I have always been fiercely independent, sometimes to my own detriment. Ever since childhood, I have insisted upon finding my own way. I will take the unexamined path under all circumstances, and against everyone’s better advice. It was with this attitude that upon graduating from a prestigious university with a highly specialized (and painfully received) degree, I decided against going into the career I had been so well trained for. But with this came the realization that I had no idea what to do with my life. After 5 months of twiddling my thumbs, I signed on for a 5 month volunteering program in a small, underprivileged community in Israel. A chain of events had left my Jewish identity abandoned, and I wanted to rekindle it. As a child, the love of Israel had been ingrained in my soul, both by my parents, themselves huge Israel supporters, and by my Zionistic, conservative Jewish day school. It was time for me to make the journey myself.

I arrived in Ramla that first day with a heart full of optimism. To me, everything was brilliant-the colors, the streets, the opportunity for good deeds. I paid no heed to anything that didn’t paint a pretty picture. This was my new home and I couldn’t wait to be a part of it. Within a few weeks, though, the brilliance of that rose-colored world wore off, and I began to see Ramla for what it really appears-a small, poor, littered town with perhaps more than its fair share of problems. I began to wonder how I could ever make a difference in a place like this with only a few months at my disposal. I had never set out to change the world, but the problems in Ramla were overwhelming. Soon, though, I discovered that there is redemption in Ramla-its citizens. The kindest, most welcoming people you will ever meet live in Ramla. Many of them were so thrilled to have Americans coming to their home that they opened their world to us with open arms. They knew that the chance for their children to have a better life was to learn English, something most people in Ramla did not know. And to have an American teach them was more than they could ever ask for. Members of the community invited us into their homes, to their children’s birthday parties, and the thing which I will forever hold dearest to my heart, their Shabbat dinners.

I was privileged enough to have a host family for Shabbat. By the end of the very first dinner, I was already invited back for their weekly ritual-Couscous lunches with the whole family every Tuesday. I began to visit my new “family” twice a week. Every time they treated me as one of their own children. I got to know the grandchildren, the friends, and most importantly, the food of these people. Whenever I was feeling down or homesick, I would take the short walk around the corner to see “Eimah Yaffa”, or one of the daughters. When my parents came to Israel for Pesach, there was no question as to where we would be for the Seder-with my Ramla family. Three months later my parents still talk about that Seder. If they had any concerns about me being in Israel alone before, upon meeting my host family, their minds were at ease. And I was, too.

But what about the volunteering, you ask? Well, the idea was to find an interesting way to teach the kids of Ramla English. I quickly fell in love with the after school program at Tabage, the Ethiopian center in town. I wanted to work with one of my loves-art. I figured, what better way to teach English than by drawing, or doing fun crafts. Shortly, though, I saw that the imaginations of these children, the oldest of whom were merely 11 years old, were severely lacking. For whatever the reason, these kids could hardly come up with an idea of something to draw on their own. Many of them, I soon learned, came from backgrounds in which they were battered, and soon my focus changed from teaching English, to teaching imagination. If I could get these kids to be kids-to dream and wonder and draw in color, then I would have been successful. I drew from my past experience with art therapy, and took ideas from everything around me. The most successful exercise was a time when I gave them a picture of a spaceship, and asked them to imagine a world they could only reach by spaceship, and to show me what it looked like. While most of the kids just copied the picture of the spaceship I had drawn, one girl drew candy and chocolate, stating that she wanted to go to “the sweet world”. At this moment, I knew my time was being well spent.

Throughout the rest of my time at Tabage, I became friendly with the regular staff there, as I often had to go to them for help with discipline, my Hebrew, or ideas of activities. But I also became close to the kids. During a parade in honor of “Yom Yerushalim”, one girl grabbed my hand and walked with me the whole way. I no longer felt like an American outsider spending a matter of months here, but someone these kids looked up to. Even when they would yell and pay me no heed, I can hope that one day they will look back on their American friend and smile. I may have taught them a few words in English, and opened up their imaginations, but from them I also learned. I learned I do not have the patience for teaching. I learned from them the gem that is an imagination, and I learned about the resilience of children.

But working with the Tabage kids was not enough for me. By the time Pesach rolled around, I was itching for something more. It was recommended to me to spend two hours a day serving lunch at a day center for the elderly. My first instinct was that old people scare me, and I wouldn’t be able to work with them. But then I realized I was here to do something good, and opening myself up to new things was par for the course. I accepted, and after a few days of shyness on my part, I finally opened up. These people were hilarious, even more so when I didn’t understand a word they said. They were caring. Sure they would yell at me for not getting them food fast enough, but they would always leave me with a smile, a handshake, and wishing me health, or asking when I would be back. Over time, working at the center became routine. There were days when everyone was angry, and there were days when I spent two hours laughing and smiling. It was at this center where I spent the most meaningful Holocaust remembrance day of my life. I was surrounded by survivors, and while it pained me to not understand as they told their stories, I was able to be there. And when the school next door came over that day, I saw the old people and the children, together, singing Hatikvah, and I realized the hope for the Jews, and for Israel. Here I learned that no matter what life throws you, each day is new, a blessing, and enjoy it for right now. From the old people I learned that I, in fact, LOVE working with old people.

I have never been good at handling change. I don’t like saying goodbye and I don’t like things coming to end. But with ISC, when the time came, I knew it was right. I had to open the way for a new group. I’m not going to pretend that everything was peaches and cream-I certainly ran into a fair share of problems along the way. But this is the way of life. But when it was my time to leave, both Tabage and the center gave me the most touching goodbyes a girl could ask for. The old people wished me so much luck and begged me to come back to visit. The children hugged me and drew me pictures. The staff at both places, my friends in this crazy place, gave me gifts and warm wishes, and an outpouring of love.

And what happened to me during this time? Well, I became truly independent. I may have thought I was independent before, but after 6 months in a strange country on my own, I learned how far independence can go. It is hard to explain, but let’s just say I grew more than I knew I needed to. I learned to throw caution and plans to the wind, and to allow life to happen. I learned to relax. I learned not to relax. I learned a new language-and while my Hebrew is maybe a bit shy of what I would call conversational, it is enough to make it through 6 months in a town that does not speak English. I learned to love and I learned that it’s ok to fall out of love. I learned that baked goods just don’t taste the same in a different country…no matter how many times you fix the recipe. I learned the proper way to drink tea. I learned that when you are sick in Israel, there is always someone caring about you. Even if you are healthy, in Israel, there is always someone caring for you. Most of all, I learned that I still have no clue where I’m going or what I want to do with my life, but I learned to accept that and allow myself to sit back and enjoy.

Post by Kate Cohen