No Magic Words, Just a Helping Hand

So there is a great Facebook debate afoot about a blog written for YU's Observer about aliyah being too big a sacrifice to make.

This has been eating at me since I read it.  The reason is that the writer admits that while aliyah is an ideal, many people do not feel that they are really ever going to actually do it, for whatever reason.  I am not upset because of that fact, but I am just trying to figure something out:

How can I explain to people who have not yet made aliyah how great it is?  What magical words can I say, what phrases can I use, what religious issues can I invoke, to suddenly turn on the light bulb above their heads and make them realize that it's the best thing they can ever do for themselves, their families, and their future generations?

The answer is:  Nuttin honey.

This is part of the conversation we olim have all the time - we never thought we could be so happy.  We never thought we'd be OK with this kind of life.  And yet, not only do we not miss our old lives, we desperately want to find a way to bring the rest of our friends and family here so that they can experience this too.

But is there anything we can say?  I doubt it. That's what is so weird.  It wasn't until we got here that we had that realization, so it means THEY have to come here to experience it too....huh...

So I remain frustrated.  I appreciate groups like Nefesh b'Nefesh who made the aliyah process less daunting.  But there is only so much they can do.  What can be done to bring more people to live here?  I have no idea.

I hope that through this blog you non-Israeli readers have had some taste of the wonder of our new life, even with its problems and frustrations. 

So maybe I can do something - offer my help.

If you want to talk to me (and several people have!) about aliyah, I'd be more than happy to discuss any aspect of it.  If you want a friend here to help you have what they call a "soft landing" you've got one.  I'm there for you.  I'll even meet you at the airport and help you through those first confusing days.  I mean it, with all my heart.

I don't have any magic words, but I do have my two hands to hug you when you get here and help you with whatever you need.  And then you'll get it.  Then you'll see what I see.  I can't wait to meet you!
 

You Can't Have It

I think I've donated 7000 shekel to the City of Modiin.  Maybe they will erect a statue of me.

See, you get this property tax bill here.  At the beginning of the year they send you a (paper) bill.

Once your first year after aliyah is over and you are a regular Joe (or Ziv) here, the bill no longer has a oleh discount and is for a humongous amount of money (ref the 7000 shekel).  You can choose to pay it all at once or in installments, and you let them know how you wish to do this.  You can do this on their website.

I am a good citizen (I did not yet know HOW good I was, but let's continue) so I went immediately to the website and chose to pay the bill in 3 installments.  I gave them my bank-issued credit card number and poof!  It was done.  I even got a nice thank you email.

In my next bank statement I saw that indeed installment #1 had been paid.  Excellent, I thought, I sure am smart - I know what to do.

All was well until about 6 weeks ago when I received another paper bill from the property tax office - quoting the same amount that was due.   Huh.  I read that sucker over and over (by now I am not so bad at reading bills in Hebrew) and could not figure out where, if anywhere, they noted that I had already committed to pay this amount over 3 installments.

So I decided to go to their website and put in my information to check my account.  That would tell me that they had recorded that I had set up the payments.

It told me I still owed 7000 shekel.  Then I figured that the property tax was really 14000 shekel, which was alarming but nothing about money is alarming after living in Israel for a year.  So I figured I'd go through the motions of paying again and maybe then it would tell me that I had already paid.

Nope, they took my 7000 shekel (which unfortunately I had NOT chosen to pay in 3 installments) and gladly sucked it right up into the Ministry of whatever.  I imagined the ministry workers throwing my 100 shekel notes around gleefully, planning a big office party.  "We got another one!  Hahaha!  She paid twice!  Wheeee!  We love our jobs!"

Hmmm.  Then I got worried and planned my trip to the Property Tax office.  This is not easy for me. See, I have to go through several steps:

1. Decide there is a need to go to the office
2. Figure out what I want to say
3. Figure out how to say it in Hebrew
4. Practice how to say it in Hebrew
5. Ask one of my daughters to accompany me.
6. Be nervous about it for weeks.
7. Finally decide it has to be THIS WEEK
8.  Not sleep the night before
9. Have a terrible stomach ache the day of
10. Get in the car and go. 
11. Feel the headache coming on.

So Gila and I actually went.  When I sat down and started talking, Gila looked at me weirdly, which only later I realized was because she didn't realize my Hebrew was good enough to get through this conversation (yay! proud of myself!).  I started to tell the woman what happened and she finished my sentence, ..."so you paid twice.  Yeah, it happens a lot."

She went through all kinds of calculations and typing things onto her computer and talking to her supervisor, and then assured me that we would see a refund in our bank account soon.  "How soon?"  I asked stupidly.  "Soon."

So I waited for about a month and not only did we not get a refund, but the first installment of the second 7000 shekel payment showed up as paid.

Back to the office.  This time with my husband.  "Ok," she tells me, "we can't actually refund the money to you but we can refund it to the bank."  Huh.  What does that mean?  "Don't worry," she says, "you'll get the money back."

We leave the office.  I am now pretty certain that we've given the city a 7000 shekel gift.  Hope they use it in good health. 

Then...the next day (WEIRD) we receive yet another property tax bill.  This one shows that THEY owe US money.  So now I will erect a statue to them.

In other news, we were at a supermarket yesterday and when the cashier came upon the bottle of Listerine we wanted to buy, she scanned it and then looked at me disapprovingly.  Then she asked me something. I thought she asked me if I wanted to take advantage of a bargain where I could get 2 for 50, so I said yes because I wanted her to like me.

But then she took the bottle, scanned it again, and put it aside.  Oh, I thought, I'm not getting that bottle, am I.  After a minute or two I realized that what she actually said was, "This is 50 shekel, you don't want it, do you?  Do you want me to delete it from the bill?"  See, it takes me a while to translate....

So, wanting to make friends, I thanked her for saving me from the awful sin of spending too much on mouthwash and agreed that it was very expensive. 

She was so happy that I agreed and now we are besties.









 

Sportacus - My Ulpan Teacher

God has blessed me with eight beautiful grandsons and one granddaughter.  You may be able to deduce that the boys outnumber the girls.

After growing up with two sisters and having two daughters and one son, it took me a while to realize that my grandparenting life would have more to do with guns, trucks, and those sounds boys make when they are shooting something, than with Barbies and braids.  Thank goodness Ariella the Granddaughter is quite girly and allows me to brush her hair and buy her girlie things.

Well, back to the male hordes.  Boys love fighting.  They just do.  When our own son was little, we, as card-carrying Hippie Parents, made sure not to buy him guns because we were sure we knew the recipe for raising peace-loving men. 

He proceeded to create a gun out of a piece of challah.  And shoot his sisters with it. Huh.

My Israeli grandsons have taught me about the various TV shows that they absolutely adore and could watch nonstop for weeks on end.  Nadav, the youngest, is still fascinated by Curious George, but he's the aberration.

The rest of them love things like Power Rangers - they watch this and then proceed to spend hours acting out the stories.  It's great for imagination, and I love hearing the discussions about the tactics of said warriors.  Production-wise, Power Rangers ranks up there with your backyard puppet show, but these guys do not seem to care.

Then there is my personal hero, Sportacus. Apparently this is a TV show which originates in Iceland and the story line involves the lead character who tries to get the kids in "Lazy Town" to eat vegetables and exercise, and has to continually fight Robbie Rotten, who wants them to eat candy all day and just be, well, lazy.

This guy is amazing.  No, really!  He does all kinds of gymnastics, and lives in a super cool spaceship that hovers above Lazy Town, and he is always saving people.  

The reason I'm telling you all of this (I can see you shaking your head and asking what this has to do with aliyah, so just hold your pants on) is that all of these shows are of course dubbed into Hebrew.  As a side note, the mouths of the (and I use this word loosely) actors never match the words that come out of them.  And yet these kids do not even blink.  Why?  Because almost everything they watch is dubbed, so they're used to it.  (Anyone else thinking right now about the SNL Japanese movie skit with John Belushi? I thought so).

Anyway, my point here is that I get to learn Hebrew by watching with them, combining my favorite activities - sitting with my grandkids and learning Hebrew!  See, I have learned lots of Hebrew by watching kids' TV with them - because the child characters in the shows speak at a level only a few higher than the level I speak on! 

My favorite moments involve me watching intently and then asking the six year old, "What does that mean?" and having him (politely and patiently) roll his eyes at me and say, "Bubby, didn't you go to Ulpan?"  I'm sure he's thinking, "Look, I"m 6 and I understand this, and she's [not 6] and keeps asking questions. Sheesh."

So, thank you Sportacus for your contribution to my aliyah and I hope that one day I can take a ride in your spaceship. As long as my grandkids can come with me so they can translate.

Sportacus

Guilty or Not Guilty?

I am not telling anyone what to do, and I am not an aliyah evangelist (weird juxtaposition of words,  I know).  I know aliyah is a tough decision, and even perhaps an impossible one when one has family elsewhere.

I'm not patting myself on the back, either.  We made aliyah because our daughters came first and paved the way and made (and are still making) things easier for us. Yes, we'd always thought of it, thought it would be nice, etc.  But of course with our parents and the rest of our family in the States, we thought, how could we leave everything.  When our friends left on aliyah, we always explained to ourselves why of course THEY could do it but WE couldn't...right now...

Yet I have to admit that living in the States, there was always some level of inner guilt that we hadn't actually just done it. When we wrote to our friends here, or called them, we were jealous that they were THERE, in the place that we knew we were supposed to be.  We'd hear lectures about the mitzvah of living in Israel and felt guilty.  We heard about the wars and watched the news and felt guilty.  We knew that, in a perfect world, we should be there, and that was always there in the back of our minds.

So, life happened and we finally got here.  Then I kept feeling guilty and I couldn't figure out why, for many months.  Then it hit me - I felt guilty that we hadn't made aliyah as a young family and raised our kids here.  I felt guilty that I had not been among the pioneers who built the country. I felt like I had missed something and could never get it back.

Finally, this year on Yom Haatzmaut and Yom Hazikaron, I think some of that guilt is falling away.  No, I didn't come here as a teenager and build the country. And no, unfortunately we didn't raise our kids here.

What I am coming to realize slowly is that I don't feel guilty anymore about the big issue - the part about coming to live here.  It is hard to explain unless you are actually living here, and please don't thing I'm being snooty or anything.  It's just one of those "naaseh v'nishma" things - you have to do it to understand it.

When you are here you are part of a solution, part of a future of the Jewish people.  You ARE doing something, just by making the statement that this is where you live.  Israel is the future of our people and I am no longer a bystander, watching from across the ocean while this country grows - feeling proud, but not in any real way being a part of it. 

I am here, doing a very small bit to help.  Finally.  Time to stop feeling guilty.  Well, about that anyway, because there is SO much more to feel guilty about but that's for another kind of blog....

 

Come! Learn about your benefits!

Last week I received an email from the Olim office in Modiin about a seminar being held today for people 50 and older, about bituach leumi (Israel's version of social security) and the benefits we can expect to receive.  Excellent, I thought, I need to learn about that, I'm going. I'll learn a lot!

Wait, let me stop laughing.  OK, I'm better now.

Now, imagine the scene.

Over 70 people (20 of whom never RSVP'd) struggling to fit into a classroom.  People coming late, of course, and shlepping chairs noisily over stone floors into the room, greeting their friends, gossiping, you know, like in shul. 

Everyone finally sits down and the Olim office woman introduces the speaker.  And then she says, "And please be quiet becasue she does not have a loud voice.. Oh and don't interupt her with questions!  We'll have questions at the end." 

That's when I started giggling.  I haven't stopped yet.

Do you truly expect 70 senior citizens, many of whom have hearing problems, and all of whom are thoroughly confused about the Israeli bituach leumi system, to sit quietly and not interrupt for 2 hours?  In what imaginary, drug-induced world do you think that will happen?

So, the poor woman from bituach leumi starts talking.  Within .05 seconds someone shouts, "WE CAN'T HEAR YOU!"  She tries to speak louder.  Better. OK, now everyone is listening.

She starts out with....a description of the Bituach Leumi structure. And how it differs from what other countries have.  Hmmm.  The natives are getting restless.  Drool is accumulting beneath our desks.  Get to the good stuff, woman!  Tell us what we get!  How many millions of shekel are going to pour into our bank accounts once we turn 62?

She finally gets to real information.  This is how it goes, and I am not exaggerating:

• BL woman:  So, if you are a woman and age 62 or a man and age 67 and you haven't worked here and if you pass the "means" test, or if you have worked here but less than 5 or 10 years, I think, then you may or may not be eligible.  It depends.
• Audience member 1: But I came at age 64 and 3 months and I worked a little so what do I get?
• Audience member 2:  But I have been here for 5 years and worked the whole time.  How about me?
• BL woman:  It depends.

BL woman then launches into the minute detail of how the system works and all the ins and outs.  Drool drool drool.  By this time, people are either catatonic or angry or screaming out their questions.  BL woman looks like she could use a stiff drink. Then a couple of answers she gives are, well, not entirely correct so people in the audience correct her.  That feeling of "why, oh why am I wasting my time with this" keeps wafting over me.

Finally someone asks a basic question, "So what is the difference between national health insurance and our kupat cholim that we pay into every month?"

Silence - oh.  None of us realized that there were two health insurances that we have to pay.  Huh?

It went on and on.  I got a headache.

Then came the highlight of the morning.  The woman from the Olim department in Modiin made an off-hand comment like, "Well, don't forget to pay it - hahaha, it's kind of like the television tax!  You have to pay that too! Or else they'll hit you with a huge bill!  Hahahahaha!"

Stunned, utter silence. Then lo, the cry of the confused immigrant:

"TELEVISION TAX????!!!!  WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???"

Heads turned to neighbors in sheer panic - the people who have indeed paid their TV tax (like me, ahem ahem) were sagely advising those who had no idea what the television tax is and never heard of it before.

Twenty minutes later, after oxygen was administered to several attendees, we got back to bituach leumi.

But my favorite "Olim rock" moment was the British guy in the back who asked, "Why didn't they tell us about national health insurance costs before our aliyah so we'd be prepared?  Is it a national secret?"

And our wonderful Olim advisor's response, "Yes.  It is a national secret.  Now you're here and we'll help you."

So by the time the two hours were over, we were all utterly confused, worried, and wringing our hands, sure that when we got home, waiting at our door would be either (or both):

1. The big, burly TV Tax guy who wants to see if we have a TV so the country can charge us
2. A huge package in our mailbox, with pages and pages summarizing all the money we now owe the Israeli government.

Oh, and don't let me forget to tell you the conversation about the cemetery.  If you live in Modiin, apparently you get a free burial plot in the Modiin cemetery.  If you want to be buried NEXT to your loved one, you have to pay.  No saving seats.  If you want to be buried in another city, good luck buddy, you're on your own.  

All in all, I will just tell you that by the time I left I was giggling like the village idiot.

At least they had coffee and cookies.
 

It's Simple

One of the best parts of aliyah has been making new friends. 

In our community, there are lots of "older" couples like ourselves (I use the quotation marks because in this community, if you are, say, close to 70, you are the absolute oldest person around - and for those of you who don't know it, 70 is NOT OLD AT ALL - I mean it used to be old, but it isn't anymore...but I digress) who moved here because their kids are here, so we automatically have a lot in common.

First of all, we have the guilts about leaving our kids who are not in Israel.  And of course knowing that even if we see them once or twice a year it is definitely not enough.

Secondly, we have made a huge change in our lives after living for decades in one community or city.

Thirdly, our Hebrew is wretched.

I had dinner last Friday night with one couple who arrived sometime last year (yay!  we're not the newbies anymore!) and with whom we immediately became besties. 

We laughed ourselves silly (and no, this was not due to the bottle of wine we consumed) over our own embarrassing moments and shared frustrations:

1. Using the wrong Hebrew word - and sounding (say it with me, people) like an idiot
2. Dust. Everywhere. All the time.
3. Not being able to find _____________[ oh just fill in anything here ] in the stores
4. Driving
5. Parking
6. etc. etc.

But the best part of the evening was when we shared our joy.  The woman told me she'd never had any Zionist feeling growing up and never in a thousand years imagined herself living in Israel.  But, she said, "You know what?  I could never live anywhere else." 

Her husband agreed and asked me, "Did you ever think you could be this happy?  That your life could have this much meaning?  That you could feel so right, so much at home?"

We both had that "I coulda had a V-8" smack-oneself-upside-the-head feeling that we should have been here years and years ago, that we should have raised our kids here.

We then had the usual olim discussion about our friends and family living outside of Israel and how much we miss them and how hard it is to explain this feeling to anyone. 

We just wish they'd come and live here with us.  We want to share this with them, this deep, nothing-was-ever-so-right feeling that this is where we are supposed to be, where we were always supposed to be. 

It's not that it's easy, it's that it's simple.

 




 

My Clocks are ALWAYS Changing

I have had it with clocks.  No, I mean it.

You know that sick-to-the-stomach feeling you get when the clocks change? That yucky feeling that it takes you that whole first day to identify, until you say, "Oh, that's it!  The clocks changed! That's why I feel like someone filled my shoes with cement!"

Well, I live in one time zone and my clients and some of my family live in another one.  I am constantly trying to figure out what time it is and what the people in my life are doing at that moment.

Here's the questions I deal with on a typical day:
1.  What time is it in Chicago now (where my son & family are?)
2.  What time is it in Baltimore now (where my husband is at this moment)?
3.  What time is it for my clients in California, Alaska, Connecticut, and Maryland?
4.  My client in California wants me to set up a phone call between them and someone in Australia where - wait - it's tomorrow.
5.  Oh, and don't forget about the two weeks each spring and fall when everyone else changes their clocks and people in Israel don't - that's when we're 6 hours apart, instead of 7.
6. My client wants me to have a meeting at 9 his time which is 7 my time, unless it was last week when it was 6 my time.

I have tried and tried to get better at this. 

Lots of people in Israel work "American hours." That's fine when "American" means East Coast. Seven (or six) hours?  No problem! That said, it does mean that when I wake up at 7:00 am, my US clients are just going beddie-bye.  AND it means that when I go to sleep at 11 or so, it's only 4 pm (East Coast) or 1 pm (West Coast) - that's a lot of day for them to get through and send me work.

So most mornings I run to my computer and see what came in "overnight."  Then I have questions. Uh oh.  They're sleeping now.

So I wait.  When it gets to be about 3:00 (8 or 9 ET), I figure people are in the office and can answer me.  By the time they get in, have a couple of cups of coffee, talk to each other, and settle down to work, it's usually around 4 or 5 pm my time.  Suddenly it's dinner time here and my phone is ringing and the emails are pouring in.

When I talk to them, I have to remember that it's morning where they are even though it's getting dark here.  I have often caught myself saying "Good night" to their "Good morning" and talking about emailing them "tomorrow" when it's only 10 am their time.

My brain is not good at this stuff.  And I have even used all kinds of computer gadgets to help me remember what time it is where. 

So I am getting used to wondering what time it is in about 6 or 7 different places at any one point in the day.

I'm thinking of buying a sundial.