Expect nothing, be amazed by everything….

When I began here in March I had no particular “mission”. No actual plan which governed my day to day activities; however, I trusted in myself and God more than I ever have…and let me tell you he NEVER lets you down.  Nope, God never forgets, he never falters, and he always delivers.  I began my journey by meeting this group of what I shortly learned are amazing men, who like we all have sometime in our life, got lost somewhere on their journey.  When I came into the picture, they were already well on their way to spiritual recovery.  But, soon what I discovered are compliments to spiritual recovery and what actually can enhance it, like what eyeliner does for women…..it brings out your eyes, and we all know your eyes are the window to your soul.  Well, to put it in make-up terms, I became their eyeliner.

It started with the English classes, and eventually perpetuated into their photography projects and cooking class.  The whole concept behind these vocational studies has a couple of purposes, one: it allows the men the challenge of learning new, useful skills in order to be more marketable once their time in the shelter is over. And two: it allows me to pinpoint their niches and interests in order to better facilitate a means of enhancing their spiritual and mental recovery.  One particular project, the cooking class, allowed me to see another side of one man, Uri. Uri came to the shelter in mid April, which was a bit challenging for me because I wasn’t anticipating people coming in after I had started my class (teacher challenge number one).  But, in no time Uri proved that not only was he up for the challenge of playing catch up to the rest of the students, but he was more than willing to participate at board activities and thoroughly enjoyed the photography project.  However, where Uri really shined was in the cooking department.

For their cooking project, they had a practice day, where they all prepared a dish of my choosing, Eggplant Parmesan Баклажаны Пармезан (cause let’s face it, I’m Italian and I need some remembrance of home).  However the exacting dish lens itself to allowing the men to practice a few different types of techniques: broiling (yes we broiled instead of deep fried the eggplant….Russian food is riddled with everything drenched or submerged in oil…I’m not about to enable the habit….call me Cruella) also different types of knife work as well as creating a filling.  The men had a variety of special cheeses, because it was a special day!  As a side note, I thought Igor was going to keel over and die of sheer bliss when he tasted the mascarpone, naturally he had never tasted it before and it was as if he had rekindled a long lost friendship he never knew he had to begin with.

Through the process of introducing cheeses like parmesan, ricotta, and mascarpone to this inquisitive group of gentlemen, I would occasionally glance over to see Uri vicariously chopping onions will all he ease of a decorated chef working in a four-star Michelin restaurant. It was an awe inspiring moment, there it was, his niche!  Gathering myself from awe-shock, I immediately had the men gather around Uri to observe his knife technique, precise but not frantic, efficient but not careless. As the day progressed and I took them through blanching the spinach and layering the eggplant, cheese, and homemade tomato sauce while chanting in Russian bachlasion, sir, pomidor, bachlasion, sir, pomidor (our mantra for that day) I could see their enjoyment and enthusiasm.  I don’t have children of my own, but I did feel like a proud mama in the kitchen with all my little helpers fighting to be the one to spread the cheese on the eggplant.

 

As the food came together on the table, and I watched as my gentlemen allowed the women at the dinner to sit first, then themselves….I stepped back to realize how much these men have to offer the world.  At that table there was no such thing as addiction to be heard of or seen, there was only love, smiles, and food!

At this time it is important to point out that I am not a person who enjoys the feeling of spontaneity, although the romantic side of me wished I did.  I am the planner, the quintessential type-A personality.  Everything must be planned to a T, with proper room to spare for mishaps, because a true planner always carries at least two or three back up plans in her pocket.  So needless to say, with all this planning I do, I expect to know what to expect once my plan has been successfully executed. Although, what I learned during this class was to take joy and satisfaction in knowing that I am not in control and when I relinquish what control I think I have to someone who is far more omniscient and powerful than I am, I become merely the recipient of amazing results.  I like this side of the field now, my grass is the greenest it has ever been.  In 1 Corinthians Paul talks about the importance of just doing God’s work to the best of your abilities and to not become discouraged or apathetic if you don’t immediately see results:

            “So, my dear brothers and sisters, be strong and steady, always enthusiastic about the Lord’s work, for you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless,” (1 Corinthians 15:58).

I expected to come to Israel and see these men work, learn English, and change their lives, I never expected myself to change with them; but, I am amazed at the results.  For me, change isn’t the result of a spontaneous interaction that occurs at a time purely based in self reflection, it is the consequence of touching and being touched by others who are living a vertical life.

 My guys :-)

“I never expected them to actually learn English”

It’s only fair to note that although we expect certain results from an action, it doesn’t necessarily mean our actual results will be validated by any means of concrete evidence.  However, this is one of those rare cases where the amount of work equals the amount of sound results.

Please allow me to explain something to you…  The world I spent my last four and half years coexisting in was a world which can only be described as a parasitic relationship between me and biology.  Don’t get me wrong I love academic biology the same way I love concepts like communism and socialized medicine; they all sound truthful and genuine in theory, but left in the hands of men and bitter professors, they only amount in unjust actions and indifferent students.  The efforts put forth rarely seem to be shown in the results; why is that?  Could it be that the land I once hailed from was also ridden by people like me who, to a certain extent, need that immediate gratification?….(guilty).  But, could it also be that for there to be true success, both hearts have to be present?

When I started teaching English at the men’s shelter, although I was hopeful and maybe a bit ambitious, the men on the other hand seemed at the very least, skeptical.  You could tell by their glances things have been tried in the past, failed, or were unsatisfying, and let go.  I’m not saying their attitude toward English classes, or me for that matter, were blasé, they merely acted as if I was apart of their “revolving door” lifestyle.  I would constantly here Igor say “you know, people come and go, we’re used to it”.  As weeks passed, and I started to learn more about them, and they realized I wasn’t just some hit and run English teacher, you could see their minds and hearts open up.  Once they started to feel safe and cared for, it was only a matter of time before I begun to see every hand in the air, people discussing verb conjugations, and their constant pleading for me to teach them “English slang”.  It is an amazing experience to witness the hand of God playing and interacting in the daily lives of these men.

Each day I have the privilege of working with these men; I have the opportunity to witness their beginning.  A beginning to a new life, one in which is centered around God and one in which their hearts become present.  This newfound desire to try and place oneself out there has snowballed into a movement for these men.  Currently, in addition to the English classes, they are going to be taking a cooking class next Sunday in hopes of preparing to run one of the feedings we do in the park for the drug addicts and prostitutes.  Also, photography has become an interesting discussion topic, due to their photo project most of them have concluded last week.  I am hoping to display their photos back in the states as part of a fundraising event for them.  More on that later….

My point is, what started out as a mere attempt to get them to learn English in order to provide them with more job opportunities once they finish the program, has become a catalyst to reshaping their confidence and entire outlook on life.  I realize it is not me doing this, but I am beyond grateful to be a single thread in this elaborate tapestry.

However, it is nice to hear Gene say (the director of the operation in Israel), how happy he is with the progress of the men, and to admit, “I never expected them to actually learn English”.  It turns out nothing is out of reach for those who believe and open their hearts to the endless possibilities God reveals.

Igor, Alexander and Sasha playing chess

Some Onions are Best Served Raw

 This particular entry is one I have desired to write from the moment I arrived in this country, but just didn’t have my wits about me enough to actually write it.  It only took me a month to find my wits; I never said I was quick (both literally and figuratively). At any rate I wanted to describe the demeanor of the Israeli people to the best I see it.

As a vague, preliminarily description I have found Israelis to be one of the most abrasive, touchy, loud, obnoxiously offensive groups of people I have ever come across in my lifetime. (I know what you’re thinking, and yes, it is much more severe than any New Yorker…)  And one would think my description as accurate or inaccurate as it may be, is tied with a negative judgment.  However, my actual feeling toward their attitude is quite the opposite to the point where I am almost envious of these what seem to be visceral traits.  They portray on a daily basis only what Americans think of doing while in their car during rush hour listening to how the Eisenhower is so back-up they might as well just pitch a tent in the middle of the highway and pray they get to work within this decade…they scream.  You see, we only think about it as we jester to another car with a sarcastic grin saying “oh this darn traffic”.  An Israeli would motion you to open your window, so he could tell you how in some way during this cosmos’ epileptic seizure, you caused it and he’s mad about it.

Israelis are not grey people, maybe because their lives are riddled in and throughout an entire gray spectrum of cultural, religious, and political ambiguity.  When their mad, their mad, but in the same token when their happy, content, or in love, they are all of that emotion and all ambiguity which riddles their identity is now nullified through their emotions in every person they come into contact with.  It’s a beautiful and foreign experience to be in relationships with someone like a true Israeli.  There are no monkey suits, geisha masks, or white-picket fences they hide behind.  Their emotion is raw and pure. It’s not tainted by political correctness, or the urge to shove a chewy bar in their mouth before they say something that might be offensive.  They say it, and as upsetting or self-fulfilling you may feel as the words effortlessly flow from their mouth, you can’t help but take comfort in the, raw, brutal, honesty of it all.

Even the way they greet you is something I would consider laudable.  A kiss on the cheek, a hug, a squeeze.  It’s the little things they do, which remind me everyday of their absent “personal bubble”.  I love the fact that there is no question I cannot ask, and I can ask it as uninhibited as I want, while standing two inches from their face…..and the answer I will receive in return will be the truth.

According to the American timeline of my stay here, I barely know these people, I still should be treating them like perfect strangers.  But instead, I’ve been kissed, squeezed, drive by tickled, and loved from the moment I got here.  I have a handful of mothers, and God know how many grandmothers watching over what I eat, how I’m sleeping, my health, and especially my fertility potential.  Yes, my fertility potential.  If I’m around a babushka, she better for the sake of my life and my eggs not catch me carrying anything heavier than 7 pounds.  She will literally grab whatever it is out of my hands then proceed to yell at every male within a mile radius of where I am because they didn’t carry the basket off full of onions, and now there is no telling what could happen to me….my uterus could just fall right out.

To a community, the most important aspect of life, is the creation of new life.  Which explains why Israel is popping to the brim with pregnant women and children…..literally everywhere.  And, every average Joe on the street will still interact with you as if he’s apart of your immediate family.

So, as schizophrenic as their emotions may seem, I am so grateful to know the complexity of their being is being shown to me in its most uncut form; therefore, every interaction is real.

The Joy in Suffering

Being sick this past week has made me do two things: number one, think a lot!; number two, not feel like writing about what I’m thinking because the daunting task of actually writing it all down, is well daunting…so instead of doing one of my epic stories and forcing people to place their head on a ping-pong table to be slapped around from idea to idea with only the occasional “and” or “also” to guide them, I’ve decided to make a series of short entries to compartmentalize my different thoughts, stories, and experiences, so as not to confuse you, and make me seem more neurotic.  (ps…I know that sentence was very long, but I if can get through it in one breath, I consider it a sentence;-)

Like I said this week I was sick.  I believe it was a combination of the drastic climate change between Chicago and Israel, the many eucalyptus plants surrounding my place on inhabitation, and the fact that I believe allowing one’s body to acclimate to anything before diving head first into work is a sign of weakness.  Now I realize it’s more a sign of stupidity and ignorance; therefore, I’ve learned my lesson. But, the true lesson didn’t come from my trip to the emergency room, or the feeling like I was going to die of sore throat/emphesema-like symptoms. No, the true lesson came from allowing myself to be content with my present state of absolute misery.  I’ll explain…..

As I was lying there on my deathbed with arms outstretched to the heavens crying “beam me up…I’m ready…..take me now!!!” I began to think of others instead of myself.  Well, I also thought about another time I had wished for the rapture to take place, but we won’t talk about the evil “O” word…organic chemistry. (I just died a little inside).  The others I chose to think of were actually the men at the shelter.  I thought about what some of them have gone through, their present struggles with addiction, and their fight to assimilate into a culture that detest people who are Jewish AND believers in Christ (Messianic Jews).  Not only is there a battle to restart their lives, but after doing so they must fight to defend their new choices and in essence their identity.  As I slowly lower my arms realizing my life isn’t that bad I reach for my Bible.

Now, if I am not studying a particular book at the time, I am embarrassed to say that I sort of used my Bible as a magic eight ball.  So, I picked up my Bible and opened it to wherever the pages fell. And, would you have thought the part at which I opened was talking about Paul’s contentment with being persecuted because it allowed more people to hear of Jesus.  So, I looked and I thought of what is making me happy at the moment and what lesson can I learn that I am not seeing due to the enormous pain of my throat blocking my ability to think clearly.

The happiness in my suffering became a means to not only think about the struggles of the men, but also ways I can be of better service to them.  The program for the men is very rigid, with accountability and grace being the forefront of its philosophy.  If one of the men are caught drinking, it is an automatic dismissal from the program and the same goes for narcotic usage.  If one of the men are caught smoking a cigarette, they are given a warning and the second time they are caught, again, and automatic dismissal from the program.  With rules as strict as this, one would think it would be extremely easy to go the straight and narrow because on the other side of the river is not green grass, but Harlem….  They are on the green side of the river!!!  However, temptation and visceral reactions do not distinguish nor contain any sorts of rational, well rational only to the person who is fighting this said temptation.  I’m not going to lie to you and say we haven’t had any casualties since I’ve been here. About a week ago, one of my best students, Zaur, decided by his own volition to leave the program. He returned momentarily to collect some things and at that moment the guides of the house smelt alcohol on his breath.  I haven’t seen him since my last English class with him. 

This is real.

It is difficult for me not only as their English teacher, but as someone who speaks for them, who shows you them, who deeply cares for them.  I still think about Zaur a lot, but he is a representation of each and every man or woman who struggles with addiction.  Zaur is your neighbor, your father, you sister, your niece.  The men at the shelter would say Zaur just wasn’t ready and there are plenty of other men who could use Zaur’s spot if he chose not to stay. I suspect this is the silver lining I’m suppose to see…

I choose instead to focus on the students I have now and in just a month’s time, be filled with contentment at how much they’ve progressed.  It’s more than the English classes; it’s an opportunity to express who they are as individuals.  I don’t pretend to make sense of why I’m here, all I know that I’m blessed to be part of this intricate design.

 Zaur

What a Week!!!

This whole week went by way way way too fast!  I can’t believe I’ve already taught my first week of English classes….and I didn’t die…  I think what makes this time so easy for me is the fact that I truly love what I do. I know I joke about the occasional roach or snake sighting, but it’s all part of the job (if you can even call it that).  What I prefer to call this is my niche. Everyone out there has something that they are really keen at doing and have just a natural knack for. Now, I’m not going so far as to say I’m the best at what I do, actually on the contrary, I think I have a very long way to go in order to be the kind of person I desire to become. But, this is a very nice start I must say!

The first thing I love about my time in Israel are the people.  You can have loads of money, status, power, but if you don’t have the vital relationships, which house your inner being and allow your true self to shine through, what quality of life do you actually have?  People bring out you.  The specific relationships each person has with another bring out the raw parts of their own being, whether that being is sarcastic, genuine, loving, cold, adorable, devious, or what have you…it’s all you.  The ideal person of course is the one that gets down to the authentic you….the you you.  That particular person is a difficult one to find, one might think, some people search their whole lives to find that the only true person who knows them the best is God.  But, I say to you this, God did not make us in the likeness of himself to only be known by Him. No.  So, should we blame God for not creating enough people to choose who to peel back our onion layers to.  I say no to that as well.  It’s up to us to be authentic, to be vulnerable, to let someone see you in not the best light, to be human.  Obviously easier said then done, but rest assured, once you battle this demon inside to always be perfect all the time and actually let the “I really didn’t feel like taking a shower today, so I just sprayed an extra squirt of bodysplash on” person show through, you will kick yourself for not doing it sooner.

Why do I bring this up? This, what may seem like an anomaly of a thought, because sometimes the easiest people to be yourself around are perfect strangers.  Now I’m not saying you have to go the woman standing in front of you at the grocery store and tell her your life’s story and your childrens’ stories, and how your husband hates his job, or how you can never make the same apple pie your grandma used to make and it just kills you….Unless you have a minimum of twenty cats this is not an appropriate vulnerability exercise.  All I’m saying is recognize a good deed, or share a moment with an acquaintance from work who secretly gets on your nerves, or go out of your way to make someone laugh, or help someone through a rough time.  Befriend a stranger and you have no idea what may happen; that stranger or acquaintance may become a friend for life or be slightly impacted by something you did or said.

The easiest people I find it is to be myself around are two kinds of people. One, my family and very close friends, because it really doesn’t matter how much of a goof you look in front of them because they will love you anyways. Two, strangers because you will most likely only see them once in your entire life.  Or, there is the dreaded category three: acquaintances, but those people you may never see again, or they may become a friend for life….so really what do you have to lose?  The men in the shelter are not shy about talking to me eventhough they’ve only known me two weeks.  Vitaly, whom I thought I would never get more than two words out of if I were lucky and I saw a pig fly out of my window, now raises his hands, tries to be the first in line to use the computer, and repeatedly shakes my hand to say “Hi, my name is Vitaly. How are you today?”  He puts himself out there, in the open, naked and vulnerable.  It’s admirable to say the least.  Vitaly is an alcoholic, and the only reason I know that is because the first sentence he typed on Microsoft Word was, “I don’t drink vodka anymore.” And, I don’t know if that was a courageous thing for him or not, but I don’t know many people who would sit down in front of a perfect stranger and type, “I don’t look at porn anymore” or “I don’t cheat on my husband anymore.”

I realize there are two ways of looking at that act.  Some counselors will say if you write it or type it you’re thinking about it, which to a certain degree I do validate.  However, there is another side to the coin, which is showing how number one, this person is able to identify they have or had a problem, and two, be able to be held accountable of this problem by not allowing themselves to partake anymore.  Accountability, this is exactly what we need more of.  If we had accountability we wouldn’t have bred this mentality “Oh, no matter what I’ll have someone to take care of me”……and yes, that was a jab at our newly proposed healthcare policy.  I’m sorry I don’t wish to pay for someone else’s healthcare insurance who wears nicer clothes than I do, and has a playstation3 thingy and a Gucci purse, but because their insurance card says Medicaid, this means they are privey to me paying for their lovely visit to the ER because Timmy over here decided it would be a fun idea to jump on top of the glass coffee table, and because mommy doesn’t watch Timmy because she obviously has more important things to do than be a parent, I should be held accountable of Timmy’s unforeseen misfortune...right?!!?!??!  (ugh….I know I just got on my soap box, but promise me if I was there in person talking with you right now it could have been much worse, and there is no amount of Pinot Noir in Napa Valley that could calm me down)  Point is if we had shelters for people who just can’t prioritize their money we might be able to decrease the homeless rate nationally and internationally right there.

But back to the guys….tomorrow I’m going to give them their first quiz, examining how much information they were able to retain from last week's lesson.  I also gave them a writing assignment I thought would be interesting for both them to do and for me to read.  I wanted to get an idea of what their writing style is like as well as give them a platform to tell me more about themselves, and indirectly you as well.  Because Passover is soon approaching (Monday the 29^th), I told them to write about a time in their lives where they did not listen to God, and what was the result of that action?  This was suppose to parallel the tale of Pharaoh not heeding Moses’ warning from God to let the Jewish slaves go.  As a result to Pharaoh’s disobedience, God bestowed upon Egypt many plagues, and of course the last being the most drastic, killing all of the first-born Egyptian sons.  Needless to say, I’m excited to receive these writing assignments, and now pose the question to all of you. If you would like to write me about your thoughts please feel free to send me an email at richter.tikva@gmail.com. I promise not to name names, but I am curious.  Next blog I'll reveal a time that I did not listen to God when he was calling me to do something.

Wishes, hopes, and dreams. Today we did the feeding in the park.  I want so bad for the women of Tel Aviv to have a shelter to go to.  It just really scares me to think girls as young as 14 or 15 thrust into a world of sex-trafficking and made to partake in awful and unsafe acts in exchange for money, which they don’t even get to keep most of it.  Everything that we would shield our daughters, sisters, nieces, and granddaughters from, these women have to endure on a daily basis. It becomes a perpetual hole that just keeps digging itself deeper and deeper until the debt is so large, it’s nearly impossible to see an end to this inferno.  I am of the belief you can’t help those who don’t want to help themselves, and I think that is why I love working at the Men' shelter, but what about those who cry out, but can’t be heard?  What about the women of Tel Aviv-Yafo?  I’m sure they have voices, and I know everytime they step in that line to get food, that is a cry, but where do they go?  Gene is always saying to me, “when you’re not ok, tell me, because everytime I ask you if you’re cold or if you’re hungry, you always say you’re ok.”  In comparison to these women, these girls, I am ok, I’m more than ok….after this I get to go home to a family that loves me and a warm bed and food.  Where do the women of Tel Aviv go?  I wish and I hope someday I will have that answer….I wish someday I’ll be able to say to the Women's Shelter, to their home.

“U is for…..”

Ok….don’t be mad. I haven’t updated in a while. My first reason is for the first couple of days preceding my last update I really didn’t do anything aside from update the website and prepare for the weeks to come, because Gene and I decided that work would start on the 21^st. (that would be yesterday). However, right after I made the conscious decision not to update a lot of things started to go on.  Then, it wasn’t a matter of I have nothing to write about, but instead just the opposite; I have too much to write!  So, the daunting task of relaying the excursion of my last few days can be put off no longer, because….well…you deserve to know, and I want to tell you J.

Last Friday was the beginning of Shabbat, which is the equivalent of a worship day. It starts Friday night and goes until sundown on Saturday night.  On this day it is nearly impossible to find anything open (grocery stores, restaurants, and even gas stations) Because Israel is a non-secular society, the whole country adheres to rabbinic law. (Basically what God says….goes!)  So, Friday night I went to my first Shabbat service with Gene’s congregation.  Everyone there was so nice and I was invited to many to two סֵדֶר‎ seders (ritual feast) for פֶּסַח Pesach (Passover).  Seder literally translates to “arrangement” or “order” because everything from the food to the order at which things are served or said has a specific place and a specific meaning. This is also why you will find seders all around the world to be relatively the same regardless of demographic cultures.

Among being invited to two seders, I was asked that Friday night to give a speech in front of Gene’s congregation.  Now, speeches are not my, how you say….forté, but I actually did fairly well. I think the fact that I had no clue who anyone was helped a little. Also an interesting aspect of the service was it was in Hebrew and had a Russian translator, for the English speakers (which was me and two other people) we had special ear pieces which translated the service into English for us….very UN-like. Once the service was over, I said goodbye, dosvidanya, and gave kisses to all the babushkas who now are determined to fatten my up like a Thanksgiving turkey.  Then I proceeded to turn my little flashlight on and guide myself home, while informing all the vipers to stay away from me……I MEAN IT!!!

Saturday was a big day.  Every Saturday is feeding day in the park by the Recovery Center.  This is where a small group of us prepare food in a kitchen close to the park and at 1800 or so we distribute the food to the drug addicts and prostitutes.  I arrived to the kitchen and Lena, Gene’s wife was running that kitchen like a 5-star Michelin restaurant…..I’m sure the French Laundry has nothing on her. (What out Thomas Keller!!)  Although it was a tiny kitchen, everyone had their place and it moved rather smoothly.  Upstairs there was an Ethiopian service taking place. Tel Aviv is riddled with Ethiopians. And I believe this particular congregation was of the charismatic persuasion because occasionally form the bellows of the kitchen I heard the occasion national geographic “war cry”.  I’m not trying to be prejudice at all, just a simple observation and trying affiliate it with something everyone can recognize and understand.  Actually, I went up to observe the service and it was quite beautiful. The music scale is very similar to carnatic style (monophonic songs).  Once the food was prepared, we brought it to the park.  Unfortunately, there were not a lot of people and the distribution took longer because there were Israeli police on scene as crowd control.  Early that day the community had planned a demonstration to show the Israeli government their displeasure in the deportation of its refugees.  Many Ethiopian refugees as well as Russian refugees reside in this community, which is just mere block from downtown Tel Aviv.  The town itself I would equate to Harlem in New York City (yup…that’s where I’m working.)

Afterwards, Gene took me to a street, once again close to where I work, which is Tel Aviv’s “Red Light District”, and yes, there actually is a “hous wit da red door” (for all of you Taken fans)  This street is about your average Chicago city block in length and it has many portals of entrance to this huge compound, which Gene tells me is actually interconnected on the inside; like one big brothel.  Each entrance is guarded by a man, whose primary job is to, what else, we’ll say gather patrons.

I’ve come to learn that many women are promised a job, free passage, clothes, money, virtually anything to get them to into trafficking.  The women leave with these delusions of grandeur, thinking that this is their ticket of our poverty and oppression, but in reality it is their ticket into a far greater circle of hell.  Often sold by the men who have befriended them for the moment, or in some circumstances, their boyfriends, these women are indebted to their owners for every cost they’ve occurred (plane ticket, purchase price).  The lifestyle becomes all the bad parts of Memoirs of a Geisha, but without the glamorizing shadow of Hollywood and status.  It is my hope and my dream to someday offer these women a chance to have a Recovery Center, much like the men.

 (Boris and Dima fixing the van....Boris is working so hard....
  Dima is under the van)

As for the men, Sunday was my first day teaching.  Nerves were the least of my worries.   I was worried none of them would understand me, or care to learn. I had taught myself in Russian everything that I was going to teach them in English. So we began with the letters of the alphabet and the difference between the Russian and English alphabet. (which I don’t know if you ever have seen Russian letter, but they look almost nothing like ours……so this process took quite a bit of time;-)  However, from the very instant I began teaching I knew my expectations of all

the men were far too low. Everyone, and I mean  EVERYONE, were taking notes and asking questions, and reciting, and practicing with each other. As Gene would say, “they have shocked me” (meaning amazed). From then on I knew this would be a life changing experience for them, as well as for me. 

So as we continued on with the alphabet we finally got down to the letter “u”. But, because “u” is a vowel it makes two sounds “uh” and “you”, so they wanted and example of both sounds in English words. The “uh” sound was easy, I used the word “up” and “utter”; however, the only word I could think of for the “you” sound is “uniche”…..aaaahhhh!!!. So, after a great moment of pause I finally got up the….well ya know…..and said it. Igor, my faithful translator and also one of the men in the center looked at me and said “oh but there must be another word, there must be”.  And me, with my mind in the gutter, feeling like a total jerk, finally stumbled upon a word, so I quickly shouted out “unique, unique”.  Ah, saved…..who ever knew the letter “u”’ would bring about so many emotions and levels of shame.  These are the kind of thing I’m glad they didn’t teach our kids on Sesame Street.  I blame my mother for teaching me that word, or the Egyptians who loved to have the empress guarded by many uniches…..ya know….I blame history for that word.  (ok, all the shame is off me….hahahaha).

As for the men, they are all extremely nice. On my website www.tikvaforisrael.com I have posted pictures of them with little descriptions of their personality.  I desire for all of you to know them and identify with them.  They struggle for lack of control the same way we struggle. My goal for the men is more than just teaching them English, it’s providing another form of self-expression and self-respect. I want them to not only have confidence in themselves, but confidence in God that he has control over their lives.  I believe it is a struggle for all of us to relinquish what amount of control we think we have, say to ourselves “I am not in control, but God is” and the most important aspect is trust what we are telling ourselves.  It is one thing to say it, but a completely different challenge to believe what we say.  The men have showed me a life of not regaining control, but giving control back to the rightful owner.

The Guys!!! (Back row left to right: Geana, Shasha, Zaur, Vitale; Front row left to right: Dimitry, Pasha, Anton, (Gene), Igor, Sasha, Boris)

"Chemistry brought us together...."

Well, so I didn't really ride off in my batmobile....more like a toyota, but all I did yesterday was go go go.  Gene, or Geana, which is a more accurate pronounciation of his name, picked me up at 9am (like he promised) and took me to the Recovery Center to meet the men.  In order to get the Recovery Center in Tel Aviv, we had to drive through several different towns and along the way Gene told me the meaning behind all the towns' names, which some I knew from my class in Jewish Culture, and some I didn't know. For example, one of the towns we went through is called Bene Baraq, Ben is a term to distinguish "son of" and baraq means "thunder", so this town is called literally sons of thunder.....I think I kind of want to name my first son Baraq..no not Barack (I would pay a lot of money to see the look on my mom's face telling her I'm going to name my first son Barack....i die:-) 

While on our way to the Recovery Center, Gene informed me about this one place that has excellent falafals (for those who don’t know what falafals are I will post a picture of them), delicious little chickpea burgers that you stick in a pita. However, the other day Palestinians were throwing rocks at cars and people, so Gene thought it would be best to grab one on another day.  Oh, by the way Gene loves to “scare me”. Right after he picks me up from the airport and drives me to my apartment, he jokingly asks if I have a flashlight (which I don’t) and then proceeds to tell me about watching for snakes.  Then the next day when he picked me up to drive to the Recovery center, he bestowed upon me the rock-throwing story.  After every “story” Gene asks “Have I scared you yet?”, to which I reply with “No, but let’s not talk about the snakes anymore.”

Finally getting to the Recovery Center, which is actually just a two bedroom apartment, meant to house 10 men! There is another apartment, which I haven’t seen yet that is suppose to house another 5.  Needless to say it’s a little cramped. The men are so wonderful; everyone is very polite and inviting. They immediately asked me if I wanted some chai or café and pulled out my chair for me.  We were greeted by Boris, who used to be an addict, but now is recovered and works as a guide in the house.  So in my best Russian I shouted privet (hello) to which Boris replied with Shalom ;-/  After my failed attempt at a warm greeting I found out later that shalom is the only hebrew word Boris knows; he was just being cheaky.

            My thought process from then on was as follows:

• This house kind of reminds me of the one in the movie “Taken”, should I be scared?

• Oh wow, the men are so nice!

• I wish American men were this accommodating….geesh!

The more I began talking with the men (Gene had to translate) the more I saw each and every one of their personalities.  Igor is smart, but very sensitive (he knows the most English out of all the men), Zaur also knows a lot more English and is quite inquisitive, he wanted to know what Chicago is like (he actually lived in New York for eight years and calls the type of English he speaks “street English”, which I think means slang).  Paul, but we call him Pasha, is the youngest at 28 and is very shy.  There are two men named Alexander, but everyone calls them the Sahsas, I don’t know why, but both are very quiet but ready to learn.  One of the Sashas had a pen and pad of paper writing down my information as Gene was translating (very cute;-) Then Dimitry is always smiling and willing to lend a hand. And then, of course there is Boris, he is a real ham.  I told the men to ask me anything and that I’m a very open person, so Boris right away asked “how do you keep your fitness?”  Gene shot him a dirty look and Boris apologized but said to Gene “she said we could ask her anything!”……(I’m guessing that was a little bit my fault for saying so.)  There is another man, but I can’t remember his name, he is another guide like Boris, but much heavier, so the other men always refer to him at “the round one”.

Also, as I was explaining a little bit about my background in biology and chemistry, Pasha interjected with a huge grin on his face “oh chemistry we all here study chemistry too!”  I immediately started laughing like crazy and finally once I pulled myself together to be able to speak again I said something I never would in my wildest dreams thought I would ever say.  I said, “It’s nice to know chemistry has brought us together”.

I spoke with the men for a little just to get an idea of what they might want to learn in terms of English. It was a consensus that they all pretty much want to learn everything.  I had not idea they haven’t had English classes, and more so that I am the one teaching them.  It’s one thing to know something, but it’s a whole other thing when you have to teach it someone else who doesn’t know it.  (I think this scares me more than the snakes and the rock throwing Palestinians combined)  I also was able to get some of the interests, and I found out Zaur loves to cook, so I asked the men if they all would want to learn?  All of them had a huge grin on their face, but I think “the round one” was a little more concerned about the eating part of cooking.  They also want to learn more about computers.

SO, I have a purpose here!  It seems a little daunting and like a lot of work, but this is what I asked for.  I can’t wait to get to learn more about the men there and help them.  All of them are so open and have such a desire to learn. I only hope I will meet their expectations of me…..

After the meeting, Gene took me back to my apartment where I met Sam, who is the pastor of the congregation in Tel Aviv. I feel like a giant next to him, actually I feel like a giant next to a lot of the people I’ve been meeting lately. Sam seems to be about 5’2”, an older gentleman, and his wife is a real treat!  If there ever was a reward for the best Jewish grandmother I’m sure she would win.  Case and point….after our meeting to discuss what I would like to do while in Israel, Sam and his wife took me out to lunch at Sabarro’s (yes the pizza place, this isn’t boofoo….) afterwards as I was getting up to clean my tray, she opens my pocket and starts stuffing a breadstick in it while whispering “for later, for later”.  She turns away as I stood their stunned, because no one has ever stuffed food in my pocket, so I look to see if Sam saw this; he did, and said “she’s a, how do you say?......a…..you know……a babushka!”

Nevertheless, a comedic ending to my day.   I am starting to get settled in, but still crashing around 2230.  Today is my “day to rest” says Gene, so I’m spending it updating my website and figuring out a way to teach my native tongue…I think I will start with the alphabet.  So as they say in Russian, udachi “good luck”.  (Although at this time, my phase of choice is vaya con dios “Go with God”).