Higher Learning

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 11 November 2005.

Reading, writing, and arithmetic. Art, science, and music. Enviornmental Studies... Road Safety... Torah? All of these are part of the standard public school education in Israel. Anywhere else in the world, I would likely object to the inclusion of bible study in the curriculum. But here, I find it surprisingly satisfying that my children are going to spend 11 years studying the Tanach.

Israeli students begin their biblical studies in second grade. The children participate in a marvelous ceremony known as Kabbalat Torah - receiving the Torah. The kids sing a few songs, the teachers and rabbi make speeches, the parents take lots of photos, and everyone has fun. At the end of the ceremony, each child receives a decoratively-covered textbook containing the book of Genesis and a bag of candy. After all, the study of Torah is a sweet thing.

Though this all may sound pretty simple, it is a special moment, for kids and their parents. Just this morning I saw a friend and her husband, on their way to their third such ceremony. She told me, "Each one is different, and each one is special. I am very excited!"

One result of this course of study is that Israelis know whole parts of the bible by heart. In casual conversation they may use direct quotations, or cite certain stories as examples that prove their point. The Tanach has become a part of the national language, even amongst secular Israelis. It's not something they forget over time, either - even if they cease studying upon high school graduation.

During the school year, there are local Torah Competitions, whose purpose is to test students' knowledge. And every Independence Day, the International Torah Competition is broadcast on television, live from Jerusalem. Everyone tunes in, both to watch and to try to beat the contestants to the correct answer.

I suppose it's pretty odd that this touches me so. I'm not a religious person, and there are other subjects I feel are more vital to my children's future success in life. But it is such a very Israeli thing, this inclusion of Torah in the school program. Like the star of David on our flag, it is a symbol and reminder that this is, indeed, the Jewish State. It was for things such as this that I moved here.

(c)Amy Samin

Autumn

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 23 October 2005.

Whenever autumn approaches, I think of Carl Sandburg's poem, Fog. The dance between the muggy heat of summer and the mellowness of fall is done on tiptoe, like the cautious advance of a wary cat. When school starts up on September 1st, my childhood memories say "autumn," but my internal clock knows better. September, more often than not, is lived in the frayed shorts and worn-out sandals of summer. But eventually the time comes when I automatically begin making the minute adjustments in my daily routine that inform me of the approach of fall.

One of the changes is gastronomical. All summer long, I drink only ice coffee. When I start drinking my caffeine hot, I know autumn has arrived. Just as, months later, the switch from hot to cold will alert me to the advent of summer. Apparently, I am not the only one who looks for fall in terms of food. David of Treppenwitz fame has reported the season's first sighting of Krembo, and takes that as a sure sign of the changing seasons.

Other changes are sartorial. When I dust off my jeans, and dig out my Reeboks from under the pile of sandals in my closet, I know it's fall. Going barefoot on the marble floors of the house is no longer comfortable, so socks make a reappearance. Likewise, long-sleeved cotton blouses replace tee shirts. I won't need a jacket for some weeks yet; meanwhile, I enjoy the cool breeze and the slight shivers it brings.

Where I live, the humidity in summer is higher than almost anywhere else in the country. Autumn brings with it an unaccustomed dryness to the air, along with that cool breeze. I find myself drinking water not in an attempt to cool off, but to ease the parched feeling in my throat. The leaves on the trees don't turn flashy colors, but the dates ripen to deep gold on the palm trees.

In the house, first the air conditioning falls silent, then the ceiling fans cease their non-stop whirl. The sheets that were more than enough cover during the sweltering summer nights are replaced with lightweight cotton blankets. Once the fluffy comforters come out, fall will be a thing of the past and winter will have truly arrived.

All of these changes happen so gradually, it's hard to be fully aware they are going on. At first you just tell yourself it's cooling off a bit. Then one morning you wake up to a thunderstorm, and start wondering if any of last year's umbrellas are still operational. "What about autumn?" you grumble. "Wasn't it summer just the other day?"

There is autumn in Israel, but you have to watch for it. It doesn't look like the California autumns I grew up with, and bears absolutely no resemblance to the spectactular beauty of fall in New England. But autumn in Israel has a charm of its own, if you pay attention. Summer has released its sweaty grip, and it's possible to enjoy sitting outside in the gentle afternoon sun. The trick is to be aware of every subtle change, to absorb and savor it in its delicacy.

Although I've lived in Israel for over a decade, it's only been in the last few years that I've remembered to take notice of autumn as it "comes on little cat feet."

(c)Amy Samin

After the Holidays

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 14 October 2005.

Autumn in Israel is a time of renewal and reflection. While in other places the falling leaves and the chill in the air seem to signal the dying of the old year, here they mark the start of a new year. The season is alive with holidays, from the eve of Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) through the culmination of Sukkot (Feast of the Tabernacles) with Simchat Torah (Joy in the Torah) some three weeks later. Naturally, all of these holidays mean time off from work, and vacation for school children. With Judaism's lunar calendar, the holidays don't always fall in October, but they do always occur in the fall, often shortly after the start of the school year. This year, all of these holidays fall within the month of October, and the children will be in school only 11 days this month. As a result of this fragmented schedule, people have taken to postponing plans until "aharei ha'hagim" (after the holidays).

Often, children's extracurricular activities and afternoon clubs and classes don't start up until after the holidays. The erratic schedule of a day off here and two days off there doesn't permit regular planning. Blissful days of sleeping late are interspersed with mornings when the shrill call of the alarm clock reminds students and adults that they have obligations to meet. Parents are focussed on preparing for the many family gatherings that accompany the season. Between the cleaning, shopping, cooking and baking, there is little time for anything else. Perhaps, as well, people are engaged in the kind of contemplation and internal stock-taking that Americans associate with making New Year's resolutions.

In the days before Rosh Hashanah, the phone seems to ring non-stop, as friends and family call to wish one another a happy new year. Sometimes good friends make plans to get together for a meal or a day trip, particularly during the week-long holiday of Sukkot. But more often than not, people tell one another, "We'll get together after the holidays."

The holiday season is sort of like a time-warp, or a 20-odd day period of jet lag. You feel divorced from reality. It's hard to remember what day of the week it is, much less the date. After a couple of days off from your usual routine, remembering what needs to be done tomorrow is a challenge. You find yourself drifting off into musings of things far removed from day-to-day practicalities. Old memories often surface, some of them pleasant, others distinctly uncomfortable. Such troubling thoughts can lead to the determination to replace such unhappy memories with good ones. You might find yourself spending hours doing not much more than planning ways to improve your life and yourself, all in the guise of napping after yet another overly-generous holiday meal. While it would be extremely unproductive to live this way all the time, this special state of mind clearly serves a valuable purpose.

No one seems to expect much to be accomplished during the holidays. The hard work, whether it be for pay or for an education, is mostly put off until later. While on first glance that may seem like a waste, I think it makes sense. The pondering we do now will more than likely result in better work, and a more determined effort to succeed, after the holidays.

(c)Amy Samin

From My Window

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 28 September 2005.

Those of us who don't have a spectacular, panoramic view from our windows might tend to become blase about what we do see when we glance outside. Normally, when I sit at our dining table and look through the windows, I see our own backyard, the roofs of neighboring houses, trees and small patches of sky. Today, however, we looked out and got a special treat: this kingfisher. While I am not normally a bird-lover, this little fellow got me thinking.

Things that we see and hear day after day tend to become part of the backdrop of our lives. It takes something just a bit unusual to remind us of things we've become accustomed to ignoring. We take for granted the drone of airplanes above us until one day the scream of a jet and the sonic boom that often accompanies it jolts us.

Kids laughing, dogs barking, and grownups gossiping are all part of my everyday background music. Those mundane sounds are a sign that all is well and life proceeds in its usual way. Then the parents two houses down go out of town, and their teenage boys throw a party with music loud enough to melt your ears. Or the Defense Minister decides that if the children in Sderot can't sleep at night thanks to the Kassam rockets being fired at their town, then neither should the leaders of Hamas and Islamic Jihad sleep. Last night we heard the heavy thrum of helicopters overhead several times, so the morning's news came as no surprise.

I've learned to discern the nuances between similar sounds, as well. One siren usually means someone has had a heart attack or an accident. Several sirens may well mean another terrorist attack has just taken place. I can now even tell the difference between the search and rescue helicopters and the Cobras and Apaches on their way to or from a mission.

Although the view from my window is rather limited, it does change with the passing months. The leaves turn and fall from some of the trees as winter approaches. Our trees, and those of our neighbors, continue to grow and obscure more of the surrounding houses. In spring we count the blossoms on our fruit trees, and anticipate the summer harvest. And of course, as summer approaches I closely examine the progress of the plums on the branches of neighbor Chaim's tree that overhang our yard.

Then there are the cats. There are alot of wild cats in Israel, and many of them have decided to use our backyard as a sort of thoroughfare. They tiptoe along the tops of the fences. The scamper across the back wall as they pass from one neighbor's yard to another. Occasionally a particularly brave one may settle down for a snooze in our flower beds, or approach the barbecue, sniffing for something to munch. Occasionally there are battles, and sometimes come morning we discover a flurry of feathers scattered across our patio. We have watched many kittens grow to adulthood over the years. Most of these feline wayfarers are on their way to Chaim's house, where food and water are always available for them.

These homey sights and sounds are a soothing sign that life is going smoothly. It is easy to become complacent about these things, to accept them as our due and come to disregard them. It takes an escalation of the normal, or perhaps something completely out of the ordinary, to remind me that even the commonplace things should be valued. I am going to try to pay more attention to the song of the birds in the morning, or the shapes of the clouds that often appear come evening. Simple pieces of beauty ought to be appreciated and enjoyed. This is what the kingfisher taught me.

(c)Amy Samin

Piece of Cake

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 10 September 2005.

One of the things that stymied me when I first moved to Israel was translating my American-style recipes to the realities of baking in Israel. Not only is the system of weights and measurements different here, so are some of the products. From the beginning, my husband urged me to use Israeli recipes, but I wasn't quite ready to give up all the familiar cookies and cakes I had always loved. So through trial and error, plus discussing my frustrations with some American-born friends who have lived here longer than I have, I began modifying my recipes to their new environment.

The first obvious stumbling-block I faced had to do with my oven. I had expected a temperature dial in degrees celcius. Not too convenient, but once you've learned that 350F is about 180C, you tend to remember. But no. The oven I had (and nearly all others I've seen since then) have numbered "switch positions." Not only did I need to remember degrees celcius, I had to memorize the appropriate number on the dial as well. Of course, what constituted the appropriate number all depended on which setting I chose to use on my oven.

Then there was the whole margarine/butter thing. In America, both are sold in "sticks", each one equivalent to half a cup. American recipes, obviously, call for measurements in terms of how many sticks you need. In Israel, butter and margarine are sold in blocks of 100 or 200 grams. Thank goodness for Fanny Farmer, who graciously informed me that the metric equivalent to one stick of margarine is 115 grams. Not exactly a convenient number - all of my baking now entails an element of surprise, depending on how far off the mark I am when I slice my block of margarine.

To make life even more interesting, I discovered a discrepancy in the flour available here. The first several times I baked cookies, they came out flat and too greasy. I had measured everything carefully, even going to far as to use a ruler and a scale to guide me in the cutting of my margarine. It wasn't until I talked to a couple of friends that I learned the cause of the problem. Apparently, the regular white flour here is roughly the consistency of American cake flour. In other words, it is finer in texture than what my recipe called for. My friends advised adding about a quarter of a cup more flour than indicated in the recipe. This seemed to help.

The next challenge involved finding baking soda. I was able to find baking powder fairly easily, but baking soda eluded me. Finally I asked my husband to help me, and discovered the reason for my failure to locate this item. Baking soda comes in a small box labelled (in Hebrew, obviously) "drinking soda." I would never have figured this out on my own, I am sure. As an aside, my husband remembers being admonished as a child never to drink this "drinking soda" because it would make him sick. Go figure.

Once I had all those problems resolved, I learned that the cakes Israeli children prefer are not quite the same as the fabulously decorated concoctions you'll find in American cookbooks and magazines. Indeed, the most popular cake, I soon discovered, was a dark chocolate cake known as "black cake", which was usually baked by mom in the roasting pan from the oven (to make a sheet cake big enough for a whole classful of kids). The cake was topped not with frosting but with a thin chocolate syrup, which was then sprinkled with tiny, colorful candy balls. When I brought cupcakes to my daughter's class one year, the teacher was astonished. Apparently she had never seen such a thing before! I am sure that since then things have changed. We have even found cookbooks in Hebrew with cakes reminiscent of those found in Family Fun magazine. But I suspect that "black cake" with syrup and sprinkles remains a favorite.

Now, more than ten years on, I still fuss and struggle to use my American recipes. I have learned which ones work better than others - and which ones suit Israeli tastes. As time has gone on, more American products have made their way here, which helps me recreate the flavors I remember. I have made cakes shaped like hearts, teddy bears, treasure chests, mice and more. I've decorated cakes to resemble zoos and popular cartoon characters. At times I have made my own frostings and at other times I've gotten some help from the Pillsbury Dough Boy. I've introduced Israeli kids to banana cake, oatmeal cookies, bran muffins, and chocolate chip pan cookies. But I still haven't learned to make that chocolate syrup cake topping.

(c)Amy Samin

Katrina

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 6 September 2005.

Sometimes when you have too many feelings in your heart, you can't find the words to express them. The days pass, filled with news coverage, stories shared in on-line groups and chat rooms, and commentary provided by experts and amateurs alike. Soon it seems there is simply nothing left to be said, so why say anything at all?

I have come to realize why it is important to speak up, even if it seems your thoughts and feelings have already been expressed by others. If you say nothing, sometimes people assume it is because you feel nothing.

The news of Hurricane Katrina's devastation, and the tumultuous aftermath, shocked and saddened us here in Israel. Israel was one of the first countries to offer assistance to the U.S. Teams of search and rescue volunteers and various materials are already in place or on the way. IsraAID has put together a team of medical personnel, psychologists and highly trained search and rescue workers. Approximately 80 tons of supplies including tents and generators, among other things, is on the way. The way many Israelis see it, America has been our friend for so long, we want to be able to do whatever we can for her in this time of need.

But many Israelis are puzzled by the problems and delays that initially plagued the rescue operations. Here we are used to lightening-quick military and rescue operations. Indeed, if we did not have them, we might not exist at all today. It is difficult for many Israelis to grasp the enormity of America, in terms of both her physical size and her bureaucracies, and to understand why some things take longer there. I also think it is hard for Israelis to comprehend the magnitude of the disaster and the massive logistical problems involved in giving aid and shelter to the survivors of Katrina. For example, the estimate quoted on the news here of the cost of damages caused by Katrina is equal to nearly twice Israel's entire annual budget.

In the last few days I have read many stories by volunteers in Texas and elsewhere who have put their lives on hold in order to pitch in and help out. I have read dozens of e-mails by Americans who do not live near the main refugee centers but who still want to help in whatever way they can. By now I imagine most people have heard about the man who chartered an airplane to bring in supplies, and to take some 80 people to a shelter in San Diego. But even people without those kinds of resources are doing what they can. People out there are buying flip flops, T shirts and hygenic supplies and sending them to people they only know on-line, to be distributed in Houston and elsewhere. Some folks are thinking ahead to the holidays, making Christmas stockings and gifts for all those newly-homeless children.

Grass-roots aid efforts are also underway here in Israel. Some of those who are trying to help are former residents of New Orleans and the surrounding areas. Others are people who may never have visited the American South, but want to do what they can. Information on how to donate money to a special fund established by Magen David Adom (Israel's version of the Red Cross) appeared on the television news and in the papers, and Israelis have been responding.

As for me, after making a financial donation I started searching for other ways I could help. I have signed up for several needlework projects, through some of the on-line groups I know. Finding the right words these days is difficult for me, so I am going to let the work of my hands speak for me. Though my words are few, there is a wealth of emotion in every stitch.

(c) Amy Samin

Happy New (School) Year

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 1 September 2005.

The 2005 - 2006 school year is officially underway. Thankfully, the talked-about teachers' strike has been averted. The educational system here is undergoing some changes, and the process has not been an easy one. An education reform task force headed by high-tech businessman Shlomo Dovrat was appointed in 2003 to evaluate and revamp the system. This year marks the first stage in the implementation of the commission's recommendations, which are outlined in the report that bears Dovrat's name. One of the biggest changes for the general public is longer school days, with students remaining in school until 4 p.m., rather than 1:00 or 2:00. The longer school day means that parents who, until now, worked part-time jobs in order to be home when their kids got home from school will now be able to seek full-time employment. In addition, Israeli students will, for the first time, have a two day weekend just like most students around the world.


The Dovrat program has not reached our schools yet, so our kids will continue attending school as usual. The plan is that each year more cities will adopt the program, until eventually the whole country has made the switch. I have not yet heard an estimate on how long that will take.

Obviously, there are other reforms recommended in the report, including raising salaries and qualifications for teachers, to attract the highest possible caliber of educators. Some of the other suggestions are causing an upheaval in the teachers' unions. For instance, there have been mass firings (and later some re-hirings) of teachers. You can read more about the task force and its work here. The people I know are uncertain whether the Dovrat Reform will improve the education system or not, but most feel that a change was due.

There have been other changes since the last time I wrote about schools in Israel. A couple of years ago, many schools began requiring the students to wear uniforms. Now nearly half of the public schools in the country have a dress code. This seems to be just one step among many being considered to improve discipline in the schools. Some supporters of uniforms say dressing alike helps blur the socio-economic differences among the students. Others say the uniforms promote within the students a stronger identification with and support of the school. These may well be true, but it also seems to me that by requiring a uniform, the school's administration is saying to students, "you are under our authority while you're here." Based on my experiences, I would say that is a much-needed lesson for these children.

Also under consideration is the return of the policy of students being required to stand when the teacher enters the classroom. In addition, students would be expected to address the teacher, not by his or her first name (as they do now in many schools) but as "Teacher". I am also in favor of these changes, and not only because my own interactions with teachers when I was a student were of a more formal nature. I believe knowing you must show respect for your teachers instills in students the habit of decorous behavior at school. Whatever you might say about Israeli schoolchildren today, it's doubtful you would use the word decorum in the sentence, except perhaps to point out the lack thereof.

For parents of school-age children, the first day of school can be like New Year's Day. Our lives make a sudden shift. From the lazy calm of summer, we jump into the structure and schedules of school time. This morning, teachers greeted parents and children alike with the same words they use on Rosh Ha'Shanah (the Jewish New Year): "Shanah tova" (a good year). Now, the first day of school is behind us. The remainder of the year lies before us, brimming with hope and shimmering with possibilities. Let's make the most of it.

(c) Amy Samin