March 20, 2004

Alison on Aliyah:  Oh, to get wrinkles!

             Part of the reason I chose to make aliyah when I did was that I wanted to become immersed in the culture as soon as possible.  I believe that my only chance of being a practicing psychologist here, and of being able to work with Israelis in their own language, is to begin to learn the culture here from the inside out, rather than coming in with a Ph.D. in seven years and assuming that I know everything I need to know.  So I continue to supplement my daily Hebrew lessons here with daily culture lessons.  I walk around the city, I spend time every day in the markets, and I continually ask my Israeli friends what things mean and why they say things that I don’t understand immediately.

            One of my most profound lessons came the other day in ulpan, but it had nothing to do with the verb group we were learning.  We were reading an Israeli newspaper and one of my classmates asked what a specific word meant.  The teacher explained, using easier Hebrew and a variety of gestures, that the verb was “to become wrinkled.”  She then said (loosely translated), “Would that I get to the point in my life where I will get wrinkles!”  She is already middle-aged, and this comment immediately struck me as fascinating.  Indeed, the first thing I thought was, “No way would anyone in America say that.”  And as I continued to think about it, I realized that this seemingly simple comment speaks volumes about Israeli culture.

            My first assumption was that her feelings were related to the matsav (political situation) here, and the constant “danger factor.”  I figured that we would all consider ourselves lucky to live to old age given the dangers that face us in even day-to-day activities like going to work or buying groceries.  I have to admit that I have begun to view my simple bus rides to and from my classes as cheating death in a way, and I am finding that I am seriously contemplating my own mortality at least twice a day.  After thinking about my teacher’s comment, I started to wonder if maybe this is what makes life here in Israel feel so intense, and meaningful, and spiritual.

I have always contended that life in America feels “dead” to me, as if people are walking around in an emotional trance of sorts.  Perhaps the missing ingredient is a serious sense of one’s mortality, and a belief in the personal sacrifices one is making in order to live one’s life.  Jerusalemites continually discuss the wonder and spirit and glory of living in this city.  Perhaps it is this deep and understood sense of the fleeting nature of life to which they are truly referring, without even being aware of it.  Indeed, perhaps the most inspiring thing about living here is that it makes us take our lives, and life in itself, more seriously.

            After proposing to myself a variety of other possible reasons for her statement, I finally decided to ask my teacher what she had meant.  Because I wasn’t sure how she would take my query, I began by explaining to her that I write articles about my aliyah for a Jewish newspaper in the states.  I told her I was struck by her comment and wanted to understand where it came from.  Then I said, in my semi-broken Hebrew, “Forgive me, because I know this isn’t nice to ask, but would you mind telling me how old you are?”  She laughed, and told me she wasn’t at all ashamed or unwilling to tell me, in fact she was proud of having lived for 52 years.  She added that it isn’t a rude thing to ask at all.  Of course, had I asked a question like that in the States, I would have been lucky not to have received a slap.

            She told me that her comment came out of this pride, and had nothing to do with any feelings of danger or fear.  Her 52 years have produced children and grandchildren and a full and meaningful life, she said, and to have the evidence of this showing on her face is a wonderful thing.  Here in Israel, wrinkles mean that one has lived a full and respectable life.  In America, it just means that someone is old.  Americans are ashamed to tell people their age, because in the states, being old is just a sign of being “over the hill,” or out of the limelight.  They spend tens of thousands of dollars attempting to alter their appearance so as to avoid looking their age.  The elderly in America are all too often shunted to the margins of society, dumped unceremoniously in old-age homes, left to die lonely and alone.  In Israel, it is not unusual – sometimes even expected – to see multi-generational families living together under the same roof, with children and grandchildren taking care of their elderly.  Here, the elderly are considered wise and worthy of our deepest respect.  No wonder my teacher is proud of her wrinkles!