The Universal Humor of Seymour Butts; Or, The Gas we Pass 26/07/2009

Living on a Kibbutz continues to be a constant exercise in culture shock. Kibbutz living is more than just a community, it’s a family. Unlike most places where we tend to think of our house itself as home, for a Kibbutznik, home is the kibbutz itself, and the house is just a house. One one hand, this is leads to an incredibly supportive community. On the other hand, no matter what–a visitor remains a visitor.

Last week I was trying to figure out directions to head to a kibbutz members house. After directions that included things like “go around the mudwall, then follow the it till it ends”, and “near the giant tree”, I exasperatedly exclaimed, “addresses and street signs would make this a lot easier!” The reaction I got back was accompanied by the pity head shake, “this is a home! do you have street names on the hallways in your house?”. To be fair, I don’t. But, the number of people who live in my house are as follows: me and my cat. If I needed street names inside my studio apartment, I think there’d be bigger problems at hand.

Besides constantly getting lost, I am very aware that I am an intruder. Now, that’s not to say that people haven’t been going out of their way to make me feel at home- in fact, I’ve never seen such hospitality! Just last night I was out for my evening stroll, and ended up invited into a members home. While I passed on the freshly made dinner they offered, I did live up to the pressure when one of the kids demanded a funny joke. Even knowing I can share in the universal language of puns and fart jokes, I am aware that I am merely a transient. While I might be higher up the totem-pole than the youth groups that come by for the weekend, I am still only a resident for a few months. The life style I find so amazing, and the marveling that I continue to do is at someone else’s day to day, mundane, routine. I find it fascinating, and almost quaint, that kibbutz members shuffle through volunteer duties, manning the store, serving meals and guarding the gate. It’s no wonder I’m aware of my place here, I have yet to get over the novelty of such communal living.

It’s not just living on a Kibbutz that is different. Israel provides a plethora of opportunities for misunderstandings and cultural differences. One needs to look no further than my recent trip to the doctor, where the nurse barely contained her scorn that I had been using Tums to medicate my stomach ache. I’m still not sure why she had such a problem with my medication choice, or if “Tums” means something entirely different in Hebrew, but I do know that she quickly tired of my asking questions. Eventually when she did hand me medication, I was too afraid to ask her what it actually was, in fear that if I upset her more, she’d take it back from me. (To take the misunderstanding a step further, a later google search revealed that she had in fact prescribed medication that is often used to treat Erectile Dysfunction and is not necessarily FDA approved. I am, however, quite happy to confirm that my issues with Erectile Dysfunction continue to be nonexistent.)

Another thing I’ve learned is that no one is very shy on a kibbutz. There are no secrets here, so people don’t seem to be embarrassed. Being sick has shown me that– there is an openness and an expectation to discuss just how my stomach is doing. I’m told that since most people work on the kibbutz, its not uncommon for someone to discreetly (or, let’s not kid ourselves,  loudly) hand someone else a paper bag filled with a doctor ordered specimen or two and ask them to drop it off at the clinic if they’re leaving home. That might not seem too odd, but could you imagine knocking on your next door neighbors door and asking them to take care of such a thing for you? I sure couldn’t– in fact, I remain a city cliche of someone who doesn’t know the names of those who live in the apartments surrounding their own. If someone knocked on my door in Boston and handed me a bag of stool sample, I’m pretty sure my first course of action (after slamming the door and declaring my newly acquired case of the heebie-jeebies) would be calling the police, not crossing the road to the doctor.

Life is different here, there’s no denying that. However, as my lively conversation last night with reminded me, no matter where you grew up or where you think you might belong…well, we all find fart jokes funny.

The Gulf of Aqaba 21/07/2009

Snorkeling

Someone just emailed me this photo from the adventures last week in Jordan…. I think I’m making the “not so sure if i want to actually get in the water” face.

A few thoughts (probably a few too many) 17/07/2009

Deep Thoughts in Aquaba

Earlier today I was chatting with my friend Rachel, and I mentioned, just casually, how I didn’t feel anything when I was at Services lately. This wasn’t a huge revelation, or meant to start a long conversation on faith. It was just a fact. I was feeling spiritually numb, and not too concerned about it. I went to services this evening expecting to have the same experience- a nice chance to ground myself, see other people, and to be followed with a busy dinner in the dining hall, a dinner that would make me feel a bit nervous due to all the people and need for small talk.

I haven’t been going to services regularly in the past year. However, back when I was, I had my own grounding ritual, one that I brought here with me. During silent prayer, I go over each day of my week, starting with the most recent day, and stretching back to the previous Saturday. It provided quite an important opportunity to reflect, especially during times when I’m so busy that it actually physically hurts the brain to try to remember what i did 3 days ago- let alone a whole weeks worth of days! I’ll think about the things i’ve seen, done and learned over the past week, from the mundane to the more traumatic, contemplating ways to grow or change, things to do to improve myself.  However, this evening I decided not to look back over my week or to actively seek a connection- I was tired of feeling disappointed. Instead, I  simply closed my eyes and tried to be aware of my surroundings, no expectations, no process, just listening. While swaying ever so slightly side to side, I concentrated on the voices in the room, from the enthusiastic and very loud, to the shy and less sure. I felt the breeze from the window, and imagined where the wind had been, thought about the land I was standing on, and the history of the place where I am– not just of the past 30 years of Ketura, but further back, letting my mind drift from image to image. I thought about who else had heard these same words, swayed to these same melodies, and who else might have questioned their own purpose and faith, or tested their own journey to the backdrop of these prayers. Guided only by the music around me, I thought not of myself, or of my hope to feel a connection or a sense of calm. I simply listened….

Tonight is the first time in a long time that I have felt something other than simply “relaxed” after services. And…. I think it’s because I decided to stop forcing the experience. So often in life we have our expectations of how things should feel, or how we want things to happen. I know I am very guilty of thinking “once I do this…” or “if I could only have this….” my life will actually start. It’s very cliche to say that life is a journey, not a destination, but perhaps its cliche for a reason. Perhaps its cliche because, well… its TRUE. If you’re reading this, please don’t think that I have an idea of how to live one’s life successfully; after-all, you’re looking at a girl who just washed a weeks worth of clothing in the sink with Old Spice body wash. So, please take any and all rambleing with a grain of salt- its hot here in the desert, and sometimes we think big thoughts that end up being a bit silly. However, when I left services I felt both lighter and heavier than I have since arriving and I was taken aback at how red the mountains of Jordan were in the distance– how awe inspiring their beauty was.  I decided instead of heading to a Shabbat dinner that would inevitably cue my social anxiety, I would go for a walk.

On my walk I ruminated more about this idea of expectations for ones life, and the fact that you can actually miss the point when you’re so busy concentrating on how you think you want things to be. I remember talking to a friend sometime within the last year, and she was commented on how she just couldn’t wait to be married– and it seemed obvious to me that she was missing the point- life was already happening, she didn’t need to wait for one event to start her life. But, it’s not easy to see that in yourself- in fact, it’s almost impossible. I know that I can become consumed by the things I haven’t accomplished, or what I don’t have in my life, and those holes of lacking become so heavy, there’s nothing but overwhelming weight, too dark to fight off.

With these thoughts in mind, and the back drop of the most beautiful sunset one might ever see, I started to make a reverse bucket list– not a list of things I hope to one day do, but a list of all the amazing things that I have accomplished, witnessed and felt in my life already. Some of my list was incredibly happy and made me feel quite proud– the feel of the stone in the buildings of Oxford when I studied there, realizing the amazing minds who had also touched these very walls while learning. Some made me  laugh– like thinking about watching Jesus Christ SuperStar over and over with Stef after feeling too defeated by the 2004 election to create new thoughts, or our many late night treks to 711 for string cheese and slurpees in the name of academia. Some of it was incredibly sad– thinking of leading the unveiling ceremony for my grandmothers gravestone. Others brought back mixed emotions- like remembering Rocky, or thinking about playing outside in the old Highland Park house, or the times I had with High School friends who are no longer a part of my life. It’s clear thinking back over 27 years that I have been incredibly blessed with travel opportunities, a loving and supportive family and more adventures than I can count. I have done a great many things, and each one of those experiences was a chance to be alive, to not just create a memory, or to carve a path for the future, but an experience in itself to be treasured.

I know I worry all the time- is my life moving forward, what do i have to show for myself, will I ever reach this point, or that point, will I ever find that person…..  I think I need to stop and think more often of a very simple statement that my friend Allie once made while we were traveling. “This is my life”. That’s all- just “this is my life.” The next time I see something amazing, or even something commonplace that catches my eye, I need to take a step back and realize just how fantastic MY life really is… even with pain and sadness, we experience so much, and we miss so much because we are so concerned about how things will turn out, or how things might look from the outside.

Even with all that, I feel that I would be amiss to not quickly mention my adventure to Jordan yesterday. Perhaps a longer post is in order for tomorrow, but suffice to say, I had a great time visiting the town of Aquaba. I learned about the development of the city, and the stress between the traditional markets and the new malls, as well as the dangers to the corral reefs and the native plants and animals of the area. More to come tomorrow….

Border Crossing as envisioned by Dr. Seuss

hot in here 11/07/2009

The weirdest thing about living in the desert in the summer time is that my toothpaste is warm everytime i go to use it. as are my shampoo, conditioner and facewash.

A Kibbutznik life for me 10/07/2009

I don’t want to break my streak of writing daily, but there is little to report from this small corner of the world. I had planned on going to Elat today, a small (slightly touristy) beach town not too far from here. However, when morning rolled around I started to worry about buses and the temptations of spending too much money on things I don’t need, and decided to stay here. I think my transformation to a kibbutznik is almost complete; as it is, I don’t have any desire to leave, despite being in the middle of nowhere with no stores, restaurants or entertainment. I’m early to bed and early to rise, and when I encountered an entire bus load of American teenagers invading the pool this afternoon, I immediately viewed them as suspect interlopers.

Israel has such a strange culture. There are many thing about being here that remind me of laid back simple life in the Caribbean. There’s a very “no problem” attitude, where details are worked out later, no one worries about the little things and everything is exceedingly causal. Yet, somehow, at the same exact time, things can be very inflexible and intense. I was describing my surroundings in an email the other day while at the office and I wrote, “someone in the next office is yelling loudly in Hebrew. This is what Israel is too me– someone yelling, someone else’s phone ringing so often that their ring tone is stuck in my head, yet at the same time…. everything is so laid back. How can a place be both so intense and relaxed? I think thats the real mystery of Israel- and perhaps the miracle of the Jewish people.” I think equally appropriate was the response I received, “hah! i remember all of the yelling. especially people yelling at each other for reasons that, in the states, we wouldn’t even mention. (shalavtah al-yad haOfanaim sheli!) but at the same time, people are always so lax about getting anywhere on time or keeping appointments. it always used to drive me nuts”.

But, as per usual, I’ve digressed. Back to the point– I didn’t leave the Kibbutz today. Instead, I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and headed back to the caravan for a nap. It was so hot today that the power went out (at least, thats one explanation I heard), so I woke up from my nap when I realized that there was no air conditioning. Not to be deterred, I grabbed my book and my ipod and headed to lunch, ready for the second half of the day. 45 minutes, one large salad and an ice cream later, I was settled in at the pool for the afternoon. Tonight was Shabbat services– I think the reflection I need to do on my own feelings during services might need to occur off-line before I make it public, but I do promise to share my spiritual journey as well, I just need to get a better handle on it first. Dinner was a lovely occasion in the dining hall. Annie and I were invited to eat with the families of two faculty members–Sharon and Tareq. Tareq is an Arab who permanently calls Ketura home, and he has three beautiful young daughters. I’m going to be working more closely with him in August on issues of renewable energy. Sharon, whose four boys balanced out the ratio at the table, is in charge of the alumni network for AEIS. The conversation with Sharon was a very unique glance into the life of an American who has been in Israel for about 20 years, and she shared a bit of how her views towards things like the Army service have grown and developed- particularly when imagining the future for her boys.

After dinner I stopped by briefly for dessert with a group of interns. However, those youngin’s stay up far past my bedtime, so I took my leave and am now headed to bed. Hopes that the high doses of Vitamin D in the sunlight here would cure all my woes have yet to come to fruition, but with everyone’s laid back attitude my lunch time & post work naps (and early bedtime) don’t seem too weird to anyone. Shabbat Shalom, friends and family! I miss you all!