Year five in Israel: להתראות חברים (or goodbye friends, or adios hermanos)

So, the Israeli chapter of my life has come to an end. As I sat drinking a final Aroma coffee in the chaos of Ben Gurion airport, where every single family in Israel appeared to be waiting to go on holiday, I had cried my way through security, check-in and hand-baggage checks (still a wretched 5 on the sticker, crying had no impact whatsoever) and the tears only dried up once I got to Aroma. Actually, being in Ben Gurion during the first week of Israeli summer holidays and the first day of Eid - an hour and a half to get through security, screaming children everywhere, teenagers ready to start pounding vodka on the plane, scrums in duty free - was sort of helpful, because it reminded me how desperately annoying I find Israelis in large numbers, and how frustrating the experience of getting out of the country was, almost every single time. A week later, safely back in the UK, the tears are flowing less freely (apart from a very teary morning at Hope Chapel on Sunday) and, as always, distance allows you to take stock, to reflect, and eventually to look forward to the next chapter. It's been a pretty eventful year and this may therefore be a long one so brace yourself, dear reader.

This being the annual review of the year, I have cast my mind back over the past twelve months and, as always, work has dominated much of my existence. This was the year things got real at AISJ, by which I mean my workload increased exponentially and my ability to stay out late mid-week diminished at almost exactly the same rate. In fact, if you'd plotted it as a line on a graph where A represented the hour at which I started to leave bars/parties/friends' houses and B represented the quantity of work I had/have, you will see that the relationship had become inverse and as B increased, A decreased. Like so:

Why so much more work than previous years? Well, we had the five-year review of our Diploma Program from the IB, which involved enormous amounts of work, much of it borne by myself, by Devin (my dean of students and sidekick) and primarily by Robin, our DP Coordinator. The whole process of self-evaluation is a useful one for a school (and indeed a human) and we spent months completing questionnaires, having meetings, gathering evidence, filling out forms and ticking boxes, all of which enabled us to see how far we'd come in five years, and exactly what needed to be done next. By far the most important thing learned, however, was the value Robin and I could find in heading out, once the day's work was done, to share a glass and a half of white wine at an agreeable bar. I was slightly scared of Robin when I started at AISJ. She has a habit of exploding into a room like a tornado, talking and gesticulating wildly, then exploding out again leaving one to cope with the aftermath, and I was frightened by just how efficient and competent she is. By Year 5 however, the fear had worn off and the aforementioned glass and a half of wine became a weekly thing. It's probably a good thing we didn't discover how enjoyable those afternoons/evenings were until my last year, both for my wallet and for her forever having to explain to her lovely man Ariel that she was "just drinking wine with Anna, I'll be home soon."

 

So the year passed in a blur of paperwork, teaching, admin, meetings and school events. Beyond work being very, very busy the extra pressure in my day-to-day life was increased by two things: the need to look for a new job in the autumn, as my visa was up, and the news in the spring that my dad had been diagnosed with a retro-peritoneal lipo-sarcoma, also known as cancer of the fatty tissue in the abdomen. Of the first, the hunt mercifully ended in January when I was interviewed and appointed as Head of Secondary at the International School of Havana, Cuba. This is, of course, MASSIVELY EXCITING for many reasons, the top three of which I will list here:  



The courtyard at my new school

1. It's an amazing job and a terrific opportunity. This is basically my dream job. A future blog will address this.

2. It's the CARIBBEAN. Tamar decided to be Deputy Downer and pointed out that with my pale English skin it wouldn't be long before I turned into a piece of leather, but I've chalked that one up to jealousy of my imminent proximity to glorious tropical beaches.
 

3. This is an immensely exciting time to be living in Cuba, as relations with the US are relaxing and the country is opening up to the outside world. Again, matter for another blog.

  

I'm sure I will blog a great deal about Cuba, and fortunately moving to Cuba means I only have to swap 'Holyland' for 'Havana' on my blog title. Obviously not a massive consideration when picking somewhere new to live, but I do like alliteration. The other good news is that my dad is extremely pleased that I'm moving to Havana. By the time you're 37, you're not totally still doing stuff to please your parents, but this was the year that my dad got cancer and the prospect of coming to visit me in Havana was (he says) one of the things he focused on during the long months in hospital. That is worth its weight in gold. 

 

To briefly summarise a horrendous few months, Dad was diagnosed with a sarcoma in late February, operated on in late March, and then in hospital for two months, first in London then in Southampton. The original surgery removed around 10 kilograms worth of tumour - I pointed out that he basically had a small Labrador inside his abdomen, a comparison he didn't really appreciate - and this was followed by months of fighting infection and sepsis, during which time he lost a third of his body weight. (He has also grown a beard and I was appalled when my friend Ronnie pointed out to me, on looking at a photo of him, that it made him look like Yehuda Glick, the far-right Israeli politician. Irritatingly, lots of people agreed with him.) Mercifully, the surgery successfully removed everything cancerous and he does not need chemotherapy, or radiotherapy, and even more mercifully he is still with us, after some fairly dicey  moments. Having watched a close family member battle cancer and its impact, I was astonished by the number of people who, on founding out my father had cancer, responded with "Ah, my [insert name of close relative here] had [insert variety of cancer here]." The Cancer Research UK website tells us that one in every two people born after 1960 in the UK will be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetime. That is an appalling statistic. Cancer is the curse of the western world in the modern age.

 

Being in Israel whilst my family was dealing with this was utterly mis and we all reacted/behaved in very different ways. I am the most emotional member of my family, by miles, and this led to some amusing conversations. When told that if I wanted to come home I bloody well would, my mother's blisteringly pragmatic response was "Alright darling, but to be honest you'll just be in the way." (Disclaimer: she is very wonderful, just also very practical.) My older brother Nick, when I called to talk to him upon hearing the news, said "Well, what do you want me to do about it?" (Disclaimer: he then turned into a total legend, calling me daily even if the update was simply "He's still mostly sleeping.")  I had a thoroughly weird conversation with dad before he went into hospital during which he outlined his funeral plans and gave me details about what sort of music he wanted played at the wake. But of course, morbidity not withstanding, times of crisis are what bring families together. Our friends rallied round. My lovely boss Lawrence gave me a week's personal leave in April to be at home with the family. Looking back now, I'm grateful to God, the rock of ages, and to all the people who prayed, hugged, listened, helped out practically, and called me to check on how dad was doing or how I was doing.

 

That week in the UK was pretty stressful, not least because it was preceded by a week in Havana visiting the new school, so on top of all the issues with dad the fact that I was really leaving Israel came crashing home and I spent a lot of time sitting on the back door step of our house in Lymington, smoking and feeling overwhelmed and sad that I would leave the place I have called home for five glorious years. But this year was not all hard work, emotional turmoil and hospitals. Beyond the usual hanging out with my lovely friends, doing Jerusalem things, the following also happened:

 - another AISJ scuba trip to Eilat. Highlights include: freaking out the first time I did the underwater drill where you take your regulator out, then being relegated to the beginners' group for a few days; a guided dive with Brittany round a reef further up the shore; and treading on a sea urchin.

- desert fun: a glorious night watching the Perseid meteor shower near Mitzpe Ramon (then getting 'diverted' by Waze through the West Bank and getting stuck in traffic outside Hebron while a bus-load of soldiers was shaking down a bus-load of workers); and the coldest, most uncomfortable night of my life camping with Tamar, Amos, Ariel and Bela somewhere near the Egyptian border. We were so cold and in need of firewood that we burned matzah crackers. Desperate times... 

- 'tour-guiding' for various friends, including Jonno and Zac (who nearly got caught up in a riot in Bethlehem) in October, and very old family friends Mandy and Natasha in June (no riots, but some confusion in the back-streets of the Old City which I hadn't visited in a while).

- in November, after a work trip with Lawrence to the Hague for the IB World Head's Conference I had 12 glorious hours in Amsterdam. I hadn't been there since I was a teeny thing, and was just blown away by how gorgeous the city is. Earlier in the week I had made it to the Van Gogh museum with Brittany and Robin (also in Holland for an IB Conference); by myself I went to the Rijksmuseum (outstanding) and  walked and walked and walked round the canals. I would like to live there one day, I was that taken with it.

- in March I went to Istanbul for a mate-cation with Tamar, Alistair, Carlos and Helen and it was AWESOME. We ate baklava and drank Turkish coffee and looked at mosques and palaces and churches and Roman ruins, and had a splendid time. Tamar and I even managed to wangle our way onto the rooftop of the Grand Bazaar, though we had to scarper to avoid the wild, potentially-rabid dogs that lived up there.



Mate-cation, Istanbul



T-bear & Burners do Elton



- Tamar and I went to see Elton John in Tel Aviv in May, a truly awesome evening. It made me realise that most of my awesome evenings in Israel have been spent with Tamar. I genuinely don't know what I'm going to do without her. This may in fact be the moment to extol the people who have made this year, despite its difficulties, an excellent swan-song. In general, this list includes, but it not limited to, the following: Shmoule the restaurant guy from Agrippas, for lunches on winter Sundays and the best kubbeh hamusta in town; barstaff and waitstaff everywhere (except the moody arse at Pasta Basta); the cheeky chappies at Teller Bakery in the shuk, and Chaim who sold me vegetables and said hello to me every time I walked past his shop; everyone at the Anglican School but in particular Hannah our amazing cleaner who took care of me everyday, and Tarek in the kitchen, who catered my leaving party and refused to accept payment. Specifically (but again not exclusively), thanks to the people this year who made my days better and occasionally my nights longer: lovely Amos; Naomi, Shimon and Gaia (except when Shimon told me I shouldn't eat bread because I'll get fat and no one will want to marry me); my office mum Pauline; Devin, the Robin-to-my-Batman at school, and Robin (for the white wine and sage advice); Ronnie, who made me laugh a lot and who knows all the words to Grease; Alistair and Helen and Carlos, for many fun times and more to come; Brittany, the coolest, wisest person and best scuba buddy out there; and the legendary T-bear. There are no words.

It's hard to leave any place that has become familiar, where you feel at home and where the rhythms of life are well-established. Beyond that, Israel is a unique country and Jerusalem is an extraordinary place to call home, although it is also one that can be desperately frustrating and saddening. My dad called me on my last full day in Israel to ask me what kind of coffee I wanted when I got home, and to see how I was doing. Having spent the two weeks prior to leaving at lunch/dinner/drinks, hanging out with the people I love, going to the places that I love, and soaking up life here, I wasn't really sure how to answer him, but I shared with him my (totally-unfounded) fear that I may not be as happy in Havana I was in Jerusalem, and I've been so happy in Jerusalem. Of course it hasn't all been roses, hummus and beers on the beach, but the experience of living in Israel is one I shall always remember with gladness and a happy heart. My mum told me that when we moved to Sri Lanka in 1980, she and dad would sit in the front room listening to Greek music (Piraeus having been their previous posting). Ronnie gave me some CDs of Israeli music as a leaving present and I can see myself sitting on the balcony in my new home in Miramar, listening to Shlomi Shaban and weeping quietly into my mojito (at least for a few weeks until I start salsa lessons). Having said all of that, I am of course aware that the fear really is totally unfounded, that I'm pretty adaptable and pretty resilient, that it won't take long until Cuba feels like home, and that the next move holds so many adventures and challenges and things to discover. The Jerusalem chapter of my life has been an extraordinary one. So here's to Havana and the next chapter!

PS. Pleased to report that my new apartment in Miramar also has a balcony with a lovely view. Bye bye old Nachlaot balcony, hola Cuban vistas.