In anticipation of my Israel trip, and to try to allay some of my overall anxiety, I decided to do a practice run at packing. I planned it for the two-week Sukkot break from teaching (after the Jewish High Holidays), on the assumption that full days would be filled with perseverating and procrastinating, which they were.
Earlier in the summer, I went through a marathon effort to research everything for the trip, watching endless videos about where to go and what to bring and how to pack it correctly, and then I spent way too much time on Amazon buying all kinds of things I was sure I would need. In my defense, the high level of anxiety made it very hard for me to think clearly, which also explains why I ended up with multiples of a bunch of things, because I forgot what I’d already ordered.
The goal of the practice packing was to : 1) figure out if I could take just a carry on and a personal bag, or if I’d need a bigger suitcase that I would have to check in (which all of the videos told me not to do); and 2) to see if there was anything I’d forgotten to buy (like quart-sized Ziploc bags, for packing liquids and medications, according to the rules).
But first I had to recover from my Yom Kippur cold, and then watch guiltily as Mom suffered from her own version of the cold, and then I had to catch up on errands that I’d had to put off during the holidays and the ensuing sick-in (like laundry and food shopping and multiple trips to the drug store). And then I had no more excuses. Except, I still couldn’t even look at the pile of stuff from Amazon that had been living on my treadmill for months, or at the packing list I’d made after watching and rewatching and summarizing and analyzing all of those videos.
I tried to think of ways to make the task more manageable, to Bird-by-Bird it, the way I do with everything else that overwhelms me (I know that Anne Lamott meant her wisdom to be used specifically for writing projects, breaking down a big project into smaller tasks, bird by bird, but for me it has become a helpful way to portion out all kinds of difficult tasks). But even the thought of looking at my packing list, or opening the bag of compression packing cubes, set off images in my mind of being pulled out of the security line by giant men with mustaches (for some reason), and stun guns.
Finally, in a moment of desperation, I poured all of the Amazon items onto my bed, so I could go through them and see what I had actually bought. The two extra crossbody bags and the extra power adaptor made me feel silly, it’s true, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. Most of the things I’d bought were useful, if not strictly necessary. And I was able to use the packing cubes (multiple sizes of mesh zipper bags) to help keep things organized, and allow me to pack one small bag at a time instead of a whole suitcase.
The easiest place to start was to pack the things I wouldn’t need to use in the next few weeks, like the travel-size Waterpik, and the long skirt, and the foldable water bottle (why did I think I’d need such a thing?). And then I added in socks and underwear to fill out the bag, and because I remembered my high school friend (the one I’m going to visit in Israel) telling me about a long trip she took where she made sure to pack thirty pairs of socks for thirty days (her father owned a sock store), I threw in a few extra pairs of socks, for luck.
I knew I couldn’t pack my prescription meds until the last minute, especially because I’d decided to go with the strictest recommendations, which said to bring the actual bottles instead of pre-packing pill cases and bringing the prescription labels, so I typed up the (also recommended) list of all of my medications, and doses, and doctors names, and phone numbers. And then I filled a pill case with all of the over-the-counter medications I might need on the trip (allergy meds, Tylenol, probiotics, etc.), and labeled each compartment so I wouldn’t accidently confuse the Benadryl with the probiotic. And then I packed an empty day-by-day pill case, to fill once I get there. The very specific, and endless, rules around how to pack medications and liquids make me worry that if I do something even a little bit wrong, I’ll be arrested and accused of drug trafficking, because I am clearly planning to smuggle anti-depressants and thyroid medication to sell on the black market in Tel Aviv.
By the time I’d finished practice packing the meds, and the liquids (in flexible silicone bottles that came with their own labels too!), I was exhausted, but at least I had a better idea of what I’d forgotten to buy (the Ziploc bags), and I’d resolved some of the conundrums I’d left hanging for months (should I bring the prescription bottles or just the labels and a pill case). I just took a few more minutes to shove a few outfits into my suitcase to see how much would fit, and then I declared myself finished.
It still doesn’t feel real that I’m going to be in Israel in a few weeks, though. Just like it doesn’t feel real that all of the living hostages are finally home. It takes me a long time to process things like this, and it doesn’t help that I’m already seeing reports about Hamas reasserting itself in Gaza, and killing their Palestinian enemies in the streets. I’m also not hearing much optimism about Hamas actually returning all of the bodies of the murdered hostages or agreeing to disarm. But I can’t do anything about that, or about many of the other things that are causing me so much anxiety, but I can pack my suitcase, and unpack it and repack it, and make sure I have enough socks and Tylenol and shampoo to make it through my trip. For now, I guess, that will have to be enough.
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
rachelmankowitz 