May 5, 2004

Alison on Aliyah:  Another Big Move?

            Well, it finally happened.  I’ve finally succumbed to the stress, and I’m officially sick as a dog at the moment.  I’ve heard a rumor about an “oleh chadash syndrome” – apparently new immigrants have a tendency to get sick more often in their first year in Israel than non-immigrants, and more than they did in their former hometowns.  I was just bragging to a friend the other day, in fact, that with all the climate changes and stress and personal adjustments that came along with my move, I hadn’t had even so much as a case of the sniffles!

            Superstition or not, I think I know what has led to my recent downfall.  I finally heard from the graduate schools to which I applied, and the past two weeks have been filled with emails and phone calls and much deliberating about what my future will hold.  I was invited for interviews at all three schools, but one of them presented me with a particularly attractive offer.  My Master’s degree will be paid for by the government; I will have the option of continuing on and taking a second Master’s as well as going straight on for my Ph.D.; and I have been offered a paid position managing a laboratory in my field of study.  The only catch, and it is not a small one for me, is that this university is in Beersheva, two full hours south of Jerusalem, more or less smack-dab in the middle of the desert.

            Most people would jump at a combination of opportunities like this.  To be honest, I think I probably will too, in the end.  But right now I’m battling a range of emotions every time I consider moving again.  It’s not just having to find another apartment, renting a moving truck, hauling out from storage the cardboard boxes that have barely had time to gather dust.  And it’s not just having to uproot my dog again, having to find her new friends, another dog park, a competent veterinarian.

            What I’ve come to realize is that making an entirely new life for oneself is hard, and I’ve had to do it more times than I like to think about.  It took me a long time after moving to Providence to feel as if I was truly comfortable there, and knew the city like I had known my previous hometown.  Little things like knowing where to get the best Indian food; where one could make Xerox copies for the cheapest price; how to get to Warwick in the least amount of time during rush hour – this was what came to mean “home” to me.  I had a hairstylist I loved; I had doctors and a dentist I could trust; and my dog adored her dog park.

            And here I am in Jerusalem, nearly seven months later, and I’ve done it all over again.  I recently found a little hole-in-the-wall waffle bar that could make your knees buckle from the taste explosion.  I am on a first-name basis with my bank clerk, and at least five people wave at me every time I go to the market.  I am a part of life here, and Jerusalem has become a part of me.  Even with all the little annoyances (the dog poop on every sidewalk, the constant political demonstrations clogging up the roads, a bus-bombing here and there), I love this city with all that I am.  And I wonder sometimes who I would be without it.

            Indeed, I have come to the conclusion that every new immigrant should settle in Jerusalem – at least first, and at least for a short while.  This city imbues us with a spirituality and sense of connection that we need desperately when we are “fresh off the boat,” scared, alone, uncertain, isolated.  We open up to that, and we become open to anything.  I found, especially, that the “Anglo,” or English-speaking, community here embraced me from “day one,” and I found it very easy to find like-minded people who had been through every inch of every stage through which I was passing.  I haven’t always been thrilled to be at the center of the American world here, but I found it very handy indeed when I needed to know which dog groomer, Interior Ministry clerk, or driving instructor spoke enough English for me to be understood.

            Of course, in Beersheva, with an Anglo community a mere fraction of the population here, I will become more Israeli at a faster pace than I could ever have hoped for.  I will probably use my English very rarely, and I will most likely acquire almost solely Israeli friends.  Long term, this will be a priceless experience for me and invaluable to my absorption into Israel.  Short term, however, I fear that I will feel terribly isolated at times, and I worry that I will begin to feel disconnected from the spirit and emotions that drew me to Israel to begin with.  I wonder, indeed, whether this will actually be my most difficult move to date.  Of course, how can one compare moving a couple of hours away to my previous intercontinental adventure?  Part of me says nothing could be more daunting than that.  But on the other hand, how can one compare Jerusalem to any other city in the world?

            So no wonder I’m sick.  It doesn’t take a clinical psychology graduate student to see the psychosomatic nature of my illness.  I’m a little scared to move away from here, and I’m very tired of uprooting myself over and over again.  It feels a bit like pouring salt into the still-fresh wounds from the last time.  Once again, I’ll be saying goodbye to my community, and once again I’ll be venturing out into the great unknown.  I’m getting used to the idea, slowly.  And I’m trying to remember that all of these great opportunities are the reasons I came here in the first place.  But right now, I’m sick, and I’m tired, and I just want to curl up in my bed in Jerusalem.