My Israel Pilgrimage

Linda Joy Goldner

December 2007–January 2008

From the moment I danced down the jetway towards the El-Al 777, I felt intoxicated with the joy of returning to our Land. And a month later, back at Ben Gurion Airport for my return flight, I easily replaced my lost copy of the traveler’s prayer Tefillas haDerech. Between these two points was my journey—a journey filled with miracles, wonders and a deep sense of kiruv/connection with my People.

This past autumn, I began to feel that deep ache to be back in Israel. While a 58-year-old businesswoman and hospital chaplaincy volunteer, I’m also a part time student at Temple University in Philadelphia where I study modern Hebrew.

My original plan was to study at an Israeli university ulpan between semesters, but the programs in which I was most interested conflicted with my spring classes back at Temple. My next thought was to fly to Israel for an unstructured month of café-sitting and Hebrew-eavesdropping, an informal means of developing my Hebrew listening and speaking skills. I also began investigating Israel volunteer opportunities.

I grew increasingly disappointed, however. Each program I saw posted age limitations that excluded me! Then I remembered conversations I’d had with a man at my former gym. Stan’s wonderful stories about his wife’s volunteer adventures in Israel remained with me but not, alas, the name of the coordinating organization. I struggled to remember Stan’s last name, found him in the phone directory, and called. And so, through Stan’s wife Rena Field, I connected with Volunteers for Israel.

Because I am fascinated by the field of medicine and feel comfortable in healthcare institutions, I wanted to serve in either a hospital or nursing home. But because my Hebrew isn’t fluent and, therefore, my language skills lack sophistication and subtlety, I knew I’d be unable to offer chaplaincy support. However, I felt that in the course of performing whatever work needed to be done, I would have the opportunity to talk with patients and to provide whatever spiritual accompaniment my language skills permitted.

After assuring my VFI interviewer, Jeanne Schachter, that I could tolerate the potential loneliness of a posting alone, where there was little likelihood of fellow English-speaking volunteers—as opposed to the army base postings—I was accepted into the nursing home/hospital volunteer program.

Pam Lazarus, the Israeli-side program coordinator with Volunteers for Israel, confirmed my assignment to Mishan Avot haNegev. This senior community, one of a chain of elder residences in Israel, is home to independent seniors, the frail elderly, as well as those needing extensive care and support. Mishan is located in Beersheva, once a small Bedouin village since enlarged over the past 80 years by successive waves of Jewish immigrants from North Africa, Russia and, most recently, from Ethiopia. Modern-day Beersheva, now home to over 200,000, is a major center of higher education in Israel.  Ben Gurion University of the Negev and the Seroka Medical Center are two of its most famous institutions. This small city was an ideal setting in which to practice my Hebrew skills. Unlike the more cosmopolitan Tel Aviv or, even, Jerusalem, I was likely to encounter very few English speakers. I would truly be immersed b’Ivrit. 

I worked in Mishan’s tumechet/assisted living unit with approximately 16 residents, mostly women. "My" residents were, on the whole, pretty sharp, but fraiI. I helped serve their meals, joined them for strolls around the grounds (during which they stabilized themselves with aluminum walkers), and engaged them in conversations and activities like RummyKube tournaments and in crafts. In addition, I assisted staff in serving meals, bussing the dining table, and escorting residents to and from onsite physical therapy and hairdresser appointments, exercise classes and concerts. Occasionally, I was able to remain at some of those cultural and educational programs, enjoying the events. And, that event schedule was quite rich. Every evening the facility’s residents were treated to a surprising range of live classical music concerts and dance performances, lectures by professors from Ben Gurion University, and films of operas and ballets.

Aides, known as mitapelim, provided the more intimate care for the residents—assisting in everyday tasks feeding, helping toilet, washing, dressing and so on. The mitapelim, assigned one-on-one with residents, were largely Russian-born (Beersheva has a large Russian population). These aides offered what I can only describe as tender care. They were extremely attentive, yet respectful of the residents' dignity. At first, I mistook them for sons and daughters of those for whom they cared!    

The common languages of the residents were Hebrew and, frequently, Yiddish. Other languages spoken included German, Spanish, French, Polish, Hungarian, Romanian, and English. Some of the residents were sabras, native-born Israelis. Others came from the Diaspora to Israel as refugees from the Nazis or had fled other sources of anti-Semitic terror and persecution. And others came simply to make aliyah, despite lives of comfort elsewhere.

The staff with whom I worked most closely spoke virtually no English—again a terrific opportunity for me to listen and to speak in Hebrew. Despite the challenges of understanding what I was to do (for example, the directions as to which resident was to go to what activity at what time), the staff and I managed to cope through our easy humor and uninhibited body English. Sometimes we were able to call upon the English-Hebrew language skills of a resident nearby. So the absence of a common, competently spoken language did not, in the end, prevent me from taking orders, anticipating needs and doing my various jobs.

The Russian immigrants were especially supportive in my challenges with Hebrew. They had genuine empathy for the difficulties of learning a second language as an adult.  

I worked Tuesday through Saturday, from 8am to 1pm and then returned to work between 5pm and 7pm for the evening meal. It was a pleasure to help relieve the staff shortage on Shabbat and to have what, for me, was the advantage of being "off" during the Israeli workweek when the buses were running and lots more public places and events were open. 

And I took advantage of those buses and open institutions! Days off were spent in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem, each about an hour away by bus or train. In those more cosmopolitan cities, I wandered, discovered and revisited sites without the insistent pull of a tour guide’s schedule. I now had the time to read the exhibit text at the Shrine of the Book, sampled handmade chocolates along the length of Ibn Gvirol Street and viewed the photography show at the Bauhaus museum in Tel Aviv, carefully examined the Judaica of the artists’ colony nestled in the shadow of Jerusalem’s Old City’s walls and, of course, made a prayerful pilgrimage to the Kotel, the Western Wall. I returned to Mishan each Tuesday, eager to work again.

The public spaces at Mishan Avot haNegev were very clean and handsomely furnished. There was a library filled with volumes in major Eastern European languages, as well as in English, Hebrew and Yiddish. There was a gym, as well as a physical therapy room, a computer room with Internet access, and a coin-operated laundry. The auditorium had a stage, and there were comfortable, casual meeting areas throughout the facility for residents, their friends and families. Mishan Avot haNegev even provided a hair salon, as well as a gym set for visiting grandchildren. 

I was given a nice, big efficiency apartment with kitchenette, and private patio. My room was cleaned, and the bedding and towels changed, weekly by the housekeeping staff! I was provided tokens for free use of the laundry, and meal coupons for breakfast and lunch.

Weekday breakfast was ordered at the staff’s food window adjacent to the kitchen. Choices included a varying selection of eggs, breads, spreads, cheeses and vegetables. Staff lunch, the day’s main meal during the week, was provided cafeteria-style in the facility’s dining room after the independent residents had eaten. Food was the same as that offered to the residents, and included soups, breads, a choice of hot meat entrees (such as barbequed chicken, broiled fish or Swedish meatballs), potatoes or rice, chopped salads and cooked green vegetables. Fruit was usually available for dessert, sometimes accompanied by a small pastry.

On Shabbat, I joined independent residents for a waitress-served meal in the dining room. These lunches gave me the opportunity to meet a broader range of residents, as well as their families who often came to visit. Food choices were similar to those of the week, but usually included more varieties of chopped salads, and a more elaborate pastry dessert. All dinners were modest dairy affairs gleaned from leftovers in the tumechet unit. These included yoghurt, cottage cheese and other cheeses, bread and fruit.

Overall, the food was usually tasty and far better than I had expected.

Between my room, the appearance and amenities of the facility, the food and the cultural events, I felt like I was at a resort!

Mishan resounded with cheerful exchanges of “boker tov, boker ohr” /Good morning, morning light each morning. These words floated over each encounter among staff, visitors and residents, brightening hallways and rooms. Implicit in the greeting was the speaker’s gratefulness at the gift of yet another new day.

Thank you, G-d, for restoring my soul to me. Here among the elderly one could truly appreciate the miracle of awaking and living the Modeh Ani prayer.

Not incidentally, I was enthralled with the wealth of life experiences here—early kibbutzniks, a woman who jumped off a ship and swam her way to shore during the British Mandate, and of course, Holocaust survivors. These people are national treasures and left me with memories that have become embedded into my heart and spirit.

Some of these stories and impressions follow, with names changed to protect residents’ privacy.

Zimra
I was mesmerized by the story of Zimra’s 1940 slip off the deck of the rapidly sinking liner Patria into Haifa’s harbor, her swim to shore and her newfound safety in Palestine.

She recounted how the British had bundled her and approximately 1700 other illegal Jewish immigrants, newly arrived in Palestine from Nazi-controlled Europe, onto the ship to assuage the hostile Arab population. Once aboard this vessel, they were to be transported out of Palestine and on to Mauritius and Trinidad.

In an attempt to prevent this mass deportation, the Haganah had smuggled aboard what they had calculated to be the correct amount of explosives to damage the 12,000-ton vessel. As a result of the damage, the ship would then be forced to shore. This “accident” was intended to provide the refugees, at least, a temporary opportunity to remain in the British Mandate of Palestine.

Tragically, the explosives were far too powerful, succeeding in sinking the ship within 15 minutes of the discharge—and trapping and killing 260 of those aboard. Twenty- year old Zimra was one of the survivors who swam safely to shore. She was resettled on a kibbutz. There she worked, married, and bore two daughters before her move to Mishan Beit Avot.

Lena
I was constantly warmed by Lena’s joy when tutoring me in Hebrew—in contrast to the anxiety and depression that otherwise shrouded her days. Tiny Lena had taught both Hebrew and Yiddish in her native Argentina. Aside from those languages—and Spanish—she knew no English. She often challenged staff with tantrums and frequent refusals to take her medications or to eat. She sat at meals, her tray of food untouched, and stared out the window—visiting people, places and events only she could see.

Only when she was engaged in our tutorials did she smile—a broad, full-mouthed gleam of vitality filling her body and her mind. Once in the midst of a tantrum, as she cried and pounded her walker into the floor so hard that I feared she might crack its metal legs, I struggled to comfort her. But I felt helpless. I wrapped her in my arms and repeated, in Hebrew, “I’m sorry, Lena. I’m so, so sorry.” Suddenly, her tears and the pounding stopped. She cocked her head to look up at me. I was startled to see the curve of a smile beginning to form on her lips. “Ahni MITZTA-AIR-ET, ahni mitzta-AIRE-et,” she gently corrected my faulty Hebrew.

Mita
Another woman had never been a teacher, but she became a Hebrew instructor to me just the same. Mita was a seamstress back in the Old Country. She now spent large parts of her days adding color to black-outlined coloring book drawings of landscapes and still lifes—and entertaining anyone within earshot with a running Yiddish-Hebrew-Romanian commentary. Each art session began as she gathered the tumechet unit’s box of color markers. Then she would carefully place an old plastic placemat under the newest page to protect the table beneath from the color dyes. Meticulously, she filled the outlined shapes with dots and streaks of brilliant yellows and oranges. A solid of bright green gave life to a leaf. A delicate herringbone pattern of red and pink decorated a petal. As Mita carefully selected each of her markers, she would hold it up before me as my cue.

Adom, ka’khol, yaroke and varod, I would respond, supplyingthe name of each color b’Ivrit.

The power of song
I can’t forget the enraptured expressions on the faces of the European-born residents during the regularly held, live classical music concerts.

And I can’t forget 98-year old Mendel, who shuffled around the facility softly crooning the first few lines of Sim Shalom, a prayer asking G-d to put peace, goodness and blessing, grace, love, and mercy into the world. Born in Lemberg, the same Austro-Hungarian city as my late father, Mendel spoke in a sweet but, to me, unintelligible mix of Polish-Yiddish-Hebrew. Unable to converse with each other, we connected through song. But I was aware that both he and I were “fudging” a few of the words, stuffing others in their places. I made a mental note to check the correct words to the prayer in a siddur…later.

Then, one morning, after a rather lackluster attempt to down his breakfast, Mendel … just … stopped. He sat motionless in his chair, responsive to neither the calling of his name nor to the gentle shaking of his arm. A nurse dashed over, placed a blood pressure cuff on his arm and checked his pulse.

We placed the inert Mendel in a wheelchair and rolled him into his room. There, he was placed tenderly into his bed. His son was called. After several hours of vigil, Mendel again came to life. When he “returned”, joining the other residents at the communal table for the next meal, I was relieved and overjoyed. Now, I was determined to locate the correct words to Sim Shalom. Impulsively, I called one of my congregational rabbis who was—amazingly—available at just that moment. He directed me to the place in the prayer service in which to locate the prayer and I now quickly found it in a siddur.

From then on, Mendel and I could join in the correct words. And I felt the joy of having given back to that sweet, strong man his life-celebrating prayer.

I would recommend VFI’s hospital/nursing home program for anyone who enjoys caring for others, particularly the sick and the elderly and who has, at least, basic skills in conversational Hebrew. A volunteer to these postings would probably benefit from being highly self-sufficient because of the common absence of fellow English-speaking volunteers for companionship.

I thank Volunteers for Israel and all of the wonderful people—some perfect strangers—who helped make this trip both possible and deeply rewarding. They offered me suggestions and directions, insisted on lifting my luggage onto and off buses and trains, supplemented my modest Hebrew with much-appreciated translations and explanations, and welcomed me warmly into their country—our country. As I lived and worked among these Israelis from Morocco, Kiev, Berlin and  Boston, I asked repeatedly why they had come. No one cited oppression and other hardship, no one cited better opportunities or the presence of Israeli family. Everyone, but everyone, responded to my question with the following simple words, “Because I am a Jew.”

[Additional photos can be found here]