Back to School

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 6 September 1999

I would imagine that having your oldest child start elementary school brings back alot of memories for most parents. I often find myself comparing the way things are done in my daughter's school to the things I remember about my own school days. I don't know how many differences are simply due to the passage of time (such as the prevalence of computers in school today), the fact that this time I am on the other side of the backpack, or cultural differences between Israel and America.

In Israel, the school year always begins on September 1st, and finishes on June 30th. Kids are in school from 8 am until 1 pm, later on some days as the kids get older. On Fridays (the eve of the Jewish Sabbath) they get out at noon. There is now an effort underway to extend the regular school day for all kids until 3 pm, but I don't know if or when that will happen. Kids go to school six days a week, from Sunday through Friday.

At my daughter's school, the grounds are surrounded by a chain link fence, much as my elementary school in California was. Unlike at my school, an armed guard sits at the front gate, and patrols the grounds regularly. This is something you get used to rather quickly in Israel, as there are armed guards at the entrances to shopping malls, supermarkets and many office buildings, as well.

In my daughter's grammar school there are four first grade classes, four second grade classes, and three each of third through sixth. Each year more kids move into the neighborhood (which is still being built) and the school gets more and more crowded. Last year they added one classroom, and another new classroom is under construction right now. But soon they will run out of places to tack on an addition, and parents are very concerned about what will happen next.

There is no auditorium in this particular school, though others have them. Our school is next door to the neighborhood community center, however, and shares that facility's gymnasium in the event of school assemblies, concerts, physical education lessons and the like. There is no cafeteria...all kids bring their lunches and eat at their tables in the classroom during the long recess at ten in the morning. This ten o'clock meal (aruchat eser) is traditional in Israel.

Last year, when my daughter started first grade, I was shocked to learn that in addition to learning reading, writing and arithmetic with her main teacher, she would be taking classes in geometry, art, music, creative writing, road safety, nature, sport and several other topics - each with a different teacher. Her schedule was more complicated than the schedule I had in junior high school! In fact, most parents buy their child a special chart to keep track of the daily schedule. On these charts, each school day is broken up into one-hour segments, with a space for the child to write in the corresponding subject.

In second grade, the students begin learning Torah (the Pentateuch, or first five books of the bible) as part of their regular curriculum, even in the secular (non-religous) public schools. To this day, my husband and his brothers remember names, stories, and even quotes from the bible. This odd (to me) combination of religious knowledge and secular behavior is a striking feature of the Israeli experience. In addition, by third grade (usually) children begin learning a second language - English. In this country of immigrants, many languages abound: Arabic, Russian, Amharic (Ethiopian), French, Spanish...But it is English which is a required subject in grammar school. I didn't begin learning a second language until I was in high school. Sometimes the things these children are expected to learn and master amaze me. It seems quite a demanding environment for the students.

On the other side of this equation are the teachers. One of the things that bothers me the most about my daughter's school is that, as the children arrive in the morning, there are no teachers visible. They are gathered in the teacher's lounge where they sit and drink coffee. They often arrive in the classrooms five to ten minutes after the bell has rung, coffee mug in hand. Perhaps it is my faulty memory, but I seem to recall my teachers sitting at their desks at the front of the classroom, greeting each student as he or she arrived. In general, the teachers seem to me to have a lax attitude about their role in supervising the children. When a child behaves badly, he or she is sent from the room, but not to the principal's office. Instead, he or she is left free to roam the school grounds - or even run off if he or she can find a way to do so.

When I question the teachers about these issues, they shrug and tell me that the children must learn to regulate their own behavior, and to "be brave." The teachers seem to have the attitude that too much supervision will make children weak and dependent. It seems to me that this is an excuse for their own laziness, but it does fit in with what I have seen of the Israeli attitude about the need to be strong and self-reliant.

I struggle daily with the issues of what I see in the school and what I remember from my childhood, trying to decide what is best, what is "right" for my children. I sometimes wonder what it would be like if my kids went to school in America, instead of here. For one thing, there wouldn't be the need for two parents who are licensed to carry guns to accompany every class field trip in the event of a terrorist incident. But in the end, I believe the advantages of raising my children here outweigh the negatives. After all, things in America are not the same today as they were when I was in school.

(c) Amy Samin

The Army

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 25 May 1999

Here in Israel, the army (Israel Defense Forces or IDF) is a dominant feature of the culture. I have mentioned before that almost all Israeli men and women are required to serve in the army, starting at age 18. Women serve for two years, men for three. The men continue to serve, as reservists, for up to thirty days a year, until age 45. For this small country, that policy has been a necessity. In the 51 years since its establishment, Israel has been at war no less than 5 times.

It is common to see young men and women in uniform every time you leave your house. In shopping malls, at the movies, waiting at bus stops...they are everywhere. On every variety show broadcast, you will see large blocks of soldiers sitting in the audience enjoying the program (they are given free tickets). Army service is a standard part of every job resume, along with education and work experience. It can be very difficult to get a job in Israel if you did not serve in the army.

Sometimes you see fathers in uniform, dropping off their kids at school. Either they are career military, or they are on their way to reserve duty. All army correspondence, including notices to report for reserve service (called "milueem" in Hebrew), arrive in a special brown envelope. As soon as you see it in your mailbox, your heart sinks. It is no surprise that reserve service interrupts work and family life. Last year, my husband missed our daughter's first day of elementary school. This year, he was away during her birthday.

Reserve service means not having your spouse there for all the small things he does to help out. It means he may not be home for weeks - or he might get leave and come home for the weekend. In either case, he'll arrive sweaty and exhausted, with a duffel bag full of filthy uniforms to wash. It means his feet will be in terrible shape, after days of wearing ill-fitting army-issue boots. If he comes home on leave, he will most likely be bringing a rifle and a clip of ammunition home, too. A safe place needs to be found for that right away.

While your husband is away on milueem, your kids might regress and need special attention. When they are very little, it is a good idea to let the preschool teacher know that abba (daddy) is doing his reserve service, so she can give your child a bit of extra patience and understanding. When your husband is on milueem, all of your friends call and ask if there is anything they can do for you. They invite your kids over for extended play dates, or ask you to come for dinner. It helps to know that your friends know what you're going through, because they have been through something similar.

The whole army experience, both regular and reserve service, brings the people of Israel together. It creates a kind of closeness that I believe explains a great deal about the Israeli character.

(c) Amy Samin

The Israeli Lifestyle

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 8 May 1999

I'm not sure whether it's the climate, the country's socialist beginnings, the equalizing experience of serving in the army, or some other force at work, but the lifestyle here in Israel is definitely casual. Everyone who has seen a news broadcast showing our politicians in meetings or being interviewed has probably noticed that the great majority of our public figures dress casually, even while on the job.

This is changing in recent years, but there are still a great many members of the government who wear open-necked shirts, usually short sleeved. No suits and ties for these gentlemen.

When my older daughter was in preschool, I noticed that many of the other mothers wore their house slippers when bringing their kids to school. At first I found this very odd, but I realized that in a way, people see different places (such as the preschool) as an extension of their own home.

This informal attitude is evident in many other areas, as well. When an Israeli gets into a taxi, he sits next to the driver, not in the back seat (perhaps the better to tell the driver the best route to take?). To sit alone in the backseat is considered slightly ridiculous.

Until recently, most people didn't bother to call and ask to come visiting - they simply showed up at your house. Calling ahead was seen as somehow artificial...too planned. By the same token, people will often say, "Come by for coffee sometime." They mean exactly that - don't wait for a formal invitation, just drop by some day when you feel like drinking coffee. If you don't take them up on this offer, the next time they see you, they will ask, "Why don't you ever come over?"

In school, students call their teachers by the first name. They call their friends' parents by their first names, too. Or, if they don't know your first name, they refer to you by the way they define you: e.g. Eema shel Liat (Liat's mom). Teachers speak to parents this way, as well. In fact, just about the only people who call you "Mrs. -" are the prople who try to sell you things over the telephone.

In the evenings, especially as the weather turns warm, and then hot, you can find your neighbors outside in front of their homes. This is particularly true on our street. Instead of asphalt, our block-long street is paved in bricks. It is slightly narrower than a regular street, and is intended to be quieter, more free from through traffic. From about 6 pm until darkness falls, everyone is on the street: kids riding bikes, kicking soccer balls and roller skating; mothers pushing baby carriages; fathers walking the dog; people everywhere talking about the news, politics, the kids. Although every house on our street has a backyard, most families don't use it during the evening hours. Somehow, this twilight time is meant to be communal.

I think this informality brings us closer together. There is generally a "we're all in this together" mentality in this country. This can lead to closeness, but it can also lead to jealousy, contempt, or sheer lack of consideration - kind of like the way siblings of a certain age treat one another. It can be quite exasperating, but it also breaks down any sense of isolation. It's hard to feel alone when you have so many sisters and brothers ready to talk, share, argue, advise, gossip, and laugh with you.

(c) Amy Samin

Memorial Day & Independence Day

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 20 April 1999

I think it is a very Jewish phenomenon that Memorial Day is observed the day before Independence Day here in Israel. It reminds me of the end of Jewish weddings, when the groom breaks a glass. The message is the same: in the midst of great happiness, do not forget the sorrows we have endured.

Unfortunately, the Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers of the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) - known here as Yom Ha Zikaron - is something Israel does very well. Perhaps that is because so many families have lost someone in a
war. I believe it is also because Israel is still a small enough country that people feel another's loss almost as if it were also their own. Every time a soldier is wounded or killed, his name and photograph are shown on the news. His family and friends are interviewed. Even if you didn't know the young man who was killed, by the end of the news you find yourself crying.

You won't find any Memorial Day sales, paper plates with the flag on them, or other brash commercialization of the observance. On the eve of the Memorial Day, a national memorial service takes place in Jerusalem at the Western Wall. It is broadcast live on every channel. At eight p.m., sirens sound throughout the country. Everyone (and I mean that literally) stops what he or she is doing and stands for several minutes in silence. In homes, people stop their conversations and stand; on public streets, people stop and get out of their cars. Once you have seen this, you never forget it. It is, all by itself, more powerful and moving than any other form of observance I've seen. The siren, and the minutes of silence, occur again in the morning. This custom is also followed on the Memorial Day for Victims of the Nazi Holocaust, which is observed one week before Yom Ha Zikaron.

The mood of Yom Ha Zikaron fills the whole country, as radio programs and television shows (even on the Children's Channel) tell story after story of the lives and deaths of the fallen soldiers from all of Israel's wars. Only somber music is played on the radio. Public buildings display and light memorial candles.

Yom Ha Zikaron, like all Jewish holidays, begins at sundown and ends after sundown the next day. Once the sun has set at the end of Memorial Day, exhuberant celebrations of the anniversary of the birth of Israel begin. Most neighborhoods and all cities hold communal parties, complete with music, dancing, games, and fireworks. Many people host parties at home, as well. Flags adorn not only houses and public buildings, but a great many cars, as well. Apartment dwellers hang flags vertically from their balconies. Streamers span major streets in the cities. Everywhere you look, you'll see the Israeli flag. In the words of one popular Independence Day song, "All the country is flags, flags..."

As wholeheartedly as the population embraces the grief and pain of Memorial Day, so too does it welcome the exhiliration of Independence Day (called Yom Ha Atzmaut in Hebrew). During the day there are parades, military displays on sea and in the air, and of course - barbecues. In every park, vacant lot or backyard - any place where it isn't against the law to light a fire - people set up their small grills and cook "al ha esh" (on the fire).

This swing from sadness to joy can be disconcerting at first, but I have found it to make a great deal of sense. In order to appreciate what we have, we must first acknowledge all we have lost to achieve it.

(c) Amy Samin

Passover

The Postcard from Israel was originally written on 9 April 1999

Passover in Israel is an incredible experience for someone used to living in America. Come early spring, if you walk into most American supermarkets, you may see a small display stand with matzah, Concord grape wine, jars of gefilte fish (a kind of fish patty), boxes of matzah ball mix, and a few other items.

In Israel, supermarket employees work sometimes
around the clock to prepare the store for Passover. They wrap huge sheets of heavy weight plastic across shelves containing all food considered chametz (not kosher for Passover; basically this means foods made with wheat flour, yeast, baking soda or other leavening agents, plus a wide variety of other ingredients, such as corn syrup. It's very complicated to explain, but trust me: the list goes on and on of foods that many Jews do not eat during the week of Passover). In some cases, the whole aisle is blocked off. Outside of those areas, every item in the store has a special seal on it (called a hecksher) stating that the product is kosher for Passover of the current year.

Something I just learned this year: in Israel, it is illegal to sell chametz during Passover.

Driving home from my in-laws' house after the seder on the first night of Passover, we passed many homes still brightly lit, the families still gathered around the dining room table. As we tucked the girls into bed, we could hear our neighbors singing some of the traditional holiday songs. It was a magical moment.

Now that Passover is over, the supermarkets have taken down the heavy plastic covers. Stores were jammed with shoppers on the day after Passover ended: everyone needed to restock their kitchens with all of the chametz items (flour, bread, crackers, cookies, etc.) they had cleaned out in preparation for the holiday. At the supermarket where my husband is an assistant manager, they sold 2,000 kilos on that one day! (one kilo is about 2.2 pounds - flour and sugar are sold in one kilo packages).

As with the other holidays here, the children's TV station broadcast special programs during the school vacation. The content focused on the history and customs of the holiday. And, as usual, there were the many public displays, announcements, sales, etc. all related to Passover. It is a unique and wonderful feeling to live in a place where the holidays I celebrate are the subject of so much communal attention.

(c) Amy Samin

Little Things

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 28 March 1999

Sometimes the way things are done here amazes and confuses me. Here is just a small sampling:

The person who delivers the mail (usually a man) doesn't wear a uniform. He also doesn't have a snazzy little jeep to drive around in. He either uses his own car or bicycle, or he walks.

Until a few years ago, when you went to the neighborhood market for milk, what you brought
home was a one liter plastic bag filled with milk. Everyone had a specially made jug at home. You slid the bag into the jug, snipped off a corner of the plastic bag, and poured your milk! Cartons and plastic jugs of milk are relatively new here.

People don't pay their bills by check. Your bills are either paid out automatically from your bank account (if you've signed an agreement to this procedure); you can call and pay automatically over the telephone; or you can go to the post office and pay your bills there, in cash.

Houses here are not built from wood. They are constructed with concrete blocks. This seemed very strange to me at first, and it still does. But I have to admit, in the hot summertime, our house is pretty cool, even without air conditioning.

By law, there are no electrical outlets in the bathrooms of private homes. The current here is 220, and it is considered far too hazardous to have an electrical source so close to water. Electrical wall outlets are placed almost 3 feet above the floor in houses. Here's the reason:

Most people wash their floors by pouring soapy water in a huge puddle, then swishing it around with what I think looks like a giant squeegee and a special rag for washing floors. This is a technique I still have trouble with!

Butter and margarine are sold in blocks of 100 or 200 grams. That, and the fact that the regular flour sold here is about the consistency of what is called cake flour in America (i.e. very finely ground) make baking a real challenge. At least I've finally learned that 350 degrees Farenheit is 180 degrees Celsius.

Your insurance company can deny you coverage from car theft if you do not install any anti-theft devices they deem necessary. We have both car alarms and something called an "immobilizer." You can't turn on the ignition if you don't have the proper key for the immobilizer.

Almost everyone has a cellular phone. It has become such a phenomena here that there is a law forbidding you from driving while talking on a hand-held cell phone. You must use a speaker attachment. A popular gift from a parent to his or her teenager is a phone which can receive calls, but can only call out to one phone number. One of my daughter's classmates (and remember, we're talking first grade here!) even has her own cell phone.

The way things are done in my daughter's public grammar school is grist for an entire essay of its own. I'm sure I'll get to that topic in the near future!

The differences I've noticed between life here and in America are many, but they don't always bother me. Sometimes it's just a matter of adjusting to a new culture, and a new mind set. And sometimes I just keep on doing things my own way. After all, I moved to Israel because of the way we do the big things here, not the little things.

(c) Amy Samin

My Vanishing Vocabulary

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 23 March 1999

A very strange thing happens when you begin living in a place where the dominant language is not your mother tongue. The more skilled you become in the host language, the more you tend to forget your own.

Here in Israel, many people (native Israelis who are fluent in English, as well as native English speakers who are proficient - or becoming so - in Hebrew) usually end up speaking a hybrid language known affectionately as Heblish. My neighbor across the street, for example, is a lovely lady who lived in America with her husband and three children for many years before recently returning to Israel. Our onversations bounce back and forth between the two languages like a volleyball in search of a net. We may start out speaking Hebrew, but when we get stuck for the word we want, we switch to English. And most of the time, we don't even notice that we are doing it!

I have found that since I am not in the formal structure of a language class, I tend to learn new words in groups, depending on what is happening in my life. For example, when our house was being built, I learned the Hebrew words for all kinds of construction terms. It has gotten to the point where there are terms that I can remember more readily in Hebrew than in English. This happened just the other night when I spoke with my sister. Suddenly, I simply couldn't remember the word I wanted!

Even Israelis who aren't very comfortable speaking English know the rudiments: English is a required subject in public schools here, starting in the third grade. In the way parents spell out words they don't want their young children to understand, Israeli parents sometimes say the "secret" words in English.

I suppose it's fortunate that although I now live in a place where English is not the dominant language, it is a pretty close second. Street signs are printed in both languages. There are daily newspapers, and radio and television broadcasts of local news in English. But it is also difficult, because so many people speak English, but not well. Lately, I find myself making all kinds of terrible grammatical mistakes, particularly in spoken English. I'm not sure if I am imitating what I hear, or translating what I want to say directly from Hebrew into English (usually not a successful proposition, due to the various differences in sentence structure, use of tenses, and so on).

And so here I am, gradually becoming more fluent in Hebrew, and less so in English. It worries me, and I wonder what I can do about it.

(c) Amy Samin