Jordana in 2020

The last time I posted a blog was in January. And while that may sound weird, considering the downtime we've all had this past year, let us also consider what we've largely been doing: Nothing.

For posterity's sake and in case my kids ever read this blog on their iPhone37s one day, we are T- minus 7 days from 2021. And while I assumed we'd be entering this new year filled with optimism for better times ahead, I can't help but be tempered by the reality that I'm last on the list for a vaccine, we need 70-80% country-wide compliance before things can return to normal, and mostly- we have no idea what normal actually means.

So maybe a yearly recap then? In January I was traveling (lol!) through Europe, not a care in the world. I came back with a wicked case of laryngeo-tracheitis which upon reflection I wonder was early-adoption Covid. I think everyone I know who was randomly sick in January or February 2020 thinks they were patient zero for Covid, but I digress.

This gal traveling in Portugal has no idea what's coming

I remember watching a Facebook video about a virus in far-flung Wuhan, China which looked out of a science fiction/horror movie. "Wow," I thought, "It must really suck to live in Wuhan." Never did I expect it would suck to live... literally everywhere.

Then came Purim and rumblings that the virus was spreading. Did I go to shul and a party? Yep! Was I on a committee to host a dinner the Friday night following that the rabbi didn't want to cancel because he was sure it would all be fine by then? Yep! Was that the beginning of life as we knew it? YEP!

In short order, life shut down. It was during the first lockdown that I really understood the breadth of the pandemic. Of course there was the physical toll (more on that later) but the emotional, economic and mental tolls were never something I foresaw. And it was that mental and emotional strain that caused me to flee a country that had Covid "under control" (Israel) to join the hysterical masses in Covid-ravaged New York to be with my family. 

To Cliff's Notes the next part of the year: I flew in an empty airport, essentially holding my breath in fear for 10 hours before joining my parents in a house where we all wore masks. Around each other. We had a lovely, low-key Pesach after which I discovered that there was essentially no way for me to get back home. Flight after flight got canceled, resulting in nine incredible weeks in NYC. And by NYC I mean the four walls of my house because I basically saw nothing and went nowhere.

All that said, those nine weeks were bizarrely some of the most incredible I've ever had. Tragically, my grandfather Henry Sealine passed in the beginning of my stay. I was able to say goodbye to him and attend his funeral which probably would have been difficult in the best of times but certainly impossible during a pandemic. I was able to be there for my mother during a shiva week where no one else could be there for her. I was able to watch my nephews and grocery shop and help out in a way I generally can't living so far away.

And my sister's family was under the same roof en route to moving houses, so I had nine weeks of unadulterated family time, which I know will never happen again. So that was definitely the peak in a year chock full of valleys.

Did I force my family to take this photo because I never get to be in family photos anymore? Sure did!

Finally I came home and by that I mean to my apartment. All the time. As someone I refer to as "Covid-careful" (too careful?) I turned into someone totally new- a homebody. Pre-Covid I was out maybe 4-5 nights a week. I was social, guys. Suddenly I was always home. Parties were paused as were big Shabbat dinners. Weddings were on Zoom and so was wine club. Meeting new people became difficult so dating became even more so. Tel Aviv, the Israeli city that never slept took a long nap (for me at least- I saw some people raging on Instagram and well- it's their lives!) Summer passed me by unnoticed and Fall was largely uneventful but punctuated by High Holidays spent praying alone due to a second country-wide lockdown.

Here we are in December and heading into yet another lockdown (an idea so amazingly beneficial it has to be tried again!) Truth be told, I was unaware the second lockdown had ended. Just passing closed restaurant after shuttered bar- I didn't really see the point of this lockdown but then again, I'm not one of the super-geniuses running our government (can't wait to choose my favorite super-genius in the upcoming "yearly election!")

I'm now chilling in bidud (quarantine) because I recently went back to the States for an even shorter period of time than I will be in said quarantine. And why would I make such a crazy sacrifice? Because my delicious nephew was a bar mitzvah and some things in this world are worth the aggravation of Covid flights, 4 Covid tests, a 2- week quarantine and month-long jet-lag. This was one of them. 

Me and my favorite Bar Mitzvah young man

So here I sit- a few days before my bidud birthday and on the precipice of a new year. One that the optimist in me hopes is better, while the science-lover in me waits patiently for the vaccine. And until then I will wear my mask, eat my sushi at home, a raise a rosé l'chaim to 2021- may it be the happiest, healthiest year yet!

My Friend Made Aliyah

I couldn't think of a flashier title, because the one I chose is so full of emotion, I didn't want to mess with it. Last week, a close friend of mine names Ariella made Aliyah, and it was just about the most exciting thing I could imagine. As I celebrated 3 years here on July 1, I thought of the changes in my life that have happened in that time. Nothing huge. No wedding, no babies, not elected to Knesset (yet). And as of today, I'm still Jordana IN Jerusalem! So what, really, is the big deal about 3 years here? 

Everything.

At three years, I have watched my ulpan and Aliyah friends decide that Israel wasn't for them, and leave. I have seen more people come to Israel to try and make it their home too. I have seen holidays and festivals, birthday parties and smachot. I have been to concerts and funerals, I have seen babies born here, and witnessed pretty much every Jewish life cycle event after that. Three years in the scheme of a lifetime is short, but it is enough time to outgrow my Aliyah "honeymoon phase" and the sparkly title of "olah chadasha" (new immigrant.) 

Although I probably still am a new immigrant, most days I feel completely at home, in a way I never did living in New York for decades. I walk the streets here or traverse the country in the knowledge that these are my streets and this landscape is my own. I never feel like I'm visiting, like this is a stop on my journey. I consider myself unendingly blessed to feel that this was truly my destination.

So when I tell you that my friend making Aliyah was one of the most exciting things to happen, it's not hyperbole. Let's not kid ourselves, life is hard sometimes and moving to a whole new country and culture will be tough (we've talked about this here and here) but the only consistent bummer is being away from family and close friends. I pray regularly that my family will join me here, but it doesn't seem to be on the horizon. And although sporadic visits from family members and my yearly pilgrimage back to NYC are great, they will never be a substitute for living near family. So when a close friend like Ariella told me a few months back that she was going to make Aliyah, I was elated!

Not to get into the back-and-forth about how Aliyah should be EVERY Jew's ultimate goal (because I don't want to argue with you) but the idea that someone I love, in a similar social situation, with a similar background and the same attachment to her family was making Aliyah just like I did was extremely validating and exciting. She would ask logistical questions and always preface or end conversations with "sorry to bother" and I would respond "this is no bother! I wish I could have this conversation with every one of my friends! I'm so proud of you!"

Some Israelis riding the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv bus!

So when she finally made Aliyah last week, it hit me harder than I thought. It was my friend, taking a huge step and hopefully succeeding in building an amazing new life in Israel, of course. But it was also seeing someone else, realizing a 3,000 year long dream, leaving the diaspora to come home and showing everyone back in America that this is the goal we should ALL have, we should ALL strive to achieve. 

This is what 3 years has taught me. It has been HARD and it has been wonderful. It has been LONG and it has gone by in a blink. It has been LONELY at times, but I have made new soul connections. It has been DIFFERENT to what I expected and so much more. And it has showed me, an American from New York with a tiny bit of jappiness, that there is more to life than Target and Bagels and Co. and that a new goal in my life is to help my friends and family come home- to Israel.

And when that time comes, I will tell you everything you'll need to know. I'll stay on the phone with you as long as you want, answer all your questions. I'll calm you down and build you up. I'll sit with you in Misrad Hapnim and give you the name of a great manicurist/real estate agent/pediatrician/handyman. I will do whatever it takes to have you here with me and Ariella and the rest of your Jewish brothers and sisters. 

I promise!

On Parades and Aliyah

I may have mentioned that I grew up in a super pro-Israel household. The Israeli flag flies outside our door. I toured the country top to bottom at 13 with my family. We ate falafel at shul every Yom Haatzmaut. And most importantly, my family attended every Salute To Israel Parade down Fifth  Avenue in New York City, every year of my life. 

I was rolled through it as a baby in my stroller, flag flying behind me. I was a spectator most of my childhood, due to the chareidi nature of my elementary and high schools- Bais Yaakov of Queens may not have marched, but the Brown family most definitely attended! In 11th grade, I switched to a Zionist high school and was able to march for the first time. All my new friends yawned and complained about having to march again, but I was unbelievably excited. I even marched proudly again in 12th grade, when a large segment of my senior peers opted out. And in the college and post-college years that followed, Parade Day was one I always looked forward to, painting my nails blue and white and planning my outfits and coordinating meet up spots with my friends, some of whom I would only see on that one magical day of the year. 

I think I've also mentioned that it was never my lifelong goal to make Aliyah. For much of my young adulthood, my goals were: getting a well-paying job, finding a fellow pro-Israel  Jew to marry, settling down in some orthodox Jewish enclave and raising pro-Israel children, who would then hopefully repeat the cycle. Nothing on that list isn't exactly what 99% of my friends were hoping to accomplish as well. But about 6 years ago, when I began to become interested in Israel as a place to live, rather than a place to visit, the Parade changed for me, too. 

Deciding to move to Israel is a seismic, fundamental shift in character. It is a change in every way you can imagine, and my own move shocked everyone who wasn't intimately involved in my Zionist activism in the few years that preceded it. If you didn't see me during the years I took those 12 Birthright  groups to Israel, you would think I was the same Jordana who sang "Hatikva" at my Young Israel's 5k run-walk for Israel".

But once I decided that Israel was the place I had to live, because I am a pro-Israel Jew, I began to feel something odd at the parade. This isn't going  to be a blog where I berate everyone for not making Aliyah- I'm sure that will come someday, but not today. This is just my view as Jordana in Jerusalem, and maybe a bit of food for thought as well. 

Supporting Israel is great. Visiting Israel for Sukkot is great. Donating to Israel  is great. Singing hatikva in your Young Israel is great. Hanging the Israeli flag outside your home is great. Cheering on Team Israel at the World Baseball  Classic is great. Eating a shwarma on Main Street that Dudu sold you is great. Painting your nails blue and white is great. Dancing to Omer Adam at your house party is great. And going to the Salute to Israel Parade is great!

But it is not the goal, or at least it shouldn't be. Even if you think Aliyah isn't for you- it's so hard (it is), you'll be poor (you will), it's too far (sooo far), you don't speak Hebrew (lo norah), the people are mean (yeah, but they're also so nice!) and every other excuse I've heard a million times, it should be an ideal. Something you wish you could do, you hope to do someday. I promise you, ten years ago, Aliyah was not in my plans. But it was always an ideal, something I wished I could do. And ten years later I did!

Just think about it, and have an amazing time celebrating our country at today's parade!

My last parade before Aliyah

One Last Blow Before I Go

Even though the UN is entirely useless, run by dictators and human-rights abusers and holds no credibility with anyone with a functioning brain, it exists, it's in the newspapers and it shuts down all of New York City for a few weeks a year. It's an international joke that has gone on too long and whose only recognizable function at this point is to pass umpteen resolutions demonizing the Jews. Oops, I mean Israel.

If you don't care about Israel, or it's just not on your radar (but then, how did you get to this blog? I digress) the UN is a benign and impressive building with a bunch of colorfully dressed dignitaries who have cars they can park anywhere. They function away from your eyes, don't accomplish much and really don't affect your life in any way. You might visit the building on a class trip or read an article mentioning that they are having their yearly sessions that week. But if you are Israeli or a supporter of Israel, you know that they do have one other very important function. They are there to ruin the international reputation of your homeland. They convene once a year to collectively and decisively condemn every aspect of your beautiful, democratic country- repeatedly. Every. Single. Year.
But why Israel? You might ask. If you are one of Israel's many detractors you may think "sure, cite Israel along with Saudi Arabia, Syria, Sudan and all those other human rights abusers." The problem with that thinking is that you don't hate Jews and Israel enough! If you were truly like the members of the UN, you would realize that Israel is the perfect scapegoat for all the world's problems. You would appreciate the vile dictators and disgusting countries that make up the human rights councils and security councils and education councils, whose sole purpose is to come up with new and exciting ways to call Israel "the worst." These countries calling Israel "the worst," it should be noted, are largely Arab or Arab-majority, human-rights abusing, non-western, oppressive, violent and anti-Semitic regimes who, through oil money and intimidation, have come to run this farce of an organization.


This is one year alone!

Perhaps the UN started with the best of intentions, but it has devolved into an anti-Semitic cesspool where the patients are running the asylum (I'm really fired up, forgive me.) So why do I even care what happens there, you might ask. Generally, I don't. Usually, I can laugh at the rantings of Arab dictators at the plenum, and roll my eyes at the unending stream of condemnations of Israel, blaming us for everything from environmental ills (Israel is one of the greenest countries on earth) to women's rights abuses (Israel is the only liberal democracy in the entire Middle East.) Plus, Israel generally has the support of the western world (specifically the US) at the UN so it curbs any real damage. Except for when things like what happened yesterday occur. Except when things like my former president (I still hold American citizenship but take pride in this man no longer being my head of state) Barack Obama decided to aim one last parting shot at the country for which he holds such disdain. 

"Israel must recognize that it cannot permanently occupy and settle Palestinian land."

In his final address to the UN and the world, as he has done for the last 8 years, he blamed Israel for the lack of peace while cushioning it with a plea for Palestinians to stop inciting their citizens to murder Jews, so as not to completely upset his liberal Jewish fan base. In that one sentence, he disregarded all offers for peace short of national suicide and gave Israel's detractors, enemies and terrorizers another weapon in their arsenal. "See?" Israel's enemies say "Even the president of your best friend America, even the country with the most Jews outside Israel, even the most powerful democracy on earth thinks you are occupiers, colonizers, thieves." They will continue to call our legitimacy into question, to ignore our indigenous rights, and to extend their fallacious narrative but now with a one-sentence soundbite from the leader of the free world. Just Google his speech and "Israel" and that quote is in the sub headline of every article. Not the part about Palestinian incitement. Not the part about the Palestinians needing to recognize the legitimacy of Israel. He said those things, but you'll have to read the whole article to find them, and most probably won't. 

The reverberations are not hard to predict. The BDS movement will place this statement on their literature and placards. The UN will continue to do what they do, but without the conscience of the pesky US to tell them what they're doing is wrong, and the entire world will become a more dangerous place for the Jews. Because, as you should know by now, Israel is a proxy for the Jews. Even if you are a Jew that hates Israel (and, by the way, if you are- yuck) that man in Ireland, Africa, Abu Dhabi hears "Jew" and thinks "Israel" and vice versa. So Obama telling the world that Jews in Israel are permanently occupying Palestinian land, when actually they are living in their native homeland (like they have for 3,000 years) isn't just wrong- it's dangerous. It is not surprising, given Obama's clear disgust for Israel (if you are shaking your head in disagreement, please let's revisit this topic in 20 years when he is hawking anti-Israel diatribes like a modern-day Jimmy Carter.)

As you know, I always like to leave on a hopeful note, so let me try and turn this around. Obama will be leaving office in around 120 days. For me, that's wonderful. But his legacy (which my liberal friends love and I despise) remains. And he is leaving the country in the hands of either Hillary (more of the same, especially when it comes to Israel, sadly) or Trump (the definition of the phrase "Oy vey") so I can't even look forward to his exit the way I planned! So I will say this: Israel was here before the UN and will be here long after. The children of Israel have suffered pogroms and libels, expulsions and genocide- they will continue to survive. And because we as a nation have a strong, just and beautiful country of our own, we will also thrive. Because, as you know, Am Yisrael Chai.

Aliyahversary, the Second!

        Two years. Twenty-four months, 104 weeks, 731 days (2016 was a Leap Year) etc etc. Tomorrow will be 2 full years since I stepped off that plane, into Ben Gurion airport to start the next and hopefully best chapter of my life. 

         I just reread my post for last year's Aliyah anniversary- boy, that Jordana was cute! Brimming with life changes and accomplishments, overcoming small challenges of bureaucracy and moving furniture- I envy her. Not that this past year wasn't great- quite the contrary, my Aliyah continues to be the best decision I've ever made. But when you make a huge life decision (moving, getting married, having kids- so I'm told!) there are peaks and valleys. And this year came with higher peaks and lower valleys than I could have imagined in my first year. To gloss over the bad would be allowing this blog to become inauthentic. I strive to make anyone who reads it understand that although I believe aliyah is for (almost) all Jews, I understand that there will be complications and sad times. So I will be straight up with some of my struggles here. I still have not found the job for me. I have not found that magical equation of: I enjoy it+ I am good at it +I am challenged by it= it pays me enough to live. You might think these are super reasonable qualifications, you might think I'm asking too much (not to be confused with a conversation on "what are you looking for in a spouse?" which sounds interestingly quite similar to this.) Although I have blessedly been employed by wonderful companies and people for the entirety of this year, I am a bit at a loss for why the job for me eludes me. I thought I had it for about 5 minutes, only to realize it wasn't quite right and have to start from Square 1. If I had to pinpoint this year's lowest valley, without a doubt, it would be that setback. In fact, I write this as I am still trying to climb back up from that, so if this blog seems a little less than effervescent, it's probably just because you should not write a blog post in a state of flux. But what can I do?! My Aliyaversary is falling out smack in the middle of my time of flux- what a bassa!

            I do remain hopeful and (weirdly) confident that a job that involves writing/marketing/politics/Jewish outreach/Israel advocacy/media will materialize, the powers-that-be will realize my talents and I will stay working there until I am a little old lady. It could happen, right? But until then, I remain positive- I have to! This is my home now. As I have mentioned several times- there is no "Plan B." There is no "going home"; I am home. I do not see myself ever living in America again (sorry, Mommy) so I will do whatever I must to make Israel the best home I could possibly ever have. "Ain Li Eretz Acheret- I have no other land." There is something terrifying and exhilarating about knowing that you have found your place in this world and no matter what, you will make it work. 

           There are fundamental differences between years 1 and 2 of my Aliyah journey. Liken it to the difference between starting a job and keeping that job fresh. The difference between starting to date someone and allowing that attraction to grow into something more. In practical terms: It's the difference between figuring out how to open a bank account and then how to bank efficiently on your Leumi app. If year one is finding a group of friends to go to a bar with, year 2 is growing those friendships into people you can trust with the real-life stuff. The first year is playing that "I'm new here" card when things get sticky and year 2 is "oh shoot! That card doesn't work as well, I guess I'll cut my teeth on Hebrew instead." Year 1 is waiting for friends and family to visit so you have a taste of home in your new city, while year 2 is playing tour guide for visiting friends and family, so you can show them your home. Year 1 is finding a place to live, a job and a favorite brunch spot; year 2 is paying full municipal taxes on that apartment, finding a new job (or 2- for me!) and making that brunch spot your Friday destination after a hard week of work. The luster and excitement that comes with everything new and shiny in your first year is followed by a tangible shift toward comfort and contentment. It's when you can feel your infatuation toward Israel becoming a real love of Israel.

Some scenes from Year 2

            I used to teach classes for an outreach program and one of the questions we asked was "What's the difference between infatuation and love?" And the answer we gave was this- "when you love everything about that person/place/thing- everything they do and say is perfect- that's infatuation. When you can see the bad in that person/place/thing- when you are aware of his flaws and shortcomings, in addition to his good qualities- that is love!" So last year I was the conductor of that infatuation train. I had to be! There was a war, I was living in the fantasy-land of Ulpan, I was just getting my feet wet in Israeli society- everything was heightened and important (and I had a heck of a lot more to blog about!) This year, I was dealing with the mundane- paying bills, socializing (although now in Tel Aviv a lot more, go figure!) and working every day. Although I broke that up by traveling, and a trip to the States, life here went from aliyah fantasy to Israeli reality, without my even noticing it.

           I know more seasoned Olim will see this and scoff "It's only been 2 years, Jords. Relax. Come back to me in 10 years." And I intend to! And I know each year will bring its own victories, its own epiphanies and, realistically, its own failures. But the same would be true if I were back in New York, or living in London, or Timbuktu! The difference here is that I have the motivation to make this life I create here the greatest possible life I can have on earth. Because nothing beats the fact that I am living in the Jewish state and the truest home I have ever known. Nothing beats the fact that I know that with all the hardships and loneliness, anxiety and stress- I have finally ended up in the place I am meant to be. So hopefully next year when I recap Aliyah Year 3, there will be less lows, higher highs and the same certainty that Aliyah was the greatest choice I've ever made. 

Next year in Jerusalem! (or maybe Tel Aviv? Who knows!) Stay tuned...

Get On The Bus, Gus

As an underqualified but highly motivated Aliyah tour guide, I thought I’d give my perspective on the transportation system here in Israel. Please read on for the good, the bad, the ridiculous and the insane of Egged, Dan, Kavim and more- AKA- The Israeli Bus System.

I would be remiss if I did not mention that I am something of a bus novice here in Israel. In my early days of visiting Israel, buses did not have a good reputation. And by that I mean that they were terrorist targets and gave me and my mother feelings of panic just walking near one. Was this a fair assessment? Kind of. There were definitely attacks during those years of the Second Intifada where just the sight of a bus would have me crossing the street, but the vast majority of buses rolled on, safely and soundly. This fear, however, led to strict instructions by my mother to never, under any circumstances, take a bus. It also compelled her to pay for the taxis that would inevitably become my preferred mode of transportation. As the years passed and my trips to Israel became more frequent and longer, my mom was kinda like “This is getting expensive.” And once the money train stopped, wouldn’t ya know it? I started taking the bus again! I remember my triumphant return to a public Jerusalem bus, marked with only two short prayers to G-d for my safety and 10 friends taking photos of the auspicious occasion. From then on, it just wasn’t that bad.

In New York, I had a car. I wasn’t one of those cool New Yorkers who lived on the subway, or the less- cool ones who rode the LIRR (kidding!) I lived in the outer boroughs and worked in several different schools as a speech pathologist, so as the saying goes “I lived in my car.” I remember when I told my mother I wanted to make Aliyah, she said “How could you leave your niece and nephews? Daddy? Your car?!” She, and I, if I’m honest, knew how attached I was to having my own vehicle. I’m a goer and a doer and being on someone else’s schedule, in this case, the Egged Bus Company, was going to be a challenge.

And a challenge it has been! I would like to take you on a sample bus ride to work so you can understand the little difficulties that add up to a total bus headache. What you want to do first is download the Moovit app for your phone. Created by Israelis (of course) this app uses GPS to create a bus/train/walking route for you, tell you how long the trip should take and estimate how soon your bus will arrive. I would like to emphasize should because being wrong is not unheard of. So you choose the route that looks easiest. Sometimes that route will take 2 buses- don’t do it. Do the “more walking” option because honestly, the only thing worse than waiting for one bus is waiting for back to back buses. So you get your bus and you’re the third person to board. Except because it’s Israel, people cut in line and you become the 6^th person to board. Except because I’m from NYC, I get back to being 4^th. Okay. Unfortunately, the first person is paying with cash (a 100 shekel bill on a fare of 6.90) and the third person’s bus card is malfunctioning but feels that a 5 minute argument with the bus driver would be the best course of action (pro tip- you will never win with the bus driver- the house always wins.) Finally, you swipe your card. When I first moved here, I would buy rides in increments of 20 until I discovered the “monthly unlimited” option (cue the angels and harps.) I have to tell you, as a former shopaholic- this card is my one monthly splurge. For about 65 dollars, I can ride as many buses and light rails as I want for the entire month! It’s amazing! And I know you’re thinking- okay, Jords, relax- but it is basically the biggest purchase of my month nowadays, and I look forward to the 1^st of every month now for just that reason. A whole month of unlimited bus rides, far as the eye can see!

Did I actually take a selfie with my Rav Kav? Yes. Because it's love.

So I’m on the bus, right? Great. There are only 2 types of buses generally. Completely empty and bursting at the seams full. So your ride will go one of 2 ways- seated or smushed up against the handrail, praying for the next stop to be the one the entire bus is waiting for. Let’s say it’s empty, as most of my morning ones are. I get my seat and it is glorious. I put on my headphones and start reading one of the 50 articles I have “saved for later” on my phone. Inevitably, the bus will stop and more people will get on. And inevitably, regardless of how many empty seats are around me, their seat of choice will be next to me. Often I have wondered “why?” Why sit next to me and invade my space when there are so many other’s spaces that can be equally invaded? I believe it comes down to these elements: 1) I am clean/smell good (cannot be overstated on a Jerusalem bus) 2) I look safe- say what you want about political correctness, but the young American (because apparently it’s obvious) woman of ambiguous religious level is always a safe bet. I won’t be fervently praying next to you, reeking of smoke next to you or loudly gabbing on the phone next to you and 3) I look like I want nothing to do with you. Why is this a plus, you may wonder? Because I will not speak to you, not breathe on you and not cough on you unless my life depends on it. And when you are on your way from or to work, that’s a real blessing. This is all well and good, unless you’re me and you would kill for an empty seat next to you once in a while. Or would it be possible that the person next to me is a cute, religious young man once in a while? Nope. I attract every other type of person though- men and women, children and the elderly, Hasidic and Arab, French and Israeli- I am an equal opportunity seatmate.

Once on the bus, the driving style of the bus driver is really anyone’s guess. The majority of my rides are smooth and easy, but I have definitely had more than my share of rides that ended with my kissing the sweet, sweet pavement upon reaching my destination.

You have buses that come super late and buses that show up early, so you can wave goodbye to them with tears in your eyes as you hunker down to wait for the next. You have buses with open windows in the rain and no A/C in the summer. Some of the hottest days of August are not complete without a sweltering standing-room-only ride chugging up the hill from the Old City, smelling the smells and feeling the feels of your fellow man as you blast your music, think of puppies and pray that the lights all turn green. You have the people who will talk on the phone as if they are on their own patios, sharing all their private information with everyone around them, and the old ladies who will shush you when you quietly chat with your friend. You will have the tourists who will inevitably miss their stop and then get detailed directions to get back on track and the old timers with their carts full of produce, who have been taking that bus and that route since its inception.

You will see the hills of Jerusalem and the Judean desert and the highrises of Tel Aviv, and the passing trains, the fallow fields and a herd of cows and then an hour later, a line of camels. You will see heart-stopping drops and your ears will pop as altitudes change. You will traverse the entire country in less than a day and experience the wonder and the miracle of this land on every trip. And you will miss your car, and pray that one day you will be able to afford one here. But in the meantime, you will make the best of this time on the bus, when you can turn on your headphones, stare out the window and enjoy the beauty of your new home.

All day. Every day. Hi Israel.

In Tribute to a Friend

       About a year ago, I wrote a blog post about how one of the toughest parts of making Aliyah alone, away from most of your family and friends, is not being present for the happy occasions. The weddings and bar mitzvahs, milestone birthdays and births. There will of course be the ones where you absolutely have to fly in and be there, but by and large you will miss some of the happiest days in your loved ones' lives. And that's a pain that exists separate from the happiness and contentment you have from living life in Israel. But those are the happy times. This is a world away from the deeper, more intense pain an Oleh will feel missing the sad stuff. Because life goes on back where you left it, and there's little you can do when you're six thousand miles away.

       Why am I bringing this up now anyway? Last night a very close family friend lost her valiant battle against illness. Michelle was just 31 years old, a mother of two and pregnant with her third. She felt ill and was diagnosed with a brain tumor. As her friends and family waited for further news, we all held our collective breaths. Not Michelle, this light in our lives who had already lost her father and brother in her short time here on Earth. Not Michelle, who was a living embodiment of goodness and kindness, beloved by everyone she ever met. And then came the verdict- a malignant brain tumor, the worst possible outcome. Michelle was put under and gave birth to a premature but healthy baby girl. 

        And the inhabitants of our world were galvanized- prayers and charity, hospital visits and more prayers. A miracle was needed, we all knew, and if anyone in the world deserved it, it was Michelle. But the miracle never came, and 3 beautiful little girls lost their mother. It is a sickening feeling to wake up to the news of someone so unbelievably good passing away so young and so unfairly. It is awful knowing that I can't be there at her funeral, can't pay a shiva call personally to her family and can't sit with my sister, one of Michelle's best friends for fifteen years, as she cries and mourns. These are things you can not do when you live so far away, and losses will invariably continue to happen in my life here. All I can do is be there for whomever, pay a shiva call by phone, and use this blog to pay tribute to one of the most special people I've ever known.

       In tribute to Michelle, who cared about everyone she ever met more than she ever did herself. Who would do whatever she could to make you smile, make you happy, make you feel good. To Michelle who was loyal and fun, committed to her family, friends and G-d, and never judged anyone. To Michelle, who this world was blessed to have and will be forever dimmed by her loss. And to Michelle, who was a true gift to anyone lucky enough to know her, to be in her presence and to have known her goodness for the short time she was here. May her memory be for a blessing and may her soul have the highest possible Aliyah. 

Aliyaversary

            I was just talking to a friend about getting older (as one does when they get older). When you're looking back on the previous years, do you really remember the differences between one year and the next? Was there something significant about the year I turned 23 to distinguish it from the year I turned 27? Not particularly. Maybe I made some new friends, maybe I switched cars or apartments. But fundamentally, each year that passed living in New York was by and large similar to the one before it. That all changed exactly a year ago.

           Today is my one year aliyaversary, the anniversary of when I made Aliyah! This also marks the end of the most significant and impactful year of my adult life thus far. It also marks a little over one year since I started this blog, inviting you all on this crazy journey, one post at a time. Over the course of twelve months and over 50 posts, I have tried to convey the good, the wild, the infuriating, the confusing and the awesomeness that is moving to Israel, as a single American girl. 

          Moving here seems like madness. You leave your family, your language, your neighborhood Target, your customer service, your SUV and essentially everything you have known, to chase a dream you think you have. And you hear it will be tough, but you feel like you're tougher. You hear you will lose out of material happiness, which you gladly trade for the promise of spiritual richness. You hear that you will miss your family and friends, but you intend to make new friends that will become your family. You hear that the Hebrew will trip you up, but luckily everyone here wants to practice their English. You hear that the way of life here is so different, so you do your best to infuse a little of your American personality into the prickly Sabra atmosphere. And you try and find your place here in Israel- to become the best Israeli version of yourself that you can.

         When I look back in the milestones of this past year, I am, quite frankly, kinda shocked. I started and completed ulpan, lived through a war my first month here, published my blog in 2 online newspapers, switched over my license, found and furnished my apartment, voted in a national election, spent a month on unemployment, started 2 jobs and am now employed in another one I truly enjoy, visited NYC for Passover, made new friends and connected with old ones, improved my Hebrew (kacha kacha), and only cried over the bureaucracy 5 times, tops! That's probably more than I accomplished in the past 5 years in New York combined! 

         Is all this because I'm super special? No, not at all! It's because I truly believe that this is where I'm meant to be for the rest of my life. I am still asked regularly if I plan on moving back one day. Honestly, I didn't even realize that was an option! Only being here and meeting and hearing about people who go back to their native countries did I even know that Aliyah wasn't a permanent choice for everyone who does it. I'm not casting any blame on anyone. There are a million valid reasons someone who moves to Israel realizes it's not the place they're meant to be in the long run. I'm not in anyone else's shoes, and I realize everyone is different. From my perspective, however, my plan is that this is my forever home (bli ayin hara!). It's exciting to be the little branch who broke off my European/American family tree and hopped over the ocean to plant new roots in Israel. And I'm lucky that I have an incredible family who supports me in living my dream here (as hard as it is for them that I'm far away.) I also pray regularly that my friends and family will get sick of the freedom, luxury and comfort of America and decide to move here with me! It's not looking good, but miracles happen!

          I want to thank some people for making this year what it was. My family in America for loving me long distance, and my friends in America for cheering me on. My new friends in Israel for easing the bouts of loneliness one can't help but have here, and joining me for 5 shekel Goldstars on a Thursday night. My teachers in ulpan for fighting valiantly to infuse some much needed Hebrew into my insanely Anglo-centric life. The bus drivers, goverment employees, phone company workers, bank tellers and countless other Israeli-born individuals who have toughened me up and made me a much stronger person, mentally and emotionally. I had a head- start being from New York, but nothing prepares you for a bus driver literally closing the door on your fingers as you ask if this bus goes to town. Thank you to those who applaud and support my decision to move here and thank you even more so to those who ridicule and question it- who force me to qualify all the million reasons this crazy, difficult, wonderful life in Israel is the life I am blessed to have. Thank you to the people of Israel who make me proud to be amongst you, and grateful to live in our eternal Homeland. And thank you to the readers of this blog- both people I know and those I have never met. Your feedback, both complimentary and critical, has been invaluable, and I hope to continue on this journey with you for years to come. 

           And thank you to HaShem, "Who has granted us life and sustained us and enabled us to reach this occasion- Shehecheyanu Lazman Hazeh." See you next time, in Jerusalem.

Work in Progress

I may have mentioned before that I live in the center of Downtown Jerusalem. Reactions to this information are mixed. They range from “That is so so cool!” to “Um, why?” The short answer is that I wanted to live alone and this was the best and most affordable option, while still being walking distance to everywhere other single Orthodox Jews live. And for the most part, my apartment situation has been an utter delight. My apartment is light and airy, tiny but perfectly sized for me, and truly in a fabulously central location. Almost no complaints. Almost. Although, I do have at least one complaint, and IT IS HUGE.

One of the things people worried about with me living in town is the noise. (No one here was worried it was dangerous to live there alone, because #Israel.) They thought my proximity to bars and restaurants would keep me up at night and cause me untold angst. For some reason, though, the noise of the restaurants and bars barely registers in my little studio. Even though they are open every night (including Friday night- sigh) and even though I am only one flight up and leave my windows open for the breeze, it is not the boisterous chatter of people much more social than me that is causing me the most distress. It is the roadwork.

Most people who now hear where I live wonder, “Haven’t they been working on your street for a while now?” Why yes, kind friends, they have! They have been working on “fixing” my street since before I moved in, and I have no doubt, will continue working on it till long after I am gone (either after my lease is up or at 120, whichever comes first.) I would like to say that the municipality is working on a huge upgrade to both the city and the world, based on the amount of time this renovation is taking, but I literally have no clue what the plan is with this street, and it’s been 6 months!

Site of "Construction/Brick Moving/Earsplitting Noise" at Night

They seem to be moving the barriers side to side, incrementally, weekly. I am pretty sure they are doing this purposely, to mess with me. Sometimes they will put down new bricks, sometimes, those bricks are gone the next day. Sometimes there are cranes and bulldozers, other times, shovels and jackhammers. Sometimes there are barriers, sometimes you are free to wander in and fall to your death in an unguarded hole in the ground. It’s truly an exciting game of “What on earth are they doing?”

But honestly, I wouldn’t care at all if they wanted to build a new light rail line through the street if it wasn’t such a huge, life-altering inconvenience to me with no foreseeable end. Take, for example, the fact that the road is essentially a one-car-at-a-time quagmire that is perpetually filled with honking cars. If, for some reason, I wished to subject someone giving me a ride, or a cab driver to that mess, that would be one thing. But even if I did, I’d be caught in a web of gates, keeping me from my door, unless I wanted to climb back up the block and then down, or down the block and then back up. That is to say, there is no point in getting a ride to my block, as I will essentially have to walk 2 extra blocks anyway. This also makes food or grocery delivery all but impossible, as I feel horrible making anyone deal with the construction zone that is my street. You can imagine what a delight this was during the weeks I was moving in and delivery men would come with my furniture. No amount of “I’m so sorry” could wipe the scowls off their faces after tangling with my street.

But truly, the worst part is the noise, as everyone had warned me. See, in New York, road work and construction work in general are often done overnight (on highways) and on private streets during working hours, so as not to disrupt the sleeping residents of that area. Not so in downtown Jerusalem! Prime brick- moving hours are from 6-8 AM and premium jackhammering takes place from 10pm to 12 am most nights. In case you’re playing at home, that’s before most people wake up and while most people are trying to get to sleep! And if you’re wondering what is going on from 8 am until 10 pm in that construction area… you guessed it! Nothing! Perhaps the workers are catching up on all that sleep they’re missing while they assault my eardrums late at night and early the next morning. And lest you think it’s just the jackhammering and bulldozing that make up the soundtrack to my life these days, there is also varying levels of screaming that takes place amongst the workers as they move their bricks. And I assure you, there are few things more melodious than a man yelling “Ahmed! Ahmed!” at his friend who is down the block, jackhammering, oblivious to any other sounds. Only I am privy to the constant and unending calls of “Ahmed!,” as Ahmed works to blow out my hearing faculties from a different vantage point.

And here it is in the daytime-true beauty!

I think I had basically learned to block the sounds out, and then it became summer and I started leaving my windows open for air, and then the sounds traveled from outside and magically ended up right near my bed. Sometimes, I don’t notice that it’s that bad and then a friend will sleep over and inform me in the morning that she “couldn’t sleep a wink” due to all the noise. And then I feel terrible, because my goal in life is to be an amazing hostess and show people the best Jerusalem time imaginable.

So that’s basically what it’s like to live on a construction site for 6 months, stretching out into infinity. Do I think the work will ever be done? In my low moments- no. I assume they are building an underground tunnel to China or spearheading a Jerusalem subway project on my block without telling anyone. I imagine there are no actual plans for the street, and that the brick-moving will continue, interminably, forever. Who really knows? All I know is that it’s another way Israel is showing me that it’s not perfect, because nothing is perfect. There will be bumps along the way, but I think living on a noisy street in Jerusalem beats living on a quiet street in Queens any day!

Confessions of a Retired Birthright Counselor.

          Facebook has this fun new shtick where you can see what your Facebook activity consisted of on that day of each year since you joined the network. It's a kind of "This is your life," for the new millennium- a scarily accurate analogy for people who "live" on Facebook. Anyway, this week I noticed that one year ago that day I left for my final Birthright trip. For those of you who don't know (which is basically only people who've never met me, so- welcome!) I have staffed A LOT of Taglit-Birthright trips. Twelve, to be exact. So many that the powers that be honored that milestone with a little certificate and it was SO cute and I loved every trip. 

Heading into my final Birthright trip

         Why am I bringing this up now in this blog post? The reasons are twofold- first, I am currently working in the Old City and making many trips down to the Western Wall. When I make these pilgrimages on a Friday evening (or any day, really) I am inundated with hundreds of young, excited Americans who are here for (usually) the first time on Birthright. It warms my heart to see them writing their notes, singing whatever Jewish songs they know and taking "Kotel Selfies" with their friends as they experience the moving power of the Wall. I stand there and watch the boys putting on tefillin, often for the first time ever, and the girls draped in their shawls and maxi dresses, touching their fingers to the stones. I hear the conversations between them (I'm not eavesdropping, they're loud!) where they wonder who felt what, who cried, and how it all was. Every time I see a group I am transported to the many times I took my own groups to see the Wall for the first time, and the questions they would ask me. I mean, sure, them being there makes it take an extra 13 minutes to get into the Kotel Plaza and I have to dodge a million group photos, but seeing a fellow Jew make a lifelong Jewish memory is totally worth it.
       The second reason I bring Birthright up is because it reminds me about both how time goes so fast and so slowly simultaneously. Was it only twelve months ago that I still lived in NYC, was still a speech therapist at a public school in Queens, still celebrated shabbat and holidays with my immediate family and close friends? And here it is, just a year later, and basically nothing is the same. Not only do I not live in NYC, not only do I no longer practice speech therapy, but I have lived livessince then! I have made aliyah, done a full ulpan, found an apartment, found a job, made new friends, been back to visit NYC -all before even a full year has passed. It's incredible to think how many things can happen in just one year. 
        Now when I see Birthrights, it's with the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia. It's realizing that I went from being one of them, an American Jew, to this whole other person- an Israeli. We no longer share the same backstory, the same hometown and the same daily experience. And while I may understand where they're coming from, and speak their language, and be able to relate to this trip they're on- something has indelibly shifted. When I see them, I think about how in ten days, their time here will be over. They may extend a while, they may come back to visit, but by and large, they will go back to America, just like I did twelve times. But now I am retired from the Birthright game. And now I don't have to get on the plane to go back home- because I already am home.

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!