Last week I reached an aliyah milestone – I finished ulpan. What will I remember about my five months in ulpan? I’ll remember sitting in class my first day and being paralyzed with terror by the Hebrew drill sergeants who marched up and down the aisles yelling and glaring with eyes that could pierce skin.
I remember trembling and hesitating when I was called on for the first time and the second time and the third time and the 57th time, but how it got easier every time. And how the heat from everyone’s eyes on me every time I got called on faded from animosity to encouragement and warmth.
I remember when it was still 80 degrees out and riding my bike from Katamon with Avi in the mornings. The weather was so bright and beautiful I would often come to class early on purpose. I remember when Yoel got engaged and brought us treats during hafsaka. I remember us all being convinced we forgot everything we had learned after Sukkot.
I remember waiting in the long bathroom lines with the French and Russians and how they would always cut me in line for the bathroom or for tea and how I decided I did not like these two nationalities on that basis. I remember how we started freaking out a little the day the teachers started throwing past, present, and future at us all at once, all mixed together.
I remember how our class dwindled from almost 30 to 15 as the months wore on and I remember when we were moved to the downstairs classroom and how cold it was there. All the women would gather around our single space heater during hafsaka and share recipe ideas and where you can buy good skirts or graham cracker crusts or good frozen pizza and try to warm our feet. I remember all the junk food and Coke I bought at the makolet next door – Mike & Ike, Pesek Zman, Bamba, Mars bars, and gumballs and everyone else would eat fruit and veggies.
I remember how each member of our class morphed into a caricature – the smart one, the class clown, the teacher’s pet, the shy one, the disruptive one, etc. – we all had our role. I then realized ulpan was exactly like first grade in both content and structure.
I remember when I saw Liat’s “Inner Smurf” as Anders likes to call it, and realized that she was actually kind and funny and not as scary as I had always thought. I eventually figured this out about most of our teachers and admired them for taking on such a thankless, difficult, and poorly-paid yet crucial job. For staring into a sea of orphaned immigrant faces day in and day out and trying to make Israelis out of us.
The memory of Tamara screaming “L’harshot – hersheti!!! L’harot – hereti!!! L’hodeea – hodeti!!! at the top of her lungs at 8:30am while bundled up in my winter jacket in a freezing classroom armed with caffeine and junk food slowly begins to fade. An era in my aliyah adventure has ended.
As we stumbled out of our classroom for the final time, all a little shell-shocked and depressed, we could hear Tamara screaming “L’hazmeen – heezmanti!!! L’heetragel – heetragalti!!! L’heeshtadel – heeshtedalti!!!” It was a new group of immigrants being tortured I mean educated.
And us? Well, we’re practically vatikim (old-timers) by now. But we still wondered what we’d do with ourselves the next morning when we woke up too early to a February sun that suddenly seemed too bright and with nothing to do. Things are about to heat up in my life and it’s bound to be an interesting ride so tazeek mamad (hang on)!
