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!

Taking the "Home" Out of Homeland

         Today I was informed that I am not a resident of Israel, as I previously believed. Six Supreme Court Justices from the United States informed me that, as far as they were concerned, I am a resident of Jerusalem, Full Stop. Or Jerusalem, Earth. What has been universally regarded as the capital of the Jewish homeland for 67 (and over 3,000) years is suddenly in no man's land, a casualty of those who would rather see this city as part of a political agenda, instead of a home to thousands of Israelis. 
          And so Jerusalem, which is the home of the Knesset and the Supreme Court, and the city mentioned in Torah almost 700 times and never once in the Koran, is apparently not to be considered the capital of the Jewish State. Because they say so. And so, please G-d, when I have children who will hopefully be born in some hospital in undisputed and US-sanctioned West Jerusalem, and I apply for an American passport (because I still love and appreciate the country of my birth), those children with be from "Jerusalem, the Universe." "Jerusalem, Nowhere." "Jerusalem, We are too scared of World Opinion to be honest and say it's Israel."
          To me, this is a real tragedy. It's negated what our ancestors died for, in Jewish history and in the history of this State. And if I'm honest, it's an act of defiance against our own self-determination. We are being told that the United States is denying our right to choose our own capital. The Cabinet is ostensibly saying that, so as not to offend the minority, you must gravely insult the majority. This whole debacle does nothing but weaken the Jewish claim to this city, and perhaps that is the point. Perhaps there is an unsaid goal that if people say Jerusalem isn't really part of Israel, it will make it so. And the army of anti-Zionists and anti-Semites worldwide is jubilant at this public slight. Just looking at the comments sections of the various articles about this case will give you a glimpse into the international damage this is causing to a people that suffers one assault after another. The comments are rife with hate and fresh anti-semitic epithets, showing us all that yet again, we are alone in our fight for justice. The United States, our eternal and natural ally, is the country that is now causing all of Israel's detractors to crow with delight, turning this basically clerical issue into one that threatens our very legitimacy in this city.
           Well I, for one, refuse to be told that the capital city of Israel is not actually located in Israel. I refuse to believe that due to political correctness and a fear of condemnation from the Arab World (and- gasp! Europe), children born in Jerusalem have no country to call their own. And I pray for the day when the State Department and the president and the Supreme Court of the USA agree with me and change this ridiculous ruling. But until that time, I remain a proud resident of Jerusalem, eternal capital city of the State of Israel.

Me in a Jerusalem Tshirt with an Israeli flag- sorry State Department!

This Is Just a Drill

        It is 7:10 PM, Jerusalem time. I just left the stairwell of my very old apartment building, following the second emergency siren today. Don't panic. If you're concerned because you haven't been up on the news today, there's no great cause for alarm. These sirens were planned weeks (and maybe months) ago to prepare the nation in case of war. We require these drills like elementary school kids require fire drills- in case of emergency. And yet we know all too well that in this country, an emergency is a very real possibility. I don't mean to scare anyone, especially in the relative calm that we Jerusalemites have been, thank G-d, enjoying these past few months. But today was a wake-up call, that those of us who live here can get comfortable, just not too comfortable with the status quo.

       I read that today is one year since the "three boys" went missing. In case you don't know, I'm referring to Eyal, Gilad and Naftali- three Israeli boys who were kidnapped and killed in short order, but whose whereabouts were unknown for weeks, causing Jews in Israel and around the world to unify in a way that had never happened before to my memory. I can remember in my life pre-aliyah, going to a rally in the center of Manhattan, demanding the release of the boys (who we hoped were still alive) and praying with a fervor reserved for Yom Kippur. I can remember Jews coming together regardless of observance level or denomination or political orientation, praying for the safe release of our Jewish brothers. As we all know, it was not meant to be. The boys were killed immediately, but their whereabouts remained hidden for those torturous weeks. A revenge attack on an Arab boy followed, vilified by almost all Jews, because even in our deepest grief, that is not how we as Jews behave. And then the rockets. And the sirens. And the tunnels discovered. And the human shields. And the soldiers' funerals with mourners in the thousands. And the Iron Dome in all it's blessed glory. And the canceled Israel trips. And the ceasefires. And the ceasefires broken by Hamas in mere hours. And the flight cancellations. And then the quiet. The quiet end to a summer deferred.

             A year has passed since that crazy, scary, incomprehensible time and today I heard my first siren in almost that long. And it wasn't to warn me that a rocket was headed my way. It wasn't sounded to warn me that we were living in a war zone, and that we had just 90 seconds here in Jerusalem to take cover. It was to remind me that here in Israel, with enemies named Hezbollah and Hamas, Syria and Iran- we will always be targeted, so we must make sure that we stay safe as a country, and that we stay strong as a nation. Am Yisrael Chai.

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.

The Misinformation of Lauryn Hill

         “Did you hear?” the texts blared as I opened my eyes this morning. “Lauryn Hill canceled her Israel concert!” I got three variations of this text, for a few reasons. One is because I have been a huge Lauryn Hill fan since the 90’s. Her album was one of the first I ever bought for my own little collection. Another was because I had bought tickets to that show, and was looking forward to seeing her live for the first time ever- and in Israel, no less! It worked out perfectly- an outdoor show on a Thursday night, conveniently right after Lag B’Omer! I even had the blanket I planned to sit on ready to go. Then, all in one text, the minor cloud that ominously hung over this concert broke into a storm. There had been rumblings that Hill might cancel for several reasons. One is that she’s notoriously flaky- her erratic behaviour at and before her shows is legendary. But also because she has been ceaselessly pressured by the loud and aggressive BDS movement to cancel, basically since the moment she announced her show.

       There have always been rumors of Hill’s real feelings toward Jews. I personally heard she wasn’t a fan. Then I heard it was hearsay, and upon further research, couldn’t find a credible source proving she ever said anything anti-Semitic. So to hear that now she is cancelling this concert is even more upsetting.

      The reason (cough, excuse) from the singer herself is that since she couldn’t play a show in Ramallah for her Palestinian fans, she didn’t feel right playing one for her Israeli fans. Um, wait a sec. Did she even plan a concert in Ramallah? When was it scheduled? Where were they selling tickets? And if the Israel concert had been set for months, why was this Ramallah oversight mentioned 3 days before the show?! Another explanation could be poor ticket sales. This is highly likely, as her show was still being promoted heavily here in Israel while the upcoming Backstreet Boys shows are basically all sold out. If that’s the case, we have the right to know. Don’t hide behind some equivocation nonsense.

       But the real worrying possibility, is that she, like several others before her, bowed to the pressure of the 24/7 hate machine known as BDS. Ever since the concert was scheduled, there has been a steady barrage of Facebook campaigns, petitions, articles and veiled threats, all with the sole purpose of scaring Lauryn Hill into canceling. They tried and failed with Alicia Keys, Justin Timberlake, Lady Gaga and Robbie Williams. Each of them withstood the pressure, came and performed, and enjoyed every minute. Each concert was a triumph for music and freedom at the same time. But it seems they succeeded with Lauryn Hill. It appears that their unending stream of threats, lies and vitriol worked, and it leaves Israel looking bad. Just look at the Facebook page dedicated to her concert here. It is now bursting with anti- Israel and anti- Semitic comments ranging from the offensive to the terrifying. It took a situation which never needed to happen, and turned it into a public relations headache, the likes of which Israel just does not need.

        So sure, I’m annoyed that my Thursday night is ruined. Yeah, it’s frustrating to have to speculate as to just why the concert was really canceled. But my biggest gripe with this whole issue is how it affects Israel. It gives ammunition to those who hate us, and shines a spotlight on us for all the wrong reasons. I hate to think that the to biggest headlines out of Israel this week are “Israel in Nepal” and “Lauryn Hill boycotts Israel.” It’s not okay. In the words of my once- favorite singer, Lauryn Hill, “it could all be so simple, but you’d rather make it hard…”

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!