מילים חדשות

When I finished twelfth grade, most of my friends went straight into the army. I decided to wait one more year. I joined a volunteer programme, and for ten months I lived in Beersheba with eight other young people from all over the country. Looking back, it was the most important year of my life.

We shared a small apartment near the centre of the city. At first it was hard. At home my mother used to cook for me and wash my clothes. Suddenly I had to plan meals for nine people with very little money. We used to argue about the dishes almost every evening. By the winter, though, we had a system, and the apartment felt like home.

My main job was at a primary school in a poor neighbourhood. In the mornings I would sit with children who found reading difficult. Most of them were not lazy at all; nobody had ever given them enough time. One boy, Eli, used to hide his book under the table so that no one could see how slowly he read. I didn't push him. Every day I would read one page to him, and he would read one line to me. By March he was reading whole pages on his own, and he stopped hiding his book.

In the afternoons we ran a club for teenagers. We played football, cooked together and talked about their plans for the future. Some of them had never travelled outside the city, so in the spring we organised a trip to the north. For many of them, it was the first time they saw the Sea of Galilee.

Of course, not every day was a success. Some weeks I felt tired and far from my family, and I asked myself why I was there. On those days I remembered Eli's face when he finished his first book. The year taught me patience, and it taught me to listen before I speak. I used to think that I was the one who was giving. In the end, I think I received more than I gave.

When I finished twelfth grade, most of my friends went straight into the army. I decided to wait one more year. I joined a volunteer programme, and for ten months I lived in Beersheba with eight other young people from all over the country. Looking back, it was the most important year of my life.

We shared a small apartment near the centre of the city. At first it was hard. At home my mother used to cook for me and wash my clothes. Suddenly I had to plan meals for nine people with very little money. We used to argue about the dishes almost every evening. By the winter, though, we had a system, and the apartment felt like home.

My main job was at a primary school in a poor neighbourhood. In the mornings I would sit with children who found reading difficult. Most of them were not lazy at all; nobody had ever given them enough time. One boy, Eli, used to hide his book under the table so that no one could see how slowly he read. I didn't push him. Every day I would read one page to him, and he would read one line to me. By March he was reading whole pages on his own, and he stopped hiding his book.

In the afternoons we ran a club for teenagers. We played football, cooked together and talked about their plans for the future. Some of them had never travelled outside the city, so in the spring we organised a trip to the north. For many of them, it was the first time they saw the Sea of Galilee.

Of course, not every day was a success. Some weeks I felt tired and far from my family, and I asked myself why I was there. On those days I remembered Eli's face when he finished his first book. The year taught me patience, and it taught me to listen before I speak. I used to think that I was the one who was giving. In the end, I think I received more than I gave.

When I finished twelfth grade, most of my friends went straight into the army. I decided to wait one more year. I joined a volunteer programme, and for ten months I lived in Beersheba with eight other young people from all over the country. Looking back, it was the most important year of my life.

We shared a small apartment near the centre of the city. At first it was hard. At home my mother used to cook for me and wash my clothes. Suddenly I had to plan meals for nine people with very little money. We used to argue about the dishes almost every evening. By the winter, though, we had a system, and the apartment felt like home.

My main job was at a primary school in a poor neighbourhood. In the mornings I would sit with children who found reading difficult. Most of them were not lazy at all; nobody had ever given them enough time. One boy, Eli, used to hide his book under the table so that no one could see how slowly he read. I didn't push him. Every day I would read one page to him, and he would read one line to me. By March he was reading whole pages on his own, and he stopped hiding his book.

In the afternoons we ran a club for teenagers. We played football, cooked together and talked about their plans for the future. Some of them had never travelled outside the city, so in the spring we organised a trip to the north. For many of them, it was the first time they saw the Sea of Galilee.

Of course, not every day was a success. Some weeks I felt tired and far from my family, and I asked myself why I was there. On those days I remembered Eli's face when he finished his first book. The year taught me patience, and it taught me to listen before I speak. I used to think that I was the one who was giving. In the end, I think I received more than I gave.