Since I have no close relatives in Israel, I decided to stay with a friend for the first Shabbat outside of the Midrasha. All I know is that Meira knows a family who's father knows her father through science research, they live on a Moshav (a secluded community with its own school, synagogue, park, townhouse...), and they'd love to have her bring a friend for Shabbat. It's not ideal, but I trust Meira (she's a friend I knew previously from New England Jewish youth groups), so I decided it was a good deal.
We're told to get on Bus 277 across the street from the Tachana HaMerkazit (the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem). It turns out that the stop is actually on a side street near the Tachana. Across the street, cross street, what do we know, right? So, yeah, we totally missed the bus. But not before rushing around looking for it for an hour or so.
Ok, so now we're trying to find another way there, because the buses stop after a certain time on Friday because of Shabbat. So we find a Sheirut (a large, van-cab in which the cost is split by all of the passengers) that's heading toward Tel Aviv, and passes by the Moshav we're supposed to go to. The first Sheirut driver absolutely refuses to stop on the way so that we can get picked up, and the second driver can't understand why we'd rather take his Sheirut, which leaves after the one with the stubborn driver. Still following? Ok, so then we're sort of panicking, and the Big Sheirut Boss comes over and starts yelling at the Sheirut drivers. We have no idea what's going on (although now that other people are yelling at each other, the whole thing seems a lot funnier), but soon enough, The Boss is guiding us across the street to another Sheirut with only one other passenger, whose driver will drop us off on the way to Tel Aviv.
There's one man in the passenger seat...we figure he's a tag-along friend of the driver. Or so it seemed. Turns out, he is a Russian man who was trying to speak English to the Israeli because he knew English better than Hebrew. Apparently, the man is expecting the driver to pick up his family and his luggage. So we make a huge circle for no reason to get back to the place where his family is, and pick them all up: a baby, a grandma, two toddlers, a middle-aged woman, and two young adults. Yay! So then it's a smooth ride for about half an hour, when the driver tells us we'll be there in a minute. In a minute, we're in the middle of a highway ramp, where a big block of cement appears to be our drop off. A block of cement, no signs...we get off in confusion and forget to pay, then quickly hand the driver money before the honking cars get rowdy. Five minutes later, after being laughed at by a bunch of passers-by, Meira's family friend picks us up, and soon enough we're at the Moshav.
Now, I have to somehow describe the beauty of the Moshav to you. The houses are all very clean looking, but not in a whitewashed way, like in America. They're beautifully simple. The Albak's house has bushes of jasmine in the front yard. For some reason, that stood out to me the most. Every time I went outside, to go to services or to take a walk, the first thing I noticed was the smell of jasmine. It was like a fairy tale. We spent Shabbat with the Albak's, their son, their daughter in University, and their grown son with his wife and baby daughter. What a beautiful, intelligent family. And they spoke English incredibly well, lucky for us! On Saturday afternoon, Meira and I took a walk up a hill, on a path dedicated to a teenager of the Moshav who fell during the 2nd Lebanon War. That was an experience in of itself. There was a light breeze, and the sun was setting as we reached the top (it was only a five minute walk). It was just a low hill, and yet we were struck by the different landscapes we saw just from our viewpoint: we could see the farmland of the Moshav, cultivated by the few in the Moshav who actually farm for an occupation, we could see the glowing houses of the Moshav, and children playing in the park, and in the distance we could see misty outlines of the city. It was incredible.
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It's difficult for me to transition, now, to telling you about starting the week, but I suppose that is kind of representative of how it felt. Difficult, but necessary, with a hint of curiosity as to how this second week would go. So far, so good. First day of the week went by quickly, and I even gave a little speech for an assignment I volunteered for (in our Methodology class, each week, four girls give a short speech so that we can observe and critique technique) and it went well! Apparently, I was very clear with my points, and I was engaging, but I could use a few more examples and talk slower. In case you were wondering.
Tonight, we were assigned different teachers' houses to visit. I was lucky enough to visit my favorite (so far) Rabbi's house - Rav Yonatan. He's such a nice man, and yet he challenges his students at the same time. He already has six children, but he and his wife decided to be foster parents to an Ethiopian baby. She's three months old and she's been with them since she was ten days old. It's very inspiring to see people giving so much of themselves just to help a poor child and to contribute what they can to society. She's a beautiful baby, and I imagine it will be very difficult for their family when they have to give her back. It just struck me as an incredible sacrifice. And these are the types of people I'm lucky enough to learn from this year.
Tomorrow we have our first choir meeting - I am, in fact, one of the co-directors. We'll see how that goes, especially because we'll have to decide on songs to arrange for the competition, which is in January. If all goes well, we'll be starting practices next Sunday!
Once again, I've written more than I meant to. I guess it's a testimony to the depth of experience here - there are so many different things to talk about! Now, it's time for sleep so that I can wake up early to exercise. Sometimes I think I'm certifiably crazy. Goodnight!
Gabriella
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