The other day, I thought I'd watch the first episode of this new Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Events," series on Netflix which was styled after the movie made in 2004. I've always been a fan of the movie, and the artistry seemed promising. I won't go into my shpeal about why I was disappointed in the show (no one can match Jim Carrey's performance), but one scene hit me: the kids sleeping in their little room in Count Olaf's attic. The roof was dripping and they were shivering and worn out and sad. It was the first time the sight of poor living conditions on film elicited an emotional response from me.
Before I elaborate, I want to take a moment to acknowledge that in the next paragraphs--for lack of a better phrase--my "privilege is showing." And that's what I'm talking about: a few ways in which living in Israel is showing me how blessed I was in the USA (and how blessed I still am). You never really realize how much the little things matter to you until they are taken away.
This past winter I've lived in a poorly insulated apartment and so for the first few days it was cold here, we were shivering constantly, and I couldn't seem to get warm. And then my apartment flooded (which I've mentioned in previous posts) and then the mold came. If any of you know me, I HATE mold!
So, even though I was generally in good spirits, throughout the days I felt this undertone of tension and frustration that made me snappy and impatient. We had several days where our living room had a huge fan blowing at our carpet, and with the windows open, our home was FREEZING. My inner hypochondriac was on full alert, causing me paranoia at night about mold and bacteria from the pidgeon-dropping-filled water that soaked through a big portion of our house when it flooded. I couldn't relax because our house was damp and humid and cold. I spent hours doing laundry and disinfecting everything with bleach. And on the parts of the wall that was soaked through, the mold just kept growing back within 12 hours of bleaching it! I'd come home from work and get to work bleaching! I didn't sleep much. Since then I've figured out how Israelis cope with these things and we've gotten things under control. Plus we've come past the initial shock of it all.
But more importantly, I never knew how blessed I truly was in America until I left it. I have always had a warm bed to sleep in. Always.
I hate to admit this, and I never expressed this feeling to anyone at the time because it's just so petty, but the first week of living here, I remember feeling frustrated at how rough and cheap the paper towels at every place were. In fact, I felt sad about how hard everything was: all houses are tile and walls are heavy cement, and the streets are stone. I was used to carpet and wood and grass...
I was also used to being able to get anything I wanted. In the states, if I couldn't find something in the stores, I could get it shipped to my house for an affordable price. If I wanted to do something I could search for a store or business by category and find out how many there were, where they all are, and how to get there... and then I could hop in my car and get there within the hour.
Here, not a lot of stores are on google, and if they are, it's all in Hebrew! So I have no idea where to find things except to ask friends and get directions, and I usually have to walk or take a bus. So depending on how big an item is, I have to plan for how I'm going to get it home (whether I have to bring my cart or my backpack, etc). I am considering the size and weight of everything and whether or not I can carry it. And if I want it shipped, I have to pay a lot more and wait a lot longer. Compared to the US, acquiring things here feels impossible.
I can't tell you how many times I've spent two or three or four hours looking for something and coming home empty-handed. There came a point of diminishing returns at which the effort it took searching was not worth the thing wanted, so I just gave up. I actually went through a period of mourning and loss over the things I couldn't get (and Pinterest crafts I'd never be able to make... darn you Pinterest!). I never realized how materialistic I had become. (I know, I know, first world problems)...
Even though I feel terribly embarrassed about it, I have to admit that these things actually mattered to me and weighed down on my ability to cope. I'm a fairly adaptable person, but even I have had to make a huge mental shift and had to totally let go of expectations (in so many more ways than I've explained here). In a way, it's freeing. And what's taken the place of spending time on things is spending time with people. And I find that I'm much happier because of it.
So when I saw the image of the Baudelaire children sleeping on a cot in a dirty rain-filled attic, I felt it. I looked at the pot catching rain drips from the ceiling and inwardly winced. And that was a defamiliarizing feeling for me. Why is it hard to care about some people? It's because we have no idea what they're going through. We have no feelings to associate with their situation. And so we can look at the sad pictures of poverty, or read about sad things in a newspaper, or listen to people screaming their pain, and we can feel nothing. Any feelings we try to have are still detached. And because we are so detached, we may even be tempted to tell them their problems don't exist. We can't help it. We can't make ourselves understand. Even the narrator in the show pointed this out. He said (my paraphrase), "if you've ever experienced the loss of a loved one, you understand how impossible it is to describe. And if you haven't, then you can't possibly imagine."
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