It was with a sense of great satisfaction last summer that I managed to convince my parents to take my sister and I on a family trip to Israel. Years of Hebrew school had sparked my interest in the Holy Land; the recent celebration of my sister's Bat Mitzvah intensified this interest. So, it was with perfect timing--actually, the day Ambassador Michael Oren came to American University--that my parents called me up to tell me, "We're going to Israel!"
Naturally, I was very excited about my upcoming trip. Who wouldn't be excited for the beaches of Tel Aviv, the camels of the Negev, and the Western Wall in Jerusalem? It came as a great surprise to me, then, when my mother told me one of her real motives for taking this trip: she wanted to see her aunt, her cousins, and the family she had really never gotten to know.
A little bit of backstory: after the Holocaust, my grandmother and her sister spilt paths. Betty, my grandmother, came to Baltimore, and Chana, her sister, went to Ramat Gan. This was in the later 1940s, upon their departure from German displaced person camps. After this, they only saw each other once more during a trip by Chana to the United States in the 1970s. My mother, only a little girl at the time, did not remember much about it.
Fast forward a few decades to July 2010, upon our arrival in Tel Aviv. That night, my mom called her cousins and made plans to see them that evening. Hours passed and we waited outside of the hotel for their car. Finally, they pulled up and my mom's cousins, Miriam and Zahava, got out of the car, walked around to the back, and opened the door. Who did I see? The splitting image of my grandmother, albeit a bit thinner! Here in front of me was my grandaunt: a tiny, blind woman with a remarkable story. Here was a woman who had survived the Holocaust in her teenage years, moved to Israel as a Zionist pioneer, and built up this state that we all hold so dear today.
My mother walked up to her and they immediately embraced. Here, after so many years, was my mom and her aunt. We proceeded to walk down the cobblestone promenade on the beach of Tel Aviv to find a place for dinner. It was no place for an elderly blind woman, but she persevered! As she walked arm-in-arm with my mother, the two began to talk. She did not speak English, though, so my mom was forced to speak to her in the broken Yiddish she remembered from her childhood. This was the summer before I started taking Hebrew classed at American University, so I could only communicate to her if somebody translated for me. Nevertheless, it was a remarkable experience and the emotion of the event spoke louder than any words.
We spent several days on that trip with the Israeli branch of the family. Since then, I have been to Israel once more, this past December, where I was only able to see one of my cousins. This coming Rosh HaShanah, I will be returning to my family's home in Ramat Gan. This time, however, I will have a year of Hebrew from AU under my belt in addition to a month of ulpan. Seeing my family is really exciting, but what excites me even more is that I finally be able to talk, albeit on a smaller scale than I would like, with my grandmother's sister. In my mind, if that doesn't make this whole experience here at Hebrew University worthwhile, what does?
My mom, left, with her aunt Chana, center, and her cousin Miriam, right.
After lunch, we took a break to allow people to catch up on homework, take a nap, etc. At four o'clock in the evening, we regrouped and played a game of High Holiday--Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur--jeopardy. Out team lost, but we had a lot of fun in the process. Jeopardy was proceeded by a question and answer session with the rabbi on the Holy Holidays. A range of questions were asked, from confusion about proper shofar technique to "What does it mean to be the chosen people?" This was followed by dinner and a musical havdalah service. There is perhaps nothing more unique in all of Judaism than the havadalah candle; what a treat at the end of a long day!
After the shabbaton ended, we had to move everyone's tables back to their rooms. The biggest challenge was Esther's because she lives on the ninth floor of her building. As we were walking with her table, it hit me: I had to use the bathroom... badly. So, we decided to run with the table. This was not so easy, but we got to the elevator and shoved the table inside. Not surprisingly, the elevator seemed to move particularly slow and I felt like I was about to burst. When we finally got to the ninth floor--comah tayshee'eet--we threw the table out of the elevator and burt through Esther's door... right into her roommate's private havdalah service. This was not a normal havdalah service; this one had drums and other instruments as well as incense and mood lighting. I still had to use the bathroom, though, so I hopped back in the elevator and ran into Rachel's room on the seventh floor. The whole experience has to rank among the funniest moments I'll have at Hebrew University.
Imagine trying to take a table to the top of one of these buildings!
After the table experience, I went back down to make a minion for the evening service. Here, I started talking to a kid who actually studied abroad at Hebrew University last fall, had graduated in the spring, and was back in Israel as a volunteer for the next nine months. It turns out he had interned at the Anti-Defamation League this summer. In fact, he started working in the Washington, D.C. office the week after I left. Small world! It is absolutely incredible how often people make connections here. It seems like all Jews are connected in some way.
I know I've said this before, but I'm going to take a hiatus from blogging tomorrow night. The final exam for ulpan is on Monday and I want to study all of Sunday without any distractions. On a positive note, the next time I post I will be completely done with ulpan. After some 100 hours of Hebrew class, it will be time to celebrate!
you met Jacob? He's a good friend from my time at Hebrew U!
ReplyDelete-Linda