To friends and family in the USA

Hi all,

I promised to be better about updating you all on what's going on here, so here it is.

I'm living in Haifa now, which I mentioned I love, but I figured I should tell you what I'm doing. Right now, I spend my days volunteering at 2 places--a pediatric oncology ward, and a school for the young (under 6) and deaf. Both places are amazing, and epitomize much of what is special about Haifa.

At the hospital, there are classrooms with videos, art projects, books, puzzles and more in each unit. The teachers write to and speak with the children's home teachers, to keep them up to date. They play with the kids, keep them entertained, and generally help them just to be children. That's cool, but coolest of all is who is in the hospital (which includes art everywhere, aquariums on each floor, paid clowns on staff, and general amazingness): kids from all over Israel--Arab kids, Druze kids (look them up on wikipedia--they're great), Jewish religious and secular kids...if there were green and purple kids, I'm sure they'd be there too. All of them receive this amazing medical care, and other care, too. Each of the floors has teachers who speak Hebrew and Arabic, and activities in both languages. There is a room for parents on each floor, fridges for their food, and comfortable chairs for them to sit in.

All the kids I work with have cancer--but most of them are outpatients, who come in about once a week for chemo or radiation. Some have hair, some don't, some want to play, some don't, but the thing is: KIDS WITH CANCER ARE KIDS. Who happen to have cancer. I think I didn't get that for a long time, but Gali, Yonatan, Michal and others remind me of that all the time. So we don't talk about cancer--because to me it doesn't matter who has leukemia and who has whatever else. We talk about kid stuff and I help them be children, when lots of other people just want them to be SICK.

But once in a while, it gets to you. Sometimes it's hard. 2 weeks ago, Yonatan's hair was growing back. An energetic 9 year-old, he was bursting with energy, and we played much of the morning. Last week, he was a little down. His hair had all fallen out, not for the first time, and it was hard. Nonetheless, he had energy, helped organize the classroom, and generally sort of served as a reminder to be grateful. He sure is.

Last week, I got pulled into a room for the first time. I had been playing with Jalil--a charming arab 2 1/2 year old who for the past few weeks had been too sick to come out. I got him to smile, and play, and forget he was sick. I also let his deaf father and hearing mother have a break. It was great, till his parents took him back to his room. He was cranky and tired. Doctors and nurses started poking him--I too would have been scared with that many people around--and he wailed. Not like a kid cries when they scratch their knee, but like a newborn, like he was dying. I wanted to run, scream myself, or burst into tears.

Then his roommate's father called me in, a druze man. His son, Bashar is 17, and evidently really wants to go to the States. His father was watching me play with the other children all day, and he thought his son, who couldn't move, might enjoy some play time, too. I looked at him, and immediately saw there must be something wrong with his brain--his head has points and lumps, like I've only seen in movies of monsters. I had to pretend nothing was wrong, as his father and I conversed, he invited my family to his house, and told me of his and his son's travels. I did it, but at the end of the day...I was a little tired.

So that's my day. I'm not saving the world, and quite frankly, I think I get more from these kids than I could ever give to them, but it brings me joy, and maybe it makes their lives just a little easier.

The school for the deaf is great--I'm learning some (read: a few words) hebrew sign language, and all sorts of new words like shetel (cochlear implant) and machshir shmiya (hearing aid). The kids are great, and they too remind me to appreciate all I have--including the ability to play with them!

Last week I was in Jerusalem for a doctor's appointment, and I went to the central bus station, to catch my bus back to Haifa (almost typed Beer Sheva--oops!), when I saw a large group of people crowded outside. The area was blocked off--chefetz chashud--you know, one of those days where we get concerned that one of the people literally dying to blow us up just might succeed. Eventually it was opened up, and I got on my bus, but not without looking at an Arab man with a black bag, and wondering if I should just wait for the next bus.

That's the problem. You love the kids in the hospital, but in the bus station, Arabs are the people to be wary of, the ones planting the chefetz chashud, and the ones we can't get medical care to, because they put bombs in ambulances. That's why it's so hard. Because you can't blame people for wanting their kids, and themselves, to be safe. But not everyone is blowing us up, or trying. How do we strike that balance? I don't know, and neither does Israel. But it's a country that's struggling, rather than hating, and for that, I love this place. The struggle is the most important part, as my Rabbi once told me, and I believe that to be true.

Nonetheless, it's a bit scary. I phoned my Mum during the chefetz chashud to say hi, told her what was going on, and she asked why I wouldn't leave the station. I was in the safe area, but she (quite rationally, for a mother) wanted me out altogether. Thing is, I'm not getting out. That bomb is aimed at me, too. This is my place, and I stand with Israel--with Israelis as they wait past a US airport-like security checkpoint--for clearance there is no bomb. I may not be Israeli, and I may not ultimately live here, but when there's danger, when the Jewish people are at risk--when they need to know that American support for Israel is more than lip service--that's when I'm there. So I'm not leaving. Not then, not now, and no matter what happens this year.

Ultimately, life is about meaning (thank you, Brandeis philosophy degree) and I am finding a wonderful amount of it here. Life is fun, too...but that's sort of boring for all of you, so email if you want details. Most of the time, I am extremely happy, not in any danger, and enjoying having a year off to simply be me. But an internet connection would add to my joy.

My parents and then my brother arrive this weekend (YAY!!!) so email will be even more sparse than usual, but I love hearing from you--it truly makes my day, week, or month.

And Merry Christmas or Happy Chanukah to all...I hope it is filled with meaning and joy for all of you.

Sending much love from the holy land,
Rachel