 |
| Sari's Wedding |
When I was 18 years old, I bought a one-way ticket to Tel Aviv for $800 that I earned working at Fotomat. It was the first major decision I made towards a future after high school and I was numb with my fear of the complete unknown. I learned the Hebrew alphabet, and also one phrase that a woman from Beth Israel synagogue taught me: ‘Al t’gabi’- ‘Don’t touch me.’ This immediately brought to mind a mass of disembodied arms chasing after me down the Ben Gurion airport corridors. Somehow the idea of worrying about not being able to properly chastise them seemed the least of my problems.
I had signed up for a six month program on Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu- a religious agricultural community. The plan included 6 days a week of Hebrew and Israeli culture studies mixed with various work assignments like pomegranate picking and milking cows. My program, called an Ulpan, was for young people around the world between 18-35 years old. In addition to our group, there were also a handful of other young military groups from both France and Israel who worked on the kibbutz. Social opportunities were rich, and my whole world opened up.
I quickly became friends with a woman from Ohio. She was a little older than me, and she would look out for me like a big sister. One weekend she left the kibbutz to spend shabbat with the family of one of the girls serving Sherut Leumi. (This was an alternative military service offered to young people who objected to joining the Israeli Army for religious reasons.)
Shoshana continued to spend weekends at Tsivia’s family's house. It was about this time that I began to feel very disconnected from the people on the kibbutz. The people who lived there full time were both welcoming and distant; they had their own families who lived with them and they ate meals together. On Shabbat especially, when we weren’t working, I felt like an outsider. This feeling stayed with me. When Shoshana invited me one weekend to go to Tsivia’s family’s house, I didn’t think twice.
The 2-½ hours of bus rides to Kiriat Ata on a Friday afternoon were filled with sleeping soldiers with their rifles resting nearby, religious men and women loaded with fresh baked goods for the sabbath, and a wide variety of humanity that represented the country at that time.
When we finally arrived, I was introduced to many daughters- too many for me to keep track of. Each one was dressed in her finest dress, and some had freshly washed hair still wet, while others waited patiently for their turns in the bathroom. Tvisia’s mother was introduced to me as ‘Ima’- Mom. She had the cutest shy little smile when she met me. I remember she was wearing an apron (it’s not that my memory is so great- she was almost always wearing an apron!) and she apologized in Hebrew to me for not knowing any English. I assured her that it was refreshing to meet an Israeli that didn’t speak English, and I was excited that maybe now I would finally learn to speak Hebrew. She handed me a brush and some hair accessories, and asked if I’d be able to help fix the twins’ hair. Rachel and Shulamit were these tiny little muffins of little girls, and within minutes, they each had two little ‘kookiote’- ponytails. That would come to be my job when visiting. I was the kookiote person. This is what it looks like to make someone feel like part of the family.
The Shabbat dinners at the Dan family’s house were pure joy. Delicious food, tons of singing around a very long table, and always a friendly person to talk to. On many occasions Ima and I would get a chance to check in over washing the dishes after everyone had gone to sleep. Her goal was to have all of her daughters married, eventually. When she shared this with me, I realized that she considered me in this esteemed group.
I was to learn that she and her dear husband Shimon had 5 biological daughters, and 5 adopted daughters. How they had the energy and love to share with so many so selflessly was a mystery to me. And yet I knew without a doubt that this family loved me. They provided me with the nurturing care and stability that I was lacking.
And then the time came for me to leave Israel. And I left, and I did not keep in touch. I was no longer religious, and I was once again in a new situation, but this time with no container to hold me. I found my way through odd jobs, and eventually back to college. I had a few rough years where my life was spiraling into a bad direction.
This family was so good to me, I have no idea why I didn’t keep in touch. I guess I just felt like we were in two completely different worlds, and I didn’t know how to make it work, so I did nothing.
I went back to school and got my master’s to become a teacher. I have been working for the past 8 years in mostly high needs schools in the lower elementary grades. Every year I come across a handful of little girls that remind me of myself when I was their age. They have this sadness about them- maybe they are missing their mother, or they are hungry, or they are just not getting enough attention at home. Or maybe worse things are happening. I try to give my students a safe, stable classroom environment. I make sure to offer art and drama so that they have opportunities to express themselves, and to just have those meditative experiences art offers, that they may be craving. I started realizing that I was becoming the safe harbor for children that Ima had been for me. And It made me proud of myself, and also her- and it made me realize that I wanted to contact her.
I searched the internet, and was able to find her old address. I planned on calling her, but I didn't have her phone number. I could have mailed a letter. Why didn’t I do that?
More time passed, and the momentum had faded.
Fast-forward a few months, and I received this email from my sister saying Shoshana had requested I call her as she had urgent news. I knew right away that Ima had passed away.
I did call Shoshana, and Ima did pass away. A beautiful light has been extinguished in the world. Her legacy of kindness and emotional tzedakah (righteousness or tithing) will live on through her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
I had not made contact in over three decades. Despite religious differences, this family mattered very much to me during a time in my life that I really needed them. I'd like to be there for them this time. Maybe a visit in the future. I'll pack extra hair accessories in case they're needed.
