Alef: The NEXT Conversation
Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Jaffa
by Vanessa Mieger
Coming home from Birthright is tough. You’ve spent the last 10 days meeting interesting people, learning much more than you expected, and seeing amazing places. And it’s not just a vacation — it makes you think. About everything. So when you get back to “real life”, carrying this new perspective over to reality can be tricky.
When I got back, processing everything that Birthright got me thinking about wasn’t easy. I was never the involved type in school, but suddenly I felt the urge to connect, to be a part of something. I can’t fully explain this, but I can say that Birthright has this effect; It makes you feel different, think different, see different. Maybe it’s something as simple as coming home and wanting to organize Shabbat dinners with your friends. For me, I wanted to go back to Israel. I wanted to keep this intellectual and spiritual stimulation going. But I didn’t want to go back to Israel and just be a tourist. I wanted to learn and teach and be inspired and challenged and to have a meaningful experience as a continuation of my Birthright experience. So I looked into Masa programs.
I did a lot of research and finally decided on a great program called Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Jaffa. I lived and worked in the heart of Jaffa, working with underprivileged women and children. I had no teaching experience and very little experience volunteering but I just jumped in. The women and children I worked with were Arab, Ethiopian, Russian, Jewish, Christian, you name it. The Women’s Court, and incredible organization where I worked taught me so much about the power of human connections no matter what race or religion. It was a big challenge but equally rewarding.
As on my Birthright trip, I learned much about myself over the past year in Israel. I have learned that I need to constantly be learning and passing on the information I learn. I need to be challenged in order to be my most successful. And mostly I learned about the importance of human connections no matter what race, religion or social class. Most of the women and children that I worked with did not speak English, but this did not prevent us from connecting. With some time I formed friendships and an understanding with them that I will keep for the rest of my life. This is true coexistence, and this is what made my experience so rich and rewarding.
So coming back to “real life” again, I come back more confident and fulfilled but also feeling that I accomplished something over the past year. Birthright introduces you to the possibilities and it’s your job to translate that into action. The challenging part for me now is trying to carry over my experience there and incorporate it into my life here in San Francisco. I’m not sure what form this will take yet, but I do know that I am passionate about keeping this feeling and not leaving this past year in Israel as just a memory.
To learn more about programs like Vanessa’s, visit masaisrael.org.
Photo provided by the author.
A Place For the Deafblind in Israel
by Sara Halpern
After Birthright in 2005, one semester at the Hebrew University in 2007, and two summers in 2007 and 2008 and now returning for my third in 2009, I began hearing something rather important in Israel. It was on the lips of my elderly friends in Jerusalem. There were black posters on the windows of buses in Tel Aviv. My host Israeli mother in Herzliya mentioned something about providing transportation for a group of people. Generally, I just nodded and smiled. Something’s always toot-tooting from that little Israeli engine-that-could and I just rode along every time, but I had no idea that this “toot-toot” would change my life for the better.
Sitting on the beach, with unusually strong wind blowing about, I studied the map of Jaffa spread out on my towel. Right there in the advertisements, it said “Nalaga’at Theater,” a theater for the deafblind. Without hesitation, I packed up my towel and map and stuffed them in my bag. Then I marched along Tel Aviv’s beaches straight down to Old Jaffa, oblivious to the waves gently lapping the sand to my right and the congested traffic to my left. It was a Monday afternoon and the theater was only open on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. So? I wanted to see if this place really existed.
I wandered into a renovated warehouse and blinked my eyes, trying to accustom to the dimness, with only sunlight peeping through the windows. I asked a young lady if I could speak to a manager or a director. A young man, in his thirties, was called in. His name was Omer and he was the theater restaurant manager. He had a big smile on his face with twinkling eyes. I sputtered, “What is this place about?” He explained proudly that this is a theater where the cast is made up of deaf and blind people. So! It was true! The shock on my face still registers in Omer’s memory of our first encounter two years ago.
“Sir, I am deaf and have nightblindness. I have Usher’s Syndrome. Does anyone have it?” I replied and my eyes widened.
“8 out of 11 cast members have Usher’s.”
I knew right then that I was truly, truly at home in Israel as if my past travels did not do enough to make me feel at home.
 |
Two cast members communicating in “tactile signing,” using a combination of touch and sign language to communicate with each other as many do not speak, hear, or see well enough to read lips. |
I showed up promptly at 6 o’clock the next night. No sense in waiting until Thursday night to see the play. The cast members were all in their fifties and sixties, many from the Former Soviet Union. When Adina, the director, introduced me to the group as a 23 year old American with Usher’s Syndrome and a cochlear implant, the room went momentarily silent before commotion began. Some shouted in excitement. Some cried of joy. Some remained silent in disbelief. Everyone held their hands out, trying to believe that there was indeed a young deafblind person who had wandered over here all by herself.
Because they had grown up in such a different world from mine with their hearing and vision losses, they interrogated me, “KGB-style” as they joked, to find out if the world today was a better place to grow up as a deafblind person. I patiently answered their questions about my travels in Israel and my lifestyle with hearing loss and limited vision. They wanted to know how I was treated in Israel and America.
Then it was my turn. I was burning inside with curiosity since being diagnosed with Usher’s Syndrome when I was 18 years old. I wanted to know what my future would hold for me now that I knew of my limited vision, and these wise people appeared as my crystal balls.
“How do you deal with it? How do you deal with the loss of your vision and hearing?” I asked in a scared voice, barely whispering.
Everyone responded, with wisdom and confidence, in unison through their sign language interpreters, “You just adapt. You learn to live with it and it becomes part of your life.”
Then, I sat alone in the dark, in my chair, and I became entranced by the performance on the stage. Tears welled up inside me throughout the play, Not by Bread Alone, as the cast members showed their lives as deafblinds and discussed their dreams and fears. What I could not articulate before about my fears and needs, they did.
Although this encounter was purely accidental, it shows that anything is possible in Israel. If you don’t think Israel has this or that, you haven’t tried hard enough. When you do, it only creates a more authentic connection. Just wander and let your curiosity guide you!
Learn more about the Nalaga’at Theatre.
Photo provided by the Author.
Worship Experience in Jewish Space
by Vicky Farhi and Muki Yankelowitz
This post originally appeared on RJ.org, News and Views of Reform Jews.
Over the last few years we’ve had the opportunity to experience worship services in Reform synagogues both in Israel and America. The similarities and differences have been interesting to observe and experience, as one of us (Vicky) has an American Reform perspective and the other (Muki) has an Israeli Progressive perspective. We’re happy to share with you some of our observations.
On the whole, Israeli society is more informal than American society, especially in terms of dress codes. Rabbi’s never wear robes and seldom if ever wear suits, while summertime congregants have been known to turn up in shorts and t-shirts. It’s also much more family oriented; family is the core of what happens in Israel. These are both reflected at services. American congregations often have family services which attract young children. Some congregations have children’s rooms where parents and children can sit together and view the service without causing disruption. But for the most part, there is more of an emphasis on decorum in American synagogues. In Israel, disruption is minimal but it’s part of the experience. The sanctuary is often set up with a large open space in the back of the room where children can gather and move around if they are restless. Young children attend Kabbalat Shabbat services with snacks to hold them over until Shabbat dinner. Being able to enjoy services while your children sit with other children is lovely. Not having to worry about feeding hungry children, allowing them to snack while waiting for Shabbat dinner, makes welcoming Shabbat that much sweeter. The prayers continue in the front of of the sanctuary as the young community building continues in the back.
The setup of the rooms is very different as well. A majority of American congregations have stationery seating, while some have seating that can be moved with effort. Israeli congregations have more flexible seating arrangements, which may in some cases be due to the room’s multiple usages. This more casual seating combined with the simple lines of a sanctuary with little to no ornamentation create a more open, less formal atmosphere. This simplicity is emphasized by the absence of yarzheit plaques – there are not many displayed in Israeli congregations, while they cover the walls in many American Reform shuls.
There is another key ingredient involved in the worship experience. Hebrew is the traditional language of Jewish prayer. Israelis pray in their vernacular, which is Hebrew – here in America we struggle as we learn or refresh our Hebrew. Of course, there are areas of worship that Americans are more comfortable with, as many Israelis are new to the experience of Reform worship. But our common language, Hebrew, is more readily accessible in Israeli worship.
Share your thoughts with us: have you experienced a Shabbat Service in an Israeli Reform synagogue? Did it change your view of what the experience of a worship service is?
Muki Yankelowitz is an Israeli Educator and Tour Guide as well as a member of Yozma, the Reform congregation in Modi’in. Vicky Farhi is the URJ‘s Outreach Specialist.
Photo by Hamed Saber, licensed under Creative Commons.
Back To Israel, Without The Comfort of Birthright
By Sarah Pumroy
- The author staffing Birthright in June 2009 (click to enlarge)
Masada, the Dead Sea, touristy shopping malls on the side of a highway, the hot, vast desert, Bedouin tents, vodka hangovers, The Bus, shwarma, “sababa,” the shuk — I’m going to Israel for the 2011 ROI Summit on Saturday and these images, typical of the Birthright experience, are what come to mind. But I anticipate that this trip, although also 10 days long, will be a very different experience.
I went on Birthright as a senior in college and had an amazing time. Such a good time that it wasn’t a major leap to end up working in communications at Birthright Israel NEXT soon after college. In 2009, I was lucky enough to get to go on another Birthright trip as a staff member and NEXT representative. This Israel experience was somewhat more eye-opening than the first trip (as I was more mature and got more sleep) but all in all, very similar to my first time in Israel.
Now, I’m packing my bags and getting ready to go back for a third time. But a new opportunity awaits me: I’m attending the 2011 ROI Summit, a meeting of young, Jewish change-makers and innovators from all over the world. I’ll spend 4 days at the conference in Jerusalem, networking and learning with some really interesting people. After that, I’ll stay with a family friend in Jerusalem for the weekend. Then, I have a few days in Tel Aviv, where I’ll explore the city’s shops, restaurants, coffee shops and nightlife.
I’m fairly nervous about this trip; I’m used to seeing Israel via tour bus, where someone else tells me when to wake up, what to see (and what I’m seeing) and when to go to bed. It’s a pre-determined view of the country. This time, I go as a young adult, less sheltered, but with more opportunities available to me. Alef has asked me to blog about my time in Israel, specifically focusing on how the trip is different from Birthright.
Have you traveled to Israel outside of Birthright? Want to tell us about your experience? Email Alef at alef@birthrightisraelnext.org.
Sarah Pumroy is Communications Manager at Birthright Israel NEXT.
Thoughts of Israel
By Kate Bigam
It was a straightforward question, spoken in a tone that was casual but knowing: “Did it change you?” he asked us. We were two Birthright participants who had recently returned from our introductory trip to Israel, and on that Shabbat evening, the questions from friends and family had, until that point, focused on things like weather and camels and politics. His question took us by surprise with the impact of its simplicity; it was the question I didn’t realize I’d been waiting for.
The answer, of course, was yes. We are changed, though neither of us has yet to determine how. Still, the feeling is there, bubbling under the surface, sometimes spilling out in the form of tears during a Friday night Shema that reminds us of standing atop Masada at sunrise.
In Israel, I fell in love with a dozen experiences so individually distinctive that there was hardly time to process their impact before moving onto the next. Multiple times a day, I learned lessons about myself and my faith, my history and my heart. Indeed, I have never felt quite so alive as I felt during those 10 days. When I arrived home to Ohio, though, I found I could not speak of Israel, even to answer the simplest of questions. It hurt too much – it hurt to remember the joy I’d left behind, to admit aloud that I would never again be in the same place with the same people having the same experiences. In the days following my return, I awoke every morning with an aching sense of loss and an unshakable feeling of displacement at being away from the land I’d so quickly come to love.
The 50 participants on our trip – Americans, Canadians and Israelis alike – parted ways with one common question at the forefront of our thought: How do we maintain the magic? We all agreed that we felt changed, but determining what shape that change would take when we returned to real life proved more difficult to identify. Even now, weeks after our return, I’ve yet to pin down the specifics.
Maybe it’s a change of faith, a renewed connection to ancient tradition that has deepened my desire to connect with Judaism on a spiritual level.
Maybe it’s a change of perspective, putting names and faces and personalities to the formerly abstract concept of a militaristic country where everyone is a soldier or a veteran, where rifles are not just common but compulsory.
Maybe it’s a change of politics, a newfound understanding that when you are truly love a country, you do not forsake it for its flaws; you work to better it so that you may embrace it more fully.
Maybe it’s a change of personal connection, a previously nonexistent relationship to the concept of Zionism and the necessity of a Jewish homeland. Finally recognizing that it’s called “the homeland” because wherever we come from, we are welcome in Israel almost unconditionally.
Maybe it’s a change of attitude, the inspiration that comes with 10 days of feeling every emotion intensely and passionately. The motivation to live a fuller, more meaningful life. To become more adventurous, more educated, more aware. To take risks, to be happy, to live beautifully and with intention.
These are the lessons I have brought home with me, the most boiled-down versions of my detailed, convoluted thoughts of Israel. Even now, recalling my time there is almost too much to bear, too much to distill. The change within me is not as clear as I’d like it to be, either; it lurks inside me and forms slowly, rather than bursting forth clearly and with purpose, as I’d hoped. I am the same as I ever was, but there is something new, too, a budding love for Israel that has taken root within me and will continue to grow even after the sharp pain of longing has dissipated.
The details, I trust, will become clearer with time, and a clearer picture of the ways Israel changed me will begin to emerge. In the meantime, my breath catches whenever I think about the magnitude of the possibilities and promise this new relationship holds and the many ways that I may carry Israel with me. Here I am in the west, where I have always been – but for the first time, a large part of my heart is, truly, in the east. And this is only the beginning.
Photo provided by the author.
Interested in Israel? Enjoy the rest of Issue # 19: Israel.
Follow Us
2009. Alef: The NEXT Conversation All rights reserved.
Home |
About |
Contact Us
Recent Comments