STAFF Editors: Graphic Design: Typing: Illustrations: Advertising: Photography: BASP UC Assistants Shaun Kobrin Carol Mizrahi Darryl Schaffer Elisabeth Arczel Judy Schloss Jeremy Rosenstien Jona Safer Jason Colombick Howard Mam m on Richard Cohn Reuven Malka Allison Hildebrand Olivia Spinhart Mark Dennis Jill, Signe, Karen Stanley, Susan Special Thanks to all those w ho subm itted articles and photographs
A Nightmare Journey into Hell The area in fro n t of the EI-AI check-in counter w as packed. A sm all table was set up in an inconspicuous corner w ith a sm all sign declaring "H ebrew U niversity — One Year P rogram " as its title. A fe w parents m illed around here and there, tripping on duffel bags and back-packs, w o rry and sorrow w ritte n all over th e ir faces. W hat seemed like an enclave of college kids, or post college kids or soon to be college kids, surrounded the bags. Echoes of "H i! A re you on th e One Year Program ?" could be heard from every angle. It w as a toast-m aster's w orst nightm are. New people w ould join the throng, anxious about w here to go, w h o to speak to, w here to sign up, and, most im portantly, w h e re to get the shekel rebate that the travel agency had prom ised. "C ould you ju s t w atch my stu ff for one second?", asked one girl to her neighbour in line. She disappeared in to th e crow d in search of a bathroom , maybe never to be seen again In a ba lagan th a t big it's hard to find the flo o r let alone the closest pee place. A ll around people w ere supposedly lining up to check in, feverishly putting on luggage tags and sizing up the q u a n tity of s tu ff everyone else had brought. "D oes anyone know our address over there?", came a plaintive cry from the corner, "o r should w e put our address at hom e on these things?" The guy in the Zebes shirt sauntered over to the girl in Tridelt boxers, "W h e re are you fro m ? " he asked w ith a slick sm ile. "U h — oh, w e haven't even taken off yet and the kosher meat m arket has begun", moaned someone else. The bathroom girl returned from w h a t looked like a successful mission ju s t in tim e to realise th a t she had forgotten ju st w h o she had asked to w atch her stuff, and w a s n 't it funny that everyone else had those same gray-green arm y duffel bags? An announcem ent came over the intercom m uffled beyond perception, im m ediately putting everyone in a panic. A fte ra fu lld a y 's fly in g , and catching connecting flig h ts no one w as in that great of a mood. Bleary eyed and fuzzy faced, hot, sweaty, and feeling nauseous, only the beautiful made good firs t im pressions. Of all surprises th a t we w ere to encounter during our firs t week in Israel, the group flig h t started the year out w ith a bang. Slow er than slo w check in, random security checks (an orientation th a t began and ended before the w h o le group had finished), hum id ity th a t made faces m elt onto the floor, and disorganisation th a t can only be appreciated in retrospect; such features w ere sim ply added bonuses in w h a t can only be called "a day from h e ll". Long lost camp people show ed up, 9 scream s of "O h my G -d " could be heard all over, and people never to be seen since helped move your bag. A fte r successfully checking us through, orientating us w ith such w o n derful advice as "N o means m aybe" and "D o n 't forget to speak H ebrew ", and dism issing tearyeyed parental units, "o u r leaders" pushed u sth ro u g h three more security checks and herded us aboard EI-AI's Boeing 747. "G re a t" som eone thought aloud and turned to the person next to him "H o w m uch did w e pay fo r th is flig h t? " M idw ay through th e trip, 4 or 5 hours into the journey, someone else cracked open a bottle of Jack Daniels. By th is tim e, you see, w e w e re already a society — a grant "group flig h t c liq u e " bound together like all victim s of the same tra u m a tic event. Kind of like buddies borne of the battlefield but... w ell...better. W e knew each others names, w here w e came from , and w h a t school w e attended, we had all played Jew ish Geography w ith trem endous zeal, and w e w ere all headed fo r the same place: Givat Ram. We joked and laughed and w atched the ZBT snuggle w ith the DG (the Tridelt w as already seeing a Sammie) and hit each other on the back like old buddies. W ho cared that half the people we w ere sittin g w ith w e d id n 't like? W ho knew? The flig h t lasted forever, it seemed, and w hen w e fin a lly clim bed back into our original seats (come now, you expected 1 50 college kids to sit still fo r hours especially w hen there's booze on board?) in preparation fo r our fin a l descent, w e w ere buzzed from excitem ent and fatigue. The jet lag had yet to hit, but we knew it w as there som ew here, ju s t haunting us. As w e touched dow n a splatter of applause broke out and frightened faces turned into hesitant smiles. "H ey! W e're h e re ," the bathroom girl said to her new room m ate and her rem em bered luggage w atcher. W e stepped off the stairs and in to th e bus, and in the w ords of som e im m ortal w rite r, "The adventure began..." Leah Hochman
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