A Day in the Life

Photos -- except the last one -- courtesy of Laura Ben-David of Nefesh b'Nefesh!

Getting off the plane. Smiling so big my face hurt!

After being shutteled over to the old terminal, we sit in orange 

chairs waiting for our names to be called for processing.  It is at 

this time that I realize my U.S. passport has had a sticker placed

in it by the Israeli Embassy with my Aliyah Visa!

Laura and I sit and chat. But mostly Laura was running around taking

so many amazing photographs. This woman is SUPER woman, seriously. 

Sitting down, signing paperwork, getting goodies, and learning a bit, too!

 The important things in life. SIM card with 200 minutes and my 

Teudat Olah (documentation of immigration, sort of like a passport). 

 The whole group -- exhausted, sweating, and ready to pick up our luggage!

And you've see this already, but this is me right before heading out

to the taxi that was to take me home -- to Nachlaot!

The In-Flight Commentary

I wrote this in two spurts while in-flight on my way from JFK in New York City to Ben Gurion in Israel. Enjoy!

As I walked down the ramp after reluctantly giving up my carry on, I said to no one in particular, with a huge grin,

"It's happening."

Dinner was outstandingly delicious. Consider ordering gluten free the next time you fly El Al. Fish with steamed zucchini and snow peas, hummus with rice cakes (a substitution I never considered), a salad with Italian dressing, and a delicious chocolate mousse. I was pleasantly surprised. Or maybe it was that I hadn't eaten all day ... Again.

It's just after 7 a.m. in Israel, which means the trip is more than half over. In 4.5 hours we land. That's like a trip to LA from NY. Someone on the plane is sick enough to necessitate the "Is there a doctor on board" call. Of course, there were several.

I'm currently watching some ooey gooey Discovery Channel-style thing. It made for brain-stimulating background noise as I completed a crossword puzzle. I spent a good ten minutes puzzled (bada ching!) on the last clue: feature for a garage door. S_ _s_r. Duh Chaviva!

I've watched two movies so far: Rock of Ages and some movie with a star-studded cast that took place in Rome. Rock of Ages was good, and not annoying at all. I was bummed by Alec Baldwin's role, however. And Tom Cruise just ... He just. The other movie had Jessie Eisenberg, Woody Allen, the girl from Juno, Alec Baldwin (seriously El Al, what's up with that?), Roberto Benini, and Penelope Cruz. It was quality, but it left me sort of wondering ... And? [Note: The movie is To Rome With Love.]

The flight has been going smoothly for me. More smoothly than usual. That is, aside from the kicking child behind me and the petite mother in front of me who has her seat all the way back and keeps pushing on it like there isn't anyone behind her. Sometimes I wonder why people pose all respect for human beings the moment they enter a plane (or any mode of transit, that is).

There are only 67 olim on this flight, which bums me out, but it's no charter flight. Now? I'll watch an episode of Alcatraz I've already seen. It's good Hebrew practice.

Just remembered to write about the international crisis averted when the security guy at baggage drop pulled Bananagrams from my suitcase.

"What is this?" he asked.

"A game," I said. 

"Did anyone give it to you?" he asked. 

"No ... It's mine," I said. 

The girl whose luggage was in after me? She also had Bananagrams and nothing happened. What's up with that?

It's now 9:23 in Israel. We're two hours out. What? Is this happening?!

I haven't gotten up nice to move around. I think my legs are not gong to be able to carry me when the time comes. That's the downfall of the window seat, of course. [Note: I did get up to move around about an hour before landing. It felt so good!]

And ... breakfast.

The Chaviva Has Landed

Photo courtesy THE Benji Lovitt, who greeted me at the airport!
My mouth hurts from smiling. And I think the delirium is obvious. 

I have three suitcases with various sundry items like clothing in them. They're staring at me saying, "Where on earth are you going to put us? Do you see closet space? Are you going to live out of suitcases for the next month?"

And I don't have an answer. There's a desk in this Nachlaot apartment, but I might have to relocate the desk and acquire an aron -- a sort of closet that isn't a closet. Something like what Belle had in Beauty and the Beast. Yes, the movie. The Disney movie. Am I delirious? It's possible. I've been up for quite some time, I didn't sleep on the plane, my arms are like spaghetti from the schlepping of the bags, I'm hungry but have no desire to pay for food or make food, I need to shower but kind of want to fall over sideways onto the bed and just sleep, my inbox is crawling with emails, I have so much work to do that my face might explode, and these CLOTHES ... what am I going to do with them?

I can't believe I'm here. Utter and complete disbelief. As I walked around with a good friend and her kids to Marzipan (a well-known bakery) and a few other stops, it just felt like home. Like normal.

I'm just going to have to figure out the language, my fear of spending while in Israel (yes, for some reason buying things at stores in Israel makes me anxious, however buying coffee and food at restaurants and cafes doesn't), and my schedule.

I have a bunch of things I wrote on the plane, sort of a play-by-play if you will, but that's going to come tomorrow, as well as the experience of arriving and the paperwork and onboarding that occurred. I'm too tired. I'm too dirty. I need to shower, I need to sleep. Time to put my sheets on this bed, make up my comforter-duvet, and put myself to sleep.

From an olah chadasha -- a new immigrant -- I wish you all a sweet lilah tov (goodnight)!

Leg One: Denver to New York

As our plane approaches the state of Illinois, and as I lament missing Felix Baumgartner's epic fall to earth, I have to relay that leaving Denver wasn't at all emotional for me this morning. Am I an emotional zombie? Or maybe just a sleep-deprived zombie?

I went to sleep around 1:45 a.m., woke up at 6:45 a.m. and proceeded to see if any of my luggage gained weight over night. Every suitcase looked like it was somewhere around 48 or 50 pounds, and I still had more to pack up. So I unpacked some things, sacrificing more stuff, again. I'm beginning to wonder what is in my bags that makes them so heavy, if anything. It's probably the bottles of vitamins. Maybe.

I showered, packed up, sold my bed, and schlepped off without enough time to hit the bank. Here's hoping there's a Chase Bank at LaGuardia or JFK. If not? I'm kind of screwed. I returned my car and arrived at the airport at the same time as approximately five million other people. Yes, the line for security went out and around to baggage claim, which, if you've never been at DIA is, well, insane. What's more insane is that it took about 15 minutes to get through security. I should have just taken the chance and not taken out my liquids and computers; they probably wouldn't have said anything.

If anything is going to kill me on this trip, it's the giant computer and the three books I could fit into my carry on. My carry on suitcase is … it's got to wait like 40 pounds. I nearly killed two people getting it into the overhead compartment. Throw on that my backpack, which is stuffed to the brim with my camera, my computer, my iPad, my unlocked iPhone 4s, and other fragile items like my mezuzot … and I'm going to have knots in my back the size of golf balls and sore arms for a week.

I'm kvetching a lot, aren't I? Sorry. I love traveling; I hate schlepping.

I'm eager to get to my hotel. For the first time in a good six months or so, I'll be able to watch Sunday night television -- live! It's the small stuff, folks. I'm eager to just kick back and chill out for a little while, to enjoy a cushy king-size mattress and really let my hair down (not that it's possible).

Listen, I'm not feeling the reality of my move yet. Is that weird? Maybe I won't? I wrote in my last post about how it just feels right, it feels like a second skin. Is that why it doesn't feel like I've packed my life up and am moving across the world? Why does it feel so … relaxed? So inconsequential? So … just so?

Maybe once I get to JFK tomorrow and see the Nefesh b'Nefesh booth and join the other olim at the gate it will suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks. And maybe it won't, and I'm okay with that.

Anyone out there who has made aliyah: What was the experience like for you? Butterflies or anxiety or fears or excitement or anything?

The Listen and the Action

Two of my three 50-pound suitcases +

my carryon suitcase + my backpack. 

What I've realized is that there are not enough pounds in the aliyah allotment for me to schlep the amount of clothes, coffee mugs with sentimental meaning, medical stuff (vitamins, supplements, allergy pills, and my oodles of creams), my down-alternative comforter (because I'm neurotic about the things I sleep with and on -- not being able to schlep a pillow is actually causing me unrest), and so forth. I don't know how it filled up so fast. But it did. I had to hardcore downsize, leaving lots of clothing and some precious home goods behind. I sent home THREE boxes of books to my parents -- seforim and lots of books from graduate school I cannot part with. I'm not taking a single cookbook with me. I'm so paranoid about finding clothes that both fit me and are well-built (being a plus size gal makes certain items difficult to find anyhow), so I stocked up here. My luggage is brimming with Lane Bryant and Old Navy and ... I'll be set for a while, anyhow. 

I'm rising in about 5 hours and 45 minutes to shower and get everything else packed up. I'm weighing my luggage every few minutes, it seems like, and I just know I'm going to get to the airport and they're either going to be too heavy or they're going to have five pounds of free room and I'm going to say "WHY ME?! WHY!?" After packing, I'm packing up the car, taking a last-minute trip to the donation center, the bank to withdrawal a ridiculous amount of cash, and off to the airport for my 11:15 a.m. flight to New York City. 

If anyone desires a meetup in the Five Towns for dinner Sunday night, let me know. My flight gets into LaGuardia at 5 p.m. and I figure I'll be at my hotel by 6:30 or 7 p.m. Then? Rest. Relaxation ... and ... I'll probably end up doing a lot of work actually. Monday I have to be at JFK by 3 p.m. for my 7 p.m. Nefesh b'Nefesh flight to Israel. 

This is aliyah folks. When you're a young, single person, you pack your life into three, 50-pound suitcases plus a carry on plus a personal item. The funny thing is that it doesn't feel weird to me. At work on Friday everyone said I seemed inordinately calm. For me, it's like I'm moving to a new city -- something I've done so very many times before. Packing up a bunch of suitcases and schlepping them across a country is what I do, so an ocean seems no different to me. The only difference is that I'm not the one driving the car doing the schlepping -- I'm on a plane, my luggage is packed tightly away, and I'm at the whim of the weather, some pilots, and time. 

It's adventure for me. Grabbing life by the reins and really owning it. It's taking the land -- Eretz Yisrael -- and possessing it. HaShem commanded me -- all of Israel -- to do this. So it doesn't feel strange, it just feels more right than all of the other attempts I've made at moving and possessing the space I inhabit. This time, it's real. This time? It's for keeps. This time, HaShem is fully with me. I finally listened, as we're commanded so many times in the Torah to do so. Shema, it says. Listen. 

Not once in the Torah does HaShem demand that we obey Him. HaShem asks us merely to listen. To absorb. To take in. To internalize. And only then do we act, because we want to be an active participant in this world, in this creation, in Am Yisrael. 

"Be silent, Israel, and listen! You have now become the people of the LORD your God. Listen to the LORD your God and follow His commands and decrees that I give you today" (Deut. 27:9-10).

It's taken me several years of listening to finally act. And now that I am? The listening, the choice, the action -- it's like feeling my skin for the first time. It's a part of me.