"We Did Our Jobs"

The evening air is beautiful. After a day of winds and dust and a little rain, a nice spring breeze brings memories of gentler days gone by.

It's quiet in Sderot. That is its greatest attraction. We are not overwhelmed with traffic or factories or even loud people.

It's quiet here. An evening breeze brushing away some clouds so we can see the stars completes the scene. Whatever struggles we find ourselves in - personal or otherwise - it's easy to let them go, on a quiet, cool evening like this.

Malka has watched me go through the pains of job-hunting. She has asked why I'm here, why I stay here, if I don't fit in. She has a point.

Logically, there is no reason for me to be jobless. There is no reasonable explanation for the fact that nobody will hire me to teach here. Even the school directors and the head teachers look at my resume and ask me why nobody hires me. Then they turn around and say, "I'll have to . . . ." Then they fill in the blank with some lame excuse for not hiring me then and there. And of course I never hear from them again.

"Why do you stay here if nobody wants you here?" Malka's question. My answer, "SOMEBODY wants me here."

"We stay because .... Anatevka is our home." Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof.

Last week, when I went to Petach Tikva for a job interview, I really expected a different outcome. Why would the English coordinator invite me to come all the way from Sderot, if she didn't believe there was something to benefit from my coming there? By now I guess I shouldn't even be asking that question. Or looking for any other hint of professionalism or competence in those doing the hiring.

With the English Coordinator's first couple questions, it was fairly clear she was not in a hiring mood. I had thought she had scheduled the interview for a time when she would be free from other duties. But it turns out, it only occupied the last 5 to 10 minutes of a break between classes. I guess that's how serious she was about finding a teacher.

All was not lost from this little adventure. Not at all. Just the opposite. Perhaps they would not hire me to teach in their classes. But SOMEBODY wanted me to go there.

Some sort of synchronicity: Things happen in Israel which I don't believe occur with the same frequency in other countries. Unique things. When I walked into the teachers' room in Petach Tikva, a dozen teachers were standing around, too busy to notice me. The handy-man was the only one actually working on something, so I went to him to ask him where to find a certain teacher.

He stopped what he was doing and stared at me. I stared back in mutual recognition.

"I know you," he said.
"We were in miluim (army reserves) together." I said.

His name was David and he looked good after more than 20 years. After my 10 minute interview with the English coordinator, David and I had tea together, and a good conversation. We recalled the fellows that were in our unit, and some of our escapades during the first Intifada.

"It was a good plugah (company)" I said.
With the greatest melding of humility and pride, David said, "We did our jobs."

We did our jobs. Is there a better way to say it? We are in Israel because it's our job. We live here or there in Israel because it's our job. We work as teachers and business people and cashiers and janitors in Israel because it's our job. It's what keeps the country going.

Here was David who did his fair share of combat duty and now has a son in the army. Here he was, still doing his job, working as a handy man in a high school.

"SOMEBODY wants me here," I tell Malka. I haven't done my job yet.

Maybe no school will have me. Maybe I'll never get to do in Israel what I am most qualified to do. Maybe people will continue to abuse my time and talents. And maybe it will always be hard to squeeze by month after month, day after day.

And maybe Sderot will never really feel like home. But it is home now. And tonight we have a beautiful star-lit night to enjoy, with a relaxing breeze. We're doing our job.

Images of Israel – An Embedded Dream

by Jerry Waxman
Sderot Israel

It’s been difficult, but enlightening; trying to show Malka what I see in this place – why I came to Sderot – why I stay in Israel. To her, my home should be in America, where my family is.

On the surface there is nothing to make the case that I belong here – neither in Sderot nor in Israel. I knew nobody in this town when I came here. I hardly knew anybody in the country. I have not found a job,so there’s been no income. The prices on everything here are really high, especially with our financial straits.

Burekas! ... or Bourekas?

I've always called them "burekas" because that's how you say it.

Even if it's just one bureka, it's still called burekas. More than one and it's burekases - burekasim? Everyone just says "burekas."

Except in writing. It's "Bourekas." Why?

While you're looking for an answer to that question, I'll get to the bigger question - maybe the biggest question of the day. Ready?:

What do you do when you're in a town like Sderot, and you want to have fast food, but you don't have 12 shekels for a felafel?

When I first came to Sderot a couple years ago, the first thing to catch my eye was the bakery in the center of town. When you walk in, your eyes and nose are treated to all sorts of sensations you don't usually find outside of Israel. It has different kinds of bread and pastries in various sizes and shapes. And over on the side walls there are bourekas . . .
[Side note: A bourekas is flaky pastry stuffed with different fillings; you have potato bourekas, mushroom bourekas, spinach bourekas, pizza bourekas, and a lot more.] The sell bourekas by the kilo. You just choose the kind you want and you put as many as you want into a paper bag. The first time I saw this, I went wild -- potato burekas, mushroom bourekas, pizza bourekas, tuna bourekas - I had to try at least one of each. My stomach did not thank me for that.	Get Burekas - Sent Right To Your Door!
Well, that bakery isn't the only place to get bourekas. There are about a dozen bakeries in town. Many of them have bourekas. On a forlorn day with no food at home and only small change in my pocket, I'd stop in at the bakery down the road, pick up 3 or 4 bourekas, and head over to the park across the street for a picnic. Last night was one of those forlorn nights. Malka is still adjusting to living in Israel, and I'm still trying to find work so we can stay here - or somewhere. [Side note: Hey, if you happen to know someone who is hiring - or needing a teacher - I can be reached at My Contact Page] Needless to say, there's been some tension. Malka is not used to the surroundings and I'm getting no great feedback from any prospective employer. Last night, we were there. I mean that's where we were - the number one question of the day.. No food in the house, not enough money for a felafel, and in a small town like Sderot Israel. What did we do?: Well, we didn't sit around dreaming of an Israeli breakfast like the one on the right. We got our pocket change together and walked over to the supermarket. A quick glance at the bakery counter - lots and lots of burekas. Cheaper than pizza. And here's the deal; At night time the supermarket bourekas go down to about half price.. Amazing how far 4 shekels will get you. Thanks for reading. Feel free to leave a comment.