Employed but not getting paid? Still "unemployed"?

There are a list of questions that I should have prepared myself more for when I came to Israel. "Where are you from? What are you doing in Israel? You will make Aaliyah?" Yea, the last one is not always a question.

Where am I from? "New York," I say. "Ah New York! The Big Apple!" They follow up with. Of course then they ask more, is it the only New York that matters (Manhattan) or are you from Upstate? "Well," I start, "I lived in Manhattan for two years, I went to college in the Bronx for four, but I am originally from Long Island." Ah yes, a Jew from Long Island. That's all the Israeli asking me has actually been waiting for, confirmation that I'm like every other American here. I stumble over this answer a lot, but it usually provides good groundwork for conversation. Almost everyone knows New York, has been to New York, or knows someone in New York. It's nice to share a sort of familiarity with someone, an instant association.

Then I have the question that I'm still not really sure how to answer. "What are you doing in Israel?"

I should just say it plainly. I came here to intern in Journalism. It's the "How" and the "Why" that make me start to second guess my decision to come at all.

How did I find this internship?

Well, six months ago I made the journey that most Jewish young adults who aren't connected to their religion make, I participated in Birthright Israel. I had an amazing time, a life changing time. In 10 days, on a bus with 39 other people I didn't know, being run through a country I had never imagined, something bloomed inside of me. Every positive thought about myself had suddenly been validated. I believed that I was meant for something bigger, that I have the power to change and mark my place in the world. It was time to make a change and Birthright Israel was the catalyst for it.

The next step was committing to this change. I want to go back to school one day but I'm not ready. I want adventure, I want to travel, but I also want to gain tangible experience. The thing about being Jewish is there are a plethora of programs that you can pay for (but are also highly subsidized - cha-ching!) and participate in that have all these things. Done. I applied to Career Israel, a five month program that I pay for out of my own pocket, and once I'm "accepted," the program sets me up with a Hebrew language course for one month, an internship in the field of my choice for 4 months, housing in Tel Aviv, a group dynamic with other people in the program, and maybe a little brainwashing of how great Israel is and how one should move here and continue to build the country. It's that last part that always gives me reservations. But the good seems to outweigh the brainwashing. Shortly after returning from my Birthright trip, I put in my final notice at work, bought my flight, moved out of my apartment, packed my bags, and headed to Israel. Since my lease was up on my apartment in New York in August, I gave myself that month to travel in Israel on my own before my program started in September.

That's a pretty long answer and a loaded one at that to explain to someone making casual conversation over a beer. The "Why" Israel is usually a bit easier for me but a little less exciting for them. Most people think I've come back to the motherland with all the idealism of a new Jewish convert. It really was simply for the fact that Israel is host to this program and it seems a pretty interesting place to study and practice journalism.

What I struggle with the most in these explanations though is justifying myself. How can I take six months off of my life to pay to work and pay to live? It seems spoiled and superfluous. Another rich Jew from Long Island who doesn't know about hardship, struggle, fear, or what it means to search for the truth. I've paid for a program to take care of me, I haven't achieved anything on my own or of my own merits. Yet.

The "Yet" is what sustains me. I remind myself that everyone has a path in life and it can't be the same. This is my decision, my path, my journey. This is what I felt I must do for myself and I am in the position to do it. I don't know what will come of it, if I will succeed or fail, but what I do know is that I have to try. That is Why I'm here in Israel.

The thing about New Yorkers is...

We love to complain. What separates the complaints of New Yorkers vs personalities of other cities is our anger and immense frustration we build up towards the people we blame. We HATE the MTA and it's president for cutting service lines, cutting jobs, and then raising fares! We HATE taxi cab drivers that continue to drive even though "we're walkin' he-ah!" We place the blame and believe that there's nothing to be done because there is nothing you can do about stupidity.

After the Christmas Blizzard the city was up in arms about Mayer Bloomberg's response. We were angry that our roads weren't plowed, that sidewalks remained covered in snow and that our train lines were disrupted. We hated the Mayer and the head of sanitation and we hated the weather. Weather, you are so stupid, who do you think you are throwing a blizzard on our city?!

But something interesting happened to me on the way to work today. I walk the 30 blocks to work, it takes about 30 minutes. I was in my normal mood of "don't mess with me or get in my way or I will run you over" when I got to a crosswalk where I clearly couldn't jay-walk (traffic had already started moving). A couple of us stood there waiting with a man who was shoveling the sidewalk. He took a break while we waited, we didn't notice, we never really notice anyone do we? Until the shoveler turned around and said "Here, let me clear this way for you," and he shoveled away the slush and grime. Then he smiled. I smiled back. The girl next to me tried to jay-walk but there was still traffic coming. The Shoveler said "Be safe today, you should always cross when the white light appears, ok stay warm, stay dry, have a good day!" It was the oddest thing. I had just received customer service on the street at a crosswalk. It was like New York City became a giant store that was catering to me. Thank you sir for shoveling that sidewalk, and being nice about it.

My Coffee Cup Addiction

Lord help me, I love buying take away coffee. Oh but the guilt! I guess it doesn't really help that of the two religions I can choose from, both of them give high praise for austerity. But I can't help myself, I get a paycheck and I just want to spend, spend, spend. I'm not one for clothes shopping, unless the mood strikes me. I did just splurge, (and I mean SPLURGE) on a pair of Steve Madden boots. The last time I did that was a Michael Kor's trench coat two years ago, so I allow myself. It's the little things that get me down and make me wonder why I really need to buy them.

My biggest vice has to be take-away coffee. I'm a sucker for brewed Hazelnut, but what I love most are the cups. The crisp clean white of a Starbucks grande, the industrial styrofoam of Dunkin' Donuts and not having to lug it around and wash it when you get home. Probably my weirdest obsession, when it comes to take away coffee, are the lids. Most of my coffee buying decisions are made based on what type of lid it comes with. If it's a peel back plastic lid, I find the strength to pass. No matter the count, grade or age of your 100% arabica beans, I won't be enjoying my coffee while I'm cutting my lips on the perforated edge and scalding them simultaneously while not enough air is getting between the inside and outside of the cup to allow for proper flow. But trust me, my knees go weak for a raised mouthpiece, Starbucks, Dunkin', 7-11 and even McDonald's have my number on that one. It's a shame, I have such love for Cafe Bacio, on 70th and 3rd. Not only do they have brewed Hazelnut, their cups are chic, their lids are raised, but the milk, oh the skim milk! It's foamed! This cute little nook of a cafe resides right in the middle of my commute so if I did buy my coffee it would only be in the morning and it would be cold by the time I get to work.

What I've been doing lately is washing my coffee tumbler at home, carrying it to work, then drinking the variably passable brew they have in the staff kitchen. I add a little skim milk, half a splenda, and I can survive the morning. But these past couple of lunches I've found myself wandering into Dunkin' Donuts moving from a medium Hazelnut, to a medium Hazelnut and a donut, to a large Hazelnut and a donut! Even as I'm writing this I can't wait to get back on my lunch break tomorrow and pick up another coffee, and even a donut! This has to stop!

But do I want it to stop? Starbucks said it best, "take comfort in rituals." And it's a ritual all right. I've convinced myself that happiness and serenity (and a caffeine kick) come while holding a paper cup, with a hot liquid, a mouth molded top and handing over $3 for it.

I try to limit my buying, opting for brewing at home, work coffee, or even free gym coffee, but I feel that I've started and I can't stop! It was the same for a while with yogurt parfaits, and I'm scared manicures and pedicures might be next. But for now, it's just happiness in a cup, with a lid, skim and half a splenda.

A random act of kindness...

Dear New York,

Thank you for this one.

I was going on my lunch break with my friend at work. The day hadn't started off too great. I was still upset about my meetings at work, I had probably made a mistake throughout the day. I just felt like I had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. I was telling my friend all about my horrible morning. "It was raining so I went to the subway because I wasn't sure I had enough money on my metrocard for the bus. I get down into the subway and swipe my card and see that I actually did have enough for one ride. Awesome, well I'm down here now so I might as well take it. It's packed, of course. The first train comes by and people rush to get on and there's not enough room so I have to wait for the second one. More people come, there is gross dirty city water everywhere. The second train comes and I'm able to get on it but not without losing some of my dignity and scared that in this process I have somehow managed to cheat on my boyfriend. I get out at the stop but realize the exit I take is two blocks south of where I need to go. I come out of the subway and my umbrella is broken. Now I'm late and wet and am scared to see what's in my inbox."

We get into the Atrium and I tell my friend I'll find us a table while she gets her lunch. Of course its 12:30 so it's packed and there is not a free table. I ask this girl sitting by herself at a table of four if she wouldn't mind if my friend and I sat down too. She say's no problem. I start to get myself sorted when this man comes over, puts his stuff on the table and leans in close to me. I'm thinking he's going to also ask to join us and I'm thinking "No way Jose," but before I can say anything he says, "I noticed you didn't have an umbrella coming in here, I'm trains and planes from this stage on, here you are." Then just walks away. What I'm left with is a pretty industrial style compact umbrella. I'm speechless. I don't even have time to recover from my poor thoughts about this man in time to thank him before he's halfway across the room to the exit. I manage to stammer out a "Thank you!"

Who woulda' thunk. I felt very lucky that day, lucky indeed.

A random act of creepiness...

Dear New York,

This is what you're throwing at me...

It was a Friday, but not like any other Friday. This particular end of the week had left me feeling dejected. Work had gotten the best of me. After being pulled into a meeting with not one, but two of my supervisors, and discussing, what appeared to me as a personal attack on my character, I left work and rushed to pack for a weekend away. I wanted to be happy and excited to be going off on this trip but all I could think about was what other people thought about me. How I could act one way but it be perceived another. How I could be going about my day none the wiser that I could be ruining someone else's. It seems dramatic to think that I actually could be walking around as an oblivious black cloud, taking pleasure in others pain and enjoying causing them more, but that's how I felt when I left that meeting.

So I pack my bag, put on some leggings and switch into my Ugg boots. The weather had just dropped to that specific temperature where you can notice all the young girls in the city sporting similar uniforms. The sweatshirt to keep us warm, the leggings to make us sexy, and the Ugg's to keep us comfy. So I'm rushing to the bus in my particular change of season outfit when this man stops me. "Excuse me, which way is 2nd avenue?" I point in the direction him and assure him he's headed the right way. I smile and plan to keep on walking. But he stops me and looks down at my feet. "Excuse me, uhm, but, what size are your Uggs?" Needless to say this question surprised me. Taken off guard like this I answered the only way I knew how.

"Uhh, I don't know, I guess a 7?"

He seemed mesmerized and perplexed that these Ugg's could be a size 7. I wasn't sure where he was headed with this, maybe he wanted to buy a pair for someone?

"Really?! Wow, I mean...those are some sweet, SWEET Uggs."

Now, in my normal state, this would have been a weird comment. However, given my hyper-sensitive, super aware and extremely insecure state, coupled with the knowledge that Ugg's aren't the most popular fashion statement, I looked him square in the eye, face distorted in disgust and asked him point blank, "Are you making fun of me?" He quickly responded with a "No, no of course not!" But I didn't trust this lost stranger, who, if he did like my Ugg's, was a more discomforting quality than if he didn't. I was shaken for about 30 minutes after the episode. So New York, thank you for thoroughly creeping me out.

Who knew?

There are some things that are my absolute favorite.

Discovering all 1930's Jazz on Pandora.

Snuggling up in my comforter with the help of my AC.

Feeling the need to divulge this information to an anonymous and indeterminate amount of people via the internet.

Just keep feeding it.

I got a little food poisoning when I got back from South America and I've been sick all week, my mom thinks I might have a parasite. But I don't have health insurance and I don't start my new job til the 21st, so what the heck, I can wait a little? My mom took me to a walk-in clinic in case we should get it checked out but then decided I could wait, she didn't need to pay for it. As we were leaving the nurse said, "Well just keep feeding it!"

Nice.