October 20, 2005

Alison on Aliyah:  Love, Ambition, and Cultural Differences

           I consider myself a fairly ambitious person, and I think you all know how proud I am of myself for having made aliyah and for continuing to make it work on a daily basis (it is indeed work).  It has always been of utmost importance to me to really ensconce myself in the culture here as much as possible, rather than allow myself to stay on the outskirts, in the American bubble that represents a trap into which far too many of us fall.  My rapid Hebrew acquisition, my entrance into Israeli graduate school, and my constant attempts to keep the ratio of my non-American to American friends significantly high, are all valuable parts of this process for me.  But lately, I’ve been starting to wonder whether I am simply too ambitious in this department, and whether I have finally reached the glass ceiling.

            I have been coming to terms with this possibility most acutely over the past three months, since starting to date a young man who was born in Morocco, lived in France for most of his teenage years, and made aliyah a few years ago.  His mother speaks French and Spanish, while his father speaks French and a Moroccan dialect of Arabic.  Neither of them speak more than a couple of words of Hebrew, nor do his brother or sister.  Mikhael is fluent in all four languages, but, of course, English is not his strong suit.  We speak only Hebrew together, which can make our daily dealings with each other problematic from time to time.  However, while there are times that we have to repeat ourselves or simplify what we want to say, I have never reached a moment with him in which I felt that I truly could not express myself.  When his mother and younger brother were here for a visit, on the other hand, I was reduced to smiling widely and nodding and gesturing maniacally, feeling fully unable to communicate with them in any meaningful way.

            This is only the tip of the iceberg of differences between Mikhael and I.  He is fairly religious, wearing a kippah most of the time and keeping Shabbat and kashrut all the time.  Weekends present a number of complications for us.  As he is in the army during the week, we only see each other from Friday late-mornings until very early on Sunday mornings—and sometimes only every two weekends.  We race to do our grocery shopping for the weekend on Friday mornings, and then we race to cook before Shabbat sets in.  The shopping part I’m used to, as almost everything is closed over the weekends in Jerusalem.  But cooking in itself is a fairly new concept for me, and having to cook three meals at once, in order for it all to sit around on a hotplate all weekend, continues to strike me as strange and not entirely simple to accomplish.

            And then there’s the fact that we can’t watch television all weekend, nor can we talk on the phone or drive anywhere.  He is quick to point out that I am, of course, free to do all these things without him, but his keeping Shabbat has, in essence, made me de facto observant as well.  This is all so new to me, simply from a Jewish perspective, but in this early stage of our relationship, none of it bothers me all that much.  I can envision, however, a time in the not-too-distant future (i.e., when the charm and novelty wears off) when this will become an increasingly bothersome situation.  Unless, of course, one of us decides to shift our own set of beliefs.

            Mikhael’s conservative Moroccan upbringing has also presented some unique opportunities in my aliyah and cultural education.  It took me a while to even recognize the subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) conflicts centered around the Ashkenazi and Sephardi cultures in this country, and even longer to understand (or to naïvely think I understood) the complex forces at work within these clashes.  Indeed, seeing the gaping chasm between our cultural backgrounds up close has been the focus of ongoing fascination for me.  Luckily, Mikhael would not be considered the “classic,” stereotypical Moroccan, although I must admit he has had his moments.

Upon announcing our status as an item to my Israeli friends, I received scores of advice and warnings regarding our possible future life together:  he won’t “let” me work outside the home; he will want me “barefoot and pregnant” for 80% of my child-bearing years; his parents will never approve of me (and my American-ness, and my tattoo, and the difference in our ages); he will have a terrible temper; he will be difficult to get along with at times; he will beat me senseless, like “all Moroccans do.”  I had heard many of these stereotypes early on in my life as an Israeli citizen, and continue to be mystified by them.  Mikhael is, in many ways, the fundamental opposite of many of them:  open, soft, caring, incredibly willing to change and compromise (even on fairly serious issues), and showing absolutely no frustration at all with the fact that I plan to continue on to my doctorate and have a full career throughout my adult life.  Of course, he also wants no less than six children—but I’m hoping that’s negotiable.

I continue to wonder when the “other shoe will drop,” or whether I have, in fact, found the only Moroccan in Israel who doesn’t fit into any of the preconceived notions.  I have ultimately come to see the other side of the coin as well—the truly great things about Moroccans, every stereotype of which Mikhael embodies to the fullest.  My good friend, Dudu, from the Jerusalem shuk (open air market), is also of Moroccan descent so I have learned these lessons well.  These two men are absolutely, hands down, the warmest and most loving, supportive, loyal, trustworthy, and reliable people I have ever known—and from what I understand, this is “par for the course” in the Moroccan culture.  When either of them tells me he promises to do something, I don’t even think twice about it; I know it will be done.

I would have to say the infamous Moroccan sensibility and emotionality are perhaps my favorite of their traits.  The other night, Mikhael and I settled down together to watch “Seabiscuit.”  I promptly fell asleep, and was awoken two hours later by the sounds of my boyfriend sobbing and snuffling.  It took him a couple of hours to fully recover after “Dead Poets’ Society.”  I have to admit I was taken aback by these displays, finding them not a small bit embarrassing from the perspective of my American beliefs on male machismo.  Last week, I promptly made a beeline for Dudu’s store, to ask for his Moroccan opinion on the matter.

Dudu laughed, assuring me that this is purely Moroccan, and has nothing to do with Mikhael being particularly sensitive or effeminate.  “This is the greatest thing about Moroccans,” he expounded.  “We feel everything deeply, and intensely.  When we are sad, we can cry for days.  When we are happy, we can celebrate like no one else.  When we love, it consumes us.  We treat our mothers and daughters and wives as if they are the only women on Earth.  And when we are angry, yes, we can lose our tempers.”  This type of genuineness has always been the thing I have loved the most about Israelis in general, and I have come to realize that the Moroccan culture most intensely embodies this trait.  I must admit, however, that as much as I love this quality, it is still very foreign to me.  In many ways, I still respond to things as an American, and many of Mikhael’s Moroccan reactions to a variety of situations surprise and confuse me.

            Don’t get me wrong—alongside of and in spite of (and perhaps because of) all of this, I love Mikhael completely and with abandon.  We also have a tremendous amount of similarities between us.  We both made aliyah alone, without family and with only an intense love of Israel to guide us.  We have both succeeded in building homes and support systems for ourselves, separately, in a surprisingly short span of time.  And we are both passionately committed to living in Israel for the rest of our lives.  Of course, only time will tell whether we will be able to grow with and over all of the obstacles facing us, and whether or not my ambition really has gotten the best of me.