yours etc,

Shira

P.S a few mistakes in the Hebrew I couldn't easily fix because I'm posting from my laptop and I don't have a Hebrew keypad yet. Sorry for all the prefix mistakes/lacks. Also it comes out in a funny color because I type it on my phone and copy and paste from email and a whole bunch of nonsense. I'll work on using a Keyboard next time... Thanks for your patience.