So this past couple days I have been sick. 

The kind of sick that makes you hole up in your bed all day, watching Netflix, using toilet paper as tissues because you can't be bothered to actually find any tissues and spam texting your boyfriend pitiful messages so that he will come and bring you hot cocoa during his break. 

It all sounds lovely in theory but I am ready for this to be over. I have missed two classes already and I have been an unfortunately negligent mother to my little puppy who has so much pent up energy that after we gave him a bath/shower today, he did laps around the apartment. Thank God tomorrow we both have the day off and can throw Moose at the dog park for an hour or two to make up for our horrible parenting while I have been sick.

Other than that... life is good. Since I've been sick I have not had time to head over to my new gym. I get a free assessment which sounds great until I remember that Dominos pizza I ate last night. But I am determined to get healthier. My immune system sucks and I just need more energy to handle this crazy schedule!

So I am off to rest my head, read a bit for some classes and then try to sneak in a good 10 hours of sleep- with some help from some NyQuil and call it a day/night. 

Here's to hoping tomorrow I wake up healed!

Eek how does time pass by so quickly?

Almost 1 month since I last blogged... I love writing, but it seems my true skills are in my ability to actively not blog.

What have I been up to?

• Still working at my job at the domestic violence shelter. Seriously, though: never a dull moment. Never.
• Still in grad school. Twice a week at nights so it's manageable. I like it a lot. Which reminds me I have a paper due next week. Riiiight.
• Still madly in love with the boytoy. We are almost 1 year together and it's just great and wonderful and hearts and unicorns and rainbows everyday. 
• Still completely lacking a social life. I work weekends and am either in school or at work. Legit that is my life. #noshame

So everything is still going well. I am finding myself surprised at how I am turning into such a ... townie. The girls at the breakfast place recognize us, I frequent the same stores and get recognized there and any time I am required to be anywhere 40 minutes or farther away, I just dread it. I am what I have always mocked. 

Life is funny.

But, I do have some surprising/exciting/amazing news. 

I am getting a puppy!

A brand new, adorable pint-sized puppy!

So obviously pictures will be posted when he arrives. He is arriving Sunday from North Carolina via car and I will be unable to pick him up since I will be at work. But my parents will be there to greet him and keep him company until I run home at 9pm. 

I can hardly contain my excitement. The past two days I have been running around the apartment "puppy proofing" it. And reading up on training techniques. And buying wee-wee pads. And trying so hard to resist buying bedazzled dog collars. So hard. 

So that is my news! And I know once that little 3lb nugget comes home, I will literally never leave this apartment again. So that basically means I will be filming non-stop videos of my puppy to put up on YouTube and having photoshoots every hour. 

Let the madness begin!

Every Yom Kippur we turn to those around us and we ask for forgiveness, adorn ourselves in white clothing and refrain from eating or drinking. Yom Kippur becomes a day in which we are likened to angels and it is the only time of the year in which we say the second verse of the Shema out loud as opposed to the 364 other days of the year in which we recite this prayer under our breath, as it was “stolen” from the angels. The twenty-five hour fast of Yom Kippur is broken with an elaborate meal and thus we continue on with our lives, all our sins forgiven, a blank slate.

I remember the days of Yom Kippur as being extra miserable for me as I would not only mourn my sins, but also the chocolate chip muffin I knew was just waiting for me to be eaten back at home. I would find myself staring miserably at the food in the cupboard, just begging me to take one little nibble. I would resentfully slam the door and nap until the onset of the evening service. Then as the time came near to hear the blowing of the shofar, I would make a run for the dining room and grab possession of my plate in preparation for the feast that I would indulge in. For me, Yom Kippur meant a day of seemingly endless suffering as I would struggle to avoid eating and find ways to make the long hours fly by.

For my family, however, Yom Kippur is something even more. Yom Kippur marks the anniversary of the 1973 war fought between Israel and a coalition of Arab states backed by Egypt and Syria. On this day, thirty seven years ago, a surprise attack was launched on the holiest day in the Jewish calendar: Yom Kippur. The State of Israel was unprepared for such a brazen offensive and the entire country was thrown in to a panic. Egypt and Syria crossed cease-fire lines entering into the Israeli held Sinai Peninsula and Golan Heights. The Israelis quickly rallied and launched a counter-defensive and managed to push both the Egyptians and Syrians back. The war, however, had ended with the Arab states feeling vindicated after their humiliating defeat back in 1967 and the Israelis disheartened and no longer invincible.

It was also on this day thirty seven years ago that my father was sent to the frontlines of Egypt as a member of the Israeli Defense Forces. Each Yom Kippur my family would notice how my father would tense up and shadows would cross his face as we spent the day praying in the synagogue. I could always see a shadow of sadness in his eyes even as he would sit in the shul, his head deep in thought as he would sneak a candy in to his mouth while the Hazzan sang his mournful lamentations. Whenever I would dart a dirty look at him, he would smile and say, “I just need something sweet to taste”. He would open his pocket and I would find an assortment of sugared candies just waiting for me to indulge in, but I would adamantly shake my head and silently feel victorious in my own personal struggle to resist any food from crossing into my mouth.

Yom Kippur, I’ve found, is truly a bittersweet day for both my father and me; it marks the day that all of our sins are erased, and yet we are still left with the memories of those sins. And that epitomizes the most truly frustrating aspect of Yom Kippur; the fact that we are forgiven for our transgressions, and we are still burdened by the memory of them.

Just like my father is still haunted by his memories from the war thirty seven years ago, I am also haunted with the pain I caused the ones I loved, the mean words I said of others, the countless times I could have helped someone in need and I chose not to.

So, what does Yom Kippur mean to me? As I’ve grown older, Yom Kippur has begun to become less about not getting my daily bowl of Cheerios and more about transforming my past sins into future promises of change for myself. Yet, it also means that when I say my selichot, or prayers for forgiveness, I must also learn that while my slate is being wiped clean, I will still remember the hurt that I caused others. And it will be this realization that will prevent me from making those same mistakes again. And while memories of hurt that we received from others and pain that we caused are a deep burden that we must carry throughout our lives, I have learned from my father that the best thing to do is to accept- and even welcome- the pain. And in those moments of true weakness that we do have-  in which one more hour of fasting seems like an impossible task or in which the pain of our past transgressions hurts us more than words can describe-  we can’t let the difficulty overcome us so that we lose the true meaning of forgiveness and redemption. Instead, we must smile and sneak a little piece of candy to remind us of the true and constant sweetness that our lives possess.

My first week of job training has officially been completed! I survived! It wasn't terrible at all, in fact I really enjoyed it but I am definitely happy it's over; it was a really heavy week.

I am starting to work for a women's domestic violence shelter in the area and in order to begin working, I had to complete a certain number of hours of training. I am officially now a Sexual Assault Advocate and a Mandated Reporter. It's a little heavy knowing now that I have these responsibilities- essentially 24/7- but it's a good burden to carry. 

Training condensed a lot of information into a short 24 hours and at the end of each day, we spent the last 15 minutes devising a strategy for ourselves to 'self-care' and decompress from the day. Easier said than done. The first 3 days were fine for me and then on the last day, I left training feeling very... angry.

We had spent that day discussing sexual assault and childhood sexual assault. We then discussed safety planning and how women who have left a domestic violence situation need to prepare themselves. Some preparations included switching supermarkets, parking in different areas, changing bank accounts... And I thought about how predictable my routine is. I am at Target at least once a week. I am addicted to frozen yogurt and am there at least once a week. I coupon at the same CVS on the regular. I am a creature of habit. 

Why did this particular moment in our training make me so angry? We had discussed so many more  intense subjects and yet this safety planning discussion was the one that stuck with me the most. 

I think the reason was that I reached a boiling point. I was just so... pissed. Why should the woman have to change where she shops? Where she parks? Why can't we simply tell the man to stop hitting his wife?!!?

Is it really that complicated?

Apparently, yes it is. And it made me think of male privilege and all the times I have felt so uncomfortable or violated by men in my life. About all the times I am walking, minding my own business, and a man passes me and smacks his lips at him. About all the men who feel the need to tell me "You're a pretty girl, why don't you give me a smile?". About all the times I felt the uncomfortable touch in a bus or a metro train. And it angers me. 

I am educated. I have traveled the world. I read books that (sometimes) don't have pictures in them. 

And even if I did none of the above, the same is true: JUST BECAUSE I AM A WOMAN, YOU DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT TO DEMEAN ME AND TREAT ME AS IF I AM JUST ON THIS PLANET FOR YOUR SHEER ENTERTAINMENT OR PLEASURE. 

I DO NOT owe you anything. Not a smile, not a response to your inane questions or pick-up lines. Nothing.

You see how I went from 0 to 60 there? 

And it is exactly how I feel. Why do I need to change the way I dress? To make sure my skirt is long enough, my boobs are tucked in enough, my make-up is not too dark.... Why can't you just control yourself and treat me like... a human being? This is not such a revolutionary concept, but unfortunately today- in the year 2012- we still need to be reiterating this. 

So if you ever see me on the street walking one day, and I look angry or upset, don't ask me for a smile because chances are you are the reason why I am not smiling in the first place. 

So I have been to Israel numerous times. Six months here, 8 months there, two weeks thrown in for good measure... Israel has quite easily become my second home. I have a slew of friends, family and former flings there that it almost sometimes feels as if there is a whole different Jessica alter-ego that is simultaneously living another life across the world. Whenever I go to Israel, I easily fall back into another life and the transition seems so seamless.

The beach of Tel Aviv. How dreamy.

While it was amazing to see everyone- especially because I had trained myself to forget about Israel because I honestly thought it would be years before I would ever return- this trip was definitely different from every past trip that I had taken. 

The main reason why it was so different was because it was just a trip.

Usually when I am off for Israel, I am there for months. And leaving is an incredibly dramatic and painful process where I typically spend the following week in a ketonic depression filled with copious amounts of chocolate and vodka. Seriously, a dangerously delicious depression- but depression nonetheless.

This time, however, from the minute I boarded my plane in Logan the moment I was most excited for (okay, well technically second most excited for. I was super duper excited to see the face of my friend Melissa when I surprised her at her apartment) for was to come back home and be with my boyfriend again (cue vomit... I know).

The girls... After the big surprise! 

But it was more than just seeing my boyfriend. It was getting back to the life I had started making for myself here. Because every other time I had gone to Israel I really had nothing to come back to. Sure, I had university and a smattering of friends- but no real foundation. I didn't have an anchor holding me and guiding me steadily. I always had assumed that Israel was my anchor. 

But now I am in a completely different place than I ever thought I would end up. And I love it. 

I am starting university in one week. Tomorrow I begin my job training. I have started volunteering teaching my citizenship classes again on Saturdays. I have a full plate, but I feel grateful for every bit on it because I have a feeling I haven't had in a very, very long time- or perhaps ever. I feel like I am where I am supposed to be. 

While nothing in my life has been according to 'my plan', it does not even seem to matter. Because finally, I have begun to finally "figure it out" and while I may not be there 100% (and let's face it- who really is?) I am definitely on my way. And if it took me $1,200 and two weeks across the world to figure it out, then I'll take that too. 

So after a cab, a train, two planes, a bus, another train and one car-ride, I arrived safely home on Thursday.

The trip itself was not bad at all. I have traveled extensively and have had horrific travel experiences (flight oversells, having the flu over the Atlantic and being treated by the resident airport doctor at Heathrow at 4am, sleeping in the Berlin train station) and this was definitely not the worst. And the best part was how I excited I was to come home. In the past, I have always lamented the journey back home because I would much rather continue my nomadic lifestyle. This time though, I wanted to run back home, shower, munch on Chinese and hang out with the boyfriend and cuddle all night.

In reality I ended up passing out in bed, but still  a lovely experience.

Now, four short days later and I have started a pre-req Statistics class at my university! The exclamation point is not really a testament to my love of Stats, but more of my excitement of being back on a campus.

I'm starting the part-time MSW program at Simmons which is nestled in the heart of the college district of Boston. I love the energy found on campuses, fresh notebooks and sharpened pencils. I guess I am a geek at heart. And I am so excited to learn more about Social Work, especially because I start training for my new job on Tuesday working at a women's shelter.

More updates later- now I need to study!

This past year has been nothing short of a twisty, sometimes scary, a bit overwhelming super-sized roller coaster. 

Exactly one year ago I had my bank accounts closed, my bags packed and ticket purchased to move abroad with my best friend to spend a year working, backpacking and partying in South America. About a week before we were supposed to leave, she canceled via a phone call that ultimately destroyed our friendship and took me an incredibly long time to heal from.

But then a little miracle happened. I found an inner strength in me that I never knew existed. Because even though break-ups suck, breaking up with a friend can sometimes be even more traumatic. And devastating. But then I realized how much stronger I was for it and I learned to forgive and move on. And then, somehow, amazing things happened. 

With bank accounts already closed and bags already packed, I decided to apply to get my Israeli citizenship and move over there. Somehow while waiting for my passport and citizenship card (which to this day I am still waiting for due to the Army being stubborn) I met the most amazing man and I fell incredibly, madly and deeply in love. Within weeks of dating, I just had a feeling in my gut and I knew. 

But that meant I had to make a decision: stay and see where this relationship would go or follow 'my plan' and my dream to move to Israel. 

A lot of factors influenced my decision. I was still reeling from the hurt I had experienced from my friend backing out of our original plan and was scared to take another risk on someone else. I was scared to give myself to them, only to have them decide they don't want me. From my friend, I had realized a really harsh truth: people are selfish and they will do whatever serves them best. Which isn't necessarily bad, but so far out of my realm of thinking. 

Luckily the man I fell in love with is also unselfish and told me to follow wherever my heart decided; he would understand. 

It was agonizing trying to make that decision. Weeks of late nights and pro & con sheets tormented me. But I always came back to the same decision: I don't want to look back on my life and know that one person ruined any trust relationships I would have in my life. 

I went with my heart. 

And you know what? I haven't regretted it for a second. 

True, sometimes when we fight I wonder "What would have happened had I left? Would I have been happier?" And it is such a fleeting thought because it is so absurd. Because even when we fight and I slam doors, I still love that man with everything I have. 

So exactly one year ago today I was recovering from a broken heart. That girl, jaded at the world and feeling so betrayed every night in her bed alone, is so different from the girl today. 

Life is still hard. There are still bills to pay, loneliness to combat and dreams to realize I am in a better place than I ever could have imagined. And even though the ups and downs of life can be intense, it still is a rollercoaster I intend on riding til the very end.