Broken Hearted in Be'er Sheva

I went in to volunteering an hour early today, so I was sitting alone at the bus stop. An older man walked by and stopped to ask me if everything was all right. I felt fine, but my face must have looked somber or distressed. I thanked him and assured him I was all right.

This is not the first time that a random stranger has expressed concern about my well being while I waited at a bus stop in Israel. It happened for the first time at the Be'er Sheva bus station three years ago. It is one of the more touching aspects of Israeli society.

That was where the touching aspects ended today, however. I waited for the bus for about a half hour, and the whole time, there were a few boys climbing on top of the little bus stop structure, making a ruckus and frightening me.

The reality of the place hit me as I watched the world pass by from the bus window. The apartment buildings here are raised, so as to let air circulate underneath. People congregate under the buildings sometimes. Today I saw an old woman sitting alone there, her walker set out in front of her. She was just gazing ahead. I have no idea if she was content or if she was lonely. I have no idea about her life whatsoever. But that image cut through me.

I even had a thought that the women at the shelter where I work are happier than that woman, because they have things to do and people to hang out with them. And then I felt guilty about trying to put an order on sadness, or trying to organize what's worse and what's better.

The whole horrible reality of everything hit me today. During my research on women's shelters in the US, I found a shelter that has kennel services on site. "Nearly half of the women entering the shelter say their pets have been threatened, injured, or killed by their abusive partner." Somehow, I had been putting information into boxes in my mind and making sense of domestic abuse, however difficult that was. Women can walk out, they can call hotlines, they can come to shelters. But when I thought about the animals, I hit a wall. I couldn't fit this into a box. I couldn't make sense out of the cruelty.

Last night, the volunteers from the women's shelter went to a pub with our volunteer coordinator, a 28 year old angel on earth, Shiran. We had maintained distance at the shelter and it was important to everyone to break down some barriers so we could connect on a more personal level. After gossiping a bit, exposing everyone's love lives, and battling an enormous caterpillar, the conversation turned to politics. Shiran is very left wing. She absolutely hated the army, where she served as a sort of social worker for soldiers (she had to do house visits to determine financial need and she visited the homes of some very poor, very disadvantaged people). She spoke openly about her opinions about the army in general, how wrong it is that the army is glorified and how terrible it is to make 18 year olds guard borders and jump out of planes, and that the army is not a great equalizer, because the rich Ashkenazi (white) Jews enter certain elite units, and everyone else goes into other units. And she spoke about racism in Israeli society, and how she views Zionism as being connected inextricably with racism.

I had always been so proud to call myself a Zionist, but I had never heard Zionism described like this. She told us gently and without a tone of debate, she was just expressing her own opinion and telling us about her personal experiences. I really valued this conversation because I realized I had mostly come into contact with right wing, privileged Israelis.

Shiran told us that when she was a senior in high school, one of her teachers was killed as a result of the Second Intifada. Instead of becoming vengeful and right wing in response, she went in the other direction. She felt that people said meaningless things to her for comfort ("Everything happens for a reason," and, "Only the best die young," and other silly things that don't respect the trauma or depth of this death). And she began to see systematic oppression and racism in Israeli society.

In no way is this post a declaration of "anti Israel" sentiments (I still consider myself a Zionist, even though I have a deeper understanding of what that term means to some people now). Rather, it is a declaration of reality. In some ways, it is a submission. I have known that these issues exist in Israeli society but I have chosen to not give them the weight they deserve. Today, I cannot ignore them any longer.

I am in a safe place this summer in terms of my relationship with Israel. I have my feet on the ground here, and I know that the country isn't going anywhere. I am not surrounded by potential detractors at school. I do not have to constantly be on the defensive. I do not have to counter every allegation of racism or terrorism with a bright, sunny statistic about democracy or technology or gay tourism. I have the space and the time to take in these criticisms, view the oppression with my own eyes, speak with Israeli Arabs, Druze, Ethiopians, and other populations that are discriminated against, and make my own conclusions.

These conclusions are still in the works. The process is painful, though, and I feel as though my heart has been laid open on an operating table and the surgeon has forgotten about me. I am exposed, I am open, I am vulnerable. I have not felt this way in a long time, and I know that ultimately, it is a good position to be in when forming opinions. But it's not easy. It feels the same as a broken heart.

Mandalas and Social Change

This is the second week I have been able to participate in yoga therapy at the women’s shelter where I’m volunteering. A yoga instructor comes in once a week and provides classes for the different age groups of children who reside there. Since I have been working closely with three 14 year old girls, they asked the instructor if my co-volunteer Ariel and I could join in the yoga class.

We start off the class by chanting “Shalooooohm” and taking deep breaths. The instructor is a super calm, super kind woman with great flexibility, strength, and a gentle touch. Sometimes the girls don’t take the yoga very seriously, or they are self conscious, or both. Sometimes they don’t want to do certain poses because they’re worried they won’t be able to, or because they’re 14 and everything is hard when you’re 14.

After about 45 minutes of yoga, the instructor pulls out some pieces of paper with circular patterns drawn on them and some markers and crayons. These are the materials for the mandalas.

There are three rules for the mandalas:

1. Do not compare your mandala to anyone else’s mandala
2. Do not speak when working on your mandala
3. Finish whatever you started--even if you make a mistake, find a way to make it into something beautiful. Don’t crumple up the paper and start over.

I asked the instructor why they color in mandalas. Mandalas have many different meanings and they can represent different things (thanks, Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandala). This is what the instructor emphasized to me:

“Tibetan monks spend hours and even days creating intricate sand mandalas. These mandalas have many levels of meaning and are very beautiful. Then, in a ritual ceremony, the monks destroy their work, brushing the sand away or letting the wind carry it off. This represents the impermanence of all things. Everything has a beginning, a middle, and an end.”

On my program, we talk a lot about sustainable social change. How can we make a lasting impact? How can we continue to help people after our six weeks in Be’er Sheva are up? How can we bring this home to our own communities, and continue it? How can we empower people so they can then empower themselves? How can we teach a man to fish instead of just handing him something to eat?

Sometimes, though, sustainable change cannot be a reality. Families leave the shelter unexpectedly, before we are able to leave our mark. Six weeks flies by and we are on the move before we can see the impact of our work. We are interacting with people with problems outside the scope of our ability and training, and we must leave it to the social workers and the counselors, and hope that our simple act of loving them will matter in the long run.

The mandala reminds us that it is still worth it.

It is worth it to create something beautiful. To work hard, very hard, to do something. Even if that something will be carried off by the wind or destroyed in a brief moment. Everything has a beginning, a middle, and an end. And that’s okay. 

Since making that first mandala, I am not so disheartened. When we were weeding a community garden last night, I was not sad that the weeds would grow back by next week. When we baked cookies with the girls at the shelter, I was not sad that they might not remember how fun it was later, on a rainy day. When I gave the girls encouraging words, I didn’t worry that they might not remember it when they’re older, when it’s time for them to stand up for themselves and believe in themselves.

Because the garden looked beautiful last night.

And we laughed so hard and shrieked with delight when the cookie batter flew everywhere.

And for that moment in time, the girls know they are smart and that they matter.

My legacy will be that I leave no legacy. I won’t know if I mattered. Sustainable social change may or may not happen, and it may or may not have something to do with me. And that’s okay.

Another good informational website on sand mandalas: http://www.yowangdu.com/tibetan-buddhism/sand-mandalas.html

A Few Good Men

While I was doing research at the women's shelter today, the two Arab children I had been working with last week left with their mother. They went to their aunt's house, but really we don't know. The social workers will follow up briefly, and then they will be gone. I didn't get to say goodbye. I saw the girl in the morning and I just said "what's up" in Arabic, and that was the last time I will ever see her. This was a painful reminder of what it means to work in a shelter.

This influenced the rest of my day at the shelter. There is a boy who is the son of a Russian gymnast. His tumbling and dancing skills are incredible. And on top of that he looks like a 6 year old version of an ex boyfriend of mine (in an endearing, not creepy way). He is simply precious. I adore him, and he adores me. But I am not allowed to forget that he could be gone when I get back to work tomorrow. Every evening when I tell him I am leaving, he runs away instead of giving me a hug good bye. I call out to him: "I am returning tomorrow morning!" but he still won't say good bye.

It is difficult for me to work and invest myself in a place where there is so much uncertainty about the relationships I form there. But when I think of what it must be like to be a child growing up in that environment, my heart breaks. Certainty, trust, justice, predictability, routine, stability, friends, adventure--all things that contribute to a child's healthy development--are in very short supply when you spend part of your childhood in a women's shelter (or possibly in several women's shelters).

I was carrying this weight with me as I stood with my co-volunteers waiting for the taxis after work. It was still very hot and bright, and I felt weak against the pressures of the world. We had also been talking a lot about George Zimmerman's case, and I was starting to feel like the definition of "justice" I grew up with is not going to cut it anymore.

When our taxi finally came, I plopped down heavily into the front seat. The air conditioning revived me and I made a little small talk with the taxi driver. He spoke Hebrew slowly and deliberately so it was easy for me to understand him. He said, "your work is difficult, no?" and I said that yes, it was very difficult. He made some comments that made me understand that he had a real sense of empathy for what was going on inside the shelter. Then he said "The director is a very good woman. A strong woman." I asked how he knew the director.

"I am one of three taxi drivers that brings women to the shelter from all over Israel. I travel to Haifa, to Tel Aviv, anywhere, to pick up women at a moment's notice and bring them to safety at the shelter in Be'er Sheva. I have been doing this for many years."

We chatted a little more about the structure of my program and I thanked him for the ride. When we got out, I was struck by the awesome power of goodness.

This apparently gruff taxi driver was in fact part of a team of people who bring women in grave danger to the safety of our shelter in Be'er Sheva. His work must be done confidentially and without much appreciation. He is one of three taxi drivers without whom the shelter would not be able to operate as it does.

Maybe there is no justice. Maybe goodness will have to suffice.

Second Day of Work

My second day of work is not accurately described by this picture, but I work in a women’s shelter, so I’m not allowed to take photographs there. 

This picture shows just how dedicated I am to this volunteer placement, however, because it illustrates my misery during our 30 minute wait at the bus stop this morning. The entire block reeked of fish, bleach, and rotting garbage. My five fellow volunteers and I really thought we might asphyxiate, but our commitment to the Yachdav Women’s Shelter inspired us to wait it out… and we finally caught our bus. 

We had our first full day of volunteering today. I met with the shelter director to talk about the research I will be doing with Ariel, which will be a meta analysis of best practices in women’s shelters around the world. We will also be examining how women of different cultural backgrounds construct narratives of abuse. Then we will assist with creating promotional materials and fundraising plans so that the shelter can expand and help new women. The plans include creating a special space for Bedouin women seeking temporary shelter, apartments for women with adolescent children, and apartments for women who need to stay at the shelter for extended periods of time, over the typical 6-8 months. The expansion will cost about 3 million USD and we still need to raise approximately 1 million USD. 

Game on.

After the meeting and a lunch break, we began interacting with some women and children. 

I have been charged with the task of entertaining and mentoring two Arab tweens at the shelter, a boy and a girl. Today we spent the better part of an hour sitting on the playground, pointing at different objects and body parts, and trying to say their names in Hebrew, Arabic, and English. The children insisted that I attempt the Arabic accent when I used Arabic. I learned how to say ground, sky, tree, eyes, ears, mouth, shoes, sandals, helicopter, how are you (after much hand shaking and confusion), very good, and hello. 

This was the source of much delight for my tween friends. Every time I butchered a word, rolled my r’s for too long, nearly choked on a guttural “ch” sound, or just got completely and utterly confused, they would burst into unrestrained laughter, and so would I! I made a fool of myself, and then it was their turn to try English. The “th” sound was a challenge and “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” became an instant hit.

Just yesterday when we visited, the young girl I’m working with would watch us from different hiding places and run off when we tried to say hello to her. Today, we were rolling on the floor laughing together. It is amazing to see what can change in a day!

Flash News

There is flash news: the world is not fair. There is no justice ever.


These are the harsh words of the woman who manages the women's shelter in Be'er Sheva where I will be volunteering this summer. Today was our orientation and I, along with five other girls from my program and 10 Brazilian/Uruguayan 18 year olds, learned about abusive relationships, the role of the government, the role of NGO's, and the day to day operations of "our" specific shelter.

There are 14 women's shelters in Israel, two specifically for the ultra Orthodox, two specifically for Arab women, and the rest for any citizens of Israel. This shelter where I am working in Be'er Sheva is for all different types of Israelis and currently has an ultra Orthodox family, one or two Arab families, and a diverse group of Jewish families from Israel and Ethiopia. There are about 12 families total, which include the women and their children up to 14 years old.

We began our orientation with a discussion of the six types of abuse: physical, emotional, sexual, financial, religious, and immigration-based. It was horrible to hear about the different ways that people can be cruel to one another and coerce one another. During one particular anecdote that the manager was relaying to us, I asked why the man was not arrested by the police. She started to explain the various (reasonable) reasons why women would not go to the police with their concerns ("he just threatened to kill you?! That happens all the time of course...") and why arresting a man for a night or two might just make him more angry when he is freed.

I was becoming frustrated with this idea that although the husbands are inflicting harm on their wives, the wives are the ones who must seek shelter--put themselves out of harm's way by effectively putting themselves in prison--while the man gets to continue living his life freely.

The manager told me, "There is flash news: the world is not fair. There is no justice ever."

She explained that when she began working at the shelter when she was young, she was idealistic and believed in justice. But over the years she has become so pragmatic, and she does not believe in justice. She told us that the worst part of her job is that she has to turn down women all the time.

"There is a finite amount of staff, money, energy.." She called the phone calls she receives from social workers on behalf of abused women decisions made under fire. "Those phone calls are a certain kind of fire, of bullets, of bombs. 'That man just tried to cut her throat' the social worker will tell me. Everything in me wants to take in this woman and protect her. But if I don't have any more data on that woman--what diseases she has, if she herself is violent--or if I don't have the space in the shelter...I have to protect the 12 families already entrusted to my care.

"No justice. Just reality."


This was not easy for me to hear. My life revolves around the pursuit of justice and fairness. I thought, surely to save a life you could consolidate families two to a room, put up a screen, and get everyone to cozy up. Surely to save a life you could stretch your resources just a bit further. Surely to save a life you could look the other way when government regulations aren't being followed or an illegal immigrant is admitted.

But the answer is, you cannot. Setting those precedents would erode the shelter, would take away its government funding (which provides about 80% of the money for the shelter's operations), and would endanger the current residents.

Because of the manager's iron fist, the shelter today is a beautiful, well-run, positive environment. There is a lovely area for the children and many kids running around welcoming us and trying to get to know us. Each woman has her own room for herself and her children, and she cooks for her own family in a large communal kitchen. The dining room is spacious and organized. There is yoga, animal therapy, and gardening once a week for the children. There are as many social workers as there are residents, practically, and now with the volunteers, nearly as many volunteers as there are children.

The tour of the shelter was the most uplifting part of the day. People were excited to see us and the children especially were thrilled. I was glad to see that the facilities were in excellent shape. After our tour, we had a meeting to discuss our specific volunteer placements. In the mornings I will be writing grants and researching best practices of women's shelters around the world. In the afternoons I will be working with five 12-14 year olds doing fun activities. I can't wait to get started.

The Double Stranded Adventure

I am on two adventures. These adventures spiral and weave around one another, interacting; one is not complete without the other. My first adventure is of the body: missing buses, getting lost, eating strange foods, watching the sun set through the train window. I have a tan on my shoulders and bruises on my knees and blisters on my feet as evidence of this adventure.

My second adventure is of the heart: creating friendships, cultivating a group dynamic, listening more deeply and more patiently than I have in a long time. I'm devoting time to thinking about my role in the group, what I have to offer, and what I can learn from others. The best evidence I have of this adventure is that I felt compelled and inspired to write this down tonight.

Over the last week of orientation, my intimate group of 16 people spent a lot of time discussing our values: empowerment, multiculturalism, sustainability, humility, initiative, collaboration, and Jewish Peoplehood. We have observed these values in action during our visits to Sde Boker, the kibbutz where David Ben Gurion retired, a lone farm in the Negev, and an unrecognized Bedouin village.

We have used these visits to talk about what "home" means to different people, and how land plays into that concept. Here too we can see the intersection of the body and the heart--the physical property that one calls home and the mere feeling of being home.

This has opened my eyes to my immense privilege that I have experienced during my life. I am so lucky that the places where I feel home are also places where I am free to live and visit at will.

I am also extremely grateful that the group of people on my program have made me feel at home so quickly. We are building a beautiful community here, one that is welcoming and intentional.

Now I am looking forward to what else my double stranded adventure will bring, and how my ideas of home and community will evolve as I learn and grow.

Shalom from Be'er Sheva...home!

8 Crazy Nights

Tuesday: My day in Amsterdam. Took the train to Amsterdam Centraal after buying a map of the city in the airport. Used my map to navigate to the Anne Frank House. The line for the Anne Frank House was long, but I met two girls who were traveling after graduating from the US Air Force Academy. They were delightful. Then I experienced the many-storied canal house where Anne Frank and her family/companions were hidden during the Holocaust, until they were caught. Two things really amazed me:
1. I was the only apparent Jew in the museum. The museum was packed. I found it hopeful and inspiring that people care, not just Jews. That seemed like a good sign to me, that everyone was taking it seriously and honoring what happened.
2. Anne Frank had an incredible inner life. Her writing was eloquent and deep. When I wrote in my diary that night about what I had seen in the museum, I felt so clumsy with my words. The way Anne Frank maintained her positivity and humanity during her years in hiding and preserved it for all the world to hear about...wow. Truly awesome.

Wednesday: Arrived in Israel at 3am. Baggage claim by 4am. In a sherut and on the way to Jerusalem by 5am. In bed by 6am. I woke up from the heat of the day at 3pm and it was time to venture out into the world. I had dinner at Chakra with Cathy and Jeff, easily the best meal I've ever had out in Israel! And of course, the conversation was top notch. Then I met up with Ilana from Nativ in Crack Square (sorry, we had to). I felt so connected to my past self to be in the place where I've made such incredible memories. Catching up with Ilana and her friends from the army was incredible. I was humbled to call myself friends with such brave young women--to be a lone soldier! I can't imagine.

Thursday: Woke up late again, whoopsies. Walked to the Old City to deliver a note on behalf of a friend to the Kotel. Took a little detour on accident, ended up getting a tour from a tour guide. He told me he loved me, kissed me on the hand, and asked for money after the tour. Classy.
After the Old City I popped in at Beit Nativ and saw some dear friends and past madrichim of mine. I met up with Yuval and we ate falafel on the corner of Azza and Berlin. I spent some of the evening reading and emailing, but then I got a sudden inspiration to go to White Night in Tel Aviv, a famous night of free concerts and parties all night long. I took a bus from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv at 10pm, made my way to Rabin Square where there was a headphones party going on, met up with Ilana and lots of her friends, and the craziness began. After spending a great deal of time trying to obtain headphones, we regrouped and Cafe Landver and decided to head toward the beach. Our group had more than doubled in size at that point, since there were lots of American-Israeli-young-people there who all knew each other. At the beach, we joined in an Israeli folk dance circle for a long time. My feet blistered and started bleeding but I wasn't ready to call it a night and limp to a bus station so I had a little something to take the edge off and prayed that the sand wouldn't infect my open wounds. Then we went to Mike's Place, the mecca for Americans in Israel. There I met up with more friends, went to a beach club with them, and decided to go for a spontaneous swim in the Mediterranean. It was about 5am by that point, and the sky was starting to get lighter. At that point we just HAD to stay to watch the sunrise (which was totally anticlimactic, by the way) and get breakfast. I got back home to Jerusalem at 8am.

Friday: Brief nap, met Shiri for lunch at DeMasa on Ben Yehuda. So great to see that chamudi again. Then I braved the shuk on a Friday afternoon and took a bus to Efrat where I spent a most restful and educational Shabbat with my Nativ madricha Cori and her new husband and baby! We ate delicious food, talked about politics, read World War Z and discussed the complex issues surrounding a worldwide zombie war, and played with the beautiful baby.

Saturday: A restful day in Efrat, complete with guests for lunch, a bit of reading, a bit of napping, a walk to the playground, and post Shabbat blues. I got on a bus to go back to Jerusalem and went straight out to the bars to meet up with friends, backpack and all. I was going to call it a night around 1:30am when I ran into more friends as I was walking back. I turned right around and we danced the night away.

Sunday: Toured Jerusalem on foot with Shayna! We walked the city twice it seemed like. Lunch at Rimon in Mamila, strolling on Emek Refaim, a wifi/bathroom/fanta break in the lobby of the King David Hotel, a visit to Beit Nativ, a frantic search for a specific Yehuda Amichai poem in an empty Pomerantz bookstore, and a scenic route through Ben Yehuda and the shuk back to the bus station. Then I had a delicious dinner with Shiri and Shy at Foccacia and a great last night out in Jerusalem with Liza and friends!

Monday: My day in paradise/Herzeliya. Gil picked me up from the bus and we went to his pool and then to the beach, where the waves were extreme. After a delicious homemade schnitzel dinner, we went to see Monsters University at Cinema City, got ice cream, and had Stella Artois on the beach at Yam Bar.

Tuesday: The big first day! I met the group and we were off on a bus to the Luzit Caves/quarry where we had a picnic and introduced ourselves. There were scary bats and some horrid dead things in the bottom of the caves but if you ignored that you just saw what was basically an underground cathedral of limestone and sand. Then we got settled in Be'er Sheva with a walking tour of our neighborhood, a meal at a delicious Italian restaurant where youth-at-risk are given job experience and counseling, and then we did some group activities.

My apartment is gorgeous and my apartment mates are DELIGHTFUL! I could not be happier. There is wifi and a great hot shower and everything is clean and we have plenty of space. So different from my first day in Yerucham three and a half years ago. I can't believe how much has changed. And yet, some things remain. I feel at home in the desert. I love the heat and the sand and the smell of the streets. It's very distinctive here. I can't wait to be a part of this neighborhood. Already I've started meeting some of the locals and everyone is very friendly and welcoming. Ahh...to be in Israel.


Jerusalem’s a place where everyone remembers he’s forgotten something
but doesn’t remember what it is.
And for the sake of remembering I wear my father’s face over mine.
This is the city where my dream-containers fill up like a diver’s oxygen tanks.Its holiness sometimes turns into love.
And the questions that are asked in these hills
are the same as they’ve always been: “Have you
seen my sheep?” “Have you seen my shepherd?”
And the door of my house stands open
like a tomb where someone was resurrected.