Who will take care of my fruit trees?
Recently, I started looking for a new gardener, someone to cut my small lawn and maintain the flowers and shrubs - but mostly someone who will care for the six beautiful fruit trees and grape vine in our yard. Before moving to Israel I had a small garden, growing tomatoes and herbs mostly. But in Israel there's something unique about planting trees in general, and fruit trees in particular. These are a point of great pride, and its a real pleasure to be able to harvest and enjoy fruits grown in the land of Israel. One of those referred to me during my search, by someone whose yard is particularly beautiful, was a gardener who happened to be on miluim (military reserve duty) until the end of the month. This made me wonder whether if I were to hire him there could be extended periods during which nobody would take care of my garden and fruit trees. This also made me realize that while so far we have been immune to military service and the need to do reserve duty in my own family, it won't be that long before this changes. 'Al tidag' - I am not a fish
There are many challenges along the road to making aliya and successful absorption in Israel. I realize that as challenging as things may be, we have it much easier than the waves of olim who preceded us, whether in the first and second aliya, my grandparents' arrival in the 1930s, waves of Jews from Arab lands in the 40s and 50s, Soviet and Ethiopian Jews more recently, etc. Among the many challenges is language: learning Hebrew. Acquiring Hebrew is the product of formally studying in an ulpan, but also interacting with other Israelis and learning from them and their Hebrew in real time. But because Israel is a country of immigrants from all over the world, grammar, slang and accents are not uniform, so to the ears of a relatively new immigrant, one never really knows if the real Hebrew used on the streets is what all Israelis use, or just that of another oleh who does not know any better than another. Another challenge is that sometimes it's very easy and comfortable not to have to learn Hebrew, and one can speak his or her native language, in my case English, and get along just fine. Recently, I heard a story about a neighbor's grandmother who lived here for decades, and died here, but never spoke Hebrew. But that does make those moments when one has to speak in Hebrew all the more challenging, especially when your grandchildren are not raised to speak your native (or most comfortable) language. I was reminded recently of an experience that took place when I dropped my youngest son off at gan (kindergarten) for the first time. He's the youngest of our six children and our only sabra (native Israeli.) We only speak English in the house so he was in for a culture shock as well as the trauma of being left alone for the first time. I said to the head of the gan (a veteran immigrant herself from Tunisia) as I left, B'hatzlacha (Good luck). She replied, "Al tidag (don't worry)." My verb conjugation was very off and I replied, "Ani lo dag (I am not a fish)," when what I meant was, "Ani lo do'eg (I'm not worried)." I think she understood... I hope she did. Olim with PhDs vs. the Education Ministry
People who move to Israel are not referred to by local residents as immigrants. They are referred to in Modern Hebrew as olim - "ascenders," lost souls who were finally allowed to ascend to the spiritual spheres that only the State of Israel can offer. That is, if they're Jewish. But leaving the ethnic and religious debate aside, the issue of new immigrants to Israel has never been dealt with lucidly. Over more than sixty years, a myth has been cultivated of grateful immigrants, overcoming great difficulties in the struggle to be a part of Israeli society. Abandoning an inferior lifestyle in their countries of origin, they are at the threshold of a new life and a better future. This can be a true myth for many immigrants. But like any other myth, it leaves little room for anyone who does not fit the mold. The possibility that some new immigrants have a past; that they can be competent, well trained professionals who can contribute to Israeli society as well as to benefit from it, clashes with the romantic notion that some pioneering efforts are required on the part of new immigrants. Keeping in mind the heroic tales of their parents and grandparents who immigrated to Palestine in earlier times, Israelis judge the experiences of new immigrants with perceptions taken from the first half of the twentieth century. To come to Israel and land (so to speak) a good job off the cuff seems to many Israelis a sacrilege. Particularly the arrival of highly professional immigrants with doctoral degrees strikes an emotional cord with Israelis who remember, either from the stories of their own ancestors or the stories of others, the pride that highly professional immigrants in the nineteen-thirties took at working the land and performing manual labor. Many of them feel that today's immigrants should, of course, be able to work in their chosen professions but not right away. An oleh's story: Beating my head against the wall in Israel
I came to Israel for love of the land. There is no other place in the world to raise a Jewish family, and the social and educational klita experienced by myself, my wife and three daughters has been nothing short of remarkable. My professional klita, however, my "welcome to Israel," would have had the typical US board-certified physician swimming the Atlantic to get back to America. I am a recent graduate of an excellent program in pediatrics, at a children's hospital ranked by US News and World Report as one of the top institutions in the US. I am US board certified in pediatrics. We celebrated the one year anniversary of our aliya just days ago, and I have become one of Delta's favorite customers because I continue to hold a position in a pediatric emergency room in the US. I am paid more for a week's work in the US than I would receive monthly as a more highly trained physician here (see comments on salary made by an Israeli cardiologist in The Jerusalem Post, August 14, 2009). In a short-sighted policy unmatched, to my knowledge, by any other first-world country, I am permitted to commute back to the US and work without paying anything in tax to the State of Israel, while at the same time I am effectively prohibited from doing comparable work in my field in Israel. Why? The Israel Medical Association (IMA) has required return to residency before allowing me to work and to advance in my field. Learning the ropes
This is the third entry in a series of Aliyah Stories by Darrell Ginsberg. To catch up, read his first entry The Landing followed by A new home in an old home. I decided to make a trip to the grocery store to get some food and see about getting a phone to call home . I walked over to the Joseph Meyerhof Mini-Mall/Retirement Home and the store owners were quick to pull me into their stores, give me tea, and tell me stories of their late-uncles who also came to Israel from the old-country. Joseph Meyerhoff mini-mall was similar to the old country only with futuristic prices. The city had placed the retirement home in the middle of mini-mall three years after the mini-mall opened since the supermarket lines moved too quickly and there was too little haggling over prices to comply with Israeli Municipal Buy-laws. The people from the retirement home were happy to be giving back and after some time felt comfortable enough with the locale to have naps in the aisles of the stores. A new home in an old home
For Part I of Darrell's arrival in Israel, click here. After sifting through the joyous celebration on the tarmac, I made my way into the terminal to begin the bureaucratic balagan [chaos]. The time spent running between immigration offices at the airport gave me my first lesson in traditional Israeli folk-dancing. Participants move swiftly, impatiently and irately between government offices looking for a non-existent person, form or stamp. The dance is performed to differing simple melodies but the customary refrain always includes 'we don't handle this type of work... we are closing in 10 minutes....come back tomorrow...(sung in Hebrew, Yiddish or Russian).' A Mossad situation
Because nobody's ever questioned me about my involvement with Israel's top-secret spy agency, the Mossad, I'm now ready and willing to talk. It all began while I was still living in Toronto and planning my escape to Israel. One day I stumbled upon an advert in a national Canadian newspaper inviting people to join the Mossad by applying via their new website. Yeah, I was also very surprised to discover the rather unclassified ad. Anyhow, I applied but hadn't heard back from them by the time I had left for Israel to make Aliyup. This, incidentally, would be my second attempt at settling successfully in Israel. My very own "Second Aliyah" if you will. The non-accent
When I made aliyah, I didn't give my accent very much thought. I have a near-perfect Israeli accent when I speak Hebrew, which, I have learned, is both a blessing and a curse. When I go out with other olim chadashim [new immigrants], they're all sure that Israeli vendors are trying to rip us off. As we approach booths in the shuk [market] or at the Nachalat Binyamin art fair, my friends' voices drop to hushed tones. "Ask him, in Hebrew, how much the necklace costs," someone will whisper, then stand hunched behind me, listening for an answer and hissing demands as I try to negotiate the price. Life as a Jewsician
Some folks make aliyah for religious reasons, others for nationalist reasons. And then there are songwriters like me who come to Israel for no apparent reason, and decide to stay, until they're asked to leave. Being the wandering Jewsician that I am, I've recorded in a number of major studios in Toronto, Montreal and New York. But there's no place like Tel Aviv for making music as I, an immigrant from Canada, was aboot to find oot. (So like that's how they speak in the Old Country, eh?) The landing
The blood dripping from my nose tasted salty and I wondered if that's the way blood always tasted or if I had some leftover airplane peanut shells on my upper lip. I had just emerged from a 13-hour aliyah flight full of religious people singing, rebellious babies crying, and redundant Israeli immigration workers questioning my reasons for making aliyah. Nonetheless, it was a welcome return to the land of my forefathers and four mothers when we rejoiced in song and cheers as the wheels of the 747 touched-down. On the tarmac at Ben Gurion Airport I felt like an exiled former dictator returning home on the same plane as a returning Eurovision champion. Flowers, cheering crowds, and a spread of sandwiches were waiting on the runway, but no-one was really there to see me. The plane evacuated in a mob of head-covered humanity eager to reunite with their loved ones and tuna baguettes. |
 |
 
Combined feed for all JPost.com blogs
Top Rated Posts
Tags:Blogroll |
Comments (3)
