Arad and Israel: More than Just the Big Cities

Posted in Arad, Participant Stories, Volunteering on 31. Jan, 2011

With opportunities to live in the Holy City (Jerusalem) or the City That Never Sleeps (Tel Aviv), why the heck would anyone want to live in the Negev, Israeli or visiting American?  While the answer may not immediately reveal itself, much can be learned about both a place and oneself with a willingness to look beyond the superficial.  Just as America is as much about its smaller towns and periphery as it is New York City, Israel is a mosaic of different peoples, cultures, and experiences.  Those are as much our chanichims’ thoughts as they are mine, as can be evidenced in the college essay below by Sara Berlin.

Most chanichim probably come on Year Course expecting to reap immediate growth, satisfaction, and reward in the areas of Hebrew, volunteering, fun, and friendships; the personal development and life experience are things that are harder to wrap their arms around.  While the positive experiences, growth, and perpective we gain on Year Course last a lifetime, we are lucky if we can identify even a fraction of them while still on the program itself!  It is pleasing to see that Sara has already begun to do so.

Enjoy the question posed by one of the universities and Sara’s response to it.

Travel 
delays 
can 
be 
magic. 
Where 
would 
you 
like 
to 
be 
stuck 
for 
a 
day?
  What 
would 
you 
do 
with 
your 
time?

Arad, Israel. Population: twenty three thousand. Location: the Negev Desert. According to certain Israeli guidebooks, “there is no real reason to travel to Arad,” “there is no outstanding place to eat,” and “there are not the best accommodations.” But somehow, I would like to end up here, in a city where instead of carrying around a Hebrew-English dictionary, it is much wiser to carry a Russian-English one.

A couple of months ago, Arad would definitely not have been my final destination. Perhaps because it’s so difficult to get to Arad—the bus station is more of an alleyway than an actual station. Or maybe because you are more likely to encounter a cat on the street than an actual person. However, after living in this development town for three months, I would choose to be stuck in Arad, better known by Israelis as: “Oh yeah, that city that everyone stops in to use the restroom before going to the Dead Sea.”

My day would start at eight. Rather than waking up to an alarm, I would wake up to the sound of the local high school bell, which is “Stereo Love,” a popular techno song. After eating breakfast in an apartment with six other girls, I would sojourn to work at a local daycare. On my walk, I would pass Seymour, the elderly gentleman who always wears a white t-shirt, tucked into high black athletic pants, and a stopwatch, as he power walks up and down the same street daily. Inevitably, I would run into “Mustache Cat” on the next block, so named because of the patch of dark fur above her whiskers. Around the corner, I would stroll past the bakery, where everything can be bargained down to five shekels (the rough equivalent of $1.25), Then I’d pass the man selling a random assortment of toy cars, broken clocks, and odd kitchenware, all packed into a stolen shopping cart. Once I reach the daycare center, I would walk into my classroom of twenty-two one year olds and three fellow employees. As the hours pass, with each Hebrew-speaking employee giving me different and conflicting directions, I would play with the children, clean their faces, change their clothing, and get them tucked in for their naps. Once the “tinokim” were asleep, each employee would confide to me her life story in broken English. Merav would tell me her latest dreams about her first boyfriend (even though she is happily married). Inbar would ask me to sing popular American songs, and I’d oblige.

On my walk home, I would stop at the local flea market, where I could buy anything from a piece of fruit, to a rug (with or without actual fleas), and a lot of bric-a- brac. After, I would catch the end of the “Arad Hapoalim” soccer game. This third division soccer team (“The Workers”) is comprised of men between the ages of thirty to fifty-five. No matter how poor the team’s performance, the whole town still shows up to support the local squad. (Whether the spectators actually watch the game or just gossip is a completely different story.)

Getting back to the apartment after the game, I would probably try to make eggs, not for any nutritional reason, but because my cooking expertise starts and ends with omelets. However, my stove would probably break so I would knock on my neighbor Sigui’s door, and ask to use hers. Dressed from head to toe in red, Sigui would invite me into her apartment, and make me sit on the couch and watch MTV music videos while my eggs cooked.

Later, I would meet up with American friends, and walk the streets of Arad. As we would pass one of the three restaurants in Arad, the music would suddenly change from a slow Israeli number to a popular American tune, with the hope of luring us into the establishment. At 10:30 P.M., I would walk back home, in the middle of the street, since the whole town would be asleep.

Needless to say, I don’t think a development town in the middle of the desert would be anyone’s dream destination. When I tell Israelis that I live in Arad, they look at me as if I am crazy, and say, “Why in the world would you want to live there?” Yet somehow, I find comfort in all of the absurdities of life in Arad.

The truth is that Arad was the first city I lived in for an extended amount of time. It was the journey, and not the destination, that led me to choose Arad as my travel delay locale. Living there has proven to me that it will not matter where I settle, because, as an eighteen year old living on my own, I have the capability to push beyond my comfort zone and develop my own community, in any place, no matter how foreign.

Sure, Arad is a city with just three restaurants, and doctors who only speak Russian (in a Hebrew-speaking country). Yet, for three months, Arad was my home, albeit temporarily. Were I to be stuck on a journey, I would choose to go back for a day to revisit my memories, and relive the experience that fostered my independence and sparked my curiosity in the world outside of my own bubble. When I first arrived in Arad, I thought I really did have a travel delay. But after three months, Arad, the deserted desert town, transformed me from an eighteen-year-old high school graduate to a woman on journey into adult life.