So why Stay?

What keeps us here in lieu of the headache, hassle and bureaucratic hell?

It's home - the short answer. Nowhere else has felt this much like home. In fact, the entire concept of "home" comes into question, I believe, when a person has grown up in one place and yet finds the feeling of well being in another place altogether. Almost like a calling or longing. Very deep.

Medium length answer: Gorgeous, sea-side sunsets, summer dresses and sandals in October, an un-bridled sense of freedom, subsidized education, not being afraid of walking through the park with my son after dark, subsidized agricultural and dairy goods, not having to be terrified of letting my son out of my sight on the playground or in public.

The long answer shortened: To loosely borrow from David Horovitz's A Little Too Close To God, The Thrills and Panic of A Life in Israel , being alive at a time when Israel actually is in a state of statehood, impinges a sense of obligation regarding dwelling here. And no, I'm not religious. That's the more philosophical, not hugely in-depth but could lead to a lengthy discussion answer.

It Gets Thicker...

We've had a helluva week...As one becomes more thickly entwined with this culture, the daggers begin to flash and all flightiness is reserved for end of the day madness which boils down to an exhausted dinner or a walk in the park with child and dog.

I mean, who'dve thought that signing a child up for preschool would take four hours and hinge upon a city tax bill being placed in the preschooler's mother's name? Who'dve thought that because the apartment the preschooler lives in is owned by a dead woman who never left an inheritance letter, the procedure of changing over said tax bill would necessitate numerous letters, official papers and multiple appearances at the municipality? Who'd have thought that ultimately, city clerks - paid nominal salaries for sitting behind desks and telling people to come another day because they're too busy 1) talking on the cellphone 2) eating yogurt 3) discussing weekend forays with the neighboring clerk - would ultimately suggest a way to cheat around the system? Suffice it to say that the day spent at the municipality was one from hell ...one of many, I daresay, to be relished in the future.




I simply don't understand:

1) why it takes 4 hours to open a checking account (my mother thinks it's because the more steps and people involved in a process, the more jobs created)
2) how people can think they're pulling one over in broad daylight

Example:
Tonny asked tonight if I think Israelis are not all that great at business...Funny that. My reply can be offered via a shuk vendor's description of the dish towels he was selling:

"They look thin but really, they get thicker each time you put them in the laundry"....

Welcome to Israel. Have a Nice Day

SCHOOL!!!

Rapha started preschool...his first day. Oh what proud parents we were. And so thrilled for him to FINALLY be cavorting with peers again. A full month here without it and for the poor, sweetie it was sorely missing.

He was so excited carrying that Spiderman lunchbox, watching the other children as they arrived, attempting to communicate with the few, Thai kids that speak English.

Most of my focus was building towards this day. Find an apartment in order to have an address in order to be zoned in order to sign him up in order to not schlep him around with boring adults (us), in order to give him normalcy and routine, in order for him to be happy and so it goes....

The main differences between San Francisco preschool and the Tel Aviv equivalent:

- there are 32 (!) kids in class here, 3 teachers, no parents. That's a damned high ratio of child to teacher. In SF, it was one paid teacher and four working parents per day - That's 5:1. But part of the commitment of being in a co-op was parents' obligation of working one day per week, participating in committee work, fundraising, bi-annual clean ups, monthly meetings, monthly snack duty, monthly art project duty ...Oh My God!!! It felt like a black hole.

- class runs 6 hours each day as opposed to 3 in San Fran. The cost? Around $150 in Tel Aviv versus $230-250 in SF and that higher bill doesn't account for donations, time commitment, snacks, obligatory purchases, etc.

- The entire food approach is different. Here, the child eats at home, arrives to school at 7:30-8 with a sandwich for 10 a.m. snack, a bottle of water so the teacher can monitor liquid intake and 2 pieces of fresh fruit to add to the collective fruit basket divided among all at 11:30. At 13:30 kids go home for lunch. That's one meal and 1.5 snacks spread over 6 hours.

At Haight Ashbury Co-Op, Raph's San Fran school, the kids arrived at 09:30, ostensibly with full stomachs from breakfast. An hour later, snack - not to be taken lightly in these parts, as "snack" can mean macaroni & cheese, pizza, chicken sticks, oatmeal,....(obesity ain't rampant for nothing, kiddies!)

An hour and a half after snack was lunchtime. Full meals of sandwich, fruit, yogurt, chips, drink and so on from home.. Assuming the child wakes up at 07:00, that's 3 meal-sized portions within 5 hours. hmmmm...to ponder.


- Structure. School here has a defined, daily structure with clear goals: Developing coordination and social skills, teaching learning and motivation skills and so on. To reinforce this, each day is divided into time slots with focus on these skills for a set amount of time.

At HACNS it was open play all day every day aside from music each two weeks and a tumbling class every other week plus Friday show-and-tell. I prefer structure but okay..Free play does lead to creativity.

- And the clincher: On Fridays there is kabbalat shabbat and before the holidays, kids make decorations for the Jewish New Year and succot - not Easter or Christmas. This satisfies me immensely.

Raph hasn't a clue yet but these differences - subsidized education, book reading, an emphasis on learning, affordable education, food not being the focal point of structured time and celebrated holidays being Jewish rather than Christian are some of the strongest motivators which pushed me to return.

It is extremely rewarding to watch these pieces fall into place.

"Doing Feminism" Tel Aviv, 2005

My heart aches

Today must be what friends are referring to when, in hushed tones, they pointedly ask: "How's Raphael doing with the move?"

Today on the playground, he stood watching the other Israeli kids playing with each other. No one even looked at him. And generally he's the kid all the other kids latch onto - effervescent, evocative, bubbling...

So as he stood watching, he began sucking his thumb. 1) he's tired 2) he's scared 3) he's unhappy.

The answer came rapidly enough as he suddenly burst into tears and folded into my open arms moaning: "I miss my friends. I want to play with my friends. I want Elijah" (his best friend from San Francisco)...

God my heart was breaking, my eyes were swimming and I would have done anything in the world to make him feel better...

It's the Small Stuff...

Now that glittery, fairy lights have faded a bit, I begin recalling the reasons I left this country in the first place. But leaving is no longer an option - moving back was a life decision looming larger than a bad day or a dishonest salesperson.

And this decision forces me to sit with the feelings of frustration, the anger and the utter seething, instead calling upon breathing techniques, relaxation exercises and letting go mantras inclusive of offering a sweet to the banker I've just cussed out.

Through this I realize that the small things are what wear a being down here, rubbing away layers of skin until exhaustion sets in and the exposed, raw feeling becomes akin to a toughened piece of meat that's been hanging in the sun too many days on end.

Things like the security guard at the interior ministry who, attempting to exert some semblance of authority, says you can't get in to see a clerk unless you return with missing documents X, Y and Z. So you heed his recommendation - he's there day in and day out so he must know - and return 2 days later documents in fist, pants clinging to toochas from 30-degree heat and 70% humidity. This time the guard nods approval but once seated opposite the clerk, she informs that document W is the one you really need.

Or going to the bank to open an account only to discover there's a computer indication next to your name prohibiting opening an account. The bank rep can't say what that indication is all about and to no avail explanations of having closed up everything properly prior to exiting the country a decade earlier. Also, never mind that the computer entry was input a full two years after departure. And even further, never mind that you ring up the bank lady who handled your account ten years ago - who now, for obvious reasons, goes by "Harella" rather than "Hulda" - and although she sees no computer entry by your name suggests that you "come in anyway to talk with the branch manager".

Like I have nothing better to do. Like isn't this the same manager who, on the day I came in 15 years ago to withdraw funds for purchasing a car said it wouldn't be possible until I threw a very vocal tantrum in the middle of his bank prompting a sudden freeing up of funds on his part?

No wonder Hulda, aka Harella sounded nervous when I identified myself. She probably thought I'd blow a gasket over the phone.

I haven't had cigarette cravings like this in years...

Greetings from the Holy Land

It's been nearly a month now since we landed in Tel Aviv...not an easy touchdown what with Tonny being stopped at the airport for having a passport that looked like - as described by the border policeman who stepped outside the interrogation offices to brief me - "taped together pieces of paper that the dog chewed up"...

He would've been flown back to San Francisco upon arrival for lack of cleaner identifying paperwork had it not been for the kind, Danish consulate attache who taxied to the airport, verified his identity and issued him a temporary passport on the spot. Meanwhile, myself, 3-year-old child, dog and 8 overstuffed pieces of luggage waited 2 hours for him to be released following our 24-hour journey. No refreshment, change of clothing or room to move about since once we passed customs we wouldn't be allowed back in to verify Tonny's status.

Finally decided it was too much what with head swirling, feeling faint and knowing that I must get child and dog out of there regardless of whether or not father was sent back to U.S. Taxied into Tel Aviv and that's where it all began... Tonny was released, by the way. He lost his entire wallet, with temporary passport, two days later but that's another entry...

Weeks later, it feels like months. One thing that continues to amaze is how animal-like we humans are vis a vis sense of smell and sound. In other words, the smells and sounds are bringing back memories like mad. Smells of the petrol in traffic, of sun dried dog poo on the sidewalks, of dill in a vegetable salad, the Carmel market, sweaty bodies on a crowded bus, pigeons cooing in the morning, birds singing, the musty, seaweed odor of the tepid, Mediterranean waters.

It is wonderful being back. It feels like home. I'll give it a bit before I start to scream at everyone and blow my cool all over the place. I'm thinking Zen..Karma...(yeah, right)