Building Roots – New York City – Israel - Pittsburgh

When we first moved to the United States in August 2007, we were inundated with possibilities. Where would we go? Where would we live? Part of me wanted to live on the East coast, so I could be closer to my mom.

As a returning American with a brother on the west coast, I wanted to build roots. But not having lived in the States for the previous 17 years challenged our decision. We didn't know anyone in Pittsburgh, and moving back to New York City to stay with my mom who had Alzheimer's for the last 13 years was out of the question. Plus, who in their right mind, would build roots at the expense of going into debt?

The arduous task of uprooting and replanting required the gift of time. Time to get to know what it was like to live outside of Israel as a American Jew, not an Israeli. And this meant leaving the small kibbutz comfort zone and getting to know an American mentality that I had so quickly forgotten.

But one thing was for sure – I had no idea what to expect from Pittsburgh. I had never been that far out west before except to visit my brother in San Diego and the farthest I had ever been up north was New Hampshire. One sultry August afternoon in 2007, while trying to keep cool in my Mother's New York City apartment, I had learned our shipping containers had finally arrived from Israel. I called the New York City office and requested to reroute our shipping from New York City to Pittsburgh. The clerk had asked, "Pittsburgh? You're moving to Pittsburgh? Where's that?"

I tried to stay composed and not let the feelings of uncertainty and insecurity enter my voice. I said, "Oh, Pittsburgh? You've never been to Pittsburgh?"
"No." She had a pure New York City accent - only that reminded me of my childhood. "Nope, I'm a Queens girl."

After hearing that, part of me wanted to stay in New York City. It was easy and comfortable and anything else but daunting. Now at a crossroads, the decision to stay in New York City was looming over me as if I had just made the biggest mistake of my life.

Weeks later, when we finally settled into our two room apartment in the heart of Squirrel Hill, a multicultural community, people started asking, "Pittsburgh? Why did you come to Pittsburgh?"

And like I had done years before when Israelis would ask me, "Why did you leave New York City?" I decided to mentally "tape record" my answers. I would say, Pittsburgh = a family friendly city, Squirrel Hill = Jewish community as if I had been living in Squirrel Hill all my life.

And then there were other tag along words I call the "itys" I would use such as affordability, proximity to New York City, accessibility…

All of these answers at the time however, seemed squeamish even for a returning American. The only difference was the way I had successfully convinced everyone (even myself) of our decision using just the right body language and eye contact, as I tried to feel like a special American all over again. All those years surviving as an EFL (English as a foreign language) teacher in an Israeli cultural classroom made me realize that I could survive anything including the feeling of living with uncertainity as a returning American trying innocuously to build roots.

BIG and Small

Even though we have been in the States for almost three and a half years now, it is still quite challenging for me to get used to the vastness of this country.

I look at the elephant size trunk of the SUV's in the library parking lot and try to ascertain whether they are really big inside as they appear outside. Probably.

In fact, I am still in culture shock.
The whole concept of driving up in a big SUV to drop off a DVD at the library "mailbox" seems foreign.

Or how about asking someone what is an SUV's. What's an SUV? Doesn't Israel have them? Really, Dorit. I imagine it sounds like a airplane carrier? I want to shrink to half my size when I find out it's a type of car. For heaven's sake, how could I be so innately stupid? Really, Dorit.

****

On one of the Pittsburgh buses on the way to the children's museum, there was an Indian man who told the bus driver where he wanted to go. The gentleman had a thick accent and kept repeating himself over and over again. I must admit - even I was challenged.

-Speak English, the bus driver says. Where do you want to go?

More talk.

-I don't understand what you are saying. Speak English.


It turned out that this gentleman got off a few stops before his intended one because he didn't know how to say the "right words." I know this because after he got off the bus, I saw his face contour into a series of grimaces. It was painful to see because I could empathize with the feeling of being an immigrant.

***
When you're an immigrant to the States, no matter what language you speak and what country you are from, Everything is BIG, BIGGER than you. You try not to think you are still an immigrant. Try to acculturate. You speak English, but, obviously, it is not enough.


In the States, you feel big when you see things like SUV's from a distance, not when they are up close.

This is the opposite of living on a kibbutz where you have everything within a 360 degree radius - doctor, supermarket, mail, baby and children's houses, neighbors, dining room, old aged home, car mechanics, bike shop, orchards, gas station, horses, Thai restaurant, secretaries offices, dentist, massage and hair cutting parlor and plenty of other services.

The only time I needed to actually "leave" the kibbutz was to my teaching job at the nearby High School school; I biked every day alongside the Jordan River. If I wanted to do some mega shopping, I'd go to the neighboring city of Kiriyat Shmona.

Against the Hudson River, the Jordan appears to be a small stream. It was the stream of a river that would carry me when I went kayaking or even dipping. It was the only long, and I guess you can say, "big" thing around.

This superbly convenient lifestyle facilitated living so much so that I found any other kind of living incomparable. Perhaps that is why I am still overwhelmed when I see a green SUV.

Perhaps, I wish it could take me to the Jordan River. Now that, would be BIG.