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14 THE SOUTHERN ISRAELITE April 21
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by Marlene Du well
“East is east and west is west/the
Arabs are good, but the Jews are
the best.” This is not an Israeli
cheerleader rooting for Maccabi
Tel Aviv. These are lines from a
song passed down from last year’s
delegation of students who went to
Israel. Not only was Ihis song
passed down, but so was a fantastic
program called “Mishlachat-in-
Reverse." MIR is a youth
exchange program that allows
high school juniors and seniors to
spend six weeks with Israeli
teenagers and to live with their
families. The main goal of the
program is an exchange of ideas
between Israeli Jews and
American Jews.
This year’s Mishlachat group
had 34 people representing many
major communities from all over
the United States. It included five
delegates from Atlanta: Laurie
Axelrod, Susan Braveman,
Russell Levine, Peggy Miller, and
myself.
After a two day orientation in
New York, we left with much
anticipation of our stay in Israel.
The first week was spent in
Jerusalem for our Israeli
orientation. It didn't take us long
to get used to many things in Israel
such as having a guard if we
wanted to take a field trip, seeing
guns when you walk down the
street, bus drivers who can drive
with only two wheels on the
ground (not only managing to miss
pedestrians but they do it on the
wrong side of the street) cold
showers, reading subtitles and
using toilet paper that feels like
crepe’ paper.
The toilet jjaper can be a real
problem if you happen to get what
most travelers get—“Shil shul”
known in other countries as
“touristas."
We were unsure about how
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“The group”
Israelis would accept Americans—
outsiders. For each person this
experience was different. I found
the same people that so
thoughtfully pointed out to me
(and every one else) that I was
“Americai” were the same people
that later turned out to be some of
my best friends. Probably the
hardest part of talking to the
Israeli kids was breaking
stereotypes on both sides. Each
one has formed opinions about the
others. As you really get to know
them, you realize that each one is
different.
Because my job as a
representative of the American
Jewish community was to talk to
Israeli students about America and
Jewish life here, I was given 11th
and 12th Grade English classes to
speak to. The discussions ranged
from the Army to Arabs—money
to music—pot to politics—and sex
to the Skokie march. These
conversations proved to be
beneficial to both sides as we
argued and discussed in open
honesty.
They wanted on the spot
answers to such things as why we
all don’t move to Israel; why we
don’t have to fight in the army;
why American kids are all drug
addicts; how many cars each of us
has; and why Americans have ice
in their drinks (How does one
explain ice when they are lucky to
have refrigeration!).
All of these ideas are difficult to
convey, and are made more
difficult by the language barrier
and the absence of the ability to
understand American humor. At
times it took a game of charades, a
dictionary scramble, or perhaps a
few words picked up here and there
to get across an idea or message.
We soon learned how to
communicate without words and
maybe in some ways it was better
that I couldn’t speak Hebrew,
because everything I said came
from the heart and they knew it,
and they responded with the same
kind of warmth to each and every
one of us. Even those of us who
stayed with families that spoke no
English still felt the love of those
people, whether from being
blessed with the children at the
Shabbat dinner table, or the
constant pinching of a cheek.
Of all the things we did in Israel
it was the new and unusual that we
enjoyed most. It was walking to the
Wall to spend Shabbat and getting
lost coming back; driving a
tractor for the first time while three
guys show you how and
discovering that when you shifted
gears wrong you threw one of them
into a ditch; deciding to try out
all the Israeli food you can in one
night and paying dearly with a
severe case of “Acid Indigestion,”
(where was the plop, plop, fizz,
fizz, when we needed it).
It was jumping into a stream
fully clothed in which flowed
melted snow from Mt. Hermon,
and it was floating around the
Dead Sea. And it was the day two
of us ran around Jerusalem in our
Begin plastic nose and a Sadat
Mask that was sold as a Purim
costume, the wrestling with the
overly friendly merchants in the
Arab market, and a thought of our
friends watching the Jewish.
American Princesses wash 20 lb.
wet blue jeans in a bathroom sink
with no stopper and a bar of soap
that made us laugh at ourselves
and enjoy it all.
We had to break the news to
Israelis that we did not live next
door to Jimmy CarterT we don’t
have slaves, and that America is
too big for us to spend the weekend
with the kids from California.
We learned to put up with a few
of the different customs such as
learning to push and shove to get a
seat on the bus—even if it was
somebody older than your
grandmother; having a soldier
prop his gun up against the back of
the seat with the barrel at the back
of your neck and politely asking
him not to point “that thing” at
you.
I think it amazed us how calmly
they take things that would scare
us to death. They can be 16 years
old and serve civilian guard duty
(which includes patroling a beach
with a gun one night a month).
They can tell you stories about
how their uncle was killed in a
battle in the town some years ago,
or about how the janitor at their
school was killed when the
Jordanians launched an attack
from across the border only seven
miles away, and why they take
turns guarding the school now
because of it.
But in all our fun, we tried to
realize what it must be like to be 18
and living in Israel. While most of
us had whjph college we were going
to on our minds, they were
thinking only about the difficult
test they must take to get into the
university. A college education
only comes to them after serving
their mandatory three years in the
army. Most of them said they
would serve it because they had to
and because the country needed
them. Some admitted that they felt
they were being deprived of the
three best years of their life.
It was the people, the place and
the experience that made it a trip to
remember.