Wrapping Up

By Meredith van der Walde

(Summer Intern at Bakehila; 20-year-old college student from Massachusetts)

It's hard to believe that I have a little less than two weeks left in Israel and a mere five days remaining in the Bakehila office after today. Though I desperately want to avoid thinking about how soon I will be leaving this country, I cannot help but reflect on how quickly summer here has flown by.

My experience as an intern at Bakehila has been wonderful and quite unique. My internship was unlike many internships of my fellow program participants, who sat at the same desk in the same office each day. I am incredibly thankful that I had the chance to visit Bakehila's neighborhoods and schools, tutor at the summer program in Gilo, and interact to a large extent with Israeli children, teenagers, and volunteers. For the first month or so, each day was extremely different from the next. With such fond memories of and experiences over the past several weeks, it is difficult for me to feel at all discouraged, even when I remember all of the instances that I was lost in Jerusalem. Whenever I would visit a neighborhood or school for the first time, I seemed to lose my bearings instantly. Getting lost, however, enabled me to gain self-confidence, learn my way around the city, and feel empowered once I eventually found my way.

I am most grateful, however, that I had the opportunity to become friends with the pre-army, year of service volunteers, particularly those whom I volunteered with in Gilo. The volunteers are very close to my age; they are about a year to a year and a half younger than me. At the summer school, there were nine of them—five girls and four guys—all of who had been living and working together since the school year began in September. Not only was I the newcomer, but I was also the American newcomer who didn’t speak their primary language. Despite my seemingly outsider status, the volunteers were genuine and welcoming and didn’t hesitate to practice their English with me. I admire them for dedicating an entire year after high school to help children, and it was evident that the Shinshinim were passionate about the cause. 

I connected with a few of the volunteers in particular, and I soon began to think of them as my actual friends. A couple of the volunteers came to the city center one night and we went out together, just as I normally would with my American friends on my program. I felt special—because I knew that they had come to this particular area of Jerusalem to visit me—and I felt that I was truly part of the group.

It is surreal to think that when I return home to America, I will have actual friends living across the world from me. What is even more surreal is that I became friends with these individuals before they entered the army. As of this week they completed their year of service as Shinshinim, and in the next couple of months, they will be beginning their service in the Israeli Defense Forces. The next time that I see them—whenever and wherever that may be—they will likely have completed their time in the army and will no longer be the same 18 and 19 year olds whom I met in Gilo.

My time at Bakehila has been an incredible learning and growing experience, and I like to think this is largely due to the people whom I have met during my internship. While in the office I have gotten to know the staff of Bakehila, and at the summer program in Gilo, I formed friendships with the children and particularly with the Shinshinim. 

My Experience at Maavarim

By Meredith van der Walde

(Summer Intern at Bakehila; 20-year-old college student from Massachusetts)

During the first three weeks of my internship at Bakehila, my time was split in half between work in the office and visits to the various neighborhoods. When I first learned that I would be helping out at the summer program in Gilo, I assumed that I would be more or less of an onlooker since Maavarim is an established program with teachers and year-of-service volunteers who lead both academic and extracurricular activities. Fortunately enough, I was able to put my English-speaking background to good use and tutor kids in English during set times of the day. I also took advantage of break time to talk with the children. Though our conversations were not always the most fluid and complex, they were fun.

Volunteering at the summer program in Gilo (Maavarim) for just two short weeks, I encountered an array of challenges and obstacles. At times, I found it difficult to teach English when I myself had little to no background of the Hebrew equivalents of words. I came in not knowing the children's English skills; did they sufficiently know the alphabet, colors and numbers? I did not want to teach them vocabulary well ahead of their age group, but I thought it would be nice to give them a challenge. I also realized it was nearly impossible to hold a substantial conversation for more than a couple of minutes before the Israeli child to whom I was speaking would say "ma?" ("What?") or until I would say (with a smile on my face, of course) "lo hevanti" ("I don’t understand"—one of the few Hebrew phrases I actually do know). The few times I saw a student visibly upset, I knew there was nothing I could do or say besides put my hand on his/her shoulder and wait for a Hebrew-speaking volunteer to come and find out what had happened. At these times, I was literally and figuratively at a loss for words. As one of the few Americans amongst Israeli teachers, volunteers, and students, I had to accept that when I would walk into a room, I would, 9.5 times out of 10, not understand what was being said. 

As a former camp counselor for three consecutive summers, I learned that patience is important when interacting with children. But as a volunteer and English tutor for students who don't speak my language, I have recently learned that patience is absolutely imperative. Without it, any lines of communication that do happen to exist weaken and/or deteriorate instantly. There were instances when I would say a sentence in English and the two girls that I tutored in the mornings would not understand what I was trying to say. Their smiles turned into pouts, they whined (I assumed from the tone of their voice), and they would close their workbooks. During these moments, I tried to keep a smile on my face and encourage them to not give up. I would use simple phrases, such as "workbook!" and easy-to-understand motions (i.e. pointing to the workbook and vigorously nodding my head up and down as if to say, "keep going"). The activities and games that I had created prior to Maavarim, such as bingo, memory games, and color matching, were fortunately successful and sometimes kept my tutees engaged and focused at times when the workbook became too tedious.

Interestingly enough, the greatest roadblock that I faced as an English tutor and volunteer—the language barrier—is what made my experience at Maavarim so unique. There were times throughout my two weeks in Gilo that I would be sitting amongst the nine year-of-service volunteers and 50 or so students who attended the summer program and have this crazy realization that: I am across the world living in Israel, surrounded by people whom I have formed connections and friendships with, despite the fact that English is not their first language and Hebrew is not mine. These moments would oftentimes creep up on me when the Israelis would break out into song: the day they sang happy birthday (in Hebrew, of course) to Raz, a year-of-service volunteer, and in the afternoons when Itamar, another volunteer, would play his guitar and the kids would sing along.

On the last day of the program, we had a music session during the 4^th and 5^th graders' English classes. I passed around lyrics to Let it Be, Hey Jude, Here Comes the Sun, Mary Had a Little Lamb, and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. For half an hour in each class, the children sang the English songs (to the best of their abilities) and Itamar played the guitar. I felt the sense that the music, particularly the songs by the Beatles, which the kids seemed to know fairly well—provided a common thread between the Israelis and myself. We were all reading the same lyrics, singing to the same tune, despite the fact that we grew up on different sides of the world, each having been taught a different primary language. Singing together on the final day was an incredible way to wrap up my time at Maavarim.

It Takes Time

By Meredith van der Walde

(Summer Intern at Bakehila; 20-year-old college student from Massachusetts)

Throughout my years in school, I have grown accustomed to expect results almost immediately. Study hard, take the exam, and receive a grade within a couple of days. I am beginning to learn, however, from my time in the Bakehila office and various neighborhoods, that reversing social injustices takes time. Change is not something that can happen instantaneously—especially when we are dealing with real people and real issues. 

This concept of time and gradual transformation is also particularly relevant for me as an American intern. During my first few encounters with the year-in-service volunteers and schoolchildren, the language barrier seemed extremely prominent. Since I do not speak Hebrew and know only a few basic phrases, I felt as though I was more of an observer than an active participant in many conversations.

Whenever I begin to question if my inability to speak Hebrew may limit the impact I can make at Bakehila, I always think back to the conversations I have had with my supervisors, Ofer and Yair. During my first week at Bakehila, Ofer described two separate, but still intertwining paths that I can pursue over the next two months.

I will have the opportunity to assist the organization throughout the summer by producing materials in English and perhaps by even developing a new program. Though I have begun to blog and preliminarily create activities for students to practice their English, I have spent a majority of my time thus far in the neighborhoods. By visiting each of the neighborhoods and meeting the children, teachers, and volunteers, I have been able to develop a greater perspective on Bakehila. It is obvious from the interactions between the students and volunteers that these young adults provide a source of emotional support and friendship for the children. 

Since I am extremely eager to be a productive intern and contribute something meaningful to the organization, I initially began to view path #1 (visiting the neighborhoods and schools) as simply a way to arrive at path #2 (consisting of projects and goals that are more tangible). I realize now, however, that it would be unrealistic to begin marketing for Bakehila and planning a program without fully understanding and knowing the neighborhoods and people.

If I consider my visits to Gilo, Katamon, Neve Yaakov, Pisgat Ze'ev, Talpiyot, and Beit Zafafa as only a means to an end, then I could potentially overlook those experiences as sources of enjoyment and opportunities for learning. And I've already had quite a few wonderful ones. I have spent time with the volunteers in their communes, traveled to a kibbutz with the children from Gilo, and visited enrichment classes in Katamon.

Instead of trying to rush time, then, I want to embrace each day at Bakehila, both in and out of the office.  

Why Bakehila?

By Meredith van der Walde

(Summer Intern at Bakehila; 20-year-old college student from Massachusetts)

Though I had spent months toying with the idea of spending my summer in Jerusalem, my decision to travel to Israel came to fruition just weeks before my plane took off from John F. Kennedy International Airport. During this time, my thoughts were consumed by the notion of finding the perfect internship. Since I had previously heard that Israel does not have an "internship culture"—meaning interns are not as commonly utilized in the workplace as they are in the United States—I became a bit worried. I began to wonder, would there be enough for me to do?

           

I firmly believe that internships for college students have a dual purpose; they have the capacity to benefit both the interns and the organization. Having an internship enables young people to acquire professional experience in their field of interest and to foster connections via networking. It is important to recognize, however, that the focus should not solely be on what the intern can gain. The intern has a responsibility to positively contribute to the mission of his/her organization as well.

As my departure date for Israel became closer, I still did not have a position solidified. It seemed to me that perhaps my idealistic expectation of a summer internship—one in which I would be able to learn from the people around me, explore potential career interests, and work at an organization devoted to social justice—would not be satisfied.

I had previously described to my Internship Coordinator, Noah, the type of organization that I could realistically see myself working at during the summer. I explained to him that I am extremely passionate about helping individuals from vulnerable populations advance in society. Though I have previous experience advocating for domestic workers and homeless families, I told Noah that I was eager to work with any group of people in need of assistance and support.

After perusing Bakehila's website, I learned that this organization has a mission grounded in social and economic justice. Bakehila provides children and teens from disadvantaged neighborhoods with necessary tools to overcome socioeconomic barriers and prosper in society.

I tend to throw around the term "social justice" quite frequently, particularly when explaining to others potential career paths that I want to pursue post-graduation, namely non-profit work and/or law. Even though I have only interned at Bakehila for a little over one week, I can already tell that the organization embodies what I stand for and believe in: helping people, community impact, and change.

When We Started Realizing the World Is Round / Thoughts on Encounters and the Risks of Service Year

This story does not have a happy ending,

And yes, it did actually happen:

For a long time, Galia the service year volunteer was feeling that something good was happening with her tutoring. Hilly, whom was reserved and suspicious in the beginning, was showing first signs of closeness. After a few weeks of school sessions, she invited Galia to tutor her at home. Galia went over there excited, and returned even more excited – and not necessarily for the same reasons. Hilly shared a little with her on what's happening at home. With childlike innocence – mixed with signs of awareness and shame, she spoke about her family. Mom's not home, Dad's in trouble. Telling and not telling. Galia saw and understood, or at least tried to understand. In her own way, she tried to offer a helping hand.

Soul touching a soul.

Galia found herself devoting all her efforts in trying to understand Hilly. The guys at the commune joked that she already had a PhD on Hilly… She agreed to share her insights with us. I, who coordinated the learning center where Hilly studied, tried not to be taken by her charming shy smile and pretty eyes, and treat Hilly firmly, provide her with the clear structure she needed (or at least so I thought).

Once, when I saw her curled up on a mattress and chided her to get up and study, Galia quietly scolded me – "Let her, she's not at home. She wants to finally be a kid. She's allowed to". I got the message. After all, it was her doctorate.

A week ago, Galia entered the learning center upset. Furious. They're transferring Hilly to an apartment in Arad, in two days. A month and a half before the end of 6^th grade, her father decided to take her and her brother with him south. Galia was angry, they were already starting rehearsals for the grade's graduation party, were thinking together on a middle school that would suit her. What is she going to do there in Arad? How will she start over now the year is ending? What will happen to their shared process? Galia took a deep breath and whispered – what was the point of this entire encounter? 

The next day she explained to me, in a choked voice trying to sound calm – they've offered Hilly's father a rehabilitation program in Arad and he's decided to try and start over. Hilly, a month before the end of the year, was taken away from her friends and environment to start over again with him.

On her last day, Hilly left before they even got to give her a parting gift, with her eyes down, she gave half a hug to Galia, and ran to a car waiting for her earlier than planned, leaving no time to say goodbye.

He's her father; Galia explained to me, he's trying to save his family.

I recognized in her eyes a sobered look, almost devoid of anger.

And when the anger is over, what probably remains is mostly pain.

I remembered, the same look I saw on Lior a service year volunteer from a year ago, who got caught in similar story with a child she cared for and loved, whose parents kept away from her.

It’s the same understanding I'm familiar with from my service time.

That moment when I find myself standing in front of a very bad situation.

Me against the world.

The world against the ones I love.

The world against itself, and I'm trying to keep order.

And then one moment afterwards, the realization hits me that there aren't really bad or good guys in this story, and probably no right or wrong. And order – I won't be able to make here any longer.

This is a true story.

It doesn't have a happy ending.

But maybe perhaps, in the manner of true stories, it doesn't really have an ending,

It keeps on spinning, keeps rolling in the world.

And in that hidden corner where the soul touched another soul, this eternal encounter will keep going on, it's impression imprinted, no matter how many rotations it goes through.

This is a warning for anyone who wants to touch these lives.

Honestly.