Jordana in Jamaica Estates (Part 2)

       Welcome back to NYC- or rather, my reflections of my time in NYC coming at you from a booth at a coffee shop in the Moscow airport. 

I call this look "Blending In"

Where were we? Ah, yes- after a week of preparation for Passover and seeing some great friends, my family packed up to leave for our Pesach program, which was to be held in a mansion/hotel on Long Island. The program will henceforth be known as “Pesach-For-Less,” as it is both the actual name of the program, as well as the essence of the program. My whole life my family went to a hotel in the Catskills called the Granit (and then the Hudson Valley Resort.) This was Pesach for me- I didn’t even know Pesach could exist outside Kerhonkson, New York. Then a few years ago, we began to stay home. To say I hated this new arrangement is an understatement. So much so that I would find a way to spend a few days at the Granit by myself, and hang out with friends I knew who still went. Turns out, the only person who hated staying home more than me is my mom. So she found this program, and we hoped for the best. I mean, how bad could it be, right? We’d all be together and someone else would clean our rooms for Pesach and cook our food- seems awesome. Turns out Pesach For Less (PFL) isn’t just a name, it’s a lifestyle. While the location was lovely, the crowd was, shall we say, different from my family. We are a proudly Orthodox, American family, but we lean modern. My mom doesn’t cover her hair and my dad doesn’t wear a black hat. I might wear a knee-grazing skirt and flip-flops to the pool. This crowd did none of these things. They hailed from Brooklyn, Monsey and Lakewood- all lovely places, but certainly not my target demographic. Everyone was very nice, but I wasn’t motivated to socialize, which worked out great, since I was there to be with my family. My Bubby and Grandpa also joined us for the holiday, and my aunt, uncle and cousins came for the last 2 days.

        It was kind of weird to be away from Israel for such a special holiday. To this day, even with all the time I’ve spent in Israel, I’ve still never spent Pesach there! I got a lot of grief from a friend about leaving for the chag, “So will you actually have the nerve to sing ‘Next year in Jerusalem’ at your seder?” he taunted. When I reminded him that I live there full-time and he lives there never and still sings the same song, he did not back down and although I know he’s wrong, I am a bit irked. It actually has me thinking that I may have to spend next Pesach in Israel and find another time to visit the family in NYC. We’ll see. Holidays in Israel are one-day/one-Seder affairs, while outside Israel they are 2 days. This made my second day of the holiday confusing and weird. My rabbi told me I could do melacha (work/electricity stuff/what have you) only in private, with no one at all around. This was fun but awkward as I shared a room with my sister, and she is a napper. With her in the room, I basically just read, which is what I’d have done on the chag, so being Israeli wasn’t the perk I’d anticipated.

      Chol Hamoed at PFL was not all that exciting. Sure they had a pool and a tennis court, but the weather was atrocious and really, how many times can you swim in a 4-foot indoor pool? I spent most of my time outside the confines of the mansion, visiting friends and obviously, shopping (at this point, the addiction is kickin’.) The exception was Sunday, when my entire family spent the day together celebrating my grandfather’s Ninetieth Birthday! Since myself and 3 of my cousins live in Israel now, it was the first time the entire family was together in years! We all had lunch and cake together and then took a big family photo, which will no doubt be reused in perpetuity for years to come, as we are all featured. Two days later, I took my niece and nephews on a little trip to “Bounce!”, a play area essentially covered in trampolines and foam. Sounds super- fun, right? We made our reservation and headed over. To our shock and mostly dismay, every other Orthodox family in the tri-state area had the very same brilliant idea! The place was hopping (literally) with little kippa-topped kiddies as far as the eye could see. It made my little cuties extremely shy and apprehensive at first, staring at interminable lines of big kids waiting to jump. Luckily, the children have infinitely more tolerance for lines than their aunt, and as we left the day was deemed a huge success by the kiddos. And quite frankly, as long as they’re happy, I need to get over my own limited bouncing time!

         Pesach came and went without much more fanfare and I prepared for my last week in NYC, with no religious demands on my time, but tons of social demands. I know, good problems right? Basically, I would wake up and be out the door by nine every morning, only to return by eleven that night, exhausted and ready to do it all again the next day. As I used to do when I lived in the States, I lived in my car, catching up on my American radio (for those of you in Israel, it’s just “Uptown Funk”, the world’s most irritation song, on loop.) This would be my last hurrah with my car- as I’m not shipping it to Israel, and don’t want to make my family responsible for its upkeep for the once I year I use it. It’s now for sale (if you know anyone who wants a reliable Nissan Altima!) and that signifies just a bit more of my separation from America and ingratiation into Israel. I just got real deep describing selling my car, but I think you get it.

         After a week of seeing close friends, eating my favorite foods (I miss you already, Tuesday night sushi!) , taking in a Yankee game (and Yankee win!) with my dad, hitting a "friends of the IDF" event, and buying everything on sale in a twenty- mile radius, it was time for my last shabbat with my family. If you are my friend on Facebook, you know I love shabbat in Israel. Whether in Jerusalem or some other new and special Jewish neighborhood, I am blessed to experience shabbat in the Holy Land with holy people who also love and appreciate shabbat the way I do. All that said, there is nothing I connect with quite like hearing my father’s kiddush and havdalah, eating my mother’s chulent and chatting with my little sister at the shabbat table. My parents even made a kiddush with all their close friends who treat me like family. It was the perfect way to spend my last shabbat in America- in the incredible neighborhood where I grew up with the people I love most.

        One last- stop trip to Target (I had to!) and I was back in the airport, experiencing the utter joy that is international flying at JFK (insert extreme sarcasm emoji here). My flight here to Moscow actually featured 2 older Russian ladies who were probably the rudest humans I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet. They scream-spoke the entire flight (minus the hour they blessedly slept) and when I had the nerve to ask them to quiet down, not only didn’t they, but they yelled at me! I’m not ashamed to say I hope their ride home was bumpy, their borscht was spoiled and their fur hats were stolen! Anyway, next post will be back from Jerusalem, so until then- dasvedanya and paka!

It's Springtime in Moscow!

Jordana in Jamaica Estates (Part 1)

Privet from Moscow! I am currently sitting in a booth in a Russian airport, in the midst of an 8- hour layover from NYC to Tel Aviv. And why, you might ask, did I choose to take this very scenic and unbelievably circuitous route back home, after spending 3 delightful weeks with my family in New York? Because the fare was so low, you actually feel like this airline is doing you a favor. Yet once you actually take the flights, you realize the trek is so long, and flying so thoroughly uncomfortable, that you seriously reconsider ever doing it again.

           Since the whole experience of going back to America for the first time since aliyah is so intense, and since I did and saw so many things in my 3 weeks back Stateside, this post may actually turn into a 2- parter. But let me start at the very beginning, which I’m told is a very good place to start, and we’ll see how it goes.

          It was the week before Pesach/Passover, and I was finally taking that “trip back to the States” that I had booked way back in November and at the time seemed eons away. I chose this super-cheap flight via Aeroflot, and prepared for the worst. After all, online reviews had me thinking this was a pre-war era plane manned by KGB members with no indoor heating or cooling. And I was fine with all that, because the price was right. And who didn’t want to see the highly regarded Moscow airport (one of three in this city, I’m told) ? No one likes culture more than me, and I have a lot of great Russian friends, so what better way to connect to them than through spending 4 hours in their 3rd largest airport? Thankfully, the flights were totally fine- personal screens and all! And the airport even officially had wi-fi! Not wi-fi that actually connected you to the internet, more the kind that showed up on your phone as full service, but kept your screen loading indefinitely, you know the type. One of the fabulous things about traveling internationally as an Orthodox person is the wealth of kosher food options available to you worldwide. And by that I mean, there is nothing and you starve. It’s the main reason I am so well-traveled throughout the US, and so poorly traveled everywhere else. I refuse to stuff my suitcases with granola bars and microwave meals. I have way too many pairs of shoes for that nonsense. So I prepared in advance, and stocked up on Bissli, Bamba and Pesek Zman chocolate in Ben Gurion Airport in anticipation for the fast. I didn’t just want to be Israeli in that Moscow airport- I wanted to shout it out through my snack choices.

          I’ll fast-forward through the travel, because I could probably explicate on that for ages. One exciting element of traveling is that it was my first time ever doing so as a dual-citizen. This meant that I showed the Israeli agents my Teudat Ma’avar (temporary travel visa- you get a passport a full year after aliyah) as well as my American passport. Although, if I’m being honest, I’ve been using my American passport almost everywhere else. It’s just so much faster and I got things to do!

So excited to be a dual- citizen!

So I finally get out at JFK, locate my bags (which I have an irrational certainty will be lost or stolen off the carousel every single time I fly) and reunite with my all-time best friend- my dad. He takes me to my family home where I hug my mom, my sister and my car- in that exact order. We then go to dinner with my other sister and her family, which include my 2 nephews and my niece. It is at this dinner, where I am sitting with the people that I love most on earth, some of whom don’t ever and will never be able to visit Israel, that I get super-emotional. I am lucky that I have a real sense of certainty in my decision to make aliyah. While I’m in Israel, I never question if my move was the right one- I know it is. I walk around smiling all day, and feel unendingly blessed to “live the dream” as they say. But at that table, with my niece and nephew on my lap, joking around with my immediate family just like it’s any other time, it is at the same time totally normal and completely surreal. And I allow myself a millisecond to think- how can I be without these people every day? How can I have made the decision to move across the globe alone, while my heart and soul are here? I will have this feeling a few more times over the next 3 weeks, but these are fleeting thoughts, and they do not last long.
                The next day I make my long-awaited return to the mall. I have mentioned in other posts that back in the States, I was an avid and skilled shopper. Since moving to Israel, my interest in shopping has waned, both due to the lack of stores and styles I like as well as the exorbitant prices for clothes here. I may pick something up once in a while, but my “shopping addiction” has definitely been cured by the Holy Land. Add that to the theory that I began developing this past trip- Americans are much more attached to buying. Now, before you Americans get all indignant, hear me out. You live in a place where malls are huge and everywhere, every third week is a blowout sale, and every item imaginable is available, both in- store or at your doorstep via the internet. In Israel, the most popular mall in the country, Malcha Mall in Jerusalem (you can look it up, Israelis, it’s true) would fit in my mall’s east wing. In the States you have the affordable shipping (or free shipping!) available online, the clearance sales and the outlet malls. You have a Target and an Amazing Savings for crazy value. And you have a car to shlep it all home with. It makes for a very comfortable shopping experience. In Israel, I have to agonize over buying one item, already marked down, and carve out a time to go pick it up and get it back home. It’s a production, so I don’t do it all that often. In case you were wondering, a shopping addiction can be cured, but it never goes away. Just going back into that mall with my mom was crazy- so many stores and everything on sale (obviously, because it was pre-Easter, post winter-whatever.) I rationalized everything by saying I was getting ready for Pesach and stocking up for Israel, but in reality, I was probably just relapsing hard core, and there was no stopping me. How is everything so cheap?

              Later that evening, I headed to Manhattan. I know that people who don’t live in New York (and many who do) are dazzled by Manhattan, but I’m over it. It’s fast and loud and crowded and (in my opinion) overrated. The subways are a hassle and driving is a nightmare and parking is impossible. All that said, I went in for a special reason- I had organized happy-hour drinks for some friends at a great bar where my friend works. He set aside a section and even made a special menu of drinks for my guests.

Interestingly, the Bar-Lev is a drink that has nothing to do with me being Israeli

It was the perfect way to see a whole bunch of friends I adore in one place at the same time. As friends walked in throughout the evening, one face after another made me light up. I realized again how much I love the people I had to leave.

            Coming back is a lot of the same conversation, many times a day, for 3 weeks. Where do I live, what do I do, who do I hang out with and how is it all (it seems as if people are not keeping up with Jordana in Jerusalem as diligently as I hoped)? I must have answered those questions a hundred or more times over these past 3 weeks, but I didn’t mind (that much) because those would be the same questions I’d ask them if the roles were reversed. And it’s always a beautiful thing to be able to talk about how much I love Israel and the new life I’m building there. I think if I didn’t feel so secure in my decision to make aliyah, these questions would stress me out, but it’s awesome and empowering to get to say “I love it every day,” and mean it. Oy, this is getting long. Okay, more to come in Part 2- see you then! Dasvedanya!

Dude, Where's My Wallet?

                Exactly one week ago, I misplaced my wallet whilst returning from Modi'in back to Jerusalem. You know those beautiful and life-affirming stories about people who lose their wallets/phones/marriage licenses/pets in Eilat and suddenly it winds up on their doorstep in Jerusalem? The kind where you wink and say "Only in Israel!"The kind where you just can't believe how crazy- wonderful life in Israel can be?! Well, this is not one of those stories! A full week later and I still have no wallet, nor even the faintest idea of where it might be. The main reason for this is that I don't know whether the wallet was stolen or misplaced, and that distinction has made all the difference. But for purposes of this blog post, I will focus on the funny, the silly, the exasperating parts of losing a wallet, while having only being an Israeli for a month and a half.
               So I'm on the bus and the first thing to note is that this is not an Egged bus. Egged is the largest bus provider in the country and most certainly in the Jerusalem area. Ninety-five percent of the buses I take in this country are Egged. But not this bus! This was a line called Kavim, which caters to the Modi'in area (about 30 minutes outside Jerusalem) and I would soon learn, Kavim is not my friend. This particular Tuesday I was absolutely exhausted. I had woken up at 5 AM to meet the newest olim via charter flight at the airport. What an amazing experience to welcome 330 Jew brothers and sisters in their new life in Israel! It just warmed my cold heart. Then I took the train (another chavaya/experience all on it's own!) to Tel Aviv to meet friends. I know Tel Aviv is, like, the greatest place ever, but I personally don't enjoy being there, going there, or visiting there, so it was a bittersweet excursion. The weather in Tel Aviv in the summer is somewhere between a swamp, a rain forest minus any precipitation, and a crowded sauna. All told, it is a place I visit because some of my favorite people live there and because, quite frankly, Birthrighters won't come visit me in Jerusalem.
              From Tel Aviv, I get a ride to Modi'in, which is essentially a large new neighborhood of apartment buildings with a huge shopping center in the middle. I don't mean to slight Modi'in- if you live there and I'm missing something cool, please let me know! Anyway, I mostly took the ride there because now that I have no car, riding in a car that I don't have to pay for is the greatest thing ever. Ask any American (or person!) who moves here and has to give up the comfort and mobility that comes with one's own car- getting a ride is just the biggest treat in life! I shopped for a bit in Modi'in and then boarded the bus back to Jerusalem. And conked out. The bus pulls into the Central Bus Station, I put on my pink headphones and head back to town. While walking back, I look into my bag for gum and notice that there is a suspiciously large amount of room in the bag. I have a small bag and an even smaller wallet, so there is an alarming lack of heft on my shoulder. I look in my shopping bags- and....nothing. I run back to the bus stop, all the way back sniffing the ground like a bloodhound, eyes peeled to the pavement, looking for my tiny, puffy wallet. It is not on the ground. Then I go into 2014-mode, googling names and numbers of the bus company on my phone. After an annoying debacle of finally locating the number for Superbus, I remember that my bus line was Kavim! 
                 So I finally locate Kavim's number, which sends me to an automated system. Lest any of you readers forget, I am Class B2 in ulpan. Today I learned a story from a children's TV show. I most certainly am not at the level of responding to an automated phone system! Apparently in this country, pressing zero does not take you to the operator- it takes you to the beginning of the automated system! Tears in my eyes, I frantically dialed the second number given on the website and blessedly got the voice of a live representative! After establishing he spoke English ("ehhhhhm a leeetle...") he understood my dilemma. 
"So, can you help me? I'm freaking out!"
"Oh, I understand. Eet must be so hard. So what bus was this?"
"The 110. From Modi'im"
"Oh, then you must call Kavim. This is Egged. I cannot help you."      
                  Can you imagine? Finally a live, English-speaking bus rep and he doesn't work for Kavim! Only in Israel! Anyway, let me skip ahead. Ultimately, thanks to my cousin, I made contact with a human Kavim rep. He left my message for the  bus drivers. So did the next rep I spoke to later that evening. And the one the next morning. And the one that afternoon. By the 4th time, my online file was jam-packed full of fruitless requests to the lost and found and I realized that maybe the glorious, miraculous stories we hear about finding what was lost was not in the cards. At that point, it was about rebuilding my life, via my wallet.
                Remember my blog post about the tedium of running errands here in Jerusalem? Imagine doing it all over again one month later. The bank, the health insurance, the bus card, the Jerusalem card, the student ID- all replaced in record time. Then came the American side of things. I had been checking my American bank to ensure nothing had been charged (blessedly) and reordered my credit cards, driver's license and Starbucks card (priorities- I'm working on a gold card!) Now all I have to do is wait until my visiting friends transport these cards over to me so I can resume life as normal. 
               All told, I lost a little bit of money (thankfully I rarely use cash. I'm as Ashkenazi as they come) and gained a whole lot of aggravation. I tell myself that things could have been much worse, that now I'm on a much-needed budget (blech) and that I'll know to be more careful in the future. Really, the hardest part is over- I told my mom I lost my wallet and she had a way smaller heart attack than I expected! And the best part is- I had a great story to tell all of you! Onwards and upwards!

Jordana Is Really Israeli!

         So last post was pretty heavy stuff but this one will be as light and fluffy as the eggs I had for brunch yesterday from Cafe Rimon! (I do brunch here most days- economical, you know.) So back to business- I'm Israeli! Like Te'udat Zehut and Te'udat Oleh and all the fun Te'udats they can bestow upon me! I will give you the timeline of the aliyah process (I got this, Nefesh B'Nefesh!) and try and spice it up so it's not just a list of activities.
         Back in JFK, I came with 4 ginormous bags, just busting with the most important items in my life (and by that, I mean shoes.) The very nice non-smiling, non-Jewish, non-Israeli woman checking me in at EL AL (go figure!) charged me for an extra bag and TWO overweight bags! So not even Israeli yet and I'm $300 in the hole. Is this what they mean by Israel making you poor? Sign me up! Moving on, I check in and say goodbye to my beautiful family. While it was certainly emotional, I couldn't help but wonder how much more so it would be if I didn't have cell phones, American phone lines, Skype, FaceTime, Tango, Whatsapp, iMessage, Facebook, Viber, email and accessible air travel to make things easier. I imagine more difficult, but hey #firstworldproblems!
           The flight was unremarkable. I was asked to switch to sit next to a woman so the hasidic man who was supposed to wouldn't be eternally damned by sitting next to a female- you're welcome, pious man! The food was meh and the movies were below meh. Like, I know I don't take in the cinema all that much, but I don't think these winners even graced the theaters, so that was a bust. I slept in preparation of aliyah, deciding to be fresh and ready for living the dream!
           Once landed, the process was relatively easy. There were about 20-odd others living the dream with me (I refer facetiously to the motto of Nefesh B'nefesh-the aliya organization- but it is really quite apt!) We were taken through customs in a special line: 

and then taken in a tram to the old airport which apparently, time forgot. Paint peeling, limited air conditioning, really made you excited to join this thriving country. (I kid, I kid.) Once seated, we were given our IDs, various information, and chose our health insurance companies. So ready to try out this socialized healthcare over here! You know it's impressive when everyone you ask for a recommendation says "choose any company- they're all fine." Yessssss bring on the fine healthcare! I also spent some time getting to know my fellow dream-livers, and exchange information, so that was lovely. After that, it was time to meet our friends/family or take our free rides to our destination. This is what I had waiting for me:

Could you plotz?! I had my beautiful Berg family, my amazing soldier cousin and look at those signs! All I could have asked for (minus the shofar I wanted blown and the personal hug from Bibi Netanyahu, but oh well!) We took my 2 trolleys of luggage out to the car and discovered that Yoni's fabulous compact sedan was most definitely too small for a Jappy American girl's 4 huge bags. 2 in the trunk and then two....on the roof? But how to put them there? No luggage straps. Hmmmm:

If you guessed a roll of cel-o-tape wrapped around the roof- you are correct! Now, to say I was nervous about my bags falling off the roof, with my shrink-wrapped clothing flying all over Highway 1 is the understatement of the century. I said quite a few personalized prayers to the One Above to keep our Pinterest-worthy luggage rack intact. And they worked- thanks G-d! 

              After a delicious sushi dinner (you can take the girl outta NYC, but...) I went to sleep early, woke up, and went over to the bank to open an account, like the adult that I am! I met a very nice lady, as typically Israeli as could be (completely uncharmed by me, completely not getting my humor- oy, this country!) and she explained the ins and outs of what I was signing, since it was in a Hebrew above my pay grade. I must be honest, it is very likely I bought a camel or sold my first born child to the state of Israel- I really have no idea. I just signed and signed until I couldn't sign no mo'. 

              That's basically the extent of my immersion into Israeli society thus far. I wish I could say it's been crazy or jam-packed but it's been pretty laid back. If you're still reading this- congrats! I know it was long, but thanks for joining me on this trip back in time! Yet to come in the next post: July 4 in Israel- 'Murrrica!