What is keeping me up at night, by Sarah Humphreys

When deciding what to write for my fourth and final blog post, I thought about the hedgehog and stray kitten that hang out together by my doorstep every night, how this year has almost flown by and what a crazy year it’s been, in so many transformative ways, and other random musings on life in Beer Sheva and medical school in Israel. 

I feel compelled to write, however, about the thing that’s been keeping me up at night for a week.

Last Tuesday, as friends and I were leaving the hospital after class, we saw an African immigrant being escorted out of the building barefoot, and shackled at his wrists and ankles. My heart sank, and I’m ashamed to admit that my immediate impulse was to avoid looking up at his face because I was afraid of what I would feel, and what I would be forced to confront. I did look at him, however, and I have no way of describing what I found, except to say that the man seemed dead inside—completely void of emotion and life, gaunt, like a ghost crossing the river Styx in the fifth circle of hell.

I parted ways with my classmates and that night some of us went to a concert but I couldn’t shake the image of what I had seen.

The next day I went for a run, and maybe for the first time in my life, gave thanks for the fact that I have two legs that aren’t shackled together, that let me run and travel to new countries and seek out new adventures and pursue a better life for myself. Of course, days later, when I couldn’t stop talking about it to those closest to me, and couldn’t shake the image that haunts me, I began to do some very superficial research into the topic and struck up an email correspondence with Len Rubenstein, the ex-president of Physicians for Human Rights, with whom I worked on a project prior to enrolling in medical school.

Here is what I found: Israel currently keeps about 2000 Africans asylum seekers from the Sudan and Eritrea in detention centers in the Negev, close to the Egyptian border. The majority of those currently detained entered Israel after June 2012 and are being held under Israel’s Anti-Infiltration Law that allows the state to hold, without trial for up to three years, anyone who has entered the country illegally, and I believe longer for refugees from countries considered enemies of the state, such as Sudan. It isn’t my job here to talk about Israel immigration policy—a simple google search will tell you all you need, or you can read about it here: http://www.hrw.org/news/2013/03/13/israel-detained-asylum-seekers-pressured-leave It is also important to point out that Israel’s struggle to maintain a national identity in the face of mass immigration is not unique to Israel—the United States and much of Europe are dealing with similar issues.

What I can’t stop thinking about is how the man I saw was probably trying to escape a life of persecution for the promise of a better life in Israel. And after experiencing the (well documented) kidnapping and torture while crossing through Egypt, he is now stuck in a desert detention facility indefinitely. And how, with the detention facilities currently being expanded, and located so close to Soroka hospital, there is no doubt that we will encounter these shackled asylum seekers as patients on the ward.

How do you treat someone when the least of his problems is medical? How do you treat someone when he is shackled to a hospital bed for trying to find a better life? How do you heal someone’s body and then send him back to a place of no hope? Why aren’t we talking about these things?

And then I remember that this conversation applies to all areas of civilian life—what is our obligation to other people? How often do you turn away when you don’t want to deal with the repercussions of witnessing an unsavory event? How do you cope when you witness something horrible and there is literally nothing you feel you can do, except write?

I don’t have any answers.

Goats, Garden and Graves, by Sakal Kiv

The desert surprises me, particularly the Negev. You find so many things that you would not expect to see here. Who would have known that people drive out to the middle of the desert for fresh farm-raised tilapia or goat’s cheese? When we stayed for a week in a desert farming community, we saw red-ripe tomatoes (yum!), crispy bell peppers (mmmm!), and beautiful flowers being grown out there. The Cambodian agricultural students there told me, “It is amazing the skill they have to make things grow out of the desert, in our country, we just defecate on the ground and something grows, yet we haven’t really learned to fully take advantage of even that.”

A few days ago, we had another unexpectedly pleasant time in the desert. On the way to Sede Boker (which, until this trip, I had incorrectly heard and thought of as “Stable Care”), our friends took us to a kibbutz where they raised goats for cheese and milk. The kibbutz even gave out samples for us to enjoy! My kids especially liked watching the goats being milked. I had expected that they would be milked by hand, but instead, they were all hooked up to a milking machine like the ones used for dairy cows—a real-life Mister Rogers Neighborhood experience.

At Sede Boker, we walked around the garden where David Ben-Gurion is buried next to his wife, Paula. Our kids had a wonderful time walking and playing with each other there. It was a beautiful place to be, quite shaded and cool and full of lush, green things growing out of rock. On our class hike when we first arrived, I remembered looking up from the valley of Wadi Chaverim at night and seeing the lighted garden and wanting to visit, so it was good to have the chance. It is a very fitting resting place for Ben-Gurion, a visionary leader who looked beyond the desolation and saw its potential, something that is becoming more and more a reality today.

After our walk, our kids played at the playground (I love it how there’s one of these everywhere!). Then we finished the evening with a dinner and conversation between friends. Sometimes it astounds me, especially when I take time to think about it, of all the momentous events that have taken place here. This desert is where Abraham raised sheep and received divine promises, where Elijah sought refuge in a cave and heard the Whisper, where some of the last great cavalry battles took place in the Sinai-Palestine campaign against the Turks, where David Ben-Gurion kept a home and lived and worked, and where some of the best medical students the world has ever seen are being trained. When I think of all these things, I feel blessed to be here in the Negev desert with family and friends. - Sakal Kiv, blogger of the month

The Ways We Spend Our Days (a guest post from the best dog in Beer Sheva), by Angel Eads

Hana Puppy

Hi Everyone! My human friend is still tired from finals so I will be writing a special dog blog today.  My name is Hana Puppy.  The human friend calls me Puppy Guppy, Sweet Girl and You Big Naughty, but I also occasionally answer to double finger snaps and always answer to the sound of food bags rustling.   I’m about five years old and have been hanging out with my human friend for 3 of those years.  She’s okay for the most part, although I wasn’t too thrilled when she put me in a crate, stuck me in a loud and noisy dark place for twelve hours and then told me we had moved to a new place where there was no bacon.

The human friend tells me this is for a blog on the internet.  I don’t know much about the internet other than that it’s where the human friend spends most of her time.  Still, between all the internet using and occasional class going, the human friend and I do have some fun adventures together.

Sometimes we go for walks.

Sometimes we work on our suntans.

Sometimes we grow kale and herbs on our porch.  (I’m more moral support for this activity)

Sometimes the human friend makes a vermicomposter and then we walk to sketchy parts of B7 after dark to get worms from someone the human met on the internet.   In these cases it’s also wise to take along a 2nd human friend like our awesome roommate Becky (who also gives the best ear scratches).

Sometimes the human friend bakes peanut butter cookies, but refuses to share them with me, no matter how pitiful I look.

Sometimes we admire Beer Sheva’s new “beach” park.

Sometimes I count the number of days it’s been since I’ve had bacon, but this usually makes me so sad that I have to lie down and take a nap.

While I miss tasty pork products and fenced dog parks, I’ve still found lots of big and little ways to spend my days here in Beer Sheva.  Both the human friend and I agree: it’s been a pretty good year.

The Day After Shavuot, by blogger of the month Sakal Kiv

Dr. Shimon Glick, co-chair of the MSIH admissions committee, delivering a lecture on Endocrinology to first-
year medical students at the MSIH.

As I sat in Dr. Glick’s Endocrinology class looking at the backs of all my classmates on the day after Shavuot vacation, I was reminded that one of the things that I like about my class is that there is a lot of camaraderie. All of us, without exception, are generally good-natured, interesting, and personable. We share notes, help one another out, and invite each other to parties and get-togethers.

We study and play together. There is a lot of maturity here. Many of us are married or are soon to be married. Many have served in a humanitarian capacity overseas. Almost all of us speak at least one other language. Others bring corporate work or graduate school experience to the mix. I have rarely been part of such a dedicated group of leaders and compassionate people. I know my classmates will all make amazing doctors. This past Shavuot, I was reminded of other things we have in common. We like to travel and go to the beach. We are hooked on technology, even on holidays. We want to change the world, even on holidays.

 Even in our apparently more significant differences, such as faith, there is commonality. As a cheese-lover, I was not only glad to learn that cheese is such an important part of Shavuot festivities, but as a Christian, I was happy to learn that Bible reading was so integral to Shavuot. In fact, I was invited to read the Bible, along with other classmates, at the home of an observant Jew for the evening of Shavuot, something I was quite happy to do. I am thankful to learn about how Shavuot commemorates the receiving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, a story I have often read and heard preached. For me, this adds richness and dimension to Pentecost, the Christian celebration of the receiving of the Holy Spirit and the birth of the church during Shavuot. Being here in Israel, reminds me of the Jewish roots of my faith, the land where Jesus and his family went to the temple in Jerusalem and where the disciples read the Scriptures in synagogue. It reminds me that my classmates and those around me are able to function together, even synergize, because of tolerance. Not the blanket resignation that everything we believe is the same, but the ability to maintain social conversation, even a mutually beneficial and thriving relationship, while acknowledging the very real value we each place on personal ideas, beliefs, and traits that make us unique.

I think that the basis of tolerance, the idea that all people have value, is the cornerstone for any healthy society, no matter how seemingly homogeneous. Not so long ago, my parents had to flee from a country where Cambodians were murdering other Cambodians, sending millions to the killing fields. I think something similar has happened in other parts of the world. What happens is that one group of people begins to envy and despise another group of people within their circle. They begin to think themselves superior. Even after the extermination of the Others/Inferiors within that circle, they start to find in their ever-shrinking circle still more Others/Inferiors. The slaughter never ends so long as there is untrammeled pride and a vacuum of tolerance. In conclusion, i.e. the moral of this story/blog, I want to thank the MSIH class of 2016 for their example of tolerance. Thank you for being curious about my life and for asking questions. Thank you for talking with me about food and faith. Thank you for accepting me among your fold, even though I am a Cambodian, a Texan, and a non-traditional-orange-glasses-wearing-medical-student-father-of-four-children. - Kiv Sakal, MSIH blogger of the month

The Education of Play, by blogger of the month Sakal Kiv

One of the best things about having children with you is that you get to go to the playground often. As a daddy, you get a special perspective on B7—a family-friendly city with slides, swings, and animal rockers on every block. I have to admit, at least for the little kid in me, that I have plenty of fun. Sometimes, in addition to all the new medical stuff I learn in class, I find out that I have been missing out on other important things in my education. Today for instance, I came home and was welcomed as usual by a ferocious herd of four precious, little monsters. They had stampeded from the other side of our apartment after their perfectly attuned ears picked up the sound of me unlocking the front door, and as soon as I stepped inside, they ambushed me with hugs and kisses. They proceeded to shower me with every detail of their day, simultaneously in high, squeaky, adorable voices. Then they asked me if I would take them to the park. Of course, I couldn’t refuse, and we proceeded to walk to the playground. When we arrived, they taught me how to play hopscotch for the first time. Sure, I had seen those numbered squares on the concrete before, but this was the first time I learned that I was supposed to throw a rock onto the numbers and hop across according to an established set of time-honored rules that every well-educated child should know. It was then that I realized that my education had failed me. For some reason, I grew up never knowing how to play hopscotch. Yet, God was gracious. He looked down from heaven and saw my poor condition and sent his little angels to teach me. Now, I am complete. Anyone want to play hopscotch? - blogger of the month, Sakal Kiv

Seven ways to survive in Beersheva, by Rebecca Lapham

I’d like to share something I wrote last summer as I was settling into life in Israel. I know, I know, I should be creative and write something new and inspiring for you all to enjoy. However, the full weight of a month of finals is sapping me of free time and creativity. So this quick post goes out especially to those crazy folks thinking of joining us here in the desert next year. Can’t wait to meet you guys!

1. Never, ever wait in line. If you attempt to wait in a line, you will be waiting all day. Push your way to the front and stare down anyone who tries to cut in front of you.

2. Nighttime is the perfect time to wander the neighborhood alone. Everyone is out walking their dogs, running errands, etc.

3. On a similar note, only idiot tourists walk outside between the hours of 10am-3pm. No one else is outside, and every taxi driver will honk at you. They will also probably be laughing at how sweaty you are.

4. Hebrew speakers love to watch English speakers butcher their language, especially when there are hand gestures and sound effects involved. It's like free street theater.

5. All dairy products were not created equal. Just because it looks like yogurt, doesn't mean it is. It could be sour cream. Or goat cheese. Or worse.

6. If you want to open any sort of account, be prepared to bring every document you've every possessed, all the way back to your grandparent's birth certificates. Then be prepared to still not get what you need and be given no explanation. Israeli bureaucracy is the best.

7. Always remember what day it is, or you may get "shabbated" Most stores close for Shabbat, from sundown on Friday to sundown on Saturday. Forget, and you're fasting for Shabbat. - blogger of the month, Rebecca Lapham