On Sunday I will move from our comfortable, cozy Israeli house in Ofakim into a hectic month of traveling (a.k.a living) on public transportation, pretending to “volunteer” in the IDF so I can take pictures in uniform and frolic around a real live army base, and forcing myself upon friends and family for their extra beds/couches/food/love/attention. It’s hard to believe that 3 months have come and gone with Part 2 of OTZMA. It went by faster than I wanted, faster than I think I was prepared for. Isn’t that always how it goes? Deterred for a few weeks in Arad because of Pillar of Defense, Hanukkah break and winter vacation helped real time in Ofakim to dissipate and I am now feeling tiny pangs of “coulda, woulda, shouldas” as I look back on my time in the south. I could have tried to learn more Hebrew, could have found more adventure in the Negev, could have sought out more community interaction and involvement. But now it is time to close this chapter of my life and for the most part, I am feeling content and ready to move on.
Tonight the Metrowest-Ofakim Partnership had a dinner for us, our adoptive families and some community members to say a final farewell. You’re probably guessing that I cried and I am proud to report I did not! Although, in all honesty, I came pretty damn close when my anxiety ridden roommate and other half of #therachels, Rachel, read her blog post out loud. (Read it here. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll think you lived here with us. It’s a great piece and she’s a great galpal of mine. http://holylanding.wordpress.com/) I feel truly blessed for the staff relationship we built and their unconditional support and guidance through the good, the bad, the complaining, the questions and the never ending phone calls, emails and texts. How they put up with two Rachels and a Hannah for 3 months is beyond me, but I am so grateful that they did.
Ofakim is hard to explain. Well, not logistically. We’ve been over this in many of my previous posts. Recap: Ofakim is a small city about 40 minutes from Beer Sheva, 14 miles from Gaza. Population: 27,000. Roads: one. Kiosks: few. Stray dogs: too many to count. No bars, no train station, one gas station and 4 roundabouts.
Describing Ofakim, really explaining Ofakim and its people, community, culture and lifestyle..well, that is difficult. I’ve been trying to think of how to explain it to you for weeks now, anxiety consuming me about how to say farewell to this place publicly to people who have no idea what I am talking about.
To non residents, it is Israel’s “shittiest city,” and I will forever remember the confused looks Israelis gave me, begging the question “why?” as I excitedly (little did I know back then!) told them “I am moving there!” or “I live there!” They don’t get it. It’s like moving to Rexburg, Idaho. Who goes there? Why? (I can say this because I don’t know anyone from Rexburg, Idaho. Or Idaho at all. Well, I don’t think so. I hope not. And because I’ve never heard of Rexburg until right now when I Googled “small cities in Idaho.” Wikipedia for.the.win.) Many Israelis don’t understand why the Americans would come to Israel and spend their time volunteering in the south, the periphery, the Negev. But, alas, that’s where it’s needed most.
But to residents, Ofakim defines them. They live, work, play, grow and support Ofakim with their whole hearts, their whole lives. The members of the community that I interacted with most were born and raised in Ofakim, and they remain loyal and active. They’ve become integral parts of this city, fighting from their cores to better Ofakim in various capacities, ranging from working on the education system to fixing bomb shelters.
Looking back on my life, often times I have found myself labeling something a lost cause too early in the game, giving up before I give it one last go around. Test is tomorrow and I haven’t studied enough? Lost cause. Too late in the semester to turn grades around – lost cause. Haven’t worked out in a week, why go today? Lost cause. Will be 5 minutes late, should have written thank you cards 4 months ago, those job requirements seem out of my league – lost cause, lost cause, lost cause. Similarly, I found myself giving up halfway through my stay in Ofakim thinking to myself, “we’ll never make friends,” “we’ll never be able to help these kids,” “life here will never be what I want it to,” etc. Sometimes I felt completely useless in the school, my Hebrew poor and teaching skills subpar at best. The important thing to remember, though, is how much our presence, as American volunteers, is valued. Americans, coming to Ofakim? Immediately following Pillar of Defense? Not getting paid? WHY? It’s an indescribable feeling when you talk to a student, explaining to them that, well, you just want to be here and you can see it in their face how happy that makes them. I’m not being not pompous, I’m not cocky. It’s just this special feeling knowing that people appreciate you, even when you feel like the biggest outsider in the world. It’s not a lost cause if your students try to convince you to stay in Ofakim, or if your principal gives you a novel about a woman with unwavering mental strength, because that’s what he thinks you have. It’s not a lost cause if your adoptive family makes sure you have somewhere to be for Passover, extending the invitation to come there if need be; telling you that they are there for you if you ever need anything. And when Israelis say anything, they mean it.
I could stand to learn a thing or two from the hard working people of Ofakim. It is not an easy place to live. The small city needs more. More education, more money, more help, more people, more dedication. But they haven’t given up. This place is the little city that could. Sure, it is no Tel Aviv with its night life and beaches, nor is it Jerusalem with its highly flocked to holy sights and hellish traffic jams. But the people are welcoming, the sunsets and stars are to die for and who couldn’t benefit from a few slow months out of the year? These past 3 months haven’t been without challenges, but I would be lying if I said I’ll be taking nothing from this place. Ofakim is where I began to run again, slowly but surely getting back into shape on the carless Shabbat roads, watching the sun set over the park. Ofakim is where I tried my hand at teaching, where I wanted to quit many times, but stuck with it because of the boys at the orthodox school. Ofakim is where I hung my sopping clothes outside, dryerless, hoping they would dry before I planned on leaving for the weekend. Ofakim is where I truly felt the realities of living abroad, being so far from anything and anyone remotely familiar. Ofakim is where I detached from my friends and family in the states, learning that it’s okay to go x amount of time without speaking. Loving and supporting from afar is a thing, and it doesn’t require daily communication. Ofakim was my home base as I traveled around the country visiting friends, attending seminars and quite frankly, sometimes, escaping. Ofakim opened my eyes to the beauty of the south, the warm hearts of its residents and the lifestyle that many will never witness, let alone live in. When asked if I am happy to have been placed in Ofakim versus, say, Haifa or Rehovot, I say yes. I know in my heart that this will not be my last time in Israel. Whether it be to work, get a masters or raise a family, I’ll be back. But something else I know in my heart is that it will not be in Ofakim. Americans don’t just come to Ofakim, and if it weren’t for this program, I wouldn’t have either. Getting the opportunity to live this life is something I will forever be grateful for.
As we bring the population back down to 27,000 from 27,003 and lock our front door for the final time, I pause and make a vow to myself: to appreciate the past few months for what they were, love Ofakim for what it is and always fondly remember my time as a resident in the south of Israel. Here’s to March madness (my homeless, traveling, adventure madness – not basketball!), the four Hebrew words I know and trying to pack everything I own, again..as efficiently as possible.
Shabbat Shalom!
We’re not in Florida anymore, ToTo! ..Or are we?
My favorite running route. 2/28/13.
The Traveling Yenta 