Living History

I consider myself a student of history—in fact, borderline obsessed with the subject. Since childhood, the History Channel occupied a large chunk of my TV watching time (which was limited) and always fascinated me. Whether it was the commentary on the events or footage from miraculously terrifying circumstances, I drank in hundreds of hours of documentaries. World War II always topped the list of my interests, and I recall many shows with footage of the Blitzkrieg, when the Nazi German army was bombarding innocent British civilians to instill terror. The air raid sirens rang loud and clear throughout and hundreds of British bystanders rushed amongst the rubble of their neighborhoods to shelters, cradling their babies and children in tow. But this was merely a segment of a documentary, a moment in history. 

            What those innocents experienced more than 70 years ago is happening this very day in a small country called Israel, and I am living in through it. I cannot tell you what it feels like to hear a siren outside your window before rushing to a bomb shelter. I cannot tell you how horrifying it is to see children cowering with fear, tears crawling from their eyes as they wail for their mothers’. I cannot tell you what it is like to hear an explosion and wonder if it found a target or was intercepted by the Iron Dome missile defense system. Nor can I tell you the anxiety that grips your heart while the phone keeps ringing and ringing, all the while wondering if your friends and loved ones are safe. This is what it means to be an Israeli.

Cities are being evacuated, save the brave few who believe steadfastness is their best form of resistance. School has been cancelled in all areas within 40 kilometers of Gaza—indefinitely. Most Israeli families have fled to the country’s northern and central regions, cramming into hotels and hostels, hosted by families who were most likely displaced in the recent war with Lebanon in 2006. Never in my life did I expect to be living in that state of fear I saw so many times on so many screens. Experiencing it like this, it is no longer just an image on the television screen.

There have even been missile attacks in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv as well, cities which were previously believed to be far outside of Hamas’ missile range. Friends in those cities told me of the terror they felt when that siren went off, the panic that gripped them when unable to find a shelter. Unlike most southern cities which are accustomed to rockets sporadically raining down, some having only seconds to find shelter, these residents suffered immense stress and terror that has shaken the country, but not its resolve.

Four days ago our madrich (Hebrew for leader) pulled us out of our ulpan class (intensive Hebrew immersion) to return to the safety of our apartments. A few hours later I received a call from my leader with instructions to pass along a message; all 26 of us were to pack a bag with at least three days worth of clothing. While packing we heard three sirens, forcing us to abandon the task at hand and run for shelter—we feared for our leaders’ safety as they came to gather us. Within three hours Be’er Sheva dwindled in the bus’s rear-view-mirror as we headed north for the safety of Netanya.

Located less than thirty minutes north of Tel Aviv, the beach city of Netanya starkly contrasts my beloved Be’er Sheva. The sounds of waves instead of sirens, business as usual instead of jumpiness and all without constantly checking for the closest shelters; in essence a paradise. But despite the calmness that exists in many areas outside southern Israel, it remains difficult to forget we are at war. Constant news updates of rockets hitting the cities friends and family reside in, and the increasing number of reserve soldiers called up as a possible ground invasion of the Gaza Strip looms. Even those in the far north are dealing with a separate stress—that of Syria’s civil war which seems to be spilling over the border. The tendrils of war have spread throughout Israel like the tentacles of a sinister octopus.

Some in our group even wished to remain in Be’er Sheva or at least return quickly, but the sirens have become increasingly prevalent. In the past few days there has naught been a peaceful night without abrupt wakeups and chest-thumping explosions echoing through the city streets. Despite our best efforts to return to normalcy, MASA has decreed that none if its program participants are to be allowed within a 40 kilometer zone of Gaza. That means our friends in Ashdod and other southern-based programs have been relocated to Jerusalem, Netanya, and other cities deemed safer. A friend of mine recently referred to us as Internally Displaced Persons (IDP), essentially refugees fleeing the conflict.

While we have relinquished any hope of retrieving our belongings, cleaning dirty dishes, and collecting more vital supplies, we remain steadfast in our dedication to Israel. After much discussion we have agreed to participate in three different volunteer programs, as many of us have become restless and feel useless while thousands need support. On the morrow some will depart for Jerusalem to engage in some public relations work with the Israeli State Department, updating friends and peers of the current situation so often misrepresented in the news via social media. Others will remain near Netanya, to help out a camp for children with cerebral palsy; our volunteers have already allowed the camp to keep its doors open and provide many needy children with love and care in the next few days. Personally, I will be in the north with three peers working at a camp for children displaced from their southern homes, bringing them some joy in these trying times.

From the balcony of my Netanya hotel, the world seems a peaceful place as the sun sets over the Mediterranean. The moon rises on this crisp, clear night, but mere kilometers away air raid sirens continue to berate Israeli ears. Israelis continue to run for shelter and pray for safety. They continue to live their lives. History is alive, and continues to repeat itself as hatred and death fly through otherwise perfect skies. It would be easy for me to put the strife of Israel behind me, and even easier for those living across the world, but this cannot happen. I will never forget the first time I heard that siren, the first time I felt that fear and was transported back in time to the Blitz—a time most people thought was merely a moment in history.

Be'er Sheva: Cloudy With A Chance Of Rockets

I know that the past few weeks I haven't posted, and apologize for the lack of dedication I have had to keep you all up to date on my whereabouts. Some fair warning about what is written below; there was a missile attack in Be'er Sheva today while I was at school and this is my rant regarding how I feel in the recent aftermath.

Last night we were warned that relations with Gaza were "heating up" and tension was growing. As a result, we were on rocket-alert all night and expected to be woken up in the early morning hours to air raid sirens--luckily no attack came. During those hours some of my fellow volunteers were nervous, but I value keeping a level head in emergency situations ("I must not fear, fear is the mind killer" -Dune) and pushed the danger to the back of my mind. Although I awoke suddenly a few times throughout the night, but that represented the extent of my discomfort from that knowledge.

The day proceeded much as any other; waking up mere minutes before dashing out the door for my bus. In honor of an Ethiopian holiday, my school had some special activities planned (I got to make a coil pot!) and I  only taught two students. Other than the normal insanity that is an Israeli school everything was normal, and I had all but forgotten about the previous nights warnings--but that was only a wish. We heard the sirens during the seventh hour....and nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

Since I have lived in Israeli, which is just over two months, there have been three missile warnings and one of those was a false-alarm. But seeing children as young as 6 years old crying for their mothers ("ema! Ema!") and clutching my hand as if their lives depended on it is too much for me to handle. Neither of my previous two missile encounters have solicited so much as a frown from me, but this put me over the edge. I almost broke down in tears myself seeing the absolute terror that gripped these children, but I had to choke back my own tears for their sake. After it was all over, about 15 minutes in total, there was a parade of parents arriving to swoop down and smother their kids in a warm embrace; during this time I made it a point to give smiley face stickers to every kid and teacher I saw for their bravery--anything to take their mind off things.

So this is where the rant comes in. A majority of the worlds population sits in their living rooms and sees all the "horrors" perpetrated by the evil country Israel. They sit idly by while tens of rockets are launched at civilians, targeting highly populated areas and schools, and then raise hell when Israel strikes back and a few terrorists are killed. But nobody ever shows pictures on the international media of Israeli children bawling in their school's bomb shelter, nor any mention that Israeli strikes target known terror operatives and even drop leaflets warning of the attack. 

Luckily here in Be'er Sheva and other Israeli cities we have the Iron Dome missile defense system, but even that is not a 100% effective solution. All I ask is that in the future, whenever you see a post about Israel or just in your daily life, think about the kids here and what they endure every day just for the right to live a peaceful existence.

Rocket Fiasco

So I plan on writing a entry soon about some of this past weeks awesome happenings, including a local wine festival and the awesome life I am living, but it seemed important to write about this week's more notorious happenings.

After a weekend in the Galili on a retreat with most of the ITF groups we returned to Be'er Sheva around 1 am and ready to sleep. Unfortunately, that peaceful rest before another long day of training was interrupted by the local missile warning sirens. Luckily my roommate Alex heard the alarm and woke me up. We sprung into action, trying to rally the rest of the floor to the bomb shelter but with little success. A measly 8 of 26 people made it to the shelter before the "dangerous time" ended, making our emergency response a complete fail although nobody was injured.

Yesterday we found out that the rockets were launched from southern Gaza by a non-Hamas Jihad group, most likely in retaliation to some anti-militant action taken by the Israeli military. One rocket landed on a house in Netivot and the other in Be'er Sheva open space with no deaths, merely injuries primarily from shock. There has since been a constant flow of helicopters over our building in a Northwestern direction toward Gaza (on is literally flying overhead as I write this) and Israel retaliated against the civilian-targeting rocket attack. Hopefully the violence will stop at that, but life has no certainties in this country, but I assure you I am completely safe.

The attack served as a reminder that we live in a place with a calm demeanor on the surface and tense readiness brooding underneath. In the days since the attack I have been living my life much as before, yet in a way I 'm glad it happened--without experiencing the uncertainty personally it is impossible to understand the Israeli psyche.

Old City of Be'er Sheva

(This post should precede the one about the school visit , but I forgot about it until now)

After two days of training we had a day off to explore the city of Be'er Sheva a bit more. Maor first brought us to get our bus passes (I finally have unlimited travel within the city!) down by the central bus station before taking us on a tour of the old city of Be'er Sheva. The old city fans out from a very odd looking cement building that resembles something out of Firefly--although that happens more often than you would imagine around here--and is reminiscent of San Francisco's Chinatown. Tiny shops line the street and peddlers sell their wares any way they see an opportunity.

The tour's highlight was our meeting with a notorious local do-gooder named Shalom Segev. This man must have been in his late 70's at the earliest and had been working to help the Be'er Sheva community for over 30 years. To put this man's influence into perspective, look at the picture posted below and count the plaques representing a few of his many gifts in thanks of his support (Segel is the older man with a kippah on the right side). Using his experience and connections as a social worker he collects goods and distributes baskets to the poor in the area twice a week, and extra baskets during the holidays. Since many of the poor are too proud to ask for help, Shalom does all of this in secret and ensures the family's pride remains intact. Later in the month we will have the opportunity to volunteer with him, assembling and delivering holiday baskets to help the community celebrate the new year without worry of hunger.

Later that night a few (about 15) of us swung by our friend Dror's place for a BBQ. He was manning the grill with charisma as we strolled in and we were welcomed warmly by the group. The smell of kebab, skewered meats, and grilled vegetables filled the air--it did not take long for us to become comfortable. I eventually even tried a grilled chicken liver which I was not too fond of, and missed out on the passing chicken heart kebabs, but I'm assuming there will be more opportunities to come. I spent the next few hours shmoozing with Dror's friends, most of whom were chemists and engineers at Ben Gurion University down the road, practicing my Hebrew and inquiring after local nightlife tips.

So this is the Israeli education system...

Today we marked a momentous occasion--our first hands on experience in an Israeli school! In groups of 5 we divided among a few of the schools participating in the ITF program to gain some insight into our role as educators. Over the past few weeks all I was able to glean of the Israeli school system was that it was "different" from that of the United States in virtually every aspect. Although differences certainly existed, primarily in rowdiness, it did not appear as unique as originally hinted.

Arriving around 9 am, the school's English teachers Nira and ____ led us around the campus. It was certainly not nice by American standards, possessing few visually appealing elements and little play equipment; it is important to note that we live in one of the poorest neighborhoods of Be'er Sheva. A group of five children with some English skills were chosen to be our tour guides and led us around the schoolyard from the basketball court to the game room, even their new garden. The children swarmed us, quickly rambling off questions in an attempt to meet us before their friends and immediately inducted us into their game of hide and seek. I opted to tag along with Simon, a precocious fifth grader with clear leadership talent, but the entire thing was quite overwhelming.

After recess we attended Nira's fifth grade English class. A rambunctious group anxious to learn about the mysterious onlookers in their school, we eventually worked with some of the kids on basic reading comprehension. Admittedly I found it difficult to focus on a workbook instead of interacting more freely with the students, and to my enjoyment the lesson soon digressed to just that. We bonded over Spongebob, Angry Birds, and various other favorites of American youth as well. One girl showed me her collection of drawings (mostly of Spongebob and Tinkerbell, although they were quite good) and demanded I draw a picture for her.

The next hour was spent with a 6th grade special education class. Together with the children we worked on basic phonics, sounding out words like "cat" and 'bin" before identifying those objects in picture form. Unlike the 5th graders, these students spoke no English and was glad I knew enough Hebrew to note simple things and affirm their guesses.

By the time class had ended I was disappointed to leave and the children were anxious to spend more time with us. Although it was only a few hours, I learned more than in all of the training days to date and picked up invaluable notes on how to be successful in the classroom. I also am committed to returning to that school to visit the children, even if I am placed at a different location, because it is merely ten minutes walking from the apartment. I look forward to seeing more schools in the next few weeks and have already begun thinking of ways to contribute to these schools beyond the program--creating after school programs, painting murals, and the like.

More to come soon...

The Memorial of the Negev Brigade at Sunset

 

First Program Day (8/28/12)

Yesterday was the first day of programming, and it was great to begin to meet my fellow ITF members better. We spent the early afternoon hours in our floor's bomb shelter--a room I now jokingly refer to as the sauna, as bomb shelters are not well known for their ventilation and air flow--covering some basics about the program and our locality. After that thrilling slideshow, which our program leaders Maor and Michal managed to make funny (albeit sometimes just as a result of poor English skills) we were divided up into groups for a city-wide scavenger hunt.

On this exploration adventure we had many tasks and locations to document. We scoured the city for monuments such as a statue of David Ben Gurion at the Ben Gurion University of the Negev and some local nighttime hotspots. The tasks included taking pictures with falafel makers and Israeli soldiers and nurses at the local hospital. One of the more challenging tasks was to take a picture of three strangers acting out the "hear no evil, speak no evil, say no evil" monkeys. While on the university campus we found a group of students studying on the lawn and quickly requested their assistance. After deducing they spoke English we discovered them to be German exchange students and became enthralled in a lengthy conversation about our respective experiences, their favorite local spots, and just enjoying each others' pleasant company. I was a bit embarrassed that I have lost all but snipets of my high school German, but regardless it was a welcomed interaction.

By the time we finished or conversation with our new found friends, we had accepted that winning the challenge was no longer in the cards; yet all of us agreed we had stumbled upon an experience few others would have gotten. After a few more hours of wandering and getting lost (my favorite way to learn about places) we made our way back to the apartment in time for our next activity--a picnic!

Our leaders had picked out a phenomenal spot at the Monument to the Negev Brigade which overlooked the entire city. The memorial, which commemorates the Palmach's Negev brigade that fought for Israeli independence in 1948 and conquered Be'er Sheva, is an abstract concrete fort with tunnels, towers, and spires. One part in particular, a dome shaped room, has amazing acoustic designs that make even the slightest sounds resonate and echo. As we munched on pita and hummus, surprisingly my first taste since arriving, the sun began setting over the sprawling city, illuminating everything with an amazing red glow that reminded me of the Binary Sunset in Star Wars Episode IV.

This may sound weird, but it has not really sunk in yet that I am in Israel and will be for the next ten months. So far it is almost as if we are just all beginning a regular college experience, but I am sure that will all change as we delve deeper into the program and begin teaching.

The Adventure Begins (8/27/12)

After spending my last full day stateside, I was more than excited to get en route to Israel. Arriving at the Newark airport (courtesy of the Hammer family) a few hours early, I breezed through check-in and TSA in a flash--there was literally one other person in front of me at the security checkpoint! After Amy arrived a few minutes later as her usual bubbly self, we began what became an ordeal of a boarding process.

Boarding hundreds of passengers ranging from many walks of life (many of them Jewish) was hectic to say the least. Orthodox families, womens' groups, teen tours, family vacationers alike piled onto the El Al flight and insanity ensued. After quickly finding overhead storage and my seat, I watched from the rear of the plane with shock and amusement; never before had I seen so much haggling over seats and fighting for storage.

As the flight filled an old Israeli woman speaking broken English approached me, saying something about not sleeping. Let's just say my Hebrew skills are minimal at this point in the trip (although its already getting significantly better), and was rescued by a nearby traveler who translated. It turns out the woman wanted my  aisle seat because she didn't want to get stuck in the middle in case both aisle passengers fell asleep. I value my aisle seats more than anything, treasuring the extra leg room and easy access to the bathrooms and could not imagine sitting in a middle seat for almost eleven hours. Luckily the other aisle was available and the situation diffused and she claimed the other side of the row.

Amy and I eventually were able to switch to sit next to each other on the otherwise uneventful flight. Three movies and nearly a dozen hours in transit later we arrived at Ben Gurion International Airport in Tel Aviv. The Israeli sun shone through the terminal's frosted windows like a light from heaven, greeting us at long last.

Unfortunately that excitement momentarily gave way to disappointment as we discovered our next twelve hours were to be spent in the terminal awaiting other arrivals and the bus to Be'er Sheva. Luckily we stumbled upon Craig, a fellow program member who had arrived at 4 am (3 hours before our 7 am landing!) and wasted the hours away laughing and playing Monopoly Deal.

More and more Israel Teaching Fellows (ITF) arrived and exhaustion posed little resistance to the influx of so many new friends and colleagues! By nightfall we arrived at Be'er Sheva, dispersed into our respective apartments and set up camp for the long haul. I will be sure to post pictures of my new home as soon as they are uploaded, and another entry is coming on the heels of this one!

3. 2. 1. Launch!

I feel like a kid about to attend his first day of college all over again. In just a few short days I will be transported from the wonderful Bay Area to the Holy Land. The journey to this point in my life has been long and winding, and the process has been anything but easy--but at long last things are falling into place. While in Israel as an Israel Teaching Fellow (one of MASA's new programs), I will teach English, learn Hebrew, volunteer in the community, and explore a country that I have admired from afar most of my life.

This enterprise represents an opportunity combining my love of teaching with my adventurous personality. An unmatched opportunity to learn about both the world and myself. A chance to gain perspective from outside the American classroom. A life changing experience.

And as bold as I may be, I am fortuitous enough to have my good friend Amy Wolfish along for the ride. Filled with anxiety about acceptance and a frantic dash to get everything accomplished in just a few days, it has been very reassuring that a little bit of home will be traveling abroad with me. 

Throughout the year this shall be the record of my adventures. I plan to post at least once a week (although I can't guarantee that will be the case) with information about my program, my travels, and my personal growth. This trip marks my first long-term venture away from the comfort of the United States, and I look forward to every minute of it.