After almost a full year, we are back in the US for a visit. We have kept very busy so far seeing family and friends in New York and LA and Buffalo is up next.
Being in the US after a year of living in Israel has made us think a lot about being both American and Israeli. There are times that being here makes us feel very Israeli and other times where we are reminded that, in many ways, we are still very much American. For me, a pivotal moment is when a plane full of Israelis touches down outside of Israel. My nature, in general, is to be a rule follower. When I am asked to do something, like stay in my seat until the fasten-seatbelt-sign is turned off, I stay in my seat. Israelis do not. When we touched down, both in Istanbul and then in New York (our flight from Istanbul to New York was also full of Israelis), I watched (in slight horror) everyone around me get up and open the overhead compartments even though we were still far from our gate. To be fair, there were many other Middle-Easterners and Europeans out of their seats as well, but I can't help but feel that the Israelis were taking the lead on this one. Of course, now that everyone (not us) was standing and all the overhead compartments were open, the plane began to move as we taxied to our gate. On one flight, we watched in slow motion as a guitar started to fall out of the bin as the plane began to drive. Luckily, a few people saw it happening and yelled out and the people standing in the aisle were able to catch it, but in my head all I could hear was "be careful opening the overhead bins as items may have shifted during flight." In these moments, I realize I am still American and I breathed a sigh of relief as we touched down in LA on our flight from New York and not a single person moved until that fasten-seatbelt-light was off.
The first few days back in the States also presented us with a bit of language culture shock. As Americans in Israel, we are accustomed to speaking English at home and Hebrew in public. That means at restaurants, in cabs, at stores and on the street, our default language is Hebrew. Now that we are Israelis in America, we often catch ourselves about to speak Hebrew at inappropriate times. The first place this always happens is at passport control in the airport. Even before we were officially Israeli, I made a decision to exclusively speak Hebrew at Ben Gurion airport, mainly to avoid the the typical (read: annoying) questions they ask American tourists at the security check: Are you Jewish? What synagogue do you belong to? What was your Bat Mitzvah portion? When I would speak Hebrew, they would just ask: How do you know Hebrew? and let me move on. So, for years now, when I land in the US (or anywhere not in Israel, for that matter) I have to continually remind myself while waiting in line at passport control to speak English to the officer. Inevitably, however, I always end up answering at least one question with "ken" (yes, in Hebrew), but I think it generally goes unnoticed.
This time the language culture shock followed us into the city. In Haifa, when we hear other people speaking English in public, we turn around, because odds are we know them. In the US, we just look like paranoid schizophrenics, turning around and looking at everyone. It took a few days to get used to hearing English everywhere again. Then, of course, on our last day in New York, we went out to breakfast with Matt's sister and we heard two men at the table next to us speaking Hebrew. This totally threw us off our game. But, in good Matt-and-Stef fashion, we knew one of them from working at Camp Ramah a couple summers ago, and had a nice time catching up with him in Hebrew.
A highlight for me throughout our two weeks in America has been food. Food holds such nostalgic properties, whether it's the smell of a certain dish that awakens childhood memories or simply walking the isles of Trader Joe's and remembering all the awesome (and kosher!) things one can buy there. When we first arrived in NYC and went to the grocery store, I was like a kid in a candy shop. It's funny how certain products, that I haven't thought about for a year, arouse in me such excitement. Tortilla chips and salsa, Life cereal, half-sour pickles, and most importantly fresh pineapple and berries! Fresh blueberries, blackberries and raspberries are impossible to come by in Israel and while fist-sized pineapples can be found for 40 shekel ($10+), it's never worth it. We have also now had two consecutive Sundays of bagels, cream cheese and lox, which has been very nostalgic for us both. While thought of as typically Jewish food, bagels and lox are definitely American Jewish food, not Israeli. It is certainly possible to get a decent bagel in Israel, specifically in Jerusalem where American olim rule the roost, but in Haifa, this delicacy is hard to come by. I'm sure when we get back to Israel, many of the American food-stuffs that have so excited me while here will fade into distant memories, but I will always have them to look forward to on future trips.
Wishing you all a good week,
Stef and Matt
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