Ultrasound, Socialized Medicine, and Saying Goodbye to Kibbutz

A lot has happened since my last post. For starters, we no longer live on Kibbutz Ein Dor. About three weeks ago, we left angry kibbutzniks, scooters, and the kibbutz pub behind and headed up north to the Galilee for our History of Habonim Dror seminar. After that, we spent a few days preparing for our move to Akko and the beginning of Kaveret, and then we moved in. (Sort of. It's a work-in-progress.) My parents came, we rang in the New Year (or "Sylvester", as Israelis call it; I told you it was a strange country) in Tel Aviv, which brings us up to the present. Now for details.

The ending of Boneh (this is the portion of the year we spend on kibbutz) was bittersweet. On the one hand, no one could wait to be free of the dining hall, Minyan Man, and Chava, and able to live on our own, cook our own meals, and determine the extent of our own participation in religious Judaism (a.k.a. no more proselytizing Jews would be blowing shofars outside our windows). On the other, leaving kibbutz would mean leaving each other, and the three kvutsot would have to finally separate to our new respective residences - TnT in Akko, GnG in Olga, and the Schwartz Family in Be'er Sheva.

And so began a series of "final hurrahs". For Workshop as a whole, we took a trip to Ultrasound. Ultrasound is not, as you might reasonably think, something you have done when you're pregnant in order to determine the sex of your child. Rather, Ultrasound is a club located near Haifa, complete with slides, 1980's mashups, and loads of Arsim and Frechot (the Israeli equivalent of Guidos and Guidettes, for those of you who watch Jersey Shore, which should be all of you). With a closer look at the Israeli psyche, it's not difficult to derive the reason they named a club after something usually conducted with jelly and a little plastic wand. "Ultra" is a cool word to Israelis. (As is "Mega", which really isn't related at all to my story, but trust me, the word mega is totally overused in Israel. For example, one of the supermarkets we shop at in Akko is called "Megabool". What does that mean, you may ask? No idea. But it sounds cool, right?) The word "sound" is also relevant. It's a club, after all. Put them together, and you get Ultrasound. Whether or not the people who named the club knew of it's specific meaning in English, we will never know. But the name is only outdone by the stamp you get on your hand upon entering - "Balagan Shelanu". Translates to something like Our Chaos. Legit.

So I think the explanation of Ultrasound stands on its own. Simply put, it was a silly night. The 80 of us (North Americans and Europeans) were at the club from roughly 12-4am, and we were probably the first ones to leave. Then we boarded our buses and drove the 40 minutes back to our homely kibbutz, none the worse for wear.

Another last hurrah which I feel needs mention is my parting encounter with the town of Afula. Though I've mentioned the city in previous posts, I've never really given it the credit it deserves for cleanliness, accessibility, and outstanding medical care. It is the last which I wish to highlight now.

Afula - also affectionately referred to as Afufu, Afuna (get it? Fun), and Fu City by Workshoppers - is a small, poor, dirty city located about a half hour drive from Kibbutz Ein Dor. It also happened to be the closest metropolis to the kibbutz. Looking to leave the isolation of kibbutz life? Afuna is your most affordable bet. Want to get a piercing? Fu City. Need to do a little shopping? You guessed it, it's Afula. But that's not all Afula has. It also has a block of falafel shops, as well as a bus station. So if you want to go anywhere off the kibbutz, you have to begin your commute in Afula. Once while walking around Afula, a local asked us where we were from, and then asked us why we came to Afula. For somewhat obvious reasons, they were completely mystified at the fact that we traveled all the way from North America to visit humble Afula. (Subtext: it sucks.) This story somewhat sums up the place.

Needless to say, we spent a lot of time there. In addition to it's myriad falafel and piercing shops, Afula is also home to the bureaucracy of the bank (which I've written about before) and the health clinic, wherein begins my story. Enter socialized medicine. No need to make a doctor's appointment, just show up and take a number. The doctor will see you shortly (or at least after about an hour) and he may even speak English (though it's not likely). Overworked and underpaid, strange and often faulty diagnoses are common. For instance, a friend of mine who had a cyst on his back was given a topical ointment. Another friend of mine who was having breathing problems was prescribed a lower dose of the asthma medication she was already taking.

This particular trip (actually trips, as you'll soon see) wasn't to treat any particular illness, but rather to get a flu shot. I was accompanied by six other Workshoppers whose parents had complained enough that we were finally able to go get the shots. The first time we tried going, the clinic was closed by the time we got there (which was noon on Friday). The second time we were slightly more successful, and made it all the way in the door, up the stairs, and even had our numbers called in less than an hour. We proceeded to the receptionist's desk, and even though I had it all worked out how to say "flu shot" in Hebrew, the English-speaking receptionist beat me to the bunch. She not only knew why we had come, but carefully explained to us that we couldn't get a flu shot without a doctor's note. Because how can they give us flu shots without a doctor's note? It's not as if there were tens of doctors in that very building at the time. No, we would have to have the kibbutz nurse call the head nurse at the clinic. "She'll have the number," the receptionist reassured me.

I called my madricha, Tamar, to see if she could get in touch with the nurse on the kibbutz. The kibbutz clinic was closed, but she would go see what she could do. After locating the kibbutz nurse, it turned out that she actually didn't have the number for the head nurse at the Afula clinic. Shocker. To make a long and painful story short, after two hours of relentless phone calls, coordination, broken Hebrew, and waiting, we left the clinic, having finally been denied flu shots. Goodbye Afula, I thought to myself. Our final hurrah in Fu City could not have gone any more typically.

After saying goodbye to Afula, we had only a few more goodbyes to deliver. We said goodbye to the thousands of stray cats, the old people on their scooters, Minyan Man, and, of course, the kibbutz pub. All those things having been accomplished, we packed up, cleaned up (the house managed to reach it's very messiest during our last week), went to the kibbutz Hanukkah celebration, and left.