It was Independence Day in Israel last night and today (Jewish holidays run evening to evening) and there were many events on the Kibbutz to celebrate. You may remember my "Bird Dance." Well, we performed the dance (opening act in fact) for the entire Kibbutz after a lovely holiday meal on the lawn. I will make note that all of the tables were "reserved" and only after 15 of us stood dumbly with trays in our hands in search of seating did someone abdicate and empty table for us. But I digress, the dance went well (as well as such a dance can go) and after we rejoined our fellow Ulpanists to watch the rest of the show.
It was great! There was dancing, singing, kids performing on bicycles and dancing to old Israeli folk music. As I sat on the grass with 900 Kibbutzniks I felt a sense of unity, camaraderie, and an overall warm and fuzzy feeling. It was what I always imagined Israel was supposed to be. I definitely felt a swell of pride and sense of belonging as I watched. As with all Independence celebrations, the show ended with a fantastic fireworks display. It was a special experience, and I even started to think "so this is why people make Aliyah..." (Aliyah= Immigration to Israel, and interesting lingustic fact. Aliyah comes from the verb "To Ascend.")
Riding the high my friends and I went to Zandali (the Kibbutz pub) where there would be a sing-a-long to Israeli songs followed by a dance. We walked in to a crowd of mixed ages and made our way to an empty table in the back. Immediately I felt all eyes on us. We weren't being particularly loud (only two of us infamously loud Americans were in the group). No one was dressed inappropriately, and everyone was behaving respectfully. Yet, every pair of eyes gave us the once over, as if to say "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"
Now, many people in the Ulpan and Israel as a whole accuse Kibbutzniks of being snobby--especially to Ulpanists. Until last night, I hadn't really felt that. I feel welcomed by the people I work with, and have had lovely conversations with some of the older members of the Kibbutz. The young people simply ignore us, which I take no personal offense to. After all, the Ulpanists leave after 5 months, and they're still here. But I've never felt unwanted, or out of place, until last night. In fact, while I'd like to think I'm a respectful, aware, and polite person, I felt like an obnoxiously loud delinquent in offensively florescent clothes by the way I was being looked at. That, or I had something really nasty in my teeth. I wont say that all Kibbutzniks are snobs. Or even most. Don't get the wrong idea--they're good people. It was just a a really disappointing end to what was a really great and unifying experience.
Today we had a BBQ just for the Ulpan. Lots of food, some wine and beer. It promised to be really fun. It was... nice? Even though it had potential, it just seemed to fall flat. Like a bad dinner party, people didn't mingle, conversations weren't shared, and as soon as people finished their plates they left. The group is pretty fragmented. It reminds me a lot of high school. Cliques are formed easily, but are not dissolved as simply.
Perhaps I've been spoiled in recent years by having diverse open-minded friends. But here, it sometimes feels silly and trite. I'm being myself, enjoying most everyone's company, but sometimes I lack the energy to deal with juvenile dramatics. Okay, I've never had the energy to deal with juvenile dramatics. I'd rather walk away and spend time with a book.
Too bad I ran out of all of my books. My aunt gave me my Mom's English romance novels that she left the last time she was in Israel. I may be forced to read some until I find a bookstore. (I love you Mom, but we have entirely different taste in literature.) So despite the available reading material, I sometimes just want to escape for a bit. It's difficult to leave such a fortunate social network of people who "get me." Curiously, no one here seems interested in learning too much about each other. Most of them would rather talk about guns and boobs. Shockingly enough, my interest in either topic is rather limited. It's been a while since I've had a really decent conversation.
Someone mentioned Stanley Fischer in class the other day and I was pretty excited. A few of you may know that I wrote my Economics senor comps on Fischer and the Israeli Central Bank. And a select few of you may even remember I used him as my role model in my USC interview. So clearly, I was thrilled at the potential conversation starter. Unfortunately, no one seemed interested in learning about how he took Israel off of exchange rate targeting and thereby strengthened the value of the currency. I'm sure most of you wouldn't be interested in having this conversation with me either. However, you would at least shrug and roll your eyes good-naturedly and say "That's Shosh for you." It's that endearingly understanding eye roll and shoulder shrug that I miss so much. Even when you were only humoring me.
As I mentioned earlier, this entry is more of a processing outlet for the mixed emotions I've experienced the last two days. I'm still having an amazing time here. My goals for the trip are already being met:
1) Learn Hebrew, in progress
2) Get a tan, check (sunburn counts right?)
3) Have fun, definite check
Even though I've been here six weeks already with about twelve to go, I can't wait to see all of your faces. I've never doubted how lucky I've been in life. I am in a beautiful place, learning and challenging myself in ways I never thought possible. Yet, it makes me feel good to know that no matter how out of place I may feel at times, I have the perfect place to come home to--B-school, something I've wanted for so long, and more importantly people who I love and make me happy.
So thanks for sitting down with me and letting me talk it out. It was great. Next time, we need to get Pinkberry.
PS. For those of you looking for a book recommendation please check out Jonathan Ames' My Not So Secret Life. It's a fantastic collection of essays from a sarcastic, neurotic, over-thinking Jewish writer from NYC. I've decided he's the male version of the writer I want to be. Hilarious and inappropriate, a guaranteed laugh. (I got looks on the beach in Tel Aviv from laughing so loud at this book).
