I just walked outside, this beautiful Sunday afternoon. If I had squinted my eyes enough, I would've sworn I was back in my front yard with the beautiful tiny, white flowers that signal spring has sprung. But then I felt the welcomed desert wind sweep across my body, and I remembered that I'm in my adopted, crazy, fun new home.
And with that in mind, I have quite a bit to update readers on!
This post, I'll focus on the Israeli elections that happened March 17th. It's possible that this is simply the first time that I have felt calm enough to write about them. And with the disappointing results, it's not as easy to find news stories in English on the topic of coalition building and where this next Netanyahu government will go. English news, is in fact, obsessed with what is going on with the Iran deal and the hustle and bustle leading up to Passover (which begins Friday evening). I will still attempt to add some insight and explanation to what has happened on the Israeli political scene.
Just a very quick run down of how elections and the government in general work here. The Israeli legislative branch, called the Knesset, is made up of many different parties that represent a wide spectrum of interests in Israeli society. When elections roll around, we Israelis must vote for a party, and the head of the party who receives the most votes will most likely be appointed as Israeli's prime minister. This is up to the Israeli president (who is Reuben Rivlin as of last summer) - s/he appoints the party head who seems most likely to be able to build a coalition of parties that will make up a majority in the Knesset (61+ seats, as there are 120 available seats in the Knesset). That party head must then dive into negotiations with the parties whom s/he is courting, bargaining about things like the budget, which ministry positions each party will receive (like who will be Housing Minister and so on), and which committees the party can control. This is currently where we are right now...kind of just waiting to see what sort of a deal will be reached. It's so funny because last elections, I felt like there was SO much coverage on the elections...who was requesting what in order to be in the coalition, the DEADLINE for the building of the coalition. This time around, I don't feel that sense of urgency or need to know. Maybe everyone is just ready for more of the same? Blah.
Netanyahu and his right wing Likud party won the most Knesset seats (30 total), and so he has been charged with forming the coalition. There was a huge movement from the left these elections, trying to muster enough votes to put the left in the coalition. And it seemed promising. The left in Israel is (and this is very general) more focused on societal welfare, taking care of citizens with public services, and finding a solution for peace with the Palestinians (again, among other things). The right is very much about security, strengthening Israel's borders, and is not the most friendly when it comes to peace negotiations. Anyway, to the dismay of many, the left did not pull out a win, although the left's voice was pretty significant.
It will be interesting to see what happens, what changes. For now, I'm not as depressed and hopeless as I was. The night of the elections, I literally felt, "If the left doesn't get this, I've got to find another place to live." But, I'm over that. I'm not at all happy with the elections. I'm not happy with Netanyahu. His policies have caused housing and food prices to skyrocket while education and minority issues have just gone down the toilet. He's also taken a nice, steaming dump on diplomatic relations with America, which puts me on edge a bit. But...I'm still here. Even though he's not who I want to be running this precious country, I will deal with it. And I will keep fighting the good fight - for the minorities in this country, for the rights of every human being, good health care and strong education. Better situations and rights for workers. Equal share of the burden among all of Israel's citizens. The list could go on.
Please, leave questions in the comments. I'd love to discuss this more in depth and see what more I can share with you, my lovely audience! Looking forward to hearing from you!
Happy Passover!
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Monday, February 16, 2015
It Hasn't Even Been Two Months...
I really wish I could write you all a happy, up-beat post about how things are going just swimmingly. I mean, well, they are going well. But...they aren't. Nothing is the same now, and it is so hard to wrap my head around that fact. Why can't things just be the same? But, my father's death has colored everything...mostly for the better. I so appreciate the relationships that I have in my life. I don't let myself get bogged down by bullshit. Family is much more central in my life. But then I remember WHY those things are so much more centered and balanced, and I just crumble to pieces.
It's like a lightening bolt when I remember that he is gone. My brain plays back the highlights reel of losing him, and I'm shocked all over again. It doesn't happen all the time, and when you're a semi-trained, aspiring clinician like myself, you start worrying if this grieving is passing over into depression. But then you remind yourself that you've never grieved like this...you've never lost like this...and so, you don't really know what is appropriate. Or how to do it. How to deal. There really isn't a handbook on how this is supposed to be (and if there is, would I really trust it?).
Everything is splitting into this convenient dichotomy. A little bit of bad with the good. A little bit of good with the bad. Time flying by/time standing still. Which is evidenced by the title of this post. My dear daddy hasn't even been gone two months, but it feels like an eternity has passed. Yet, I feel that just yesterday, I was talking to him about life and listening to that big booming laughter as I told him about my antics.
I don't wish the pain that I am experiencing on even my worst enemy. Grief...the great uniter that no one can escape.
I do have the best friends and family ever. Even just the sweet messages along the way from people I haven't talked to in years puts a little bit of light into my world. I am in awe of how good people can be. And I think that is a special gift that my father has given to me. I sure was getting hopeless. And he sure does keep teaching me things, even though he is not physically here. So, here's to my daddy, a force and a power bigger and better than I ever knew. I love you so much.
It's like a lightening bolt when I remember that he is gone. My brain plays back the highlights reel of losing him, and I'm shocked all over again. It doesn't happen all the time, and when you're a semi-trained, aspiring clinician like myself, you start worrying if this grieving is passing over into depression. But then you remind yourself that you've never grieved like this...you've never lost like this...and so, you don't really know what is appropriate. Or how to do it. How to deal. There really isn't a handbook on how this is supposed to be (and if there is, would I really trust it?).
Everything is splitting into this convenient dichotomy. A little bit of bad with the good. A little bit of good with the bad. Time flying by/time standing still. Which is evidenced by the title of this post. My dear daddy hasn't even been gone two months, but it feels like an eternity has passed. Yet, I feel that just yesterday, I was talking to him about life and listening to that big booming laughter as I told him about my antics.
I don't wish the pain that I am experiencing on even my worst enemy. Grief...the great uniter that no one can escape.
I do have the best friends and family ever. Even just the sweet messages along the way from people I haven't talked to in years puts a little bit of light into my world. I am in awe of how good people can be. And I think that is a special gift that my father has given to me. I sure was getting hopeless. And he sure does keep teaching me things, even though he is not physically here. So, here's to my daddy, a force and a power bigger and better than I ever knew. I love you so much.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
My Eulogy to My Dad
For those interested in my words to honor my father...here you go...
Two things - first please excuse me if I break down. The last three weeks have been the hardest of my life. And two, how 'bout them Hogs? I believe they pulled out a win in honor my daddy! Sorry to any Texas fans there may be in the crowd.
So, here we go.
Wade Turner - a father, a husband, a grandfather, a cousin, a son, a friend, a coach, a confidant - so many ways to describe this one man. He was certainly a lot of things to a lot of people. For me, he was everything. My super hero. We didn't say, "You're my whole world," to each other for nothing.
I'm having the hardest time believing, understanding, and accepting that he isn't here. I also can't bring myself to talk about him in the past tense. He loves me and always will is a good example of that. I also do it out of respect for the fact that a parent's love, and in this case, a father's love for his daughter, never dies.
My dad has taught me so much, and I felt it fitting to share some of his lessons with you today. First and foremost, the man taught me true, solid work ethic. If you work hard enough, you're going to be okay. Daddy worked until the last day that he could. His death is perhaps such a shock because we all saw a man who wouldn't give up or slow down for anything. There is so much from that to respect.
He also taught me how to dream big and how to use that work ethic in order to achieve it all. Case in point, I moved myself to Israel and have built a beautiful life that I wouldn't trade for anything. All with Dad's support and blessings.
Perhaps to the disappointment of my mom and others, Dad also taught me how to fight and cuss with the best of them. I'm shocked that I haven't said a curse word yet...but I guess there is still time.
I believe that Daddy's most splendid gift of all was how to love unconditionally without judgement with all of his heart. This was something that I was lucky enough to experience everyday and the value of his that I hold most dear.
There is one more thing that Daddy has left with me that I want to share. That is a strength so other worldly that I didn't know it was possible. Perhaps some of you saw on Facebook this #wadestrong. This fine gentleman (gesturing to the Methodist minister who officiated the funeral) reminded me of Daddy's strength when I was at my lowest point these past three weeks, when I thought my physical self was literally falling to pieces from the pain of losing my dad. Carter said to me, "You've got this. You're strong - Wade strong." And I guess I am.
Please take with you today a piece of my father, whether it be his compassion, his strength, his laughter (oh, that laughter!), or his ability to tell dirty jokes to any and everyone. And for Heaven's sake, share stories with me about my dad. What an individual. My daddy, the superhero, flying with the angels and painting the most magnificent skies I've ever seen. Thank you all for coming to pay respect to the best man I know.
Two things - first please excuse me if I break down. The last three weeks have been the hardest of my life. And two, how 'bout them Hogs? I believe they pulled out a win in honor my daddy! Sorry to any Texas fans there may be in the crowd.
So, here we go.
Wade Turner - a father, a husband, a grandfather, a cousin, a son, a friend, a coach, a confidant - so many ways to describe this one man. He was certainly a lot of things to a lot of people. For me, he was everything. My super hero. We didn't say, "You're my whole world," to each other for nothing.
I'm having the hardest time believing, understanding, and accepting that he isn't here. I also can't bring myself to talk about him in the past tense. He loves me and always will is a good example of that. I also do it out of respect for the fact that a parent's love, and in this case, a father's love for his daughter, never dies.
My dad has taught me so much, and I felt it fitting to share some of his lessons with you today. First and foremost, the man taught me true, solid work ethic. If you work hard enough, you're going to be okay. Daddy worked until the last day that he could. His death is perhaps such a shock because we all saw a man who wouldn't give up or slow down for anything. There is so much from that to respect.
He also taught me how to dream big and how to use that work ethic in order to achieve it all. Case in point, I moved myself to Israel and have built a beautiful life that I wouldn't trade for anything. All with Dad's support and blessings.
Perhaps to the disappointment of my mom and others, Dad also taught me how to fight and cuss with the best of them. I'm shocked that I haven't said a curse word yet...but I guess there is still time.
I believe that Daddy's most splendid gift of all was how to love unconditionally without judgement with all of his heart. This was something that I was lucky enough to experience everyday and the value of his that I hold most dear.
There is one more thing that Daddy has left with me that I want to share. That is a strength so other worldly that I didn't know it was possible. Perhaps some of you saw on Facebook this #wadestrong. This fine gentleman (gesturing to the Methodist minister who officiated the funeral) reminded me of Daddy's strength when I was at my lowest point these past three weeks, when I thought my physical self was literally falling to pieces from the pain of losing my dad. Carter said to me, "You've got this. You're strong - Wade strong." And I guess I am.
Please take with you today a piece of my father, whether it be his compassion, his strength, his laughter (oh, that laughter!), or his ability to tell dirty jokes to any and everyone. And for Heaven's sake, share stories with me about my dad. What an individual. My daddy, the superhero, flying with the angels and painting the most magnificent skies I've ever seen. Thank you all for coming to pay respect to the best man I know.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
The World Lost a Hero...
It is with great sadness that I am writing about the passing of my dear sweet daddy, Wade Turner. The last month has been a whirlwind of emotions and events, and I'm just now finding the courage and the strength to write about it.
My dad fell ill in early to mid-December, something which we initially thought was just the flu. Then things got complicated. He had a very aggressive blood infection. His congestive heart failure flared up. He kept getting sicker and better and sicker and better. I hopped on the first flight I could and came to be with him, simply because when I told him I was coming, he said, "That's wonderful, darling," not "Don't waste your money - I'm okay." I was terrified as I made my 24 hours journey home. I rested a day in Fort Smith, my hometown, before heading to the state capitol, Little Rock, where my dad was hospitalized (thanks to the good ole VA system). I crashed on the couch/in the spare bedroom of dear, dear friends who said, "Stay as long as you need to," something which a lot of people say but not a lot of people mean. This amazing couple meant it, and so I camped out. I was with Daddy everyday, including his birthday, when he turned 69. It was the second night of Chanukah, too, and I made him and my hosts blueberry donuts, and I fed my sweet daddy vanilla ice cream. He begged for me to stay the night at the hospital, and I did. He asked me to rub his head when his breathing got worse. I tried to show him pictures and make him comfortable. I sang him happy birthday. He just couldn't get better. Very tragically, the day after his birthday, he had to be put on a breathing machine. I grabbed his shoulders and hugged him tight and looked him in those big, beautiful, blue eyes and I said, "I love you, Daddy." He said, "I love you, too." These would be his last words to his family, to me. My sister from Florida rushed in to be by my side, a blessing so big, it's impossible to comprehend. My brother flew (in a car) to my rescue, as well, and helped in indesribable ways. Six very painful days, my daddy stayed on the breathing machine. Six very painful days of trying to take him off to see if he could recover on his own. Six very painful days of saying goodbye over and over again, not knowing what the future will hold. With the strength and love of family around me (especially because of a sweet story my brother told me about my amazing almost 18 year old niece), I was able to go and tell my daddy all the last little things that had gone unsaid like, "I will be okay," and "Don't be scared," and "If you need to go, I understand." Thanks to God, for us, my dad and I didn't leave a lot unsaid. It was very clear to us and to all who know us how much we love and adore one another.
On what would lead up to the last night of Chanukah, Daddy's treatment team posed a very hard question - did we want to take Daddy off of the breathing machine. We knew that by doing so, he would not live. And we knew that those were his wishes, not to keep him alive with heroic measures. That was the most painful question I have ever answered in my life - Yes, take him off of the machine so he can go in peace. We all agreed, and the team moved him to the palliative care unit. I was petrified to go in the room, but with the loving embrace of a nurse who is literally an angel on earth, I made it by my dad's bed. They took out the breathing tube and made him so very, very comfortable. I held his hand. I kissed his forehead. And he just very gently drifted away. And that was it. Three weeks of terror, three weeks of living a nightmare that I have always dreaded was over. My daddy was at peace. I got to hold his hand. I got to tell him everything. I got to spend his last waking moments with him. I'm so lucky, even though it is hard to say that in the midst of all this pain. That angel of a nurse even shaved my father's face after he passed out of respect for him, since my mom had said that he didn't look like himself (he was always ALWAYS clean-shaven). My mom and I drove home that afternoon, and I'm convinced that Daddy painted the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen, just to show me that he was with me. We got home, sad and lonely and feeling this huge empty space, and we lit the Chanukah candles for the last night, the night with the most light. And Daddy helped to enhance that light. So beautiful and so incredibly sad.
Daddy's funeral was very much along the same lines - beautiful and incredibly sad...and so very funny. An orange tabby cat that very much resembled our beloved Spike who died a year ago (and who watched over my dad as if it was his duty) came to the service, rubbed on people's legs, jumped on the bottom shelf of the table, jumped on the chair next to my mom, and allowed her to love on him. This cat's presence was so weird yet so fitting, and the funeral director said in all of his years of work, he had never seen something like it. The 188th came and presented my mom with the flag while Taps was played in the background. Seeing a soldier in full regalia get down on one knee, give the flag to my mom, and say, "I am so sorry for your loss. The United States of America thanks you for your husband's service," was one of the most beautiful displays of respect I've ever seen in my life. Then, my host from Little Rock, a Methodist minister, began the most perfect ceremony to honor my dad. We couldn't get a rabbi in time, and this guy knew and loved my dad, which made it all the more fitting. One of my best friends eulogized my dad and had everyone in tears of awe and laughter by the end. I eulogized my dad because I felt it my duty. I cried the whole time, but I did it with honor. And our Methodist minister wrapped it up with a eulogy that perfectly encompassed my dad, rough edges and all. Then, we all took turns helping to cover the grave, my mom first, me second, the rest of the family, and then friends. It was so beautiful how it all just happened, how everything just flowed. Everyone cried together, everyone laughed together, and the warm embrace of all these people who love my dad helped me to get through one of the hardest days of my life. The fact that I was surrounded by family that I hadn't connected with in years, my sister and her husband, my brother and his family, my late sister's husband, meant so much to me and lifted me up. Wow. Just wow.
And now, here I sit. Trying desperately to understand what has happened over the past three weeks. I'm with my mom for another couple of days before I have to head back to Israel and rejoin the real world. My heart is broken into pieces. But I am at peace. I have a reaffirmed bond with my family, my dad's last beautiful bit of magic that just drew us all together. I am determined to take care of my mom and grow closer to her. And I am ready to continue on with my life infused with a sense of strength that I didn't know was humanly possible. As our Methodist minister friend told me when I was at my lowest point ever, literally falling apart physically over losing my dad, "You've got this. You're strong, Wade strong." And he's right. I take that with me everywhere I go. I am even stronger now than I was before, and even though it hurts like hell right now, I know that my dad is always with me, his love will never die, and that I will always make him proud.
Sending you all my deepest thanks for all the sympathy and all the love and all the support during this terribly difficult time. It's appreciated more than you will ever know.
My dad fell ill in early to mid-December, something which we initially thought was just the flu. Then things got complicated. He had a very aggressive blood infection. His congestive heart failure flared up. He kept getting sicker and better and sicker and better. I hopped on the first flight I could and came to be with him, simply because when I told him I was coming, he said, "That's wonderful, darling," not "Don't waste your money - I'm okay." I was terrified as I made my 24 hours journey home. I rested a day in Fort Smith, my hometown, before heading to the state capitol, Little Rock, where my dad was hospitalized (thanks to the good ole VA system). I crashed on the couch/in the spare bedroom of dear, dear friends who said, "Stay as long as you need to," something which a lot of people say but not a lot of people mean. This amazing couple meant it, and so I camped out. I was with Daddy everyday, including his birthday, when he turned 69. It was the second night of Chanukah, too, and I made him and my hosts blueberry donuts, and I fed my sweet daddy vanilla ice cream. He begged for me to stay the night at the hospital, and I did. He asked me to rub his head when his breathing got worse. I tried to show him pictures and make him comfortable. I sang him happy birthday. He just couldn't get better. Very tragically, the day after his birthday, he had to be put on a breathing machine. I grabbed his shoulders and hugged him tight and looked him in those big, beautiful, blue eyes and I said, "I love you, Daddy." He said, "I love you, too." These would be his last words to his family, to me. My sister from Florida rushed in to be by my side, a blessing so big, it's impossible to comprehend. My brother flew (in a car) to my rescue, as well, and helped in indesribable ways. Six very painful days, my daddy stayed on the breathing machine. Six very painful days of trying to take him off to see if he could recover on his own. Six very painful days of saying goodbye over and over again, not knowing what the future will hold. With the strength and love of family around me (especially because of a sweet story my brother told me about my amazing almost 18 year old niece), I was able to go and tell my daddy all the last little things that had gone unsaid like, "I will be okay," and "Don't be scared," and "If you need to go, I understand." Thanks to God, for us, my dad and I didn't leave a lot unsaid. It was very clear to us and to all who know us how much we love and adore one another.
On what would lead up to the last night of Chanukah, Daddy's treatment team posed a very hard question - did we want to take Daddy off of the breathing machine. We knew that by doing so, he would not live. And we knew that those were his wishes, not to keep him alive with heroic measures. That was the most painful question I have ever answered in my life - Yes, take him off of the machine so he can go in peace. We all agreed, and the team moved him to the palliative care unit. I was petrified to go in the room, but with the loving embrace of a nurse who is literally an angel on earth, I made it by my dad's bed. They took out the breathing tube and made him so very, very comfortable. I held his hand. I kissed his forehead. And he just very gently drifted away. And that was it. Three weeks of terror, three weeks of living a nightmare that I have always dreaded was over. My daddy was at peace. I got to hold his hand. I got to tell him everything. I got to spend his last waking moments with him. I'm so lucky, even though it is hard to say that in the midst of all this pain. That angel of a nurse even shaved my father's face after he passed out of respect for him, since my mom had said that he didn't look like himself (he was always ALWAYS clean-shaven). My mom and I drove home that afternoon, and I'm convinced that Daddy painted the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen, just to show me that he was with me. We got home, sad and lonely and feeling this huge empty space, and we lit the Chanukah candles for the last night, the night with the most light. And Daddy helped to enhance that light. So beautiful and so incredibly sad.
Daddy's funeral was very much along the same lines - beautiful and incredibly sad...and so very funny. An orange tabby cat that very much resembled our beloved Spike who died a year ago (and who watched over my dad as if it was his duty) came to the service, rubbed on people's legs, jumped on the bottom shelf of the table, jumped on the chair next to my mom, and allowed her to love on him. This cat's presence was so weird yet so fitting, and the funeral director said in all of his years of work, he had never seen something like it. The 188th came and presented my mom with the flag while Taps was played in the background. Seeing a soldier in full regalia get down on one knee, give the flag to my mom, and say, "I am so sorry for your loss. The United States of America thanks you for your husband's service," was one of the most beautiful displays of respect I've ever seen in my life. Then, my host from Little Rock, a Methodist minister, began the most perfect ceremony to honor my dad. We couldn't get a rabbi in time, and this guy knew and loved my dad, which made it all the more fitting. One of my best friends eulogized my dad and had everyone in tears of awe and laughter by the end. I eulogized my dad because I felt it my duty. I cried the whole time, but I did it with honor. And our Methodist minister wrapped it up with a eulogy that perfectly encompassed my dad, rough edges and all. Then, we all took turns helping to cover the grave, my mom first, me second, the rest of the family, and then friends. It was so beautiful how it all just happened, how everything just flowed. Everyone cried together, everyone laughed together, and the warm embrace of all these people who love my dad helped me to get through one of the hardest days of my life. The fact that I was surrounded by family that I hadn't connected with in years, my sister and her husband, my brother and his family, my late sister's husband, meant so much to me and lifted me up. Wow. Just wow.
And now, here I sit. Trying desperately to understand what has happened over the past three weeks. I'm with my mom for another couple of days before I have to head back to Israel and rejoin the real world. My heart is broken into pieces. But I am at peace. I have a reaffirmed bond with my family, my dad's last beautiful bit of magic that just drew us all together. I am determined to take care of my mom and grow closer to her. And I am ready to continue on with my life infused with a sense of strength that I didn't know was humanly possible. As our Methodist minister friend told me when I was at my lowest point ever, literally falling apart physically over losing my dad, "You've got this. You're strong, Wade strong." And he's right. I take that with me everywhere I go. I am even stronger now than I was before, and even though it hurts like hell right now, I know that my dad is always with me, his love will never die, and that I will always make him proud.
Sending you all my deepest thanks for all the sympathy and all the love and all the support during this terribly difficult time. It's appreciated more than you will ever know.
Friday, November 21, 2014
Life in Israel is Like a Two-Lane Traffic Cirlce...
I want you, for a moment, to use your imagination. Especially if you're reading from a place like the US, you probably don't have much experience with traffic circles. I sure as hell didn't. They exist to assist the flow of traffic at an intersection that doesn't need a traffic light. Think of it this way - they're in place of a four-way stop. Getting in and out of the flow of traffic is tricky enough, especially with Israeli drivers coming at you in a flying, circular vortex of vehicular power (it really is that frightening sometimes). Now, take that circle, and make it two lanes. Two lanes of spinning insanity. And a lot of impatient people who are in that inner ring but who really, really want to exit RIGHT NOW, no matter the damage they cause to the other cars as they cut you off and nearly run over grandma who was crossing the road in the process. And then they continue down the road, seemingly oblivious to the massive accident they nearly caused and most definitely without a care in the world to the extreme spike in blood pressure that you, the other driver, just experienced.
That's how life in Israel is. For me. Right now. Maybe it's the change in weather. Winter is upon us which means rain and sandstorms and bitterly cold nights. The skyline is a peaceful gray right now as I gaze out my window. Maybe it's the upside down security situation right now, with terror attacks becoming more and more frequent and huge mistakes being made on both sides (why can't I just run the world?). Maybe it's the routine of school and internship and work and lessons and somehow trying to maintain a relationship, friendships, and my sanity. I can't put my finger on it. But right now, Israel is making me grumpy, just like that driver in the two-lane traffic circle.
It could be the bureaucracy that caused me to travel three different times to the hospital to pick up the disc of the CT I did a month ago. It could be the laziness of many secretaries in this country that causes so many issues and so many delays. It could be the two guys who rolled up next to me and my girlfriend (and my boyfriend and my dog) while waiting on my friend's taxi that wanted to "hire us" for the evening. It could be the trash in the streets, the dog shit on the sidewalks, and the people who think nothing is wrong with this. It could be the woman behind me at the supermarket who literally stood on my heels with the short-sighted logic that this will indeed make the line move faster. It could be that little, scared voice in my head that is so petrified of what may be...all this talk of the Third Intifada is terribly unnerving.
But then...then Israel, in her own backwards way, makes me fall in love all over again. It was the Chassidim dancing wildly on top of their van outside of a hip Be'er Sheva restaurant, basically stealing men from their girlfriends to dance with them to blaring music about the coming of the Messiah. And the awesome sticker that I got that says, "God loves you." It could be that reassuring smile from the cashier who knows just how frustrating it is to deal with those in this country who were not born with an ounce of patience - and to have hope that not everyone here is like that. It could be teaching someone English lessons in exchange for private yoga lessons (y'all, I hung upside down today on a rope! It was exhilarating!). It could be teaching a class to med students in English about how to effectively communicate with a patient and then immediately running to my own internship of how to care for clients in Hebrew. Life here always has that dichotomy. And just when you feel like you're about to break from anger and frustration, here she comes again to make you fall in love. It happens every time.
So, Israel, even with your endless frustrations, I continue to appreciate your beauty and your surprises. And I love you dearly. Until next time...
That's how life in Israel is. For me. Right now. Maybe it's the change in weather. Winter is upon us which means rain and sandstorms and bitterly cold nights. The skyline is a peaceful gray right now as I gaze out my window. Maybe it's the upside down security situation right now, with terror attacks becoming more and more frequent and huge mistakes being made on both sides (why can't I just run the world?). Maybe it's the routine of school and internship and work and lessons and somehow trying to maintain a relationship, friendships, and my sanity. I can't put my finger on it. But right now, Israel is making me grumpy, just like that driver in the two-lane traffic circle.
It could be the bureaucracy that caused me to travel three different times to the hospital to pick up the disc of the CT I did a month ago. It could be the laziness of many secretaries in this country that causes so many issues and so many delays. It could be the two guys who rolled up next to me and my girlfriend (and my boyfriend and my dog) while waiting on my friend's taxi that wanted to "hire us" for the evening. It could be the trash in the streets, the dog shit on the sidewalks, and the people who think nothing is wrong with this. It could be the woman behind me at the supermarket who literally stood on my heels with the short-sighted logic that this will indeed make the line move faster. It could be that little, scared voice in my head that is so petrified of what may be...all this talk of the Third Intifada is terribly unnerving.
But then...then Israel, in her own backwards way, makes me fall in love all over again. It was the Chassidim dancing wildly on top of their van outside of a hip Be'er Sheva restaurant, basically stealing men from their girlfriends to dance with them to blaring music about the coming of the Messiah. And the awesome sticker that I got that says, "God loves you." It could be that reassuring smile from the cashier who knows just how frustrating it is to deal with those in this country who were not born with an ounce of patience - and to have hope that not everyone here is like that. It could be teaching someone English lessons in exchange for private yoga lessons (y'all, I hung upside down today on a rope! It was exhilarating!). It could be teaching a class to med students in English about how to effectively communicate with a patient and then immediately running to my own internship of how to care for clients in Hebrew. Life here always has that dichotomy. And just when you feel like you're about to break from anger and frustration, here she comes again to make you fall in love. It happens every time.
So, Israel, even with your endless frustrations, I continue to appreciate your beauty and your surprises. And I love you dearly. Until next time...
Sunday, November 9, 2014
The Chills Down My Spine
People are saying it. The news is reporting it. It's on everyone's mind. The Third Intifada is here.
Is it true? I keep trying to pretend that it's not. And even if my stomach is a bit nervous at the thought, I'm still not convinced that it's here. I'm still convinced that it's a tool of the media to get us all scared and up in arms again, a tool of the politicians to help advance their agendas.
But what if I'm wrong?
Last week, there were three terror attacks in Jerusalem. There has been constant rioting since the "end" of the war, and a general feeling of unrest is just floating through the airwaves there.
Today, however, shook me deeper down than any of this other, remote stuff has. My adorable officemate came wheeling around the corner and said, "You've got to come quick! There's a protest happening!" Together, we cautiously walked to where the noise was coming from, and we saw on the outside of the campus gates a very large crowd of people waving Palestinian flags.
Let me pause to say how much I support the right to organize and protest. I think it's beautiful. And this group was supremely organized with their agenda clearly stated. So, kudos to them for the work put into the protest.
The weird part is this - the protesters were mostly Bedouins. From what I know of Israeli history, Bedouins have been historically very supportive of Israel. There are Bedouin units in the army, and Bedouins identify (identified?) themselves as Israeli. I guess this could be coming from a wide range of areas, including complete grief and frustration at how they are marginalized by the Israeli government, are not afforded the same access to education and jobs as the rest of Israeli society, and so on. They're definitely coming with a strong voice to protest, but to do it so vehemently against what they once considered their home? That many of their own family members have died protecting? That's not a good sign, friends.
And I saw all of this happen today, in my beloved city of Be'er Sheva, outside the gates of my university. What does this mean? Are we are on the verge of being divided? Can we not get along? Is this the end of that beautiful air of cooperation and coexistence that we have enjoyed here in Be'er Sheva?
I don't know the answers to any of these questions, but watching that protest today, and watching the counter-protest by the group of Israelis, fueled by energy and emotion, really unsettled me. What's next? Am I being supremely naive thinking that this thing called peace is even possible?
I hope not.
Is it true? I keep trying to pretend that it's not. And even if my stomach is a bit nervous at the thought, I'm still not convinced that it's here. I'm still convinced that it's a tool of the media to get us all scared and up in arms again, a tool of the politicians to help advance their agendas.
But what if I'm wrong?
Last week, there were three terror attacks in Jerusalem. There has been constant rioting since the "end" of the war, and a general feeling of unrest is just floating through the airwaves there.
Today, however, shook me deeper down than any of this other, remote stuff has. My adorable officemate came wheeling around the corner and said, "You've got to come quick! There's a protest happening!" Together, we cautiously walked to where the noise was coming from, and we saw on the outside of the campus gates a very large crowd of people waving Palestinian flags.
Let me pause to say how much I support the right to organize and protest. I think it's beautiful. And this group was supremely organized with their agenda clearly stated. So, kudos to them for the work put into the protest.
The weird part is this - the protesters were mostly Bedouins. From what I know of Israeli history, Bedouins have been historically very supportive of Israel. There are Bedouin units in the army, and Bedouins identify (identified?) themselves as Israeli. I guess this could be coming from a wide range of areas, including complete grief and frustration at how they are marginalized by the Israeli government, are not afforded the same access to education and jobs as the rest of Israeli society, and so on. They're definitely coming with a strong voice to protest, but to do it so vehemently against what they once considered their home? That many of their own family members have died protecting? That's not a good sign, friends.
And I saw all of this happen today, in my beloved city of Be'er Sheva, outside the gates of my university. What does this mean? Are we are on the verge of being divided? Can we not get along? Is this the end of that beautiful air of cooperation and coexistence that we have enjoyed here in Be'er Sheva?
I don't know the answers to any of these questions, but watching that protest today, and watching the counter-protest by the group of Israelis, fueled by energy and emotion, really unsettled me. What's next? Am I being supremely naive thinking that this thing called peace is even possible?
I hope not.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Life, Post Trauma
While the title may be similar to my last blog post, it's so fitting to what has gone on in the past month and a half. First, I'd like to apologize for not updating during my trip to the US and then upon my arrival to Israel. It's been a whirlwind! As for a quick update, my dad had his open heart surgery, and thank goodness, everything went really well. He's still recovering, but he's getting his strength back, and we are all relieved to have that behind us. My mom is doing great - she's as spunky as ever! I just love hearing how excited she is about all the fun things she is doing now. And even though it was terrible to say goodbye to them, I had a great and fulfilling time, and our relationship always seems to get better and stronger (if that's possible) after every trip. So, Mom and Dad, I love you both dearly and visiting two of my favorite people in the world is always amazing.
The boyfriend had an amazing time, as well. We ate, we drank, we hiked, we toured...we did everything possible in our time there. He's definitely been accepted as part of the family by parents and friends alike. We were also terribly spoiled by many of my (and now our) dear friends, and it warmed my heart to be so close to my near and dear.
And now, we've returned to life in Israel, post-war (for now) and with lots and lots of changes. It's safe to say that they are all changes for the better and that we are just trying to get settled before the academic year starts...and before any other hostilities take hold.
Here's what's new for us:
It's a long and exciting list. By October 1st, we'll be moved in, signed up for classes, I'll have finished my last shift at the retail job, and I'll have turned in my last papers to officially finish the spring semester of 2014. Odd, I know, but because of the war and it's staggering impact on daily functioning, university studies only resumed at the end of August, and we were mercifully given extra time to work on papers and assignments. I'm very appreciative of this since there was NO WAY my papers would be finished in the midst of bombings and then with my trip to be with my family.
So, slowly but surely, we're wrapping up the things that should have already been wrapped up, and we're trying to put this war behind us. We are all having to calm each other down at the sound of a motorcycle revving up or at a distant ambulance, and every time a chopper flies overhead, it's hard not to be taken back to the war when these were the gut-wrenching norm. Just for a giggle, you should check out this video that says, "Did you hear that?!" and illustrates how EVERYTHING starts sounding like a siren...
I think the most heartbreaking part of all of this is when I work with my English students. They have all said, "You know, during Rosh Hashana, it's going to start again." Let that sink in for a minute. Adults aren't talking about it like that, the media and all its bullshit aren't talking like that, but the kids feel that when the Israelis go back to the negotiating table (well, they already have...talks started again Tuesday), it just means that bombs will start falling again. And to be honest, I also don't feel that it is totally behind us. There's something in my gut that tells me that sooner or later, I'll have to get used to running down four flights of stairs to the bomb shelter and that I'll again have to cope with my everyday being turned upside down. Oh well. At least from my end, I'll be working on these various peace projects and trying to do my part to make this world a better place.
And with that, I wish you all a Shana Tova u'Metuaka! A sweet and good new year to us all. With lots of love until next time (which will be much sooner than last!), Megan.
The boyfriend had an amazing time, as well. We ate, we drank, we hiked, we toured...we did everything possible in our time there. He's definitely been accepted as part of the family by parents and friends alike. We were also terribly spoiled by many of my (and now our) dear friends, and it warmed my heart to be so close to my near and dear.
And now, we've returned to life in Israel, post-war (for now) and with lots and lots of changes. It's safe to say that they are all changes for the better and that we are just trying to get settled before the academic year starts...and before any other hostilities take hold.
Here's what's new for us:
- We are moving to a new, smaller apartment VERY close to the university in the coming days. It's beautiful and renovated and on the fourth floor, for better or worse, with no elevator. We are very happy with it and with our new and convenient location. Friends, the plastic wrap was still on a lot of the furniture - it's so luxurious compared to where we are now!
- Yagel is starting his bachelor's degree, and I'm continuing on to my second year of my master's. I'm lucky to have enrolled in all the classes I wanted, and I got accepted into the internship that I wanted for this next year. I'll be working to help the families of those suffering with mental illness in many different and dynamic ways, and I'll be working with some of my favorite fellow students, so yay!
- I got a new job. With a tear in my eye but a twinkle in my heart, I am saying goodbye to the retail world (my last shift is Saturday evening!!), and I have been welcomed with open arms into the academic world. I am a research assistant for a professor of social work at my university. It's a mentally challenging job, which I needed, and it's IN MY DEPARTMENT, meaning that I'm totally interested in the material and that I have crucial experience needed for the projects. One specific project I'm working on is a project of building dialogue between Palestinians and Israelis, building peace from the ground up. It's beautiful and wonderful, and I'll be happy to blog about it in future posts.
It's a long and exciting list. By October 1st, we'll be moved in, signed up for classes, I'll have finished my last shift at the retail job, and I'll have turned in my last papers to officially finish the spring semester of 2014. Odd, I know, but because of the war and it's staggering impact on daily functioning, university studies only resumed at the end of August, and we were mercifully given extra time to work on papers and assignments. I'm very appreciative of this since there was NO WAY my papers would be finished in the midst of bombings and then with my trip to be with my family.
So, slowly but surely, we're wrapping up the things that should have already been wrapped up, and we're trying to put this war behind us. We are all having to calm each other down at the sound of a motorcycle revving up or at a distant ambulance, and every time a chopper flies overhead, it's hard not to be taken back to the war when these were the gut-wrenching norm. Just for a giggle, you should check out this video that says, "Did you hear that?!" and illustrates how EVERYTHING starts sounding like a siren...
I think the most heartbreaking part of all of this is when I work with my English students. They have all said, "You know, during Rosh Hashana, it's going to start again." Let that sink in for a minute. Adults aren't talking about it like that, the media and all its bullshit aren't talking like that, but the kids feel that when the Israelis go back to the negotiating table (well, they already have...talks started again Tuesday), it just means that bombs will start falling again. And to be honest, I also don't feel that it is totally behind us. There's something in my gut that tells me that sooner or later, I'll have to get used to running down four flights of stairs to the bomb shelter and that I'll again have to cope with my everyday being turned upside down. Oh well. At least from my end, I'll be working on these various peace projects and trying to do my part to make this world a better place.
And with that, I wish you all a Shana Tova u'Metuaka! A sweet and good new year to us all. With lots of love until next time (which will be much sooner than last!), Megan.
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