I realized over the last few weeks that aliyah is partly a display of identity, but it is ironically also an exercise in building identity in the most tangible ways. I know it is a typical immigrant experience, but it has still been a bit surprising all the same.
In the US, over the course of many years, each of us had built up an identity in the society: social security numbers, bank accounts, credit ratings, diplomas, and all the rest of the data points that glom onto our names and dates of birth.
Upon making aliyah, we started over. Adding our information to the societal data stream and creating our own (even if still small) currents within it. At the airport I had the opportunity to choose a new name (I didn't), but I could have. Or changed its spelling. Is there an extra alef or not in my last name or B-A's? How do the boys spell their names? Will I have a hebraicized version of my name or the name by which I am called for an aliyah on my teudat zehut? And that was just the beginning.
We've opened a bank account (a strangely lengthy process. I think B-A understood everything the bank clerk was saying, but I only caught every few words of his rapid hebrew, explaining the aspects of our accounts, which were then followed by him asking: "Do you understand? Sign here, here, and here, and initial here, here, and here." BTW, for those of you who will make aliyah, be sure to actually put money into the account you open! You'll need the receipt to show to misrad haklitah before they start making regular deposits of your sal klitah). We've nearly competed the process of renting an apartment (more on that another time). We signed up for health insurance.
And so bit by bit we grow our identities in Israeli society, doing in a matter of weeks what before we had done over the course of years. It is not exactly starting over from scratch but the speed of it all has been more than a bit dislocating, which is also surprising. Though it shouldn't be. Just because it is aliyah, doesn't mean that it isn't the immigrant experience.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Exit and Entry
This will be a bit of a back-track, but I wanted to say something
about our last weeks in the states and our first day is Israel before we
get too far past it, and it all slips into fuzzy memory.
So we sent most of our things in the container (which as I type this is supposed to be in Japan), cleaned up the house and moved in with B-A's parents until our flight....
(A side note of gratitude - we have benefited and continue to benefit from the support of our families and friends in myriad ways material and emotional. Words alone cannot express our thanks, but it is a place to start. Thank you!)
..and a couple of days later, we hit the road for the Olympic National Park in Washington. A temperate rain forest is about as different from Israel as we could get within a 1/2 day drive. It was everything you might expect. Green, wet, and simply lovely. While many of the plants and colors resembled Portland, the scale was other-worldly, and I kept expecting an ewok to walk out from behind a tree. After nearly two-weeks now of 90+ degree temperatures in Jerusalem, the few days we spent in multiple layers of fleece, rain jackets and sipping cocoa and coffee near a crackling fire seem to be from a different life.
Which is true. Those days, and the days that followed of lovely early Portland summer (fireworks in Gabriel Park, blueberry picking on Sauvie Island and multiple cook-outs accompanied by organic locally brewed amber ale, just for starters) were from a previous life.
One memory from that week: One or two days before our flight, E and I walked though our house together, now empty of things, but still filled with memories. The house was already stuffy, with an un-lived in smell. We walked around, opening windows as we walked from room to room, letting in air and trailing memories as we went. And after a few minutes, we closed it up, locked the door and walked away.
Our last morning in Portland was clear and cool. We were not excited that morning, just tired and a bit sad. There had been excitement weeks before, when our paperwork was approved and our visas arrived. But the excitement had been drowned out in the drone of details and the long good bye. We hefted our eleven (!!) duffel bags and one guitar into a van that B-A's father had rented, piled ourselves into the van and a car (driven by B-A's parents), and went to the airport.
The flights (PDX to philly to TLV) were as they always are to Israel: long and tiring. We were not on a group flight with many other olim. One of those planes from the US had arrived earlier the same day as our arrival. But it turned out that we were not the only new olim on the plane.
As we were leaving the plane a couple of people heard us talking and asked if we were making aliyah. They smiled and shook our hands and wished us luck. It was to be the first of many similar exchanges that we would have in the coming days.
We left the plane, walked up the jet way and not long after a first flight of stairs, a man (Mr. Lee) waited holding a card with several names on it...including ours. We waited for a few others, and then as a group, Mr. Lee took us down to passport control - to the Israeli line. Okay. It was exciting again.
The clerk behind the window did not say much, but matched us up. Four passports and four faces. She stamped us in (no tourist visa this time!), wished us luck and sent us to misrad haklitah (the office of immigrant absorption). Again, our small group went together. Mr. Lee handed us to a clerk from the office, who shepherded us into an elevator to the office on an upper level of the airport.
And there we were processed. Information entered into the computer, identity numbers and identity cards taken. An initial living stipend and SIM card with 200 minutes given.
Once our group was processed, again we were taken down to baggage claim to get our bags and were ushered to find a taxi to take us to Jerusalem. On the way, we were thrilled to be met by friends who waited for us with a sign, and much needed refreshment and happy familiar faces. After a wait, we (and all our stuff) piled into another van for the trip to Jerusalem.
One last word about our time in the offices at the airport. During the processing, B-A and I had our photos taken. I asked if we should smile or not - in the US, they always tell you not to smile for the passport photos. The clerk asked me if I was happy? After nearly 25 hours of traveling and moving about, being told to go this place and that, and after the months of preparation and days of goodbyes, the best evidence of our answer can be seen in the pictures, both of which show two very tired looking people, but having two very natural and happy smiles.
It was (and is) good to be home.
So we sent most of our things in the container (which as I type this is supposed to be in Japan), cleaned up the house and moved in with B-A's parents until our flight....
(A side note of gratitude - we have benefited and continue to benefit from the support of our families and friends in myriad ways material and emotional. Words alone cannot express our thanks, but it is a place to start. Thank you!)
..and a couple of days later, we hit the road for the Olympic National Park in Washington. A temperate rain forest is about as different from Israel as we could get within a 1/2 day drive. It was everything you might expect. Green, wet, and simply lovely. While many of the plants and colors resembled Portland, the scale was other-worldly, and I kept expecting an ewok to walk out from behind a tree. After nearly two-weeks now of 90+ degree temperatures in Jerusalem, the few days we spent in multiple layers of fleece, rain jackets and sipping cocoa and coffee near a crackling fire seem to be from a different life.
Which is true. Those days, and the days that followed of lovely early Portland summer (fireworks in Gabriel Park, blueberry picking on Sauvie Island and multiple cook-outs accompanied by organic locally brewed amber ale, just for starters) were from a previous life.
One memory from that week: One or two days before our flight, E and I walked though our house together, now empty of things, but still filled with memories. The house was already stuffy, with an un-lived in smell. We walked around, opening windows as we walked from room to room, letting in air and trailing memories as we went. And after a few minutes, we closed it up, locked the door and walked away.
Our last morning in Portland was clear and cool. We were not excited that morning, just tired and a bit sad. There had been excitement weeks before, when our paperwork was approved and our visas arrived. But the excitement had been drowned out in the drone of details and the long good bye. We hefted our eleven (!!) duffel bags and one guitar into a van that B-A's father had rented, piled ourselves into the van and a car (driven by B-A's parents), and went to the airport.
The flights (PDX to philly to TLV) were as they always are to Israel: long and tiring. We were not on a group flight with many other olim. One of those planes from the US had arrived earlier the same day as our arrival. But it turned out that we were not the only new olim on the plane.
As we were leaving the plane a couple of people heard us talking and asked if we were making aliyah. They smiled and shook our hands and wished us luck. It was to be the first of many similar exchanges that we would have in the coming days.
We left the plane, walked up the jet way and not long after a first flight of stairs, a man (Mr. Lee) waited holding a card with several names on it...including ours. We waited for a few others, and then as a group, Mr. Lee took us down to passport control - to the Israeli line. Okay. It was exciting again.
The clerk behind the window did not say much, but matched us up. Four passports and four faces. She stamped us in (no tourist visa this time!), wished us luck and sent us to misrad haklitah (the office of immigrant absorption). Again, our small group went together. Mr. Lee handed us to a clerk from the office, who shepherded us into an elevator to the office on an upper level of the airport.
And there we were processed. Information entered into the computer, identity numbers and identity cards taken. An initial living stipend and SIM card with 200 minutes given.
Once our group was processed, again we were taken down to baggage claim to get our bags and were ushered to find a taxi to take us to Jerusalem. On the way, we were thrilled to be met by friends who waited for us with a sign, and much needed refreshment and happy familiar faces. After a wait, we (and all our stuff) piled into another van for the trip to Jerusalem.
One last word about our time in the offices at the airport. During the processing, B-A and I had our photos taken. I asked if we should smile or not - in the US, they always tell you not to smile for the passport photos. The clerk asked me if I was happy? After nearly 25 hours of traveling and moving about, being told to go this place and that, and after the months of preparation and days of goodbyes, the best evidence of our answer can be seen in the pictures, both of which show two very tired looking people, but having two very natural and happy smiles.
It was (and is) good to be home.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Week 1 Highlights
Hard to believe we've been here a week already. When I came on Nativ those many years ago, our staff kept using the phrase "hit the ground running". It feels like that is what we did, and now I am exhausted!
Here are some highlights from our first week as an Israeli family:
Here are some highlights from our first week as an Israeli family:
- Shabbat in Jerusalem - there is something tangibly different on Shabbat here than other days of the week.
- Walking home Friday night and hearing people singing zemirot
- Having supermarket clerks wish you a Shabbat Shalom
- People pronouncing my (Bat-Ami's) name correctly; the first time
- Reconnecting with family and friends
- Driving without freaking out (okay, only freaking out a little)
- Opening our bank account in under 2 hours (yes, that is a small victory here)
- Having a productive meeting at Misrad Haklita and finding out the pekida who was helping us is originally from Seattle.
- Finding an apartment, and starting rental negotiations
- Going to Machane Yehuda and getting reprimanded by the produce guys for not buying in large enough quantities, also seeing a cow head; teeth, eyes, and all (more a boys' highlight)
- Option paralysis at the food court at the mall in Modiin; Milchig? Fleishig? Too many choices! - of course we all wound up choosing shwarma
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Three Weeks Ago
This has been in the works for a long time:
Before there even was an "us," we talked about aliyah. It was nearly the first real conversation that we ever had, sitting in a dorm room in Oberlin, Ohio, on a late summer day in August 1995.
So much has changed since then, but that conversation has been a thread through it all. Sometimes fainter than others, and nearly fading into the background at times. But like so much else, we can thank the boys for brightening the color to a luminous shine.
It was a simple question really, asked over two years ago the morning after our return from our niece's Bat Mitzvah.
"So when are we moving?"
I don't remember who asked it first, but by the end of the day, they had both said it, and from then on, it was only a matter of time.
But there is an answer to that question now. July 11, 2012.
Yesterday was the boxing. It was very humbling to see much of what we own placed into boxes in less than six hours and stacked around the house in little islands. Today, everything else gets wrapped in paper, plastic, and tape and it all is being fit, most of the pieces of our material life, into a 20-foot shipping container.
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