1993-1994 Rothberg Yearbook

Malina Saval
My parents and I fought about
packing for a week. On the floor of
my room lay three huge black bodysize
bags. Beside them lay heaping
piles of socks and underwear, t-
shirts and shorts, jeans and sweat
ers, skirts and dresses. Broken up
pairs of sneakers, sandles and hiking
boots were scattered around. A
box of newly bought books from
Barnes and Noble, a tennis racket,
an old-fashioned flannel sleeping
bag Impractical for backpack travailing
, a crate spilling over with
toiletries - all waiting to be somehow
stuffed into the El-Al two freeof-charge
suitcases, each having a
weight of no more than seventy
pounds.
Originally, I made due with this
weight restriction. I’d packed all of
my clothes, shoes, and miscellaneous
items into two regular armysize
duffle bags. But then I realized
that I had forgotten to pack
pajamas to sleep in, a bathrobe,
music tapes and a Walkman, a
winter coat, a spring Jacket, prescription
drugs, contact lens solutlon,
beach towels, batteries, and a
flashlight - important items! My
mother thought that I was being rldiculous.
If I took half as many
clothes, I’d have twice as much
room in my luggage to pack everything
else. But I was going away
for a year and at that time It
seemed like I had to take absolutely
everything in my house with me.
*You don't need four tubes of toothpaste,
my mom said. *You can buy
it there, can’t you?* But for some
strange reason, it didn’t occur to
me that people in Israel brush their
teeth, and if they did, it certainly
wasn't with mint-flavored tartercontrol
Crest. One night, a few
days before I left, my dad snuck
into my room as I lay sleeping,
unpacked my luggage, taking out
half of my clothes, and repacked it.
You could see the effort he’d taken
to conceal his deed - he'd put the
extra clothes into my brother’s
room upstairs, not back into my
dresser drawers where he knew I’d
find them. He did not know that I
often raid little Danny's wardrobe
in search of sweatshirts and sweatpants.
That next morning, I diecovered
my father’s devious act. I
repacked my clothes, taking no
pains to leave a single sock out. At
this time my parents conceded that
they would have to pay the surplus
baggage fee.
But then, I would still have to
change planes once I'd arrived in
New York from Boston. How was I
to lug all of my bags from the TWA
domestic terminal to the El-Al Terminal,
located light years from
each other in the JFK International
Airport? The day of my departure,
my mother ended up hopping on
the flight with me to New York. In
the end, it cost my parents an
extra $329 just to get me on the
plane.
And now it’s time to start packing
again and this time I have even
more stuff. From my Greece and
Turkey souvenirs to the four pairs
of shoes I've bought - Naot Clogs,
Nimrod sandles, black leather boots,
suede loafers, and enough Jerusalem
candles to set the plane on Are
- 1 figure that I should be able to
pack everything into four bags, not
exceeding the El-Al trans-atlantic
weight limit by more than five hundred
pounds.
But wait, this isn’t merely a superficial
account of clothes and
airplane transport. Having spent
the past ten and a half months in
Israel, I have - much to my own
surprise - developed a strong sense
of someday wanting to live here.
Not to give this article a Zionist
slant; still, I must say this: I love
this country and I am heart-broken
to have to leave it. Thus, before I
leave Eretz Ylsrael, Boston bound
on an El-Al 747,1 plan on leaving a
part of me behind in the land of
milk and honey: namely, books and
jeans, t-shirts and sweaters, and an
old pairs of shoes, which I will
proudly donate to charity organizatlons
throughout Jerusalem. And
the next time I come to Israel, even
if it's for life, I plan on packing a
lot lighter.