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.

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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).'

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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.

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Here to stay

It's been a world-wind journey over the past few days.

The feeling of being an 'Oleh Chadash' is not going to sink in for a while, and certainly will not until the Rally is over in a few days time.  Having said that, there's an immediate affinity that I do feel to my surroundings and with the people we meet and talk to along the way. And even on the simplest level, following road signs written in Ivrit after travelling so far and seeing signs in so many other languages has a nice feeling.

I've been an Oleh for a little over 24 hours, and I'm not sure there are many Olim who have started off their stay in Israel as we have. We have a jam-packed schedule until the finale on Wednesday, so I'll just tell you a little about what we've done so far.

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Some inspiration

I write to you now on board our overnight ferry from Italy to Greece, the last country on our voyage before we arrive in Israel. On Monday we traveled from Siena to our evening stop-over in an amazing castle just north of Rome. Tuesday, we drove down to Naples driving through the winding hills of central Italy.

As promised, I'll take this opportunity to share with you some experiences that we have had with a particular individual on this trip.

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