Happy Snooze Year!

Shalom, chaverim! There's not much to report here in sunny, sleepy Nahariya right now, despite earlier this week being the start of 2013. Like Yom Kippur, we noticed the Gregorian New Year in Israel more by its absence of activity, rather than the presence of any celebrations. Specifically, I noticed a large number of Russian students absent from my teacher training course on Tuesday, which was New Year's Day. One teacher from the Ukraine sighed soulfully, and explained the half-empty classroom to me. "You see, it is very hard for Russians to give up having a great big party that lasts long into the night on New Year's Eve. They will be back next week," she said confidently.

Now that we've been here a year, a few subtle changes are taking place internally, as well as externally. As far as external matters go, we are now eligible to apply for, and receive, full Israeli passports. Also, most of our government tax breaks on our paychecks have been eliminated, so we are now doing a much better job of paying our way in the State of Israel, which is the most positive way of talking about taxes that I can muster. However, the fiscal bite is somewhat mitigated because since we've been resident in Nahariya for a full year, we were able to obtain residency certificates that make us eligible for other tax breaks. Nahariya is one of many communities in the North that are seen to be "at-risk" areas, due to its proximity to Lebanon, so in order to encourage people to continue to move here and keep the area populated, the government sweetens the pot a little. A local joke says that when things get a little too quiet around here, our mayor makes a discreet call over the border to ask Nasrallah for a few harmless missiles be lobbed our way, just to keep the government money coming.

The homework I'm doing for both the teacher training course, and another online course I'm doing about how to teach writing to EFL students, is beginning to pile up. The good news is, it's piling up mainly because I just got approved to teach another three hours a week at the lovely girls' school where I work. These extra hours will be devoted to working with seventh and eighth grade girls who are quite advanced in their English. My plan is to work with them to write, produce, and act and sing in their own musical, using adapted Broadway show tunes. I was pointedly advised that my school does not emphasize music, so I shouldn't have great expectations about the girls' singing abilities, but I am undeterred. If we need more spoken dialogue than songs, then so be it. Now I need to go through my own music library and see what songs might work. Or not!

Shabbat shalom, everyone!

Happy Aliyah Anniversary to Us!

Shalom, chaverim! Well, we did it. Our first full year in Israel is officially over, and it feels great to be at this point. One of the interesting side effects of aging is that our perception of time passing actually speeds up as we get older. For example, when you are six years old and are told that your birthday isn't for another three months, it seems like forever. And when you are forty-six years old, the fact that an entire year has gone by since you last took proper notice, just makes you say, "Huh?"

I am trying to think back to the stages of our experience as new immigrants, or "olim chadashim," to Israel. First, there was definitely a very long honeymoon period for us, in which we woke up elated, excited, and incredibly grateful to be here. We were amazed that we had actually been able to pull it all off, and I personally had that nagging little feeling in the back of my mind that sooner or later, some authority figure would knock on our door and say "no, sorry, it's all a mistake and you need to leave now." That feeling is still there to a certain extent, but now that I can go down to a government office first thing Sunday morning and rightfully apply for my full Israeli passport, I feel a little bit more secure.

Then there was the stage of simultaneously trying to set up a new life in terms of its physical infrastructure, and its social infrastructure. This involved a deep and fast orientation to our community, learning where and how to find and buy what we needed, and meeting new people who rapidly became our friends. We were extremely fortunate in that Nahariya is a very friendly town for new English-speaking immigrants, and that we were also given a wonderful "buddy family" from our Nefesh B'Nefesh local coordinator, Steven Rosenthal.

Ice in bags just blew my mind.

We then plunged into the collective swimming pool of intensive Hebrew study, known as Ulpan. Here again, we were incredibly fortunate. We were put in the class of a very gifted Hebrew teacher, Yael, who patiently and enthusiastically help us toddle towards our first words and verb groups in Hebrew. Oh, that Yael could teach me Hebrew for the next fifteen years!

Yael was and is the best Hebrew teacher ever!

Once our apartment and our social lives had been sorted out, and Ulpan was absorbing most of our available brain power, we felt settled enough to notice the gap in our lives that was left when my cat, Man Ray, died. He died a few months before we made Aliyah, at age 14. The minute I got to Israel, I started yearning for another cat, but it wasn't the right time when we were so busy getting acclimated. But finally, after a few false starts and constant pushing, we got our two little litter mates, Pini and Dudu, from an animal rescue center in Kiryat Biyalik. They are so much an integral part of our lives now, that it's hard to remember what life was like without them. They make us laugh every single day, and despite all the things they've broken and all the furniture they've damaged, I wouldn't trade either of them for a million dollars. They are funny and affectionate and smart, and we're completely smitten with them.

First week home. Dudu snuggled up to Elul, ears sized at a 1:1 ratio to her head.

Pini and Dudu now, all grown up. Sort of.

After the party of Ulpan was over in June, it was time to get serious about finding work and really making a life for ourselves here. We ran into the usual challenges of competition, ageism, geographic self-selection (Nahariya is not a center of work for any jobs except work-at-home jobs, so we had to stretch in this respect), lack of sufficient Hebrew for many jobs, and not having some of my key professional qualifications being recognized. Sometimes I got interviews, oftentimes I got ignored, and once an interviewer went out of her way to write me to tell me that she thought I sucked and that there was no way in the world they'd ever consider hiring me. I was not the only new immigrant this happened to, by other erstwhile employers, by the way.

Sometimes, job hunting really makes you want to know what the Hebrew words are for "pain in the a**."

A few jobs materialized, while others were offered but then disappeared like the morning dew. One employer took three months after I was hired, for me to actually start working for them. Elul got a great job...until it wasn't a great job anymore, when his hours were cut by 50% a few weeks ago, so now we're still needing to hustle even more.

Of course, we've also had to spend quite a bit of money on reconstructing our own professional tools and equipment. Some of this was done by choice, and other purchases were driven by necessity. For example, in order for Elul to get his Israeli driving license, he needed to buy new prescription glasses before he would be allowed to take lessons. Those glasses cost close to $800 USD--yow! His computer died and needed to be replaced with one that was high-powered enough to do video editing; another way by which he earns money. Two weeks ago, the computer we both use for doing our voiceover work also died. It needed to be replaced immediately, so we could keep working. "Computer purchase" and "immediate" should never be in the same sentence if you want to get good deals, incidentally.

As for me, I needed some new clothes for my new job, and a sound system on European 220 voltage, so I can sing to earn money. Not to mention buying a few teacher's manuals for my work, some flyers and business cards for my budding businesses, and the bicycles and their accessories we needed to buy the minute we arrived, because we didn't have a car. Ironically, as Elul's job initially demanded that he spend a fair amount of time in the company headquarters that were more than a two-hour train ride away, we eventually gave in and bought a second-hand car. Just a few months after we bought it, his hours were cut, making the car now both unnecessary and unaffordable. We're now thinking about selling it.

Recently, we and all the other new olim here were also confronted with the realities of living on the outskirts of what people think of, when they hear of "trouble in the Middle East." Although rockets weren't landing in Nahariya, they were falling thick and fast in Israel, and tens of thousands of soldiers were called up from the reserve units from all over the country. It was a very tense time, and very unpleasant indeed. All I can say is that I'm glad it's over and I hope it won't happen again. We'll see what the politicos do about it all--that's the only type of blood sport I truly enjoy watching, anyway.

But all in all, neither Elul nor I regret one iota having made Aliyah. I am still as grateful today as I was the day I got here, to have the chance to not only live here, but also work within Israeli society and contribute to it in my own small way. We've been through the entire Jewish/Israeli cycle of holidays, and each event has been unique and special. I'm thrilled to be teaching again, and I love being around so many interesting, clever, funny, and extremely idiosyncratic people. If you are lucky enough to have the option of making Aliyah open to you, then I truly encourage you to consider it seriously. Israel is a blast...and I mean that in a good way!

A view of the sea from the shores of Nahariya. Pretty sweet!

Shabbat shalom, everyone!

 

It's Not the End of the World For Us Today

Shalom, chaverim! As said by our Rabbi Greg Kanter, of Temple Sinai in Delray Beach, Florida, Jews observe the Jewish calendar, so it's not the end of the world for us at the moment. But just in case it might be for some readers, I'll keep it brief. In fact, I now have to excuse myself so I can keep working on my spicy Israeli carrot salad side dish contribution. Elul and I are attending an "End of the World" party after services this evening, so we're helping everyone stock up on their internal resources of antioxidants. Who knows, we might be wrong!

So with that, I wish you all a Shabbat shalom from Israel!

Dodging the Drafts

Shalom, chaverim! All's well here in lovely, placid Nahariya, and as the temperature has finally begun to drop on a somewhat regular basis, we've broken out the extra quilts, new long johns, hats, gloves, and umbrellas. In short, we're now using all the cold-weather equipment I'd been stockpiling since last winter, through which we suffered from our being woefully unprepared. It feels great to have it all readily at hand.

In addition to winter clothing readiness, ever attentive to my public pleas, my mother was kind enough to make and send us several "draft dodgers."  Elul promptly filled them with dried navy beans, sewed them shut, and stuffed them around the apartment doors. This one technique has made an enormous difference in the feel to the apartment, since now we're not subject to screamingly cold drafts nipping at our feet at every turn. We've had to turn on the heat on a more regular basis, of course, but now that we've blocked the drafts, we're able to heat up the room more quickly and thus save some energy. Elul's hours at work were cut by 50% last week, which puts a cramp in our style, to say the least, so every shekel counts right now.

The mouse cat toy keeps the draft dodger company while it protects our home from stealthy drafts that seek to increase our electric bill.

Speaking of cramps, my mother also was kind enough to construct a microwaveable heating pad for me, which consists of two flannel pouches. The idea is that you fill the pouch with uncooked rice, sew up the top so the rice doesn't leak out, and then microwave the whole thing so it all heats up. Apparently, there is enough water in the "dry" rice that it will maintain heat for quite some time. The "ricepad" is more malleable than a typical hot water bottle, and so you can use it on your neck, lie on it comfortably, and so on. As I am not a sewer by any stretch of the imagination, and didn't even think of asking Elul to do it (duh), I took the pouches and the rice to a local Russian seamstress to do the job. My Hebrew wasn't up to explaining that these pouches were a "non-electric alternative to an electrical heating pad," but she immediately understood the concept when I mimicked being doubled over with period pains. Some things are just the same the world over.

This week has been especially nice because it's Hanukkah, and that means lots of parties. Nahariya is a very sociable town, and individuals and organizations have been having latke parties, concerts, plays, dinners, and all sorts of other fun events. Party pooper that I inevitably turn out to be, despite my most sincere intentions, I've missed two such events already due to getting last-minute work assignments. Worse, I'm going to miss another one tonight. Such is life when you build your career around what's happening in North America, which, because of the time zone differences, is still in the throes of the business week just when everyone in Israel is winding down for Shabbat. On the other hand, it's hard to feel festive when you're stressing about money and work, so, as the Israelis would say, "mah la'asot?" Translated, this means roughly, "whaddya gonna do?" Or, as Roseanne Roseanna Danna would say, "if it's not one thing, it's another!" Still, it's all good. We are in Israel, and we love it here.

The first night of Hanukkah. Note the ice cream tub lid serving as the wax catcher. Seriously, we need to make just a little bit more of an effort!

Shabbat shalom and chag Hanukkah sameach!



 

Happy Hanukkah!

Shalom, chaverim! We're well into the school year now, going full throttle, and it's been exciting to gradually chip away at the pile of paperwork and forms that appear at seemingly random times. These are the forms that are necessary for me to get into "the system" of being an Israeli government employee in the public schools. A friend who made Aliyah several years before we did wisely reminded us that when it comes to things bureaucratic, Israelis often won't give you the entire picture regarding what needs to be done, or when, or why. He was so right in his assessment.

Today, for example, I found out that I need to have a medical examination by my doctor; the results of which, I presume, will be part of my file. That seems more than a little "big brotherish" to me, but of course I had to remind myself, again, that this is not America. It's Israel, where concerns over individual privacy are not such a high priority.

However, notwithstanding the rite-of-passage medical exams and the warm welcome I've received from my fellow teachers at my school, it was harshly brought home to me this week that I am still not yet considered to be a "real teacher" in Israel. I found this during a recent interview with another public school in Nahariya. The head teacher was kind enough to tell me that while she wanted to hire me, she suspected my lack of a full Israeli teaching diploma would most likely prevent her from doing so, as it didn't tick all the boxes of the administrative regulations. However, she also told me that she would look into the matter to see if an exception could be made, and promised that someone would call me the next day to let me know the outcome.

To my surprise, I got the call.

"Hello? You are an English teacher and you talked about a job with us yesterday?"

"Yes, that's me! Thanks for calling back!" (Said excitedly, hoping I'd landed the assignment.)

"Yes, good. I am calling to tell you that we don't want you now. Maybe in some years we will want you. Goodbye."

Oh.

Well, it's a good thing, then, that I was finally accepted onto what will hitherto be known in this blog as "THE COURSE." THE COURSE is a teacher training course for immigrant teachers to Israel, which meets once a week down in Kiryat Motzkin--just a few train stops north of Haifa. It meets every Tuesday from 8:45 a.m. to 4 p.m., between December 18th and the middle of July. At the end of it, I will be a licensed Israeli teacher, but not a certified one. Apparently, to get full certification, I also need to do another year-long course at a different college, which meets three days a week. But one step at a time, I will endeavor to lumber through these hoops. (I used to jump through them, but now I seem to only be able to manage a shambling gait.) Working with my Indian students online has been a great shot in the arm in regards to getting my professional development mojo supply topped up.

So on that note, I wanted to share with you one of the nicest moments I've had at my school, which was teaching "my girls" a Hanukkah song in English: "I Have a Little Dreidel." After I had them rehearse it across the course of a few lessons, I recorded it in our last session yesterday, just before the holiday break. Elul was kind enough to mix it with a video backdrop so it could be uploaded to YouTube. (If the link doesn't show up on your email, just go directly to www.movingtonahariya.blogspot.com .)

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Miss Selah's English Class Chorale!

Chag sameach and Happy Hanukkah, everyone!
 

The Heat Is On

Shalom, chaverim! We seem to be dodging not only the literal bullets that were flying around Israel and Gaza just a week ago, but also the "bullet" of bad weather, which is lovely. As Elul and I enter our twelfth month of living in Israel, the weather is still generally very beautiful and warm. The grass is still green, we are still wearing shorts for our daily walks along the beach, and while it does get somewhat chilly at night now, we've only had to turn on the heater once so far. I can still ride my bicycle to work without wearing gloves in the morning, although I keep them handy in my basket just in case. Not bad for it being just a day away from the start of December!

Speaking of heat, as I have watched the rhetoric fly around, thick and fast, most recently about the Palestine/Israel problem here and the Obama/Romney divide in America, it has caused me to reflect more deeply on the issue of anger and conflict. Humans have always argued with each other, but until recently I never paid too much attention to how they did it. I have been paying particular attention, however, to how people try to convince other people to agree with them. Agreement about what, it doesn't matter, as people will argue about anything under the sun.

Some try to do it by reasoning and logical arguments, only to become infuriated when the recipient of these "change your mind so you agree with me" campaigns, frequently played out in public forums like Facebook, are countered by equally well-reasoned and logical arguments. And instead of agreeing to disagree and dropping the subject, people harshly judge their friends for their opinions and freeze them out of their lives, preferring only to interact with "like-minded" people. Mind you, many of the people with these incredibly strong convictions about how the world should operate actually do very little work to affect any positive or lasting change. It is far easier to sit and criticize, while pretending to contribute to change simply by pleading with other people to change their minds. No wonder it's a popular pastime.

Others try to do it by hedging their outright disagreement with others, by using modifiers like "I don't think you're bad for thinking the way you do, just misguided." Or, "you seem to be confusing your opinion with what I know is true." For me, the biggest howler of these dodges is, "I'm not judging you, but...." If you disagree with someone, why not say so? Why make it more clouded by pretending you're not upset if you actually are?

Still others try to do it with outright attacks and gross generalizations. I have both heard and read the insults "Idiots," "morons," "a**holes," and "real mother f***ers" to everyone who votes for a particular party or candidate, or has a divergent opinion on how problems could be solved. We're talking about calling millions of people terrible names, in one fell swoop. We are cursing our fellow man, many of whom devote their lives to public service (e.g. firemen, policemen, soldiers, teachers, nurses, doctors, and the clergy) by these statements. We, as a human race, often talk about how killing lots of people who don't live where we live, or believe as we do, as being a good idea. "Reasoning" doesn't work, so we resort to threats of violence, and then, finally, to acts of violence. Is it any wonder so many parts of the world are struggling with the effects of anger and rage? Why do we get angry at people who are angry at us, but still feel quite entitled to feel angry at others?

Bo Lozoff, who, with his wife Sita, founded the Human Kindness Foundation, eloquently put this phenomena into a song. A portion of the lyrics, reprinted in the HKF's Fall 2012 newsletter, go like this.

From the song “Everybody’s Angry” by Bo Lozoff, © 2005

Big man’s angry knowing big don’t count,
Little man’s angry ’cause he hasn’t found it out.
Poor man’s angry he can’t have it today,
Rich man’s angry he ain’t happy anyway. …
Even Jesus was angry at the moneychanger’s sin,
The moneychanger’s angry right back at him.
Anger, anger, everywhere I see,
Everybody seems to be angry to me,
Anger, anger at the drop of a hat.
Well it makes me angry and I don’t like that.
Also from that extraordinary newsletter was a quote from "Richard," an inmate in Maury, North Carolina, who reflected,

"The first step for me is accepting that the outside world is not the problem—my own selfish delusions about how life should be and how others should act is the cause of my anger."

Indeed. Yom Kippur is over, but it's never a bad time to reflect on how our anger just might be a reflection of our own selfishness. Look at it this way, if you forgive yourself and others, and stop cursing them with your mouth, your pen, and in your heart, it's just that much less you'll need to atone for. Plus, you'll feel a lot better and be much more pleasant to hang around.

And so, while all the human rage continues to sputter and strut itself around the place, the flowers still bloom. The birds sing, children play and run for the sheer joy of it, and cats nap peacefully in the sunshine, content with a warm patch of cement on the sidewalk. Israel is still a beautiful land and the world is still a beautiful home for us all. Don't let anger, whether of others or your own, ever make you forget that.

"What, me kvetch?" A cool cat hanging out on a street side wall in Zikhron Yaakov.

Shabbat shalom, everyone!

Thanksgiving in Israel

Shalom, chaverim! Well, the ceasefire between Israel and Gaza seems to be holding, at least for the moment, so that's certainly something to be thankful for. Last night we had our first Thanksgiving in Israel, and in true American style, the people in attendance at a small gathering of friends included four Americans, a Canadian, a Columbian-American-Israeli, and a Namibian.

We did it potluck style. Our job was to cook the giant, long necked, 18.25 pound kosher turkey, which was kindly ordered, purchased, and lugged upstairs to us by another friend. Whole turkeys are almost never available in Israel, incidentally, since generally no one has ovens large enough to roast them.

As we gazed in dismay at the aforementioned neck, wondering how we were going to remove it when poultry shears and brute force had already failed, we remembered that Elul had returned from his recent business trip to Germany with some marketing swag that included a "multi-tool." With it, he was able to saw that neck right off. We were also short one of those giant needles used to sew up turkey butts, so we raided my grandmother's old sewing kit and used the biggest needle and the strongest thread we could find. It had been so long since I'd roasted a turkey that I didn't have a turkey baster in the kitchen drawer, either. Fortunately, I remembered that I'd bought a new one to use for making handmade paper (a hobby of mine), but hadn't yet used, so I dug through my craft supplies and found it. Score!

Creating a gluten-free stuffing was a little trickier, but we used gluten-free bread for the breadcrumbs and it came out just fine. Our friends had a more difficult challenge, as they needed to make pumpkin pies that were gluten-free, sugar-free, and dairy free. They used chopped-up gluten-free cookies to make a crust, cornstarch instead of wheat flour, sweetener instead of sugar, and soy milk and a non-dairy whipped topping for the rest. Getting canned pumpkin was another challenge, because, with extremely rare exceptions, it pretty much doesn't exist anywhere in Israel. Our friends reported that when they asked for fresh pumpkin, they were led to a back room in the store, where a man was somewhat furtively cutting a giant squash that only vaguely resembled a pumpkin, into large slices. Our friends could see no obvious reason why gourd-slicing needed to be done in such a clandestine manner, but it turned the annual pumpkin procurement into a more adventurous event than usual. The pies turned out to be completely delicious.

"Thou preparest a table before me...." indeed!

In addition, our hosts provided guacamole, dill dip, an extraordinarily elegant Columbian sauce, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, and a green bean-cranberry dish, as well as plenty of beer, wine, and exceptional Columbian cofffee. The table groaned as we sat outdoors, eating, laughing, and giving thanks for our families, our friends, and for being in Israel, all the while overlooking the sea and the lights of Rosh Ha'Nikra. After we ate all that food, we were the ones who were groaning. I never really understood the French expression "crise des foies" ("crisis of the livers") that was used for when people over-indulged on food, until last night. Ooof!

Shabbat shalom, everyone!