Sometimes Lonely, Sometimes Just Alone

Of course suitcases belong on top of taxis

Hi Friends!  Wanted to pop in and write about Rosh Hashanah which was a few weeks ago.  I moved into my new apartment on Wednesday afternoon just a few hours before Rosh Hashanah.  The whole day was the kind of exhilarating that you just know will end with a crash- and it did.  Moving suitcases from Michal’s place to my beautiful new room, beginning to put clothing into shelves, and not quite knowing my neighborhood at all was a mix of ups and downs.  (Thanks to Micah who helped me move them and of course that involved strapping a suitcase to the top of a taxi!) When I went to take out money for rent, Bank of America locked me out for fear that I was committing fraud on myself.  While I suppose I’m happy that the security was that good, it all just added to a crazy day of running around and things not going quite right.

Simanim for Rosh Hashanah at the Ozerys

I had worked pretty hard to get myself invited to different meals throughout the three-day yom tov which was especially difficult because I had only been in the country for 6 days and because I didn’t know my kitchen yet so cooking wasn’t an option.  The first night almost the entire extended Liben/Shilor/Ozery clan in Israel gathered at the Moshav (where Aunt Shirah and Uncle Menachem are founding members) for a festive Rosh Hashanah meal.  Upon return, as I was ready to pass out for the night, I realized that for the first time that I had arrived in Jerusalem I was sleeping in a bed alone.  Staying with Michal in her studio apartment meant sharing a bed with her and the physicality of the week of searching for an apartment, moving suitcases, and walking around a new environment had come to a culmination of beginning this literal new year physically alone.

Not the greatest feeling to fall asleep with, and when I woke up with an infection I wasn’t too pleased.  Unsure of where to go to shul, I looked at a map trying to navigate shortcuts through my new neighborhood.  And then the scariest thought came to me: if I didn’t go to shul today, not a single person would know and not a single person would care.  For someone who talks about building community as much as I do, it was a crazy realization that I had none.  And in all places in the world, Israel is where I felt most alone on Rosh Hashana because I had no immediate family who wanted to go to shul, no friends who did not have a program to fall back on, and no grounding in the neighborhood that will become my home.  Of course, it did not help that in my father’s beautiful Rosh Hashana sermon he confessed to the entire community that he wanted to tell me to stay in America and not go to Israel just yet, but knew it was best to encourage me in times of transitional uncertainty.  Yes, I was surrounded by people walking to shul, eating festive meals, and davening at a plethora of synagogues.  I was by no means alone like I was that first night in the apartment.  But I was profoundly lonely.  In a way that I can only think of feeling a few other times in my life.

Right after arriving in the new digs

Of course after three full days of meals, new friends, blisters, and getting lost and lost and lost, life has a funny way of just going on.  At the time of this writing, three weeks later, this seems trivial because the majority of my experience has been overwhelmingly positive.  But to fully comprehend what it means to make a significant transition in one’s life, or for you as my friends and family to understand what this experience has been like for me, it would be dishonest to not write about those three incredibly difficult days in Jerusalem.  They are the foundation on which I have begun to build my new life here; integral to understanding the experiences I have since had.

Welcome to Jerusalem, Part II

Hello from Jerusalem!

This week began my adventures as a college graduate in a new country, walking the line of the familiar (Jerusalem, English, family) and the unfamiliar (Jerusalem, Hebrew, new people).   It’s been a whirlwind of five days and it’s not settling down anytime soon, but I’m trying to enjoy it all, take everything in, and follow wherever my instinct leads me.  Sometimes that’s down strange streets that I shouldn’t be walking on, but right now it’s in a wonderful coffee shop with a huge salad that I simply cannot finish and the first wifi I’ve gotten of the trip.

Where am I living?  Great question, I’d like to know the answer to that, too.  I’ve been staying with my cousin Michal in her studio apartment in the neighborhood of Nachlaot while searching for apartments.  Michal is an angel.  She is graciously sharing her home, her time, and her friends and I would probably be living on the street if she were not here to have me.  Since my arrival on Thursday evening, I’ve seen seven different apartments and am hoping to sign, or at least solidify my placement, by tonight.  So I probably will not move in before Rosh Hashanah like I had hoped, but I am doing my best and meeting some really cool people throughout the search.  Not to mention some adorable guys who just happen to have my number now.

On Friday the plan was simple; meet with Aunt Shirah, open a bank account, and then continue searching for apartments.  But nothing here is simple and after asking Shirah in advance if going to the bank on Friday would be a problem, because Israel has weird laws, we called in advance and then showed up.  Just to be told that Americans cannot open bank accounts on Friday because and I quote “Obama made a new law and so we cannot do Americans on Friday.”  Thus begins the classic Israel experiences that will continue throughout my “temporary sojourn” here.  See, I need an Israeli bank account so that I can write checks for rent and take out money without a bank fee.  But of course ALL banks charge fees when you withdraw money from them no matter what (scam city, population every bank in Israel) so the bank was only as pressing as the apartment hunt was successful.  Luckily, or not, for me, I had a few days to sort that out.  I retuned on Sunday to open the bank account with a woman who opened my Saba and Savta’s accounts for them when they made aliyah (more classic Israel, this time in a good way), and after two hours of simply waiting, and another 90 minutes of broken English, decent Hebrew, and approval from the Tel Aviv office, I now have signed a million papers that seem to say that I have a bank account.  This of course is still to be determined as I did not yet receive a bank card, checks, or have any money in the bank.  I kind of think that I signed my life away to the Israeli government, but only time will tell.

Some of you have asked me about my safety.  I am completely fine and the country is doing great.  I suppose the unofficial welcome to Israel has been that I have a gas mask.  But we’re all great over here.  Jonah, who I saw on Monday when I went to Tel Aviv to help move him in, unfortunately must stay on base for Rosh Hashanah because of what’s going on up north.  He blames Syria, I blame the army.... Semantics.   In the mean time, life goes on and my quest for the best coffee in Jerusalem continues.

The transition is difficult- it’s hard to be in a limbo-kind-of-vacation-apartment-searching-holiday meal-crashing-not-yet-working period of time, but I’m trying to make it work.  Walking around a lot, catching up with friends, and altogether feeling good and healthy.

The good news?  I don’t think it will ever get old waking up in the hot Jerusalem sun and feeling the cool breeze at night.  I’ll use that as my guide over the next few days as we bring in a new year and hopefully a new apartment.

Shana Tova,

Sara Miriam

My Cousin, Liel

At a little over 15 years old, my cousin Liel passed away this week. Liel had autism and a heart condition that in many ways defined much her life. She was also diagnosed with epilepsy a few years ago and at school this past week she had a seizure and was not found until at least a few minutes afterwards. By the time she was rushed to the ER, Liel had lost all of her brain function and after time with family she was taken off of life support. Her funeral was held in Jerusalem on Wednesday.

I have very few memories with Liel. It pangs me to say, to write, to admit. It’s upsetting to have such few memories with someone who you are supposed to be so close to. Every time I didn’t see her, or the other kids, in Israel, every time I used the excuse that I would be back, that there would be more time to visit seems trivial now. The truth is that 99.9% of the time there is a later. And there’s no way to predict when that later won’t come. Instead of beating myself up about the lost time, I am eternally grateful for the memory of Liel I have, and I would like to share that memory with you. 

In 10th grade I spent a semester abroad in Jerusalem and decided to spend a Shabbat with my cousins Idan, Sapir, and Liel in their home in French Hill. It was a phenomenal Shabbat, one I talked about for months afterwards. These children were beautiful- gorgeous faces and smiles and fresh energy excited to spend time with their cousin form America. My aunt Leora cooked the most delicious chicken, Sapir and I read in English together, and Idan and I stayed up all night playing Connect 4 (which I schooled him in). All the while the three kids fought over who got to sit on the beanbag chair that our Aunt Shirah had gotten for them as a present earlier that month. After Idan went to bed I chatted with my Uncle Mike catching up until I fell asleep. (Every time I see my Uncle Mike he remembers me as the 10th grade girl from that Shabbat, even though I have spent time with him almost every year since).  The next morning, the three kids and I continued to play and talk. At some point we realized that Lieli had wandered away and we went to find her. And boy were we not ready for what we found. Liel had taken the beanbag chair to claim as her own, moved it to her room, and subsequently pulled it apart spilling all of the little beans inside of it. Idan, Sapir, and I burst into a fit of laughter when we saw Liel sitting there amidst a sea of white balls. She had claimed her territory, queen of the beanbag chair, and we all jumped into the sea to join her, throwing tiny white balls of beenbag chair-filling at each other. I am convinced that to this day they still find remains of the chair-filling in their house. Aunt Shirah—if you were wondering, that beanbag chair was put to great use by all of us. 

When you think of someone who brought so much joy and overcame so many challenges, you wonder, how do you find God in this empty space? In Hebrew, Liel, means “my God.” Liel’s organs have been donated and as of now, four people are going home form the hospital healthier and happier than before. Liel continues to live through those who have her lungs, kidneys, and pancreas. This is one profoundly physical and beautiful way that God is found in our realm.

Now, more than ever, her name seems appropriate.  Through her challenges and her enduring smile I know that she taught so many people, as my Uncle Michael wrote, “lessons of acceptance, the need for a prolonged patience, and the value of unconditional love.” Where do we find God?  Precisely in these lessons that Liel has taught those around her.  By remembering and emulating acceptance, patience, and unconditional love, we testify to Liel and her legacy as an embodiment of God on earth. 

May her name be a blessing.