We have been trying to decide on the best way to communicate with all those people who care about us, and want to know what has been happening in our lives. We thought about the idea of sending mass emails, but (I think) they are often irritating and rarely read. Long telephone conversations with each person become painful for us, and are simply unrealistic; the number of times we have been asked 'Where are you living', 'What's it like', 'What are you doing', 'When do you start work', 'How was the flight', 'What's the food like', 'What's the weather like' and 'Do you miss England', now exceeds the number on my Teudat Zehut. This way we can write the highlights for those who want to know them, and hopefully also create a useful resource for those friends and strangers who one day want to follow in our footsteps. The agreement is that I will write the blog, and Deborah will write a diary for our באזרת השם babies to read when they grow up.
Leaving England was strange. There was a time when moving to Israel was all that mattered to me; every day in the UK was a countdown, waiting for the opportunity, resenting the culture (or lack of it!), weather, and lifestyle that I was living. On our frequent trips to Israel, leading groups, seeing friends, doing my elective and so on, Deborah and I were both fully aware of the many many problems with living here. We never fooled ourselves that Israel is some utopia where everyone is fulfilled and well fed, where each citizen loves the land as much as we do, or where peace is just around the corner; but it simply didn't matter, because moving to Israel was all that mattered. So what if we couldn't afford a small apartment? So what if it was difficult to find work? Who cares if people are aggressive and will happily push you out of the way to get on a bus?
Slowly but surely, over the past year or so, that feeling of pure love had dissipated. The incessant stress of form-filling and the poor half-baked answers to queries from the people employed to help us arrange our move, combined with the realisation that we were leaving behind such a cushy and comfortable, boring and monotonous life and certainty, filled us with frustration. Watching as our friends and colleagues completed their job applications, took out their mortgages, went on expensive holidays, bought nice cars and flashed expensive watches, while we worked to save every penny for our move, with its not-really-guaranteed poor income, put a totally negative spin on what we were heading for.
As they say, a rolling stone gathers no moss; once the deadlines for jobs had passed, and we had given notice for our accommodation and work, told the taxman he can jump off a cliff, and made tentative plans in Israel, there was nothing left to hide behind, and frankly no way to call the whole thing off.
So, after a few weeks of big goodbyes, trying (and sometimes failing) to see all those people who matter to us, while simultaneously sorting through our entire material existence, throwing away, recycling, giving away, and selling at car boot sales, we were left with the skeleton of our identities, which we boxed up and stuck on a ship, which is hopefully somewhere between Gibraltar and Greece by now.
With just eight suitcases (which we ironically bought at the same car boot sale where we flogged our worldly possessions), Deborah and I headed to London and Liverpool, to say goodbye to our respective sides of the family, before a tense and scary drive to Heathrow Airport.
Nefesh B'Nefesh is a charity set up in North America to help Westerners move to Israel; the logic basically being that those people with a good quality of life need some encouragement to move home to Israel... whereas those from godforsaken wilderness will move regardless. Therefore, we qualified for some logistic and financial aid to help us move and integrate. Any Jew who wants to live in Israel can get a free (one-way) flight with El Al, the national airline, including 60kg of luggage. But, with NBN, you can join a group flight, which means that not only can you get your forms processed in-flight, but you can share your experience with dozens of other people, also thinking 'What the hell am I doing on this flight?'.
Our 'group' consisted of 12 olim (new immigrants), of whom two were Israeli. Exactly. As a result, the in-flight processing didn't happen, but that didn't matter; El Al flights are known for fab food, comfy seats, and alcohol. As my first non-budget flight with kosher food in about 5 years, this was a particularly relaxing flight; right up until the moment they shut the doors for takeoff. Everything had been going swimmingly; we were well under the weight limit, flight on time, visas valid and good to go. Then we had the following conversation.
Deborah: Ad, you know that folder from the Jewish Agency with all the vital documents in it?
Adam: Yeah?
Deborah: The one with the documents needed for landing, and with the copies of all our identity papers?
Adam: Yeah?
Deborah: When did you last see it?
Adam: ........................................ not in a while.
Deborah: .......I don't think we've packed it.
Adam: Well then where could it be? We cleared out the entire flat; there was nothing left.
Deborah: I don't think we've had it since the shippers came.
Adam: Sh!t.
Yes, that's correct. Our wonderful shipping company managed to sweep our vital folder, with everything we potentially needed to get our visas approved, off the 'do not touch' pile in our flat, and into a box. In the chaos of the million other forms we had worked though, neither of us had noticed. However, Deborah's wonderfulness meant she had scanned all the documents into the computer, just in case.... and more importantly, we had taken our passports out of the folder before the shippers arrived.
As it happens, so far, none of the papers in that folder have been needed; everything was already provided to the appropriate offices before we left, and so the folder would have been completely obsolete. Still, for the twenty minutes between take-off and being allowed to turn on the laptop, we lived in fear of being turned back at passport control.
On arrival in Israel, we landed at the very nice Terminal 3. As the ministry of immigrant absorption is based at Terminal 1, we enjoyed a bus journey transfer between the two; on arrival, free drinks and food were provided, before we were called into an office to receive our first of many immigrant benefits - 2500 NIS in cash (about £400). We were then driven back to Terminal 3 to collect our luggage, before using our free taxi ride to a destination of our choice, to reach our new home.
Israel seems to be totally unique in its attitude to immigrants. From the moment you go through Israel's world-famous security at check in in London, the Israeli attitude to olim is one of gratitude. What other country automatically gives immigrants cash and food on arrival, with massively subsidised accommodation, free initial travel, and free language courses. In the UK, the uproar this would create would be enormous. But in Israel, people on the street, even those Israelis so poor they eat from the bins, will welcome you with open arms (if you dare go close enough). The mentality still remains very much that being a Jew and being an Israeli are synonymous, and all Jews are welcome home at any time.
At around midnight, we arrived at the absorption centre, which should be our home for the next 5 months. These centres exist around the country as a stepping stone for olim from all over the world. As a result, each is a melting pot of cultures, where the smells of Ethiopian, Moroccan, American and French foods permeate the corridors... as well as the noise and smell of Russians. In a fit of Israel bureaucracy, our centre would not allow anyone to move in until one week before the next residential Hebrew course (ulpan) starts, on January 17th. This made no sense at all, as the centre is always open, and the previous course finished weeks ago. After a long fight, recruiting various people to argue with us and on our behalf, the centre relented and let us move in straight away, rather than having to live elsewhere at great expense for 2 weeks. Sure enough, are the only couple to have arrived for the ulpan, and are sharing the place with a small handful of people from other programmes running alongside ours. Some 250 people will arrive next week to fill the place up, slow down the internet, and keep us awake at night.
The merkaz klitah (absorption centre) is called Beit Canada and has been known for many years as a bastion of poor quality accommodation. Those who used to live here reminisce of the doors without locks, broken windows, and - my own memory from when I was here on my elective three years ago - the most feculent toilets known to animal. Thankfully, our apartment has been renovated to a human standard. In fact, it's really nice. Our small flat consists of kitchenette, shower room, and two single beds which are cleverly designed so that they don't even nearly fit together; this is the painful reality of being a married couple of a young singles' ulpan. But, it's clean, and everything works, so it's all good.
Our first day in Israel felt bizarre; tired and emotionally drained from the turmoil of the day before, we woke in our flat, with absolutely nothing besides the things we'd brought with us. We'd made our own bed with bedding from our suitcases, and drank from an empty plastic bottle from the flight. The kitchen was void of anything edible, let alone anything to cook with - no cups, cutlery, no kettle, no pans.... you get the idea. So, after a quick meeting with the manager of the ulpan, who needed to tell us the dos and don'ts, we quickly departed for town to find food.
Israel is an expensive place; Jerusalem even more so. Basic necessities cost a similar price to the UK, but for lower quality. Eating out is scary; a decent breakfast will cost you £10; and when you know you won't have a real income for at least the next half year, that is scary. So, after eating out a few times, with holidaying and resident friends around the city, we first cut back to sharing meals, and soon cut our losses by investing in a kitchen to cook our own stuff. The holiday was quickly over from that point of view. But at the same time, arriving in Jerusalem with nearly 3 weeks to spare before our ulpan started gave us some time to really settle in. We joined a walking tour of the Old City, which both of knew well, but always have room to know better; we had many days walking for hours around the streets, taking in the atmosphere of our new home, which, incidentally, was pouring with rain on our first days... before turning gloriously sunny with T-shirts and sunglasses. I think it was a way to integrate us gently.
New Year's Eve is no big affair in Israel. Known as 'Sylvester', there are no holidays, nor big parties. But, our friends Yosef and Daniella, married and expecting their first baby in a few weeks, who moved from Manchester and the USA respectively, brought us into their fold of American friends who live in the area. Our New Year was a very special one, and a symbolic new beginning for us; moving house to house in a progressive dinner party, before finishing up with guitar music in Yosef's flat, overlooking East Jerusalem, with a whole group of new people, who had all been in our shoes in the past decade, perhaps gave us an idea of the shape of things to come.
One week on, we have our identity cards, which were arranged for us by NBN, saving us many hours of form-filling and queueing at the ministry of the interior. We have a bank account (we think), have an address for the next 6 months, have health insurance, and have been making good progress with job applications. Thanks to the wireless internet from merkaz klitah, we already have access, even before we have signed up for our own connection. I dread to think how lost we would be without access to our emails, and Skype, from our room.
How can I summarise week one?
Although I knew it wasn't going to happen, a part of me hoped that landing here would somehow reignite that flame that made me move here, as soon as we saw Israel from the plane window. But that didn't happen. We landed, got off the plane, and everything felt normal. We weren't somewhere special. We weren't on holiday. We certainly weren't abroad. We were just home. One week on, living in our capital city, seeing the Kotel (Western Wall), taking the buses, buying pasta in Hebrew, haggling over bread, making enquiries to Professors of medicine by email to see if they can give me a job, and making advantage of discounted rates at the local zoo for new immigrants, just feels like a part of normal life.
It feels like home. That's much better than living on flame that can't last forever.
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