My blog is about to take a turn: two days ago, I moved to the Tel Aviv. After almost four years in Brussels, it was time to move on to a new post, and our cards pointed towards The Middle East. With two small kids, it’s never easy to find enough time to write all that I want to. And with the 400 boxes that I’ll have to unpack over the next six months, it will be even harder. But I’m going to try my best to keep a running flow of my trials and tribulations on Tell All in Tel Aviv.We arrived at midnight — never a good hour when traveling with little children. Mr. Big Eyes, now almost four, had droopy eyes by the time we landed. He fell asleep before customs and, fortunately, the customs’ official did not wake him up to make sure he matched his passport photo. Sofia Maria Callas, as she is known for her piercing, one-year-old shrieks and arias, slept a bit on the plane, and was eager to show the roundness of her pupils to the customs’ official.All eight suitcases arrived without a hitch. Brie, our Labrador, arrived in her cage, which she hadn’t even dirtied, lady that she is. The wheels which we had labored over before the departure were lost in transit. At least the dog wasn’t lost in transit.Thanks to colleagues who were also on our plane, we managed to push all our belongings out the door to a van that was probably used to transport families to barmitzfahs. We all fit in comfortably, and Luca slept all the way to the house we’re now staying while Sofia’s eyes were open wider than ever.The moment we arrived at the house of our friends whom we are staying with I got sick. Perhaps it was the nerves of the departure or, more likely, an intestinal bug I caught while Sofia was hospitalized last week (another blog entry about that will follow….), but it was not how I had imagined spending my first few moments in Israel.We all fell asleep by about 2:00am, and my husband woke up early to report for his first day of work the next morning. We were all gaga but the show must go on.Today we opened our bank account here. Strange questions were posed that would never be posed in America or Europe, as far as I know. Such as: how much money will you be making per month? Where will your money be coming from? From which countries? The questions were beyond prying and the rhythms were Mediterranean. Our bank teller had to finish sending a text to his girlfriend before he could open our account. We signed endless pieces of paper, and were told that they don’t email. The teller handed us his business card and the only thing decipherable is his phone number (I guess that’s all that counts, really). When we said we’d like to have separate accounts, they asked us why.It’s unbearably frustrating not understanding a word of Hebrew. But Mr. Big Eyes and I have mastered “Shalom” and “Toda” so perhaps we’ll have a few more words by next week. The money looks like monopoly money. The street signs and billboards are all in Hebrew, and we’re already looking into Hebrew lessons. We had a coffee and a sandwich at a coffee shop next to the bank and it felt like “Le Pain Quotidien” in rectangular fish bowl — wooden tables and glass storefront. Our bank looks like The Guggenheim from outside.I love the different sounds — the chirping of colorful birds, gardeners mowing the lawn, palms blowing in the wind. And the flora and fauna are a constant reminder that we’re in a tropical setting — bougainville dripping off walls, palm trees, pastel-colored flowers whose names I’ve never learned.I’ve barely been out since I’m at home with the kids but I’ve taken a walk down my friend’s street. The buildings are very modern, seemingly just-built, and quite anonymous. The important buildings (like the Embassy residences) lack windows, probably for security reasons and to protect their inhabitants from the stifling heat.We’ve called family on the phone on Skype so we still feel in touch. But, still, despite the phone calls, there is the feeling that we are very far away now. The Middle East. I can’t believe I can now say I live in the Middle East. I’m happy to be here but lonely. I know that will change soon but it’s up to me to make it change. Leaving Brussels was not easy since we had so many close friends who became our family. Sofia was hospitalized for a week right before we left for Tel Aviv — in fact, we postponed our departure by four days because of it. I spent a week in the hospital with her, day and night switching shifts with my husband, and it was not how I imagined I’d spend my last week in Brussels. Friends bombarded us with their love and support while we were hand-wringing in the hospital, and so I never felt alone. That’s why it suddenly feels so lonely to be here now in limbo, in transition, in the Middle East as we wait to move into our new house and start our life here. Writing makes me feel closer to something — perhaps that my past could contribute to my future?Here’s a toast to Tell All in Tel Aviv.