Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes …

Having buried myself up to my neck in this life of mine (and watching a bit too much Dr. Who for my own good), I only just realized that it’s been a while since I checked in here, or on skype, or by my cell phone …

No matter. Despite my incommunicativeness, I am here to tell you, I live! Cease to fear, the heat has yet to conquer this girl. Don’t think having a tree fall on the internet (cause that happens over here), or having kindergardeners throw wooden blocks at my back, or watching barely legal television into the wee hours of the morning will get me down.

Even as I smile into the faces of chronically disobedient children (they can’t help it, apparently its that ole country-founded-on-rebellion-and-distrust-of-authority thing sneakily seeping into the culture and from there into young impressionable minds) something cracks when I consider the amount of time I have left. It’s only a month and a half, and while my mom may rejoice, I don’t care to put that countdown into so few days. Yes, I have a plane ticket, and yes, I am happy to let this experience come to its natural end. There is no use trying to prolong something that can’t be prolonged; even if I stay, it won’t be with these thirteen kids, railing together against the cancellation of Ulpan and collectively surviving the most unexpected abuse from our volunteering positions. Circle of life and all that jazz, believe me, I get it loud and clear.

But all the same, I loath to let this end. It’s gone by so terribly fast, and yet, done me so much good. What could more time do for me? Or what could more of my time do for Israel? In considering my efficiency here, I find that while I have been immeasurably bettered by all that I’ve done, I wonder how much better I’m leaving this country. By volunteering only once a week at four different organizations, I ensured both that I would have enough variety to maintain my sanity, and that my impact here is stunted. A couple hours for a couple weeks doesn’t amount to much when all I end up doing sometimes is watching Lost because the kids aren’t in the mood to study in the after school program at Neve Ofer. It’s the dilemma every volunteer faces at some time or other; I suppose I’m just a bit slow on the uptake.

Enough melancholy! A month and a half is a month and a half after all. While I will have to say goodbye, I can remain in denial for just a bit longer. I can enjoy the company of this wonderful group of oddballs into which I managed to fall, and laugh with them over the kitchen table as we try to concoct the taste of home from foreign ingredients. And I can use everything I’ve learned, and some of the things I regret, to inform my future. Perhaps its not patisserie school in the new home town of Boston, perhaps its WWOOFing in Italy or finding something cool to do in Alaska (I’ve always wondered about that Alaska place). Maybe what fires me up is exploring new places and moving on when the time feels right.

What happens next has become a regular question around the kitchen hangout. And it scares me. But I hope … I know that my experiences here will help me figure out a better path forward. I just have no idea what that is. Flying blind is still flying blind, even if I paste a smile on my face and promise myself everything will turn out for the best.

Ah well, a problem for another day. As someone famous once used to say, good night and good luck.

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