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!

Lest Ye Be Judged

      Wow! I haven't blogged in almost a month. I can attribute that to the pretty basic, non-exciting yet still lovely month I've had. The weather was gross, now it's incredibly gorgeous. You wake up on February 17th and the sun is shining and you throw on a light jacket and as if by Divine intervention Matisyahu is singing "Sunshine" on your iTunes and you head to work. You put in your hours, maybe get a drink after work, wait for a super short and hectic vacation Friday and eat, socialize and pass out for the 25 hours of Shabbat. And it's been that way for the last month, give or take. Oh! And my sister got engaged, so that's pretty fantastic. Have to find something to wear and a part of me wants it to go smoothly and another part of me wants it to be an insane disaster so I can blog about it. More to come. Today's post is something I've been turning over in my mind for months and I don't know how to even approach it, so if it sounds disjointed, my bad!
     This blog was started to document my transition from America to Israel through the process of Aliyah. I think we all know the basics by now.
Who? Me. What? Moving to Israel When? July 1, 2014, Where? Jerusalem (for now) Why? Zionism. And I think if you know me or have followed my journey at all, you know that I'm not some spring chicken hoping to start my adult adventure in a new and exciting place. I lived a nice chunk of young adulthood in NYC and came to this decision relatively "late in life" so to speak. Most of the people in my peer group here in Jerusalem, in my ulpan, on the NBN website, etc, who came here single did so younger than me. It took me a while to decide, to save money, to create a plan and to get up the nerve to make this change. A change I have always contended is for the rest of my life. I was never making this change to "try out" aliyah or to "give it a chance." I envisioned my great- grandchildren living here (how's that for forward thinking even before being married?) 
        But I've come to find that this isn't the case for everyone, and that even my own certainty can be taken to task by skeptical strangers on the Internet. Some examples. There is a Facebook group for olim- I assume it's meant to be an online support and information community for those of us who've committed to the difficult task of starting life over in Israel. As anyone who is a part of this group knows, it has often devolved into a "I hate Israel" complaint society. Truly, some days there are 5 "life here isn't worth it"s and "I'm leaving" posts- easy. And then there is a rush to calm the poster down and soothe them and convince them to stay (I'm guessing- I don't do much follow-up.) Usually I don't engage, but one time I jumped in to defend my friend who gave this complainer some tough love and suddenly, I was being roasted! When I mentioned that Zionism brought me here, some random guy (who I think actually lives in England) asked me if I was so Zionist, had I renounced my American citizenship, and what kind of a Zionist could I be if I hadn't served in the IDF. I thought the questions were kind of insane, and a poor barometer of my Zionism. If I love Israel, I have to hate America? Could there never be a family emergency that brought me back to the States? And if I decided to move here as an Orthodox woman past the age of 25, should I beg the army to let me serve? The whole argument was ludicrous, but here I was- having my aliyah judged! 
        A few weeks later, I again found myself embroiled in an online argument with a stranger (I am working on this, you should know- I'm aware it's not a good look.) Again I was defending a friend from a Facebook bully and he growled back. He told me (he doesn't know me, but we have some mutual friends) that he and his friends often talk about me and take bets on when I will make yerida (leave Israel for good). Wait, what? A guy who disagrees with me politically, wishing me failure on my life in Israel? Does my loud and proud Right-Wing Zionism threaten him so much personally that he secretly hopes it fails? That's crazy! And then I realized- this is a thing. And although he's pretty nasty, he's not the only one who does it.
        Judging people's Zionism, their dedication to this country, their support for Israel, their likelihood to remain here for good- this isn't something that only Facebook bullies do- we all do it! Even me! Especially me? I have had conversations where I cluck at people who are thinking about leaving and going back to their countries of birth. I shake my head at people who call those places "home." "We are home!" I exclaim with pride, not pausing to wonder whether it comes off as hurtful. I might judge someone who goes back to their birth country 2 and 3 times a year and think "commit yourself to your move!" I wonder incredulously at olim who contemplate raising their family anywhere besides Israel, knowing that the main focus of my move was to raise a family here. It's been a time of real self-reflection, and I often haven't enjoyed what I've seen. I hate criticism in general and self-criticism is worse, because I can be brutally honest. But without this introspection, I wouldn't be able to grow, and L-rd knows I need to. I need to help that person want to stay here. I don't need to coddle them and jump on their "Israel is the worst" bandwagon. But I can listen to their concerns, come up with meaningful possible solutions and try and share my Zionist love affair with them. I can try and be an advocate for the good, without ignoring their valid complaints of the bad. And I can realize that just because the annoying things here don't bother me as much, that the positive so outweighs the negative in my aliyah process and that I intend for my aliyah to be permanent doesn't mean that everyne feels the same way. Or has to. Or ever will. And just like I have to learn to accept people who are different from me in a myriad ways, so too I have to accept, love and not judge my fellow olim who are dealing with their life change in a different way. I hope I can do it and I think I can do it- I'll keep you posted!

           

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.

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.

Work It, Girl

      I just ended the longest period of not working in my adult life. Sure, I was in ulpan, and then I had a part-time gig event planning, and my blog is always a legitimate time-consumer. But since my high school days, I've always had some sort of consistent employment. I started as my one of my neighborhood's most in-demand babysitters, then I was a youth leader, a counselor every summer, I tutored, I balanced books at my dad's warehouse, worked at my synagogue, and taught Hebrew school- all before I ever started working "for real." Then I had a bunch of years as a speech therapist, all while spending all my breaks leading Aish or Birthright trips. And I LOVED it!
      I'm not someone who sits and chills. On vacation, I'm doing things! I'm riding the Segway to the museum right before the night's music festival. I'm rarely the one up at 1 PM to just sit on the beach for hours. So you can imagine my distress at an untold number of days, weeks, months (years?!) where I wasn't sure what I'd do for employment!
       One of the first things I did (once my Aliyah benefits ended) was file for unemployment. Lest you think this is a viable alternative to working, I will have you know, I jumped through many, many hoops to collect what I can only describe as "not enough to live on." But hey, any little bit helps and I am glad the government was there to help a sista out!
       And wouldn't ya know it, that was to be my one and only unemployment check! Whilst interviewing for a number of great jobs (in my general field of interest and skill), I had a chance meeting with someone who worked in the EXACT field where I feel most passionate- Israeli advocacy. If you couldn't tell thus far, I'm truly in love with Israel and I just want others to see the beautiful country I do. So here is this opportunity to teach young North American Jews how to advocate for Israel, on their campuses and online. The tide of anti-Israel propaganda right now is a full-on tsunami. Most supporters of Israel just don't have the tools or the fortitude, or even the network to speak up on Israel's behalf. There is a wealth of information to utilize, but they need a direction with which to channel it all.
        That's where we come in. We put together a six-week internship where participants learn the tools they need to advocate, learn video technique, travel around this amazing country and delve into their Jewish culture- it hits all the spots I love! (SHAMELESS PLUG- check out videoactivism.tv to see what I'm talking about!)
          So that's where I am right now. I'd like to thank everyone who helped me and worried about me. Everyone who forwarded my resumé and gave me recommendations. Everyone who listened to me kvetch and prayed for me to FINALLY find something to do. Everything helped, and people are really good. And if you need me, I'm currently located in the heart of the Old City, overlooking the hills of Jerusalem, feeling lucky to be here every day!

Honeymooning

          This past Friday night I was invited to post- Shabbat- dinner drinks at a new friend's apartment. It was a lovely evening, and at the end, a toast was raised to an attendee who was moving back to his home country after living in Israel for work for 2 years. As we wished him well on his return to his native land, the common refrain from the largely Anglo group was "You're so lucky to be going back!" and "Wish I could do the same!" I stared around at the room, absolutely gobsmacked. Not one to be shy with my thoughts, I wondered aloud; "Are you guys still American citizens? Have you renounced your citizenship? Are you native Israelis? Why don't you just go back, too?" I didn't understand why, if leaving Israel was a desired and plausible option, everyone was still here!
          The responses came from all sides, "How long have you been here?," they wondered. I responded with, "I've been here since July 1, and I finished ulpan December 15th." This response elicited knowing looks between those involved, as if to say, "Soon you'll learn." I was confused. All this time I had been hearing that the transition to Israeli life was most difficult at the beginning. It was hard to leave family and friends, difficult to find a job, a pain to navigate bureaucracy. And now, here I was hearing the exact opposite. That this was my honeymoon phase, where every day was rosy and Israel could do no wrong.
            So which is it? Walking home, I thought about each perspective. On the one hand, I was very much honeymooning. I came to Israel on a wave of intense Zionism, buttressed by a long, thought- out aliyah process and many years of living in New York behind me. I knew that this was the life I wanted, smooth sailing or not. So I made a conscious decision not to "sweat the small stuff." This stuff currently includes making a doctor's appointment, ("We will have that doctor available in 2 weeks" Hope I last that long!) a broken couch ("Someone will be by to fix your couch in 24 days (!!!)" Is this real life? Three weeks on a broken couch?!) and finding a job ("We will let you know about continuing the interview process next Thursday" Oh, cool, I'll just wait here on this broken couch, then.) And even though these frustrations would never exist back in the States, I signed up for them. I signed up for poor customer service and socialized medicine, offices closing for 5 days for no reason and a reasonable wage of 5 dollars an hour. Nothing is really freaking me out too bad just yet.
             It makes me nervous to think that all this positivity and confidence I have in my life here might have an expiration date. It frightens me to think that maybe in a year, maybe two, I'll be sitting across from some new oleh from New York City, she all bright- eyed and bushy- tailed, and I will express a desire to move "back home" to NYC. When I left New York, I had never made a more cautious and well- thought- out decision in my life. I went to informational seminars and had Skype meetings. I asked millions of questions and interviewed extensively. I was no recent high school graduate burning to start my life in Israel (not that those olim are not impressive, maybe even more so.) I was a woman with a Master's degree and years of work experience, and entire family nearby and more friends than I deserved, yearning to make Israel my forever home. I made the decision with a full heart and yet this conversation has stuck with me.
            It's hard to say what will happen. It's hard to know how I'll feel living here single for a while, or newly married, or starting a family, or in a job I hate, or dealing with a lifetime of bad customer service and endless bureaucracy. And I won't know if that's reality and what I'm feeling now is just a honeymoon phase. But I do know that this is where I want to be. And I hope, that if in a few years I feel the itch to leave, to go back to where things were comfortable and easy, I look at this blog post and remember how I felt in this phase of my life, where Israel was the only place I ever wanted to be and nothing could ever change it- my Israeli honeymoon phase.

Looking For the Right One

              I know this post's title is misleading. It makes you think that there's going to be something juicy or emotional in here, and I apologize for that, but bear with me. Maybe one day I'll blog about my social life (unlikely), but this is not that day. This is about another stressful and pressing issue- the fact that I am currently unemployed. Now, if you were to ask me how aliyah is going, I will always be positive. The move has been great, almost seamless. I love this city, my friends, my apartment. I have never felt more at home or more sure of any major decision I've ever made. The only dark cloud hovering over my perpetually sunny, aliyah day is the fact that I am a month and a half out of ulpan, and I haven't yet found gainful full-time employment. I am still enjoying the few hours a week that I assist the best event planner in Israel, but I need a job, my friends. A real life, full-time, paying- the- bills, up at seven, home after nightfall job. See, I have been working in some capacity or another since I'm twelve. I babysat, tutored, taught Hebrew school, and balanced books. I have been a counselor, a youth leader, and a madricha for almost every Jew in the tri-state area. And all of that was before I finished my Master's in Speech Pathology and worked in various schools all over Queens for the better part of seven years! This whole "not working" thing is kind of freaking me out.
              So you must all be wondering (and by all, I mean my mother and other assorted concerned adults) "Jordana, why don't you just continue to pursue speech therapy in Israel?" The answer to that is four-fold (as you can see, I've answered this a lot.) One, you have to take a qualifying exam in Hebrew to work here in an agency/school system. At this point, I don't think I could pass this exam in English, as it's been a million years since I graduated and I'm a bit fuzzy on oral musculature and sensorineural hearing loss these days. Second, on the crazy chance that I passed said exam, I'd then have to see clients, plan lessons, do paperwork and meet with parents in Hebrew! As proud as I am with my budding Hebrew skills, that's a truly daunting thought. Third, and I'm being honest, is that the pay here for speech therapy is okay, but certainly not good. I have a friend who works for a kupa (agency) who says she basically makes enough to cover her babysitter. I think most speech therapists in the US will tell you that the pay and the hours are a strong factor in choosing a career as an SLP. This is not really as much of a factor here. But I think the biggest reason for me is that, with all these barriers, if I really loved being a speech therapist, I'd do it here too. But I never did. When you choose a career path at eighteen, you have a certain life-plan in mind, one that includes a husband and kids in the near future and requires a nicely- paid, flexible job. So you choose speech and you work in it, and you enjoy it, but then your life isn't necessarily exactly what you envisioned. You don't need that family-life flexibility and pay as a single girl.
               Making aliyah was the fulfillment of several dreams. One was to live in the Jewish homeland and hopefully raise my own family here. Another was to find a job in an area in which I am passionate and talented, to feel a sense of fulfillment in my job. This is not to say I wasn't fulfilled helping kids learn to better communicate; it was just never my passion. It's just being honest about who I am as a person, and using my skills in a different way.
               For years, I worked on a volunteer basis in the worlds of Jewish and Israeli advocacy. I love meeting and working with Jews and Israel advocates and I knew by coming to Israel, that's where I saw my path leading. Okay, great! So now that I had a direction, how do I go about getting a job? I had a two-pronged system. One was what Israelis call protekzia, or connections. This is where I'd tap into the thousand people I know in the Jewish world, add that to the two thousand people my mom and dad know, the ten thousand my synagogue friends know, and the other various people I'd randomly meet though an awkward and unnatural phenomenon known as networking. As part of this plan, I was advised to join LinkedIn, a social media platform which is essentially putting your resume in a questionnaire format and then forging a "connection" with every human who looks vaguely familiar to you on the site. Apparently, they don't have to be your friends, just someone who's name you recognize next to their picture. I joined this website, and being the absolute Jewish- geography superstar that I am, got to connecting! "But now what?" I thought. I have sent my resume to every person I've ever met who possibly knows anyone in the Jewish organizational world, my dad is basically accosting everyone in shul about a job for me, and my million amazing connections in different organizations are coming up empty! What do I do?
            That is where the second prong comes in- good old fashion job searching and applying. When I was planning my move here, Nefesh B'Nefesh helped me a lot. Then, in December, they sent me an email asking how my job search was going at the wrong time. I responded with a strongly worded email saying, basically, "Not great, you gonna help me or what?" And guess what? They did! They sent me this great little dynamo, Melissa, who revamped my intensely outdated resume (eight years in speech, remember?) and showed me all the places I should be looking. She also, bless her, started sending out my resume herself to jobs she thought might be appropriate for me. As appreciative as I am for this, it sometimes leads me to interviews where I have literally no idea about the job for which I'm applying. "Ohhh, you're looking for a part-time office assistant? Okayyyy, cool." But I put on a brave face and try and get that office assistant job! Not that I want the job, I just want to get the job, you know? But this isn't the time to get into my competitiveness issues. Moving on to interviewing in Israel.
            I know the job market here in this country. I am not in high-tech and I am not an engineer. I have not created an app, and I am not a radiologist in NYC who commutes back and forth. I am not a real-estate magnate and I do not own a sports team. I will never be wealthy in this country. That is not the goal. The goal is to make enough money to afford my rent, go out on Thursday nights with friends and maybe buy a ticket back to the States once a year. I'm a simple girl. But apparently, based on the current salary base in this country, I am aiming too high. Essentially, this is what you're dealing with (paraphrased): "Hello, Jordana! So great to meet you. Let me tell you what we're looking for here at ABC Organization. We're going to need you to direct our social media and digital marketing campaigns, take care of our English correspondence, plan our events, take care of all our logistics, produce our newsletter, maintain and grow our donor relationships, do some light office work, write and edit our website content...(10 minutes pass) and we're looking for Sunday-Thursday, 8AM to 5PM but obviously more when the need arises. Now the pay is going to be low, but it's such a great work environment and you will really get a lot out of this." Then they quote you a number so low that even if it were dollars you'd freak out for the sheer amount you need to accomplish to earn said salary, and your mouth is agape. And here is the kicker! You are one of ten applicants (at least!) for this job! There are nine other girls (I don't see many guys in the waiting areas with me) who are fine selling their lives to these organizations for peanuts. So you suddenly feel like you need this job, you must have this job! It is a stressful environment, especially for someone like me, who knows what they need to accomplish in life and how to do it, but has no way of actualizing it. Melissa from NBN said to me, "Finding a job is a full-time job," but I don't want this job! I want to make the lives of Jews better, I want to improve the lives of Israelis, I want to make a significant difference in this country I love with the people I love, and I am hitting the proverbial wall.
                   So that's where I am, currently. I appreciate you taking the time to let me vent, and I hope I made you laugh a little. It's really not that dramatic, and most of the time, it' a great learning experience. And even with all the hassle, the financial stress and the dramatics, I wouldn't go back to a cushy life in NYC for the world. Israel is the only place I want to be, warts and all. 
              To leave off on a positive note, I know this is temporary. It was a little nuts that my aliyah was going so smoothly, and I had to be aware that some bumps were bound to show up on the road. So I will keep sending out my resume, keep networking and keep interviewing. And hopefully, in the not-so-distant future, I will look back at this post and think "Wow, what a stressful time! Glad that's over!" Wish me luck, and if you want, connect with me on LinkedIn! Let's network!

          

House Hunters: Jerusalem

             It's been ages! So much has happened, since I last blogged. So much, in fact, that I am going to make this a 2 (or 3, depending on how long-winded I get) part series entitled: Where is She Now? The Jordana Brown Story. Today's entry is about my search for a place to live after leaving the comfortable, but temporary, environs of Ulpan Etzion.

            Regardless of my opinions of my accommodations in ulpan (okay facilities, lackluster food options, undesirable location) it was a great home for my initial five months after making aliyah. It was always there when I needed it, with my tiny bed and my unreliable 78 bus line, and I will miss it. About a month before the ulpan ended, a frenzy began wherein all ulpan students suddenly realized we needed a place to move! Permanent locations were discussed, many hoping to move to the Tel Aviv area (why?!) with most choosing to stay in the Jerusalem area. Roommates were buddying up, and appointments to see rooms and apartments were being made. I knew for myself I had several requirements; I wanted to live near the center of town and I wanted to live alone. While most single Orthodox Jews my age choose to live in the German Colony/Katamon area (there's even a whole Israeli television show about single life there, called "Srugim") I knew that it wasn't the place for me. Don't get me wrong, I have friends there and hope to spend a lot of wonderful shabbat meals in the area, but for me, I wanted a more central location. I decided to look in the Nachlaot, Rehavia and center of town areas exclusively. Then there was the whole "living alone" situation. This came about because I have never done it and always wanted to. I am a social person (to put it mildly), but I love the idea of having my own space to come home to, after being surrounded by people all day. I love the idea of hosting a million friends and family members from Israel and abroad, being a landing pad for anyone who needs a place to crash. I love the idea of hosting meals and parties, without checking to see if it's okay with my roommates. And I really love the idea of decorating my own place! But this independence comes with a price- namely, taking care of every single bill and the entire rent on my own for a whole year! That's really daunting for a chick who hasn't had a full-time job in six months! (More to come on job shenanigans in a future post!) But I saved up in New York City (throwback to being a rich American!) and knew that I had to at least try to make this "living alone" thing happen.

              The first area I searched was the two-headed dragon known as Facebook groups and Janglo. There are several Facebook groups dedicated to people looking for apartments or roommates in Jerusalem (and everywhere else in Israel), as well as Janglo, a website for English-speaking Jerusalemites looking for basically anything. Why is this a two-headed dragon, you might wonder. Because if I went to these sites looking for English-speaking apartment options so did every other English speaker in Jerusalem! We are a simple bunch, we Anglos. We want things in English, we want to read and understand, and we want to communicate with brokers and renters who speak our common language. But this leads to a highly competitive real estate market, where an apartment posted in Nachlaot lasts maybe a half hour before it's rented! And it got frustrating after a while. One funny story: The Facebook ad read: "Adorable apartment in Rehavia, cheap rent, 6 months with option for longer, one bedroom with loft." There were some accompanying pictures of a leafy entryway and the price was right, so I set up a time to see the place. When I got there, it was a) not in Rehavia (it was really in Katamon) b) the renter had disappeared from mobile communication and c) impossible to locate the entrance in the labyrinth of this building. Finally, the renter showed me the place. It was actually too narrow to even stand side by side in the "kitchen", her bed was on a loft over the bathroom, and breathing was getting difficult in such a confined space. Then, she showed me a larger bedroom, certainly suitable for habitation. I asked her why she didn't live there! She responded that her roommate lived in that room! Roommate?! Where was that in the ad? And is this roommate staying? I told her I wasn't interested and frankly, she was being ripped off. She told me she had plenty of interest from her Facebook ad, so she wasn't worried. I screamed in my head "Maybe that's because your entire ad is a misleading lie?!" but with my mouth told her that was great and wished her luck.

                    After that debacle, a Israeli friend suggested trying "Yad2" which is where Israelis tend to rent their places. This opened up a whole new world of possibility- endless apartments for rent in every price range, with pictures and descriptions! Unfortunately, there was no English translation on the site, but it gave me ample opportunity to work on my Hebrew reading skills. The first place I found was a loft space in the center of town. It was a cool studio with a ladder leading up to the "gallery." I hadn't really thought about living in the center, but the place was kind of great and the price wasn't terrible, so I said I'd be in touch and kept looking.

                   When you have parameters such as mine, you go see anything that looks right. It's kinda like dating, though. On paper, it checks all the boxes, but in reality it is just not for you. Like the apartment I went to see near the shuk which was literally in a bomb shelter. The renter was explaining how much room I had and how cool the layout was and all I'm thinking is "G-d forbid there's another war and I am hosting the whole building in my bomb shelter living room!" So, needless to say, that place was a no- go. Another place I saw had neighbor children climbing all over the entrance. Another was a glorified dorm room. Yet another was basically situated on a highway. To top it off, the neighborhood where I wanted to live most, Nachlaot, was really pricing me out. It was as if all the hippies (a large demographic of the area) were contriving to keep me out!  It was all becoming very demoralizing and my time in ulpan was running out. 

                  I kept coming back to the loft apartment I saw in town. I showed it to my cousins, some friends and my visiting aunt and uncle, who all saw the potential I did. I decided to move to the center of town and live in a loft! Easy- peasy right? Wrong! Coming up on Part 2 (because this post is getting super- long): The Saga of my Apartment. There are laughs, there are tears, and as always, the end is happy! Stay tuned!

Deep Breaths

              Let's take a trip back to the heady days of early summer. I had just made aliyah two weeks prior, and I was floating on a cloud of fresh Zionism, blessedly uncomplicated bureaucracy and warm Jerusalem breezes. I had just started ulpan, and sub-par accommodations and undesirable food notwithstanding, life seemed simple and fun. I was at the beginning of five months of Hebrew lessons, dorm living and getting myself situated here in Israel. I initially signed up to do this specific ulpan to give myself a "soft landing." My housing, food, social and scheduling situations would be taken care of until mid-December. I was golden.
            Except now it's December! Five long months have passed in the blink of and eye, and in less than two weeks, my adult life in Israel will truly begin. Sure, I had lots of stuff to take care of these past 5 months. But in short order, I find myself scrambling to find: an apartment, a job, furniture, a driver's license, a social circle, and all the details each of these involve. Let's break them down, shall we?
            On December 15, I will be homeless. I will leave the (not terrible) confines of my dorm room and have to live in a place of my own. Luckily, after much searching (blog post forthcoming), I have found a place to hang my hat, and I think I love it. Problem is, it is currently an empty box. A cute and well-located box, but empty nonetheless. It needs furniture, and furniture costs money. Which I don't really have, because I haven't worked since June (!!!) This results in a battle of wills deep within. On the one side, we have the newly thrifty Jordana, trying to get the best deal and buy the bare minimum of household essentials. On the other, prettier, side, we have the Jordana who loves to decorate and beautify, and wants vases, sconces and chandeliers! I am trying to marry the two sides and decorate my apartment efficiently and adorably. This is much more difficult when the closest Target is 5,000 miles away.

Check out this piece of second-hand beauty!

          You may remember (because I wrote it last paragraph) that I haven't worked since June. After the school year ended, I said goodbye to speech therapy. While it had it's good parts (the pay, the hours), it never fulfilled me and I never planned on pursuing it here in Israel. I have a myriad reasons, but the end result is, I need to find a job in a field that I have I have no official employment history! Now, if I wanted to sell Forex or Binary options (whatever the heck those are), I would be good-to-go here in Anglo- Israel. But unfortunately, I am hoping to enter the very lucrative field of Jewish/Israeli organizations, or possibly the even more lucrative field of full-time writing! While I am aware that neither of those fields pay a whole lot, I'm newly on this whole "enjoy what you do" kick, and hoping that my new life in Israel affords me the ability to truly love what I do! My passions have always been Judaism, Israel, reading and writing (not necessarily in that order) and I hope to make an impact in this country while at the same time utilizing talents that I haven't really been utilizing for the past bunch of years. You would think my passion, strong command of language and sparkling smile would have opened all the doors for me, right? Not so! After revamping my resume (which screamed : SPEECH THERAPIST) and sending it out to various contacts, I am still no closer to impacting Jewish or Israeli society than I was 5 months ago. But I am motivated and confident that it will happen soon (do you know anyone, reader?)
           Another source of stress is converting my license from American to Israeli. Unfortunately, this does not involve learning to honk louder and curse in Hebrew. It is a truly involved process which takes copious amounts of time, energy, and money! I could write a whole blog post on just this topic, but in a nutshell: First you take an eye test (money) where they give you a green paper, which you need to have signed after a doctor's check-up (money). Then you take these papers and your license to the Jerusalem DMV (money) where they hassle you for 3 hours because your NYS license was issued after your aliya and how can this be? Then they reject your valid explanation and make you contact the DMV in Jamaica, Queens in order to sort it all out. Then you need to schedule at least one driving lesson (although the instructor will recommend two- money) and then soon after you will take your test (lots of money) possibly more than once, if the fates are not on your side (even more money!) Then, you can pick up your temporary license (money) before being sent your permanent one (dare I say it...free?) And that is how you convert an American license. And why must you do this now, when you have your whole life in Israel to drive and no access to a car in the foreseeable future? Because the state of Israel gives you a one- year grace period, and after that time you must begin the entire process as an Israeli, with thirty hours of lessons and a written test! No thanks, man!

Step 3 of 45

           My last source of angst in the whole "finding a social circle" issue once I leave ulpan. Much as I like to gripe about this place, there is comfort in knowing that there is always someone downstairs to talk to, always a group to go out with at night, and always a birthday to celebrate. Once we leave the confines of ulpan, we will be scattered to the wind, with many of my favorite people here making the big move to Tel Aviv. I know it's not that far geographically, but logistically, it's a trek. Then there is that dual dilemma of my living alone and also choosing to not live in Katamon. I want to live alone precisely because I like to be with people. Sounds weird? What I mean is, I want to be able to host out- of- town friends, shabbat dinners and small gatherings without worrying about bothering a roommate. I want to be able to be a crash pad for friends and relatives visiting the center of town. Living alone affords me all this, but it also threatens to isolate me. So does living in the center of town. Most young, Orthodox singles in Jerusalem live in the "Katamon" area, which is actually several connected neighborhoods about a twenty minute walk from town. The vast majority of ulpan-ers are choosing to live here, many with other people from ulpan. They are basically transporting a piece of the "ulpan bubble" to their post-ulpan lives. So they will very likely be socializing together and I will very likely need to work harder to maintain connections. This, too, is a stress, even for an uber-social person like myself. 
             So now that I've outlined what I'm stressing about, I actually feel much better. Sometimes it help to talk (type) it out, put it all out there, and tackle it one step at a time. I have an apartment and some stuff with which to fill it. I will find some job at some point I'm sure (maybe Cofix is hiring!) and I will get a license after x number of tries, please G-d. And I already have some great friends, so worse comes to worst, I will just stick with them if I never become the toast of Katamon society. I'll be just fine, don't worry. And while you're at it, tell my mom not to worry either!

Jerusalem of Cold

              I've always loved language. As you can probably tell, I love to write, but unless you know me, you might not know that I also adore reading and probably love speaking most of all. (There is no use pretending I don't talk a lot. This is an honest blog.) I've always been infatuated with words. It was this love of language that convinced me that I would be happy as a speech therapist, enabling others to communicate effectively. Of course, I was never truly content as a speech therapist (a blog for another time), but I did always love the magic that came with connecting a child with language (cue after-school special music.) One of the things I love about language is that the same word can have several meanings. In Hebrew, we are told "yesh shtei mashma'uyot"- there are 2 meanings. This can be slightly frustrating for a new language-learner, but also endlessly fascinating to a lover of words. The multi-meaning word I wanted to focus on in this post is "cold."
          Our first translation refers to the current weather pattern here in Jerusalem. While surely not as cold as my hometown of Queens, or other northern areas of the United States and Canada right now, Jerusalem is certainly no longer the balmy, sunny and breezy oasis it had been since I made aliyah. Now, upon waking up, I actually have to check the weather in order to dress for the day. I've had to unpack my sweaters. I've had to buy tights and leggings. While none of these is all that terrible, I do long for the days when I didn't have to bring a jacket and scarf, in anticipation of a chilly Jerusalem evening, or plan ahead by shlepping an umbrella on my errands. And I know in Israel you have to be psyched when it rains, but I'm not there yet, and my rain boots are sitting safe and sound in my bedroom in Queens! It's not my fault though- how was I to fit all my winter stuff into my 4 oversized duffles when I made aliyah? This all makes me sound pretty jappy- moving on!

          The second translation for "cold" refers to the irritating illness that befell me this past week. I'm sure you were wondering where I was and why I wasn't blogging. Well, I'll tell you! I was dealing with a huge, intense, hideous cold. I used to get sick all the time in the States. It's probably my fault- I incubate myself tremendously and am terrified of germs, so at the slightest exposure- boom- bad cold. I've been getting flu shots to lessen the possibility for the past few years (as Chanuka presents- do I have the best parents, or what?) but it totally slipped my mind to get one here. Last week, I felt that foreboding tickle in my throat and I knew it was coming. In the spirit of honestly, I will tell you how I dealt with a cold back in New York. I went to my parents house, and they took care of me for those few days. It was one of the very few perks of still being single, and I took total advantage. My mom would buy me Puffs Plus (ohhhh I miss you, Puffs Plus...) and bring me medicine (I'm a medicine gal- not remedies, not Vitamin C, not saline solutions- medicine. So sue me) and I would ride out the illness on a cloud of Nyquil and Saved By The Bell marathons. This time around it was me, my tiny room, a roll of toilet paper (no Puffs, remember?) and whatever shows I downloaded free on iTunes back in 2010. After 40 hours, I emerged from bed, mostly healed, and praying for continued good health this winter. Amen.
             The third "cold" I will discuss is cold in the emotional sense. Apparently, Jerusalem is going through quite a bit right now. We have what is being referred to as "the Silent Intifada," where Muslims are targeting Jewish people, sites and police in a series of violent activities which individually are troubling and collectively are completely unnerving. In just the last few weeks, we've seen rioting, destruction of municipal property, a murder of a 3 month old baby, an attempted assassination of a Jewish Temple Mount advocate and untold numbers of rock and molotov cocktail- throwing. Last week I attended a rally at police headquarters, showing both our support for the police and our desire for them to actually have freedom to ensure our safety. It appears (although I am not totally privy to all information) that they have the unenviable task of keeping the peace while being unable to use any true measure of force when dealing with the violent element. All this leads to a small but tangible chill of unease walking around Jerusalem, this city that I love with all my heart. Compounded with this is the news out of the US last week where senior members of the administration chose to call out their staunchest ally in the Middle East, if not the world, as a coward. How frosty is that? Considering the source and the target, the assessment is almost laughable, if it wasn't so damaging to our two countries' relationship and the way our detractors view us. One only needed to read the New York Times or Ha'aretz or some other such anti-Zionist publication to see how much enjoyment enemies of our State gleaned from this snub. There is indeed a tinge of cold here in Jerusalem of Gold.

           But I hate to ever leave a post on a sad note so let's spread a little warmth, eh? My close visiting friend visiting from the States brought me my jacket, so already I'm feeling less cold physically. Because of the kindness of friends and family, and untold hours of sleep, my head cold is clearing up. And I have all the faith in the world that whatever hardships this city (and this country) go through, we will always be okay, as long as we Jews who love it continue to defend it with all we have. For now, I will be here in Jerusalem, and I invite you to join me here maybe with a nice, hot cup of caffe hafuch!

Too Much Dome, Not Enough Iron

                 Today's blog was supposed to be inspiring. I was going to tell the story of how I gave blood in Jerusalem. I was going to speak of the great joy I had, giving back to the country that has already given me so much, of finally contributing to Israeli society in a meaningful way. I was going to describe how I had sat on a long line, smack in the middle of the day, waiting upwards of 40 minutes, with another 10 Jews hoping to do something good with their day too. It was going to be a beautiful post, down to the picture of me smiling, "caught in the act (wink!)" of donating blood to the people of Israel. Of course, that is not what happened. After waiting upwards of 40 minutes, outside in the 90+ degree August heat (forgive me, Centigrade friends), I was informed that my iron level was .4 under where it must be for the great honor of giving them my blood as a present. Now, I know what you are going to say, it's not healthy for me or the recipient to give/take blood so devoid of precious iron, but I was livid. Really, I had myself to blame. I knew this might happen, that my iron levels might come back to bite me. Since coming to ulpan, I rarely eat meat. And here is why.
              The meat (main) meal in this country is lunch. Lunch is served at 12:45. The line for food is a mile long by 12:46. Imagine, if you will, the best meal in the world. Steak, sushi- what have you. Imagine then, that it is free and plentiful. You would gladly wait on such a line, would you not? Unfortunately, in ulpan, everything in that scenario minus the insane line is the opposite. The food is free, to be sure, but it is also never appetizing (to me) and relatively sparse (no seconds!) On the rare occasion where I eat an ulpan dinner, it is generally two fried eggs, some rice or pasta (plain) and various salads. But for now we will discuss lunch. Allow me to set the scene- so it's 12:45 and my teacher has let the class out a bit early. I am first in line! Let's not celebrate just yet. Suddenly, I become very popular. People I barely know come over to chat with me about nothing. And stay there. And stand there. On the line. Because without my consent, I have just become an accessory to line- cutting! And lest you think this is a "rude American" phenomenon, please be aware that the worst perpetrators of line-cutting are the Russians and the French (in that order.) I don't want you to be concerned that I am segmenting the ulpan by nationality/language spoken- I mean, I am- but it is totally fine and accepted. We all refer to each other this way, makes things so much easier for descriptive purposes. Back to the lunch line. So it's me, my new best friends who've used my kindness to cut in front of 50 fellow students, the French, the Russians/Ukranians and a closed door. At 12:45, the door opens and lunch is served.
             There are many students who enjoy the food at ulpan. I am not one of them. The choices are essentially meat or meat or meat or meat or unidentifiable fish or questionable vegetarian option. Now, I am no vegetarian, but since ulpan began, I have essentially become a pescetarian (fish-eater). This means, I always eschew the meat options, get scared by the veggie options and settle for the fish options. On any given day this means: 1) piece of fish in unidentifiable sauce, 2) fried fish (recipe: 3 pounds batter, 2 ounces fish) or today's option: 3) fish balls. I offered everyone in ulpan 100 shekel to identify the fish in fish balls, to no avail. Then to the side dishes. Can I interest you in some carbs? We have rice, pasta, potatoes, corn or couscous. As a Bostonian might say "cahbs on cahbs on cahbs." Next, you have your salad bar (term used loosely) and of course, your soup of the day. I do believe I am the only student at ulpan to be completely baffled by the need for hot soup on a scorching Jerusalem August day. Depending on the day, dessert will be served, and if you are one of the lucky few who get to the watermelon slices on time, I salute you.
              So here's the main issue. I know that if I just ate the meat at lunch, I'd live a happier life. But in the USA, minus shabbat lunch, I never ate meat in the middle of the day. You see, I wait 6 full hours in between eating meat and dairy, which means if I had that schnitzel I've been eying for the past month, I might not even be able to eat the dairy I'm being served at dinner! It's truly a problem and one I haven't yet worked out. It does, however, explain why my iron is so low, and why I can't give my new country my true, blue- and- white, Zionist blood. Here's the plan: I will spend the next month building up my iron, so that I can regale you with my tale of finally giving back to my Homeland, as well as a full account of how delicious ulpan schnitzel really is. Can't wait!

Aaaaaand...We're Back!

            Quick update on "the situation" here as it pertains to my life. In case your home is under a rock, the cease fire has ended and rockets are back to flying over all of Israel. The perpetrators are Hamas. They live in Gaza, and they hate Jews. Not Israelis, not settlers, Jews. Me,  my friends, the old guy collecting money, the children in kindergarten and the dudes learning in yeshiva, you in the USA- all of us. This week, those of us naive enough to have thought "the war is over!" (myself included) were rudely reminded that it wasn't. 
            Tuesday night, after coming home from a fabulous dinner with visiting American friends, I started getting ready for bed at the ulpan. No sooner had I taken off my shoes than I heard the familiar, but recently unheard shrill rocket alarm outside.) My actual internal monologue: "Jords! (I call myself Jords) Is that the siren? No way! What is this, July 15?! Jerusalem hasn't been targeted in weeks! I was just telling my friends today 'see? Good thing you didn't cancel your trip here! look how safe it is! The worst is behind us!' I hope they don't blame me for this! Where are my shoes? Where is the miklat (shelter)?! Let me just follow the stampede downstairs."
              So I raced downstairs with the 160 other internal students in my ulpan, in various stages of undress (towels, robes, pajamas and the like) and waited for the all-clear. There was a lot of nervous tension in that miklat, people making jokes about turning this into a shelter rave, taking #bombshelterselfies and such. There were also those of us trying and struggling to watch the Israeli news (the highest-level class doing what I thought was a pretty solid job of translating for the less advanced students) and all of us comparing how many shelter experiences we had under our collective belts ("This is your first?! I've had 5 already!") It is true that a harrowing experience bonds people; I got to know people in those moments that I hadn't really spoken to until that point.
          We all waited the requisite time and headed back to our rooms, slightly shaken (not stirred) but I did notice something great. None of us said one word about this whole aliyah thing being a mistake, or going back to the safety of our birth countries. We were all truly firm in our resolve that we were now Israelis, this is our country, and we are all in this together. It was really special to be in a room full of people who felt as I do- that regardless of the hard times here (and this summer has truly been tough emotionally), there is no place else we'd rather be. Am Yisrael Chai.

(#bombshelterselfie!)

Home is Where the Ulpan Is

               Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I moved into my ulpan dorm last week, and the only place where wifi is available is the common area in the lobby, and since my preferred blogging position is cross-legged on a bed listening to Britney Spears (yep, still) and wearing pajamas, this new arrangement isn't quite working for me. 
               If this post makes me come off as a spoiled American oleh, kvetching about first-world problems, well- that's probably a valid complaint. As far as New York Japs go (dispensing with the formality of being outraged at my employing the word "Jap") I would say I'm a solid 5.3. I can rough it if I have to, I can kill bugs, I can eat on the floor/grass, my grooming regimen is pretty normal, but at the same time- I like nice things, I have more pairs of shoes than most full-sized families, and my cooking skills are virtually nonexistent. So when I came to my new home for the next 5 months (we'll see...) my expectations were about what a seminary girl or university student might expect from her new dorm home for the next year. Oh, those heady days with my biggest fear being how small my closet would be.
             When applying for ulpan, you are told the rooms accommodate two or four residents each. Requests are not allowed, but (obviously) I wrote an impassioned email to the ulpan, imploring them to have pity on a single oleh in my current stage of life, and put me in a room of two. Lo and behold, I enter the ulpan and am informed that there is a magical rooming option called "a 3- person room!" Two people sleep in a larger bedroom and then there is one tiny adjoining room- big enough for a bed and 2 shelves. I honestly saw this room and little sparkling hearts appeared before my eyes. I wanted this room. So I asked, in my most charming possible way, if before anyone else moved in, I might have one of those treasured rooms instead on the teeny tiny room I was to share with another person. I spoke to the madrich (dorm counselor), then the guidance counselor, and then the office assistant in charge of making the rooms. I was offered a 4 person room instead. I was gobsmacked. I know I'm new to this country, but by my estimation 4 people is more than 3 and most certainly more than 2! It was a no- go. Let the record show "In July of 2014, Jordana Brown did not get what she so politely requested, and she still lived." So, on to the room that I begrudgingly moved into.
               During orientation, we were told that we are the 130th session of our ulpan. That means our ulpan has been functioning for over 65 years. To say that my room has not been renovated since then is no exaggeration. We are talking original electricity, plumbing, furniture and grime. We are talking Six-Day War- era luxury. We are talking Yom Kippur War-time facilities. There is no air-conditioning in the room. Thankful as I am for Jerusalem's blessed nighttime breezes, they are often accompanied by the rowdy noise of the students outside at 1 AM. So what's it gonna be- sweaty but quiet or breezy and raucous? You choose! Let's take a tour of my domicile, shall we?
              First to the beds. You know when you have a child over to your house, and he's only but 5 years old, so you keep a small bed in case he sleeps over? That is our bed. A mattress as thick as a notebook, wedged into a tiny metal bed frame. Two shelves and an adorably rickety desk,  round out the bedroom furniture. Did I mention my roommate and I are so physically close to one another we can stare lovingly into each other's eyes and share secrets all night? We can, except we're adults, so we don't.
                Onto the kitchen. A welcome surprise! Although it was left to us in a condition somewhere in between dirty and the kitchen-that-time-forgot, we still have a cute little fridge/freezer, a whole bunch of cabinets and drawers (which I will likely use to store excess shoes) and a burner/hot plate combo. It is the bright spot of the dorm, and my new happy place. 

To the bathroom, possibly the most shock-inducing room in out palatial dormitory. There is the shower, a misnomer as it is basically a continuation of the floor with a spout on top, a sink; which only has pressue on the "hot" tap, of course, and then the "medicine cabinet" which is currently housing my Advil. And it's full. Add to this the prehistoric grime my roommate and I have to eradicate, and we most certainly are living the Israeli dream.

                   Any of you who know me know that I have a lot of clothing/shoes/accessories. You saw me packing and thought "where will she keep all this?" Well, I am here to inform you that you were all correct! I have 2 large and beautiful clothing cabinets except for the niggling fact that I have to share them! On our little, tiny hanging- clothing rod, of which I was given half, I have essentially put 3 items of clothing on every hanger. I have turned my closet into a virtual rummage sale, or the clearance section at TJ Maxx. Nothing makes sense. Denim vests on shabbat dresses, leather jackets over maxi dresses- it's chaos in there!

                  But let's end this post on an up- note! I am trying to make this work. I am working to make this dorm my home. I am putting up pictures and posters. I am keeping things clean, neat and orderly. I am stocking my fridge with essentials (and by essentials I obviously mean cereal and cheese.) I am picking up cute (and cheap!) wastebaskets and other assorted knicknacks to brighten up the place. And I am constantly telling myself- you live in Jerusalem, the most beautiful home in the world! It ain't so bad!