The Second Day

"A dream which is not interpreted I like a letter that is not read."
-The Talmud



On my second day in Israel I woke close to two p.m. I knew I was tired from traveling for sixteen hours, but I hadn’t realized how much of a piss it had taken out of me until Sonya popped her head in, much like a mother might, and said if I wanted to eat that day, at least the hot meal, I’d need to get moving.

Naturally food takes priority over sleeping most of the time; so off I went.

I came back around three to find a Brit on the steps waiting. His name is Oliver and he has a pretty fantastic sense of humor. I showed him around while Sonya called Ilan, and once he showed up he spoke with me in his office, giving me a brief introduction and made a quick copy of my Visa.

I told him my issue with the airport and crossing into the country, and he assured me not to worry. I am Jewish though, and worrying is something we’re quite good at, so naturally what he told me only eased that sense slightly.

I returned to my room, with final words from Ilan letting me know I can use the public pool. So I decided to go; it was quite nice, but otherwise unextraordinary compared to public pools from where I came from. I suppose diving boards are something that aren’t the norm at pools in Europe and the Middle East; there’s did not have one, looking a lot like my father’s.

I did notice two interesting things; the first was that the surface of the pool went to its edge exactly. Where I come from there’s always a ledge a few inches higher so water can’t spill over. So that was something I had not seen before.

And the second thing was a little odder, and a little subtler. I noticed while swimming that a good amount of people in the pool were children, but also wore floaties; the small inflated devices around the arm. When the adults swam lanes very rarely did they keep in a straight line, and they splashed a lot. So it occurs to me, something I can confirm after seeing it again during the next day, that even though Israelis like to swim, they both do not particularly do so well. I suppose it’s a cultural thing? Or perhaps a desert.

When I got back to the hotel another individual had arrived, a thin woman accompanied by two friends, whom Sonya was showing around. Ilan showed up shortly after, and when she went with him I was told there was also another girl who had showed up, but was out with her father since they had arrived after the cafeteria had closed for the day around three in the afternoon. I wouldn’t see her until the next day.

 A short but stocky Jew named Roy who hailed from New York City soon arrived about an hour later. I showed him around while I guess Oliver was sleeping; we wouldn’t see Oli again until much later in the evening. And by we, I really mean me. Livy, as it turned out the girls name was, had gone off with her friends, she is from Arkansas, and it was the strangest thing to me that a Jew would come from there, but I guess we really are everywhere. Well except Afghanistan, there is supposedly only one person who is Jewish there.

Roy, having come from as far away as me essentially passed out soon after, and I was once again left by myself. I walked around the kibbutz and visited its small supermarket until night fell and I returned back to my room.

I turned the air conditioning on and went to sleep; a rather uneventful day all in all.

I did wake at around eleven and ventured out when I heard talking. It was a highly inflected conversation and I joined them to see another girl having come, and was speaking to Oliver.

It was so late Ilan was already asleep, and so she had no room and was basically stuck outside. Oli and I kept her company until Ilan showed up after several telephone calls. The girl is nineteen and named Sharone, which is pronounced Sha-Rone. A very jewish version of an already Hebrew name, and she hailed from the area outside London near where Oliver came from.

 

Once that was settled I padded off to the kitchen to make some food for myself, when I heard a small mewing. Looking around an orange and black stray cat had approached and was begging for food. I went to the kitchen and gave it a slice of meat, and it became much more friendly. This would be the start of a very cool relationship with a cat I then named tangerine, and later would nickname Naranj.