Volunteering-palooza: the Raison d'Etre of This Year

Considering that we're here on a program focused on volunteering in Yafo, I think it's high time that some mention was made of what we're actually doing with our time. When we're not being treated to homemade pastries and turkish coffee by Essam, the wonderful man we buy our vegetables from, or having lots of guests for Shabbat, we're actually spending time being reasonably productive. While my Hebrew prevents me from being a truly productive and/or functioning member of society, my English and teaching experience are actually making me feel like I'm contributing something to my adopted community. Thanks, mother tongue. You're pretty great. During the first month of the program, we were able to shop around at various community organizations, schools, NGOs and the like in order to figure out where we would fit in and be useful.

With that said, here are my volunteer placements:
1) Beit Daniel, a mixed kindergarten that is a project of the Daniel Center for Progressive Judaism.
2) Aros El Bahar, an Arab women's organization dedicated to women's education, legal rights, small business development, the prevention of early marriage, and to being a safe space for the women of Yafo.
3) Ironi Zayin's College for All program, an intensive and early intervention after school enrichment program based out of a mixed high school
4) Ironi Chet, an Orthodox high school with a diverse population of Ethiopian, Ashkenaz and Sephardi students.

I'll be splitting this post into several posts, so stay tuned as there is also a distinct possibility of Nate sharing his thoughts.


Part One: Beit Daniel
A kindergarten/nursery school suffering from an inexplicable lack of nap time

The Israeli school system isn't really comparable to the American system in terms of structure or pedagogy, other than the fact that there is generally a classroom and there is generally some sort of attempt to impart knowledge. Think back to the last time you taught or volunteered or tutored at a school. There was probably some sort of orientation or background check or conversation about rules and regulations. Oh no. Not here. You're here to volunteer with kindergartners? Sababa. Go through that door and go volunteer with kindergartners. You've never worked with little kids in the form of a swarm before? Don't worry about it. Have fun!

While I appreciate the prevalent Israeli attitude of "Don't ask me, figure it out for yourself and make it work," it just doesn't seem appropriate e to, say, interacting with tiny impressionable people between the ages of three and six. Along with three of my fellow volunteers, I was shown the main room of the kindergarten and told to just help. Help with what? Your guess is as good as mine. Most days, it boils down to helping the instructional aid keep from losing her mind or pointing out when one of the children is being truly inappropriately violent.

This place alternately makes me want to laugh, cry, scream, shout, or break something.
The actual structure of the kindergarten is particularly interesting in that it's an all Arab class with two primarily Jewish classes that have two or three Arab/Jewish children of mixed parentage. The mixed kindergarten classes are run by the Daniels Center for Reform and Progressive Judaism, whereas the Arab classroom is under the auspices of the public school which hosts the Daniels Center's program. The contrasts between American standards of discipline, respect and general classroom behavior initially overwhelmed and infuriated me, but the entire picture is much more complicated (surprise!). Some of the hardest working women in the world share their lunches, offer to come over to take care of me when I'm not feeling well, help me enormously with my Hebrew, commiserate with me about the difficulties of wedding planning, and are generally downright amicable towards me, in spite of my embarrassing Hebrew skills.

These same women will stare at a violent kindergartner who happens to be Arab, not interfere, and proceed to let loose with random epithets about the Arab kindergartners, or about the poor people in the neighborhood, or about Arabs in general. When I ask them what they mean by these statements, it usually results in a fascinating and unflinching description of the poverty experienced by the Arab students, of their one parent households where a father was arrested for reasons ranging from terrorism to drug trafficking, and of the pervasive lack of regard for the teaching profession in Israel. Unlike the particular brand of American racism where a great deal of hemming and hawing takes place after calling people out, Israeli racism and discrimination are right out there for discussion. Racism certainly isn't restricted to the realm of Jews, and yes, there are people who are fighting racism tooth and nail, but I'm not talking about those situations at the moment, dear readers. A teeny-tiny bit of me respects the Israeli cab driver or school teacher who, without prompting, display contempt for Arabs and will back up their contempt with lines of reasoning that are oftentimes shocking in their clarity. I have yet to hear an American justify, much less explain, their racism after being called out. What goes on here is unacceptable and ugly, but at least people are generally willing to have a conversation on it (unless you're at a government sponsored event on security issues, of course). What I'm saying is: no "kol hakavoed" (good job) for you in the race department, Israel, but thanks for generally being willing to talk to me about it.

It's not exclusively Mohammad's fault that he's so angry he punches Nate in the groin, or throws a chair at a teacher. It's the convergence of negligence, hunger, substandard housing, near total lack of discipline and poorly trained and compensated teaching staff. You cannot expect well-socialized behavior out of a four year old whose only full meal of the day comes from school and who doesn't get to take a nap during a seven hour school day, followed by two hours of the Israeli equivalent of latchkey. I don't care what stream of social thought you align yourself with, you just can't have reasonable expectations of tiny children barely able to use the bathroom on their own who are in such unreasonable circumstances.

So what do I do about this? Where do I fit in? It's been incredibly difficult to manage my own reactions to what happens at the kindergarten. Other than lots of nannying experience involving herding toddlers, I don't have formal education or training in classroom management of little ones. I barely speak the language. With that said, I can wield a mean pair of scissors and have made some pretty awesome Chanukah headbands for the upcoming Chanukah recital. I spend a lot of time trying to coax some of the quieter kids into being more social. I also do lots of other assorted grunt work ranging from squeegie-ing floors to making sure hands are washed before mealtime to playing a combination of hide and go seek and tag with fifty screaming kindergartners. More than any of my other volunteer places, the kindergarten has been an opportunity to experience the good, the bad and the ugly aspects of Israeli society. There is a lot of screaming and dragging of kids by their arms, but there is also an incredible amount of positive affection that would result in a lawsuit back in the States.

My reactions upon coming home from the kindergarten range from elation:
"Bat-toot didn't kick me today!" "Mohammad smiled and didn't break anything!" "Rami played with the other kids!"

to moral and social confusion/despair:
"Nate got punched in the balls by Mohammad and the teachers didn't do anything." "The teachers abandoned us on the playground and we were left to face 50 kindergartners on our own." "Two of the kids went over the fence and we're hoping they weren't hit by a car."

With that said, do look forward to more updates about the other places I'm spending my time at. Next up are Aros El Bahar and Ironi Chet.

Security Issues and You: If You're Not With Us, You're Against Us

Last weekend, we attended a Security Issues conference in Jerusalem, including a visit to the security barrier that divides the West Bank (Judea and Samaria in the parlance of lots of people) and Israel. Our group from Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Yafo was told that there would be a variety of opinions presented and that it would be an opportunity to critically analyze the security situation faced by Israel. It has been amazingly refreshing and challenging to be in Israel and participate in conversations with Israelis from across the generational and political spectrum and hear an incredible variety of opinions on how Israel should form and execute its domestic and foreign policy. There is oftentimes a pressure, sometimes voiced and sometimes not, in the Diaspora to stand behind Israel, no matter what, which in my experience leads to extremes of opinions and very little middle ground to hold a civil, much less analytical, discourse. There certainly are some great exceptions to this and some amazing people doing amazing work, but this weekend was not an exception.

Our weekend opened with a bus tour of Gilo and an overlook of Bethlehem. The unnoticed passage of our bus over the Green Line was surprising to most of us. There wasn't a checkpoint and there wasn't a guard: we were simply in a Jewish neighborhood that had been constructed after the Six Day War in 1967. This is definitely not territory most tourists cover, and is generally considered "out of bounds" for participants of MASA programs. The overlook we went to showed us the road that is often referred to as an “Apartheid Road” to Gush Etzion, a large settlement block in the West Bank.

Ah, the “A” word: “Apartheid.” Before I get into the actual details of the weekend, it is interesting to relate what my friend and roommate Amy has said about Israel as an Apartheid state. Amy's parents left South Africa before the end of Apartheid due to fears about their safety as anti-Apartheid activists. Talking with Amy about her family’s experiences in South Africa has led me to believe that equating Apartheid South Africa with Israel’s currently policies is unbalanced and illogical. An Arab can still vote and have citizenship and Arabs are not forbidden from doing business with or socializing with Jews, however difficult those interactions might sometimes be. Segregation and racism certainly exist here, but it is not a legally mandated policy of the state as was in South Africa. In short, using “Apartheid” in conversations dealing with Israel is counter productive to actually moving forward in understanding the conflict. You can call Israel a segregated society, with notable exceptions such as Haifa and Yafo, but it is not an Apartheid state.

Living and volunteering here has shown me that viewing Israel in black and white terms is unhealthy, unproductive, and downright ignorant. I'm increasingly convinced that I need to spend far more time listening than talking when it comes to Middle East policy, and that was the attitude I went into the weekend with. At no point did anyone hold a gun to my head and make me go to the conference; I knew that I would probably be one of the more liberal people in the room, that I would disagree with speakers, and that I might be intensely offended.

With that said, the overwhelming theme of the weekend was that there is no partner for peace. The military, policy and journalistic backgrounds of the speakers allowed for no argument with their expertise and experience. Truly probing questions were generally met with evasive answers that ducked the question entirely, reframed it so that it was a completely different statement, or a rant about a different topic. At one point, I privately asked a speaker if Jews in the Diaspora, particularly America, should be allowed to publicly criticize Israel's policies. I was told that of course, everyone has a right to their own opinions, but that we should keep our mouths shut in order to stand together in unquestioned solidarity with Israel.

I could not have been prouder to call myself a participant of Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Yafo during the course of the weekend. Our group spoke up against racism and discrimination. Our group raised the issue of school segregation and unequal access to services in Israel. Our group questioned seemingly non-plussed and inappropriately morbidly humorous statements about death and warfare. Our group was also the only contingent that volunteered with Arabs, Christian and Muslim alike. I'm ashamed to say that I kept my thoughts to myself more than I thought possible during the weekend, but I really wanted to be engaged as an observer and I did not feel comfortable raising my voice in an environment where my friends and comrades were continually shot down and met with vitriol. At one point in the weekend, a participant in our group was told by another conference attendee that the way we think is dangerous. I have never been prouder to have Nate as a best friend and husband-to-be as when he stated that we must care about Gaza, and that racism is simply unacceptable. Of course, he is a traitor to the Jewish people, so that shows what I know.

I could give you all a play by play of the weekend, or I could leave you, gentile and Jew alike, with this question: does it make you dangerous and traitorous to ask the hard questions and to not accept the status quo?** If it does, then I'd like it labeled on my forehead, thank you very much. Israel is the historic homeland of the Jewish people. Israel is supposed to be a light unto the nations. Israel should be held to a higher standard. I am continually impressed by the ethical code of the IDF. With that said, asking probing questions is a cornerstone of my religious and cultural identity. I'm not saying you need to start donating to J-Street or to Peace Now. I am saying that as a community, we should hold ourselves to a high intellectual standard, instead of resorting to emotional appeals that cannot be argued with. Dealing with the Israeli-Arab conflict is always deeply emotional, no matter who you are or what you believe in. This does not mean that a civil, inclusive dialogue cannot be conducted.

As a participant in Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Yafo, I am privileged to affiliate with Bina and the Secular Yeshiva. One of the best examples of what this means is that I've gotten to go on a program sponsored tour that was co-led by an Arab Israeli and a Jew, providing an immediate example of the differences in the Palestinian and Israeli narratives. I am constantly surrounded by people who push me to define how I stand in relation to Israel in terms of Zionism, social justice, and religious identity. While this weekend provided a view of the military perspective of Israel's policy, and fascinating examples of persuasive, professional and brilliant public speaking, what I really walked away with was a better appreciation and understanding of my program. Civil discourse, a variety of opinions, and a variety of perspectives are cultivated in my program. Even when I disagree with my fellow volunteers, I still feel respected by them. Pro-Israel, pro-peace, and pro-Palestine are not mutually exclusive in my program and for that, I feel that I will walk away from this year with a clearer understanding of Judaism and Jewish peoplehood. Being anti-war isn't brushed aside as naive by my program. It is accepted. For that, I am intensely grateful. Listening to security experts discuss Israel's situation in the Middle East was a great opportunity, but because simple, emotional arguments peppered with factoids had been favored over nuanced dialogue, the opportunity for a serious conversation was squandered.

*I'm defining racism in the simplistic terms of "discrimination plus power," just to ease any confusion.
**Also, do we really need to hear from another military man? Where are the women?! WHERE ARE THE WOMEN?!

How time flies when you're wrangling kindergarteners...

It wasn't personal. It was just the swarm of screaming kindergarteners and the resulting need to take a *&^%^&^ nap. That's all the excuse I can truly offer for our inability to update this thing in a timely or reasonable fashion. With that said, let's have an update and then we can move onwards and upwards towards posts with significant content:

On October 9, 2010, Nate Kemphues ate a vanilla Krembo, took the wrapper, made a ring out of it, and put it on my left ring finger with a very loaded request: "Will you be my wife?" The ring fell off my finger two days later and I ran over it with my bicycle (it is very, very flat now). While some might take this as an evil omen of things to come in our marriage, I take it as a sign that 1) having single use engagement rings is pretty reasonable as accidents do in fact happen and 2) he's a darn thrifty man with good taste in confections. Many, many thanks go to my future Mother-in-Law, Marlana Kemphues, for offering to take charge of designing and executing my engagement ring. How cool of a present is THAT?! We hadn't even intended to have an engagement ring, so it's really pretty lovely. Thank you, Marlana.

Into the deep end of the swimming pool of adulthood we go!

Using all of our reasoning powers gifted to us by g-d, we're getting married in Chicago in, um, February. Doesn't it make sense? We think it does, too! We can't afford to get married here and have our friends and family around us, so we're heading back to the Windy City in the coldest month of the year. We don't even have real winter coats here, much less mittens! Yes! The wedding dress has been purchased along with shoes and a hat that's being made for me, for less than I had budgeted for shoes. The dress and shoes are currently hiding in a housemate's closet, but I promise, it's a pretty darn awesome ensemble.

Planning a wedding from several thousand miles away has turned out to be minimal in the stress department, and downright enjoyable. We have amazing friends and family who has stepped up to the plate to be our DJs, our photographer, our planner, our flower finder, our person-who-will-keep-people-calm-or-resort-to-slapping-them, among other honoraries/titles/things that need to get done. Our pre-marriage counseling is happening via Google video chat and we're headed to Jerusalem sometime in the next couple of weeks to go ketubah shopping. It's just not legal until it's an illuminated text written in Aramaic! For those of you who have already bent over backwards for us, just know that we've got what may be the best darn thank-you presents imaginable up our sleeves (and no, they're not the ubiquitous Israeli genie pants that so many people will be getting as souvenirs).

Look forward to exciting posts in the next 24 hours covering the following issues:

1) Security Issues and You: Drink that Kool-Aid, Damnit.
2) The Inmates are Running the Asylum: Kindergarteners and the American volunteers they kick and bite (and hug, and cuddle with, and draw pictures with).
3) Ways to feel better about your accent and Hebrew skills: tutoring non-native speakers

City of Pork to the City of David and Back Again

Well, with the close of Yom Kippur and the sounding of a small ram's horn, comes a new update from Tel Aviv-Yafo. Erev Yom Kippur, or Thursday for those of you who adhere to that silly Papist calendar, our group was treated to an evening tour of Jerusalem. Nate and I had been under the weather a bit and were debating whether or not to go, but with plenty of Imodium aboard, we joined the throng of folks leaving our apartment building. As everything comes to a standstill on Yom Kippur, the bus station was packed with people trying to get home or get to Jerusalem. But, before you enter the bus station, you're reminded that there are plenty of folks who live here who could care less about that whole "don't eat pigs, team" thing.


For the more politically minded, it's important to remind the general public that Gilad Schalit has been in Hamas custody for quite some time. What better way to say you care as you head to Jerusalem for an intense rally to Bring Gilad Home, than to shave it into your hair?


We weren't the only people trying to get to Jerusalem. What would have normally been a forty five minute trip lasted nearly an hour and a half. The floor of our bus was packed with representatives from just about every spectrum of Israeli society and it seemed that the rest of the country was hot on the heels of our bus. We were dropped off at Montefiore's windmill
and thus began our tour of Jerusalem. It's an incredible view of the Old City and East Jerusalem, including the separation wall snaking along the horizon. Our attempts at photography didn't do it justice. The spot where Mary went to sleep (forever, apparently) is memorialized as Dormition Abbey, which is the large church immediately across the valley.


We were badgered by Hassids and Litvaks alike begging us to partake in the ritual of Kaparot. This involves swinging a chicken over your head three times so that the chicken takes on your sins before your judgment is complete. Then the chicken is ritually slaughtered and given to the hungry. I do this with an envelope of money before Yom Kippur as it doesn't involve torturing the saddest looking chickens in the world.

Three hours into our never ending tour detailing the gory details of Jerusalem's Jewish history and King David's adulterous activities, we came up over the Kotel Plaza. Jews of every stripe were clinging to rooftops in order to pray near the wall.


Rabbi Shlomo Amar was leading tens of thousands of people in the singing of selichot, or pentitential prayers. The religious fervor was overwhelming. I don't know how else to put it. Ten yards in front of you and three stories down are tens of thousands of people praying so intensely to G-d that they don't even care they are smushed up against tens of thousands of other people, because G-d is less than twenty four hours away from closing the book on them for the year.



While the majority of people in our group had wanted to pray at the wall, the wait to get through security was estimated to be roughly an hour, just to wade into the sea of people. I settled for reciting selichot along with the crowd and saying a few psalms. While Nate and I had originally intended on staying in Jerusalem for Yom Kippur, our stomachs were still not agreeing with us entirely and the hostel we had planned on staying at was closed, so we boarded a Sherut, or shared taxi-van, back to Tel Aviv-Yafo. Tomorrow morning we'll start building a Sukkah on our back patio for all of the residents of our building.

Cincinnati to Chicago to Paris to Budapest to Tel Aviv to Yafo to Kibbutz Ketura to Yafo

After getting into Tel Aviv last Tuesday, we were whisked away the next morning to a five day retreat on Kibbutz Ketura in the Arava Desert. My computer, being the cantankerous creature it is, was refusing to efficiently connect to the internet, so we embraced the scenery and the setting and spent five days untangling group dynamics and hydrating. So, how did we get here?

In the disaster that was our apartment, my credit card was misplaced, therefore, renting a car to get from Cincinnati to Chicago was out. Our dear friend, Andrew Smith, happens to love driving. I mean, with all of his heart, he loves getting into his station wagon and schlepping it from Point A to Point B, no matter the distance in between. We cannot thank Andrew and his lovely lady, Carrie Cochran, enough for spending so much quality time in the car and in Chicago with us. My camera was nesting in the bottom of a pannier during the entirety of the trip, so I'll have to wait for Carrie to send me her pictures from the Chicago trip. Miles traveled from Cincinnati to Chicago: 250.
We spent some quality time with my sister, Sarah, and presented her with a hostess present that expressed our love:















One of the nicest parts of visiting Chicago was bumming around local bike shops looking for the last minute things we needed. I found a great bell at Rapid Transit, as well as well wishes, enthusiasm and free bike boxes. Nate found a front rack and some additional well wishes and enthusiasm at Boulevard Bikes in Logan Square. Marjorie was taken outside for a photo shoot by one of the amazing staff people. As former employees of Reser Bicycle Outfitters, we can't tell you how important it is to patronize your Local Bike Shop (LBS). Big Box stores don't give away free bike boxes, or buy you dinner, or give quality advice. We did a quick tune up of Marjorie at West Town Bikes, a community workspace in Humboldt Park. Many thanks to Alex and company for taking such good care of us.

The first major leg of the trip was 4130 miles from Chicago to Paris. The hardest part of that leg proved to be getting our bicycles through check-in. The American Airlines representative wasn't at all familiar with the standards for checking a bicycle box that I had been informed of (repeatedly) by Maalev Air and American Airlines representatives. After being told that checking bicycles would be $300, instead of, say, free, we went back and forth for a moment. Finally, it was agreed upon that it would be free for both boxes, as our lady was clearly more concerned about the giant line queuing behind us. Shelling out $300 still would have been cheaper than shipping our bicycles, but it's still a sizable chunk of change. We hauled our babies (and really, I can't think of what else to call them, other than their given names, Party Girl, and Marjorie Binghampton) to the oversize luggage drop off and went through the rest of security without a hitch.

Arriving at De Gaulle at who knows what hour of the day, it took me a minute to turn on the French switch in my brain. Once it was, I was functional, although completely sleep deprived. The only stressful part of De Gaulle was emptying out pockets looking for my luggage claim ticket while being stared down and mocked by the ticket agent of Maalev Airlines. Without it, Marjorie wasn't getting to Israel. Thankfully, I found it in a forgotten inner coat pocket. Disaster was averted and we arrived in Budapest and were greeted by the Hungarian Olympic Water Polo Team:



From Paris to Budapest was a paltry 645 miles. With an eleven hour layover, it was the perfect opportunity to get out of the airport and explore. It was also the perfect time for drizzling rain and gray skies. Instead of getting cold and wet and crankier, I opted to take a four hour nap on top of our luggage. Nate went through passport control yet again, possibly setting a new time record for entry-exit-entry of Hungary. Many cold and wet cyclists were witnessed in Hungary, along with some nifty buffered bike lanes. While buffered bike lanes present their own issues in terms of safety, they're still fairly far off in most parts of the world.

Finally, it was time to board the last of our connecting flights. We had both previously traveled to Israel and had been overwhelmed by security measures, particularly Nate having his pants taken off by friendly El Al folks before his Taglit trip a few years ago. Maalev Hungarian Airlines blew our minds with the total lack of security. We were simply herded onto a bus without any additional security checks, and then herded onto the plane's boarding ramp. It was an amuse- bouche of how one needs to throw a few elbows when in a crowd of Israelis.

Well, 1347 miles later, and an hour standing in line at Passport Control in Ben Gurion, we were in Israel. Call it what you will (Israel, Palestine, Eretz Yisrael, The Promised Land, The Holy Land, etc.), it's a complicated place. The only hitch in retrieving our baggage came when Nate realized that Marjorie's front fender had been, well, smushed.

I just laughed. It could have been the jet lag, or the fact that it was four in the morning, or the fact that I needed food, but what else are you supposed to do? We couldn't get long term (or even back to back short term periods) of traveler's insurance because we're in Israel, and the airlines wouldn't cover damage to my fenders, and my bicycle was okay. No longer a model of perfection, Marjorie is now a scrappy little lady who doesn't give a darn about what you think of her or her dented fender.

Due to security concerns, Ben Gurion's trash cans are TINY. I will never again take a box cutter for granted as I spent forty minutes breaking down bike boxes by hand. Tiny chunks of carbord were crammed into eight or nine different waste baskets while people waiting for arrivals looked at me like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears. Nate expertly assembled and tuned our bicycles while I tried to make sense of and repack our baggage.

Now, we just had to find our way out of Ben Gurion and to Yafo. Airports are inherently not bicycle friendly. We initially found our way onto Highway 1, the Israeli equivalent of an Interstate, three times. Technical mountain biking is nothing compared to riding on I-75's Israeli twin. Finally, we found our way onto a local highway and felt exceptionally liberated from the crush of people, from automobiles, and in general, from relying on other people for our transportation. While people gave us enough space to feel comfortable, we were repeatedly honked at. A few other bicyclists were sighted heading from the suburbs to the city center. It's only a twelve mile ride from the airport to our apartment, but it felt like a major accomplishment after being stuck inside for nearly thirty hours straight. After getting slightly turned around in Yafo, we made it to the apartment building and were able to take a very long nap on the patio.

The next morning, we were shipped off to the Arava Desert near Eilat and spent a long five days getting to know the other 22 people in our program. It was about 173 miles from Tel Aviv to the Kibbutz we stayed on. The views were breathtaking, but the sand was persistent, so I was a little wary about bringing out the camera too often. Here's a view of the mountain we climbed up that overlooked Jordan's western border.


With that, it's time to wrap up the post. You're just about caught up on our travels, but we send you all wishes for a happy and healthy New Year. Chag Sameach and Shanah Tovah!

Total miles thus far: 6,545. Bicycled: 12. Yes, we're going to fix that very shortly.

Backing up for a moment

This past December I was, as Anne of Green Gables would say, in the very depths of despair. I was burned out on my program, trying to figure out what to do with my life, and completely deprived of Vitamin D. In order to distract myself from a serious case of self pity, I was sitting on the couch and staring at Nate, waiting for him to come up with something that would solve what was clearly shaping up to be an existential crisis. Nate was ignoring me and checking his email, when lo and behold, yet another email from MASA popped up. Usually these emails are ignored, but I was about to have that existential crisis and we needed to talk about moving to Israel. Clearly this was the most sensible and cautious way to proceed with life.

A conversation ensued about actually living up to our stated ideals of being more involved in the Jewish community and spending significant time in Israel. Approximately five minutes into this conversation, all school induced depression forgotten, we had decided that we were going to spend the next year in Israel. It was just a matter of figuring out the right program. MASA sponsors about 160 programs that range from living in a geodesic dome in the Negev to studying Talmud in Jerusalem. We wanted to understand that actual realities of Israel and we didn't feel like we would get that if we were isolated from minority communities or living in a swank set up in Tel Aviv, or focusing solely on language studies. Suddenly, we came upon Tikun Olam in Tel Aviv-Jaffa. We wanted Hebrew and Arabic study, a significant volunteer commitment, an urban location, religious diversity, and an opportunity to critically examine how we fit into the Jewish community at large.

In any case, we'll be figuring things out as we go along. It is already more than a little bittersweet to be thinking that we'll be leaving Chicago in two days, but the excitement is starting to kick in.

Packing and apartment detritus

With only one full day left in beautiful Cincinnati, Ohio, it's time to get this blog-thing started. Today's theme: getting rid of stuff.

There are those boxes of stuff that accumulate over two years. I've always been terrible about "editing" my life and am an admitted clutterbug, but ten months in Israel followed by two (or more?) months on the road requires condensing everything. From a two bedroom apartment to a bicycle that will carry everything is a bit of a leap. Thus far, I've donated 15 small bags of clothing, three large garbage bags of kitchen things and a big box of shoes. Books I cannot give up have gone into storage courtesy of good friends and family. Furniture has been sold, donated, and given away to aforementioned good friends and family. Nate is currently running around tying up loose ends, with the new camera in his pocket, so I can't share with you the chaos of the apartment. Gosh, what a disappointment. Because I love lists, I present for your reading pleasure my packing list. Aren't you excited?

The following items are packed and ready to go:

Clothing
5 shirts
1 long sleeve wool jersey
1 short sleeve wool jersey
2 pairs cycling shorts
5 skirts
2 dresses
5 pairs Swiftwick socks
4 underwear (discussion on Patagonia and Ex-Officio AWESOMENESS to follow)
1 raincoat/windbreaker
1 fleecy coat-thing
1 smushable hat
1 really big scarf that doubles as a blanket or skirt

Shoes
Born loafers
Teva flip flops
Keen commuter sandals

Camping/sleeping
1 thermarest camp pad
1 Mountain Hardware Raven tent
1 teeny tiny pillow
1 yurt sack sleeping bag

Bicycle stuff I'm responsible for
2 Ortlieb roller pack front panniers
2 Ortlieb roller pack front panniers
Marjorie Binghamton, The Bicycle (you can see pictures of her at the page of awesomeness)
1 Ortlieb backpack converter

Personal/don't smell like a teenage boy things
12 bars of Liggett's shampoo soap
10 Nature's Gate SPF 50 sunscreen
1 Dr. Bronners peppermint bar soap
1 toothbrush
2 toothpastes
4 flosses
1 deodorant
1 travel towel


Electronics and such
1 Dell Lattitude D630 on its last legs (come on baby, just another year!)
1 camera
Assorted chargers and adapters

Other
My passport

The personal care, clothing, and shoes all fit into one of the large panniers, which will be attached as a backpack for carry-on purposes. The camping gear all fits into one of the small panniers, which will be stashed in the bike box as checked luggage, along with the sunscreen and toothpaste. Hurray for the age of asinine luggage restrictions. Electronics and identification along with other assorted sundry items will go into the other small pannier as my personal item for carrying on. Nate's list includes the fun stuff, like a couple of card games and all of our bicycle repair things, so you'll have to wait for him to entertain you with another list.

Tomorrow we're off to the zoo to say goodbye to our favorite creatures and to take one last walk around one of the most beautiful botanic gardens in the country. Thursday we'll be in Chicago and Monday we'll leave O'Hare for a long, long, long flight that will eventually touch down in Tel Aviv. As of right now, we're 90 percent finished with cleaning out and packing the apartment, so there will be a little bit of that, too.