Dance is Not Comfortable

We have cycled through various choreographers during the last 2 months of the DanceJerusalem program as we prepared two different works. One is part of a piece called...by Vertigo. The other is part of Kamyot by BatSheva. This has been interesting, as we have received very different interpretations of the pieces we are in. Sometimes confusing, as this will often change the directions, but overall very enlightening.

The other day, we had a choreographer come in who was part of BatSheva for 10 years and just recently left. He was by far one of my favorite choreographers. The BatSheva piece that we are working on has often felt very peaceful. It was much easier for me to learn than the Vertigo piece because each movement is very specific and is part of a new story. However, this new choreographer refused to allow us to settle into the piece. He pushed us to go further into it, to really challenge ourselves and I LOVED it. He spoke to us as my coaches used to when I played field hockey. Usually, when we finish this piece, we are all fine, not breathing too heavily, ready to do it again and to correct what needs to be corrected. But, under his direction, we were all panting at the end of the piece. He would accept no less than this complete throwing of ourselves into the movement.

Stone Soup

"Once upon a time (“far, far away!” someone shouted), there was an old man.” So the story of Stone Soup began, told by a friend sitting next to me. “Now, this old man was poor and he was hungry. He had been wandering the countryside for a while and was hoping to happen upon some food. He found himself in a small village and began to ask the townspeople if they would be able to share a meal with him. But everyone refused, telling him how hungry they were, how they barely had enough for themselves. After being refused time and time again, the old man called everyone to the center of the village. ‘I would like to make you all a meal. It will be the best meal you have ever had! All we need is a pot of water and a stone.’ ‘A stone?!’ the villagers asked, incredulously. The old man assented, then paused: ‘But I have just remembered! This stone soup will be even more delicious with an onion.’ A villager piped up, ‘I have an onion!’ And off she went running to get her onion so she could add it to the soup. ‘What about a clove of garlic?’ someone asked. ‘Yes,  I think that would be quite good.’ The soldier responded. Soon all the villagers were hurrying off to their pantries, grabbing whatever they had, even if it was only a carrot or a sprig of parsley. They all brought their ingredients and added them to the large pot of boiling water. Soon, a wonderful, rich smell began to emanate from the pot. The village had made stone soup. It was the best and the biggest meal that they had eaten in a long time. The entire community had contributed what they had and they all came together that night to dine on stone soup.”

I found myself beaming as I listened to the story. A few weeks ago when I told my friends this story over one of our first “Stone Soup” dinners, they had never heard it before. It was a story I grew up with and was reminded of when friends and I began to cook and eat together here in Israel. Everyone contributes a little something, even if it was just a can of sweet corn or a red pepper. And suddenly we have a huge meal, always enough to feed the 12+ people who end up at dinner.

Trip Number 3: Eilat and Petra (Jordan)

Short bus ride. Long bus ride. Chug chug chugging along. Chug chug chug...what? No more chugging along? SPUTTER. Dead bus.
Our bus died about 30 minutes into the journey. We were stranded on the side of the road in a desert-y area while the driver mopped his forehead and peered at the engine. Three Bedouin women with black face veils, shimmery black tops, baseball caps and Adidas sweatpants/sneakers rode by on donkeys and waved. "We'll get there faster if we take those," my neighbor said cynically. Another bus came to the rescue and we were on our way.
At the midway point of our five hour drive, the driver hopped back in to start the bus. He tried. And tried. And looked like he was about to cry. We were laughing hysterically at this point, sure that we would have to wait for another bus to come and rescue us. Finally, the driver, his face red with the effort, got the bus to start and we were on our way.

Eilat with a view of Petra

We drove through the desert, which never stops astonishing me with its incredible vastness. Mounds and mounds of yellow sand as far as the eye can see, sprinkled with rock but otherwise completely desolate. Such a different world than the over-developed one that I am so used to.
We reached Eilat, one of the southern-most cities in Israel. Now, I was invited on this trip and agreed to go because, well, why not. I really had no idea what Eilat was like or why Petra was exciting. Until I spent a few minutes reading up on both in the last half hour of our bus ride. Eilat is mainly a tourist town. It's attractions are its beach, where there are beautiful coral reefs (hence much scuba diving) and....well, yeah, that's pretty much it.

YOU HAVE NEVER TAKEN BALLET BEFORE?!?!?!?!

Even if that isn’t exactly how he said it, underneath his perfectly trimmed eyebrows, I could tell that was what he was thinking. I had just completed my first ballet class with a renowned professor at the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance. Surrounded by graceful swans with long necks and light-as-feather-arms who were born with tutus attached to their hips, I galumphed through the entire hour and a half. The dance professor, an imposing man wearing what to me looked like very flexible combat boots(later I was informed that they were in fact jazz shoes), had kindly glued himself in front of me after five minutes of watching me try really, really hard to follow his instructions. With twinkling eyes, he unclenched my iron grip on the bar and commented generally “We want to barely touch the bar. After all, it is not supporting us. We simply rest our hand on it. Lightly.” Later in class he poked me in various places until I was standing with a “supported, strong ballet posture.” I felt more so that I had just been made into a very awkward shape, with my neck sticking out, my bum tucked in and my stomach sucked in determinedly. But he was pleased. So class continued, with me attempting to fake my way through the steps. After a floor portion, which I basically ended up can-canning, class was over and I approached the professor.

“Thank you for all your advice! I have never taken ballet before.”

Trip Number 1 1/2: A Mystical Path

Camera on, I enter the scene. I am wearing a full-length black dress, a black t-shirt that covers my collar bones and a sweater that covers my arms. I am fully covered. I am on my way to the Hasidic neighborhood to meet the professor of my Hasidism class. He invited his 40+ person class over to his house for tea/coffee and cake, then planned on taking us to various "tishes" (tishot? tishim?): huge, amazing, dancing celebrations of Sukkot. I, as always, have no idea where I am going. Despite the fact that I spent half an hour staring at a map of where I needed to get, then copied it down for myself, I somehow forgot to put down any street names or markers that would orient me if I diverted from the correct path. Which I did from the very beginning, when I decided that I was much smarter than the directions. A call to a friend and I was back on the right path, wandering through an Arab neighborhood to get to the Hasidic neighborhood. It was dark and only the second time I have ever wandered around Jerusalem by myself. I hadn't planned to go by myself, but I was damned if I was going to let that stop me from going on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Running through my mind: Am I less of a target because I look like a very religious Jew? Or am I more of a target? A target of what? I put on my "don't mess with me face" and walked confidently, trying not to think about how stupid I was for walking around at night by myself!

In Jerusalem, there is one glowing street sign per every street corner. Which means that it is not always on the same side of the street as you. After crossing many streets and then crossing back, I found my way into the Hasidic neighborhood. Although I was still being looked at funny, I found that I felt much more comfortable. The apartments I passed glowed with light, sukkahs built on balconies and porches were filled with music and the high-pitched babble of kids.

Life of Many Tracks

I came to Israel for many reasons. Many good reasons, in my mind. I had planned on studying abroad in India, but knew that I had little reason to go there aside from being interested in the culture and huge fan of Indian food and Bollywood movies. When I went on Birthright last January, I was incredibly intrigued by Israel. I was fascinated by the coexistence of so many different types of Jewish people in one place. I was intrigued by the passion that EVERYONE who lives here has for the land and for the politics and for the history. Jerusalem is the birthplace of the three major monotheistic religions, evident in a quick walk around the city. When I returned back to Wesleyan, I realized that I wanted to go back. I wanted to know more, to see how/if I could fit into Israel, to live in a country where you were proud of where you came from and passionate about your heritage, something that I have always felt to be lacking in the left-wing American world I grew up in. With a bit of research, I found out that Israel has become over the last two decades a hotbed for modern dance. Dance and religion together in an old, historically rich, politically complicated place that had some connection to my Jewish heritage? Really, what could be more perfect? I petitioned the   Office of International Studies to allow me to come even though I had not taken the requisite year of Hebrew, was approved, got into the program and am here today.
But I find myself constantly questioning WHY. Before I went into college, I fell absolutely in love with cultural anthropology. It shaped the way that I viewed the world while speaking to the respect and curiosity about other people and cultures that I was brought up with. I wanted to be an anthropologist. I was severely disappointed by the anthropology department at Wesleyan, but luckily fell in love with the freshness and openness of the Dance and Religion departments. There are many ways to learn about the world and I never feared the new perspectives that my two new passions would give to me.
Here, I have felt myself splitting. My interests in dance, religion and anthropology still remain. But they exist completely differently in these completely different worlds.
At Wesleyan, I can be a dancer even though I have no technical training and little knowledge of the greater dance world. I am taught to create and to think, to observe and to react. My dancing is whatever I make it and, as long as I commit wholeheartedly to that, I am accepted and supported. Likewise with the religion department. I am taught to write, to discuss, to engage with materials that I am given. But I sometimes feel I am lacking in real knowledge. At school, I am taught to be a person, and I am not forced to know anything other than my own thoughts and opinions.
In this world, maybe known as the "real world," everything is topsy-turvey. I have entered into a dance world where people came out of the womb with ballet shoes. They are technically trained and VERY aware of the dance world. They speak of Martha (Graham) and Merce (Cunningham) as though familiar with them. In fact, many of my teachers were in direct contact with many of the dance greats (something that doesn't impress me most of the time because I have yet to understand the greatness of these greats). I am often intimidated and constantly challenged by the idea that I might never catch up to my peers. But the question exists in my mind: do I want to?
I love movement, I love the human body, I love creation, I love art. This has translated easily into a love of dancing, a love of choreographing, a love of watching dance performances. But I have little real notion of where these loves will take me in the future. Normally I do not even worry about that - my "future" has always existed in fuzzy concentric circles in my head, not linearly. But here people speak of which company they want to join, who they would never work with, the ordeals of being a dancer.
I could have studied biology and run. I could have studied exercise science while doing yoga constantly. I could have taken tons of drawing and art history courses. But I am here, a dance major. A term with such different meanings at Wesleyan and in the "real world".
On the other hand, I have such strong anthropologist tendencies. A walk around Me'ah Sharim, a Hasidic neighborhood, awoke within me such a passionate curiosity about the lives and thoughts and relationships of the myriad of Hasidim living in the second oldest settlement in Jerusalem. I realized that I could be ecstatically happy if I settled in Me'ah Sharim as an anthropologist for 3 years or so and dedicated my life to learning about those people, then turning my work into an ethnography. In fact, that is EXACTLY what I feel like I have always wanted to do!
So, what do I do? It's like I have these two different tracks that my train wheels fit on so perfectly, yet they have completely diverged. How to connect them? How to not feel as though my time in the "real world" or at Wes are wasted as they are not furthering me on one track, but really taking me further and further away from the junction? How to handle this??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
I. Have. No. Idea.

Trip Number 2: Ein Gedi, Masada and the Dead Sea

You know those moving staircases in Hogwarts Castle? That is sometimes what I feel like life is like in Israel. I do not have to decide or plan out trips I want to take, I just shove stuff in a backpack and GO!
Which is how I came to be found in my kitchen at 12:30AM, cooking all the food I had, trying to pack enough for 2 people to survive for 2 days without buying food. Potato/ginger/curry, green beans and garlic, onions/red peppers/lots of salt, tons of rice, 3 cucumbers, figs, all ready to go. At 2:30AM I went to bed.

8:45AM and I am ready to go, sleeping bag and mat borrowed, as little packed as possible as my bag is mostly full of food. On my way, in a group of 12 people to Ein Gedi, the Dead Sea and Masada. The plan is to hike in the Ein Gedi nature reserve the first day, camp overnight, hike Masada and float in the Dead Sea.









Hike we did, once we finally found the nature reserve.











The desert is BEAUTIFUL. Very dry (obviously, but it needed to be said) and so vast.

 We were hiking next to a tiny little spring that blossomed into waterfalls at various points of the hike. There were many families out, kids splashing around in the cool water. Really makes you think about the value of water. This little bit of green was so precious in the dusty landscape. I was also constantly aware of how much water I had at my disposal, as it was sloshing around heavily on my back.







Up and up and up. If you were to slip, you would slide down forever on grayish reddish rocks. The higher we went, the more amazing the view was.









We could see most of the Dead Sea and so many dunes/cliffs spread below. Barely any green, mainly yellow, and so quiet. Across from us rose more mountains of a similar style: Jordan.

We ended up camping right next to the Dead Sea. I decided not to partake in the evening swim in the Dead Sea as I was already there on Birthright. I also have been deeply scarred by middle school camping trips where I was always freezing, so I was trying my hardest to contain my warmth. This became a bit ridiculous when I had put 4 layers of clothes on and it was still about 75 degrees outside. Amazingly, it remained warm the entire night!!!! We sat around, ate junk food (because there ARE stores, albeit overpriced ones), talked, stared at the millions of stars.

On the edge of one of the Jordanian mountains, I spotted an orange glow. What could it be? The sun rising (it was about 7PM)? A bomb (wow, so negative)? No, is it? Could it really be? It is! It's the moon! As orange as the sun, it rose so quickly. The pitch black that we had experienced for about an hour was gone, as the world around us was light with the dusky white light of the moon. I watched it rise, entranced by its movement. Around me the air was warm and filled with sounds of singing (as huge family groups celebrated Sukkot with a DJ singing Israeli/Jewish songs) and the laughter of my fellows travelers as they talked and tried to dance along to the music (very difficult, as the announcer sang about 35 seconds of each song than got bored and switched). I found myself engaged in many interesting, deep conversations, than floated peacefully in my own thoughts for a while.



Eventually, it was time for bed. A friend and I spread out our sleeping bag and blanket, which we were sharing, and lay down. Above us, the sky was still alive, full of mystical clouds and stars and the moon. That beautiful Lady Moon. I felt myself more in touch with the mystical, spiritual, pagan, witchcraft part of my beliefs. After all, we are all made of stars. So I slept. Next to two friends, a wash of stars above, tons of rocks below, and us, so small, at peace, there, in that moment.
I woke to the hot pink of the sunrise. The entire campsite was waking up with the sun. The Dead Sea was sparkling tantalizingly as the sky moved from pink to peach to orange to yellow to blue. And we were off again.





Up Masada we went on the Snake Path. I have climbed Masada before, but I guess we took the easy route. My body was tired and the steps grew increasingly steep. Not to mention that it was the middle of the day and the sun was beating down on us ruthlessly! Increased my respect for ancestors who lived in the desert. Made me a bit bitter about the people whizzing over my head in the 67NIS cable car to the top.














































With many stops to admire the view (read: catch our breath), we made it to the top of the mountain and began to explore Masada, one of the oldest Roman ruin sites.












Masada was the Winter Palace of the Roman King Herod in the 3-4 centures BCE.













Later, along with the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE, Jews holed themselves up in Masada, trying to stave of the siege of the Romans. They held out for a surprisingly long time, but eventually realized the Romans would capture them and make them slaves. Thus, there was a mass suicide, as the Jews would rather die than be made slaves.

Today, Masada remains an very important symbol for Israel. We witnessed a young boy being Bar Mitzvahed and were told that soldiers swear their oath of service on Masada.






We wandered in the three palaces on top of Masada, descended into a huge water cistern, marveled at the beautiful mosaics on the ground of the Western Palace. We continued to be awed by the amazing view, shouted and listened to the echo of our voices as they bounced among the mountains, were astonished at the fact that a palace on top of a mountain had so many baths and ritual cleansing spaces.

It sure was hot! We made our way back down, hopped on a sherut and made it back to Israel by about three. Covered in dust, coming home to little or no food in my pantry, sleep deprived, I realized how lucky I am to be able to travel like this. I can experience so much and end up back in a familiar place. I get to sleep in my bed, cook, take a shower and then go out and do it all again. Why can't all traveling be like this?!

Elisa's Travel Tip: Do not travel in a group of 12 people. It is too many. To fully experience a place and the people, traveling with up to 2 people seems like the best idea. Unless the group you are with is comfortable splitting up. 

Elisa's Travel Tip: Travel with people you know you like. Because when you get tired and cranky, you will hate even the people you like. If the people you are with get on your nerves normally, it will be more difficult!

Waking Up in Israel: The Return of Gilad Shalit and 1,000 Prisoners

(Written while listening to Katy Perry's "Waking Up In Vegas")

Generally, I wake up with the sunrise. To the sound of the muezzin's call to prayer, a beautifully eery song echoing throughout Jerusalem. Sometimes I wake up to the crowing of a rooster. Sometimes to the banging around of my roommates in the kitchen.

This morning I awoke to the sounds of firecrackers, fireworks, sirens and helicopters. It is the day that Gilad Shalit, an Israeli soldier who has been held captive, will be released after 5 years in captivity, held by Hamas. In exchange, Israel has/will free 1,000 prisoners. Today, 477 of them will be freed.

Let me tell you, it is INCREDIBLY unnerving to be woken up by fireworks. To look out the window and to see an IDF patrolling balloon thing in the air. To hear parades of cars honking and people shouting: everyone is celebrating.

But everyone is celebrating something different and I cannot help but feel nervous. Many of the prisoners being released in exchange for Gilad helped mastermind suicide bombings and terrorist attacks on Israel. Most of them were foiled, resulting in their capture. But they are being returned TO Israel (although some of them have been expelled to Egypt). Wherever their final destination, their reincorporation into Hamas and/or Fatah seems only imminent.

I am a complete humanist. I am so excited that all these people are being freed, that they are returning to their families after years spent in a horrible, suffocating cell. How amazing it must feel to finally see the sun, feel the wind on your face. I cannot imagine how amazing it must be. There are celebrations taking place everywhere, people speaking, tons of people amassed to greet those who have been freed. I can actually hear joyful shouting and singing from my window.

But all of it makes me incredibly nervous. I live in East Jerusalem, so the people who are celebrating are/were Palestinian. I live in a Kfar of Hebrew University, so those who are celebrating on campus are Israeli/Israeli supporters. It creates so many questions in my mind. Of course everyone deserves to be celebrating. But they are celebrating such different things! What will come of it all?!?!? More deaths, more abductions?

How to be a spectacle in Israel

Be female: You know how you are always taught that staring is rude? Here, staring is constant. Sometimes accompanied by honks, lewd gestures and shouts.

Be female and from America: More of a problem for blonde, blue-eyed white women. People here do not seem to know what to think of me. They all seem to know I have some kind of African heritage (as I have been told this on several occasions. Although here it does not feel insulting.) But I still stand out.

Be female and go running: Because that is what I have been doing since I was 12, so why should I not do it here (oops, where is my anthropologist mentality????). I have found that having my iPod playing helps. It allows to me ignore any comments made and to run almost blissfully.

Be female and go running in purple shorts and a sports jersey: In the US, these shorts are considered "basketball shorts" meaning that they are long and baggy. Much longer than what most women wear to run around a park. Here, they are very, VERY short.

Be female, go running in odd clothes, and do it all on Shabbat: When everyone is decked out in their Shabbat finest, its super fun to cruise around them, sweating and panting like a mad woman.

Do all of the above and then sit down: When I did this, because sitting down is always part of my runs, a man stopped to chat with me. Now, I am generally pretty friendly, so I chatted back. He offered me some chocolate-filled Bomba (basically peanut butter cheetos), talked to me about my running shoes, told me how much he runs, made me guess his age (58), guessed mine, told me about his time as a soldier fighting in the Yom Kippur War, began crying as he explained that 25 soldiers in his unit (?) died, told me that Gilad Shalit's return was only temporary, talked to quite a few people passing by, explained to me that they thought I was his girlfriend, asked about my family history, told me he had seen Roots (in order to relate to my Dad being African American), told me about his family from Kurdistan, told me all Kurds are very strong, invited me to a Kurdistan party in the park tomorrow if I was still in town. He then got distracted when a girl from France came up and asked us for help with her credit card. It really was quite a fun conversation, although I didn't understand half of it as the man was switching back and forth from Hebrew to English quite liberally while crying and conversing with people who walked by. It didn't feel as creepy as it sounds, it was more like talking to an old family friend. A bit strange, but interesting!

Do all of the above and walk: When you are running, no one bothers you because, by the time they have thought about it, you are gone. But, if you start walking, people tend to talk to you. Like a Muslim high school girl who stopped me and asked me questions in Arabic while I wore my stupid American "HELP" face and begged "Anglit, anglit?" over and over again. I was obviously the butt of a joke.

So, all this begs the question: do I continue to run? Do I keep some habits that are more normal when you are NOT in Jerusalem, surrounded by very devout people? Do I stop running? I'm not really sure.

Being a Moral Tourist

"I just saw that guy rob 2 vending machines. I think that entire bag is full of money he stole from them! What do I do? I did nothing! UGH. I hate morals."
"Actually, it seems like you like them a lot." -Conversation between me and a friend on the way back from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem.

My definition of a tourist: 
Bad tourist: Obnoxious, feels as though every experience is their prerogative, thinks of everything as a novelty. Interested only in their experience at that moment.
Good tourist: Respectful, humble about their position wherever they are. Interested in the history, politics, religion, culture of where they are. Attempt to understand that what they are experiencing as new is normal to many people.

My thoughts on being a moral tourist:

• Having a huge camera hanging around your neck is not what makes you look like a tourist. It is what you are taking pictures of. 
• First of all, no one wants to have you photographing their children. My Mom used to yell at anyone who tried to take pictures of me when I was little. Unless you ask permission from someone, taking pictures of them as though they are a novelty is rude and callous.
• If you point at everything and oo and ahh, you are marked forever as a tourist. 
• Being mindful of the way that you dress is important. Most likely, you will never completely fit in wherever you are. American casual and Israeli casual involve completely different colors, styles and gender norms. But that does not mean you cannot try. 
• Attempt to speak the language. In Israel, many people know at least a bit of English. Some are insistent on practicing their English with you. But most are happy to help you practice and grateful that you try, instead of just assuming that the world caters to you as an English-speaker. This also helps when living in an international community: here, Hebrew is sometimes the bridge in communicating with people from France, Germany etc. when English cannot supply the word. 
• Be aware of noise level. We Americans are VERY loud. As young Americans, we are even louder. As young Americans traveling in large groups EVERYWHERE, we are REALLY loud. There is no better way to attract attention to yourself than when you are pointing at everything, flashing pictures, and shouting above each other. Especially as, in Israel, even the loudest of conversations seem a bit quieter in comparison. 
• Asking questions is fabulous. Ask everyone. Today, I had a great conversation with a taxi driver. For me, as a prideful person, it can often be difficult to ask about things that I know are normal for Israelis, but it seems that most people do not think they are silly questions. (By the way, the taxi driver's favorite place in Israel is Tiberias, in the North. He grew up around the Mount of Olives and he often works on Shabbat, even though he is Jewish.)
• THINK about where you are. I feel that I am so aware of the differences in culture here because I am constantly observing and talking about them. How, at the beach, I made the mistake of thinking many guys were women because they had long hair, wore flowing pants and cut off t-shirts. Bringing my own attention to this in conversation with a friend helped me to question why that would be a typically female outfit in America. 

I thought about the implications of tourism a lot on a trip to Meah Sharim, a Hasidic neighborhood I ventured into with some friends to observe Shabbat preparations. Living in Jerusalem is constantly introducing me to different looking people, celebrations, cultural aspects etc. I have observed many of my peers rushing greedily to capture all that they can. I have worked very hard on absorbing as much as I can with understanding from all sides. Thus, I try to not only see, but to think about what I am seeing, why I am seeing it, what it would be like to see it from the other side and what it would be like to see me from the other side. This is a fabulous asset and makes me feel that I am much more aware of myself and my surroundings.
Thus, I have very few pictures of many amazing experiences like that. But I have my words and I can describe. Not walking around snapping pictures of everything also helps me to blend in a little bit more, helps me to remember that what is foreign for me is normal for everyone who lives here. I am in fact out of place! More and more, it helps me to feel like I am living here instead of just capturing moments for my scrapbook.

(A big thanks to my Cultural Anthropology training for all this mindfulness. Changed my life!)

Trip Number 1: Trip to Tel Aviv

You might ask yourself, as I often do, whether or not I ever attend school. At the moment, it doesn't really feel like I do! I had a week off for Rosh Hashana break (went to Tel Aviv and the Mt. of Olives), had about a week and a half of school and now I have 2 weeks off for Sukkot break. This is fabulous (although made that small amount of in-school time very difficult to focus on!).
I, as a poor college student without a job and in another country, decided that I would try to stay in my apartment for most of the break. I would take a few day trips, but would try to sleep in my own bed and eat food that I had cooked. That was how break started...
Day 1: Woke up. Made a big brunch. Went back to bed. Woke up. Made a huge dinner.
Day 2: Woke up. Went to Meah Sharim, a Hasidic neighborhood, to observe preparations for Sukkot. Most people had departed to different corners of Israel at this point and I realized that I was VERY antsy. I wanted to go somewhere to!!!!!!!







Day 3: At 9:00AM, I find myself zooming perilously down the highway to Tel Aviv.







We arrive and start looking for a hostel. The first place we went to was...well, scary to say the least. In fact, I'm not sure it was hostel. There was just a lonnngggg dark hallway with ominous looking doorways and a lot of trash on the ground. We hustled out of there as fast as we could. The next place we went to looked a little bit less sketchy. A friend jumped to pull the bell, which was placed at about 7 feet in the air, and we were buzzed up.

Full of young people. "Chill"
is a good word. Made me feel like
I was back at school!!

"Heeyyyyy, you all must be the people from Costa Rica," a man who was obviously very hungover said while high-fiving us. "No," we responded. "We just want a room." We were offered a bed on the roof for 60 shekels (a bit less than $20). We agreed.

"What a strange place," I kept saying. The chic, young
and artsy mixed with what were basically shanty-towns.

No one was out, as it was the first day of Sukkot. 

Off we went to the beach, snacking on pita and hummus that one of our savvy traveler friends had packed in his bag. The Mediterranean was soooo blue and sooo beautiful. Everyone was out, as it was the first day of Sukkot and most of the shops were closed. People were barbecuing and flying kites and swimming: it was LOVELY. My friends were actually given a huge amount of BBQ as we were walking along by a very kind family. Good feeling was all around! 










We found a spot on the beach and jumped into the water. Only to find that this section of the beach was much less clean than the last one we were at. We were surrounded by floaty things that ranged from plastic bags, seaweed and discarded hats to other objects which were less easily identifiable. It had been a long day (HAHA) and a nap was in order.

A friend and I stretched out, him to read and me to sleep, although I quickly fell asleep, while our other two friends continued to frolic in the waves. They then began to build an epic sandcastle while simultaneously digging two very deep holes that they could stand in, making it look like they had lost their legs. When I woke up to this sight, I was very confused, haha.

Jaffa port at sundown. 

After three hours on the beach, we decided to search for food. We headed in the direction of Old Jaffa. When I came here for Birthright in January, Jaffa was my favorite place in Israel. It was the place I claimed I wanted to live if I ever settled in Israel. I wasn't sure why then and I have no idea now, but Jaffa is still my favorite place in Israel. It is beautiful and homey feeling.

Sigh. No words. 

Kiortush and a cappuccino.

We found a store called "Kiortush" and sat down for a coffee. The people at the neighboring table ordered this amazing pastry-thing and we decided that it was a necessary part of our experience to order one as well. We ordered a kiortush with halva (sweet sesame seed paste) in between the layers of the dough, caramel and toasted almonds on the outside. It. Was. Amazing.






Our destiny was Dr. Shakshuka. Shakshuka is basically two sunny-side up eggs in spicy tomato sauce. Lucky for me, unless specified, it is ALWAYS vegetarian. We were told this was the best shakshuka ever, so we decided to wander around Jaffa until it was time to eat.


We found the port and caught the end of the sunset. It was so beautiful, it took my breath away.

The view of Tel Aviv from the Jaffa Port area. 

So many families, of all different colors and sizes, were out, wandering around. There was beautiful art on the walls (some may call it graffiti, but I don't. This seems to exist all over Tel Aviv. There is a plethora of purple eggplants, bandaids, the word "sperm," different monster-like creatures and very inspirational, matter-of-fact statements sprayed onto the sides of so many buildings). We took picture after picture, reveling in being tourists, until we finally found our way back to Dr. Shakshuka. And ate and ate and ate.




Afterwards, what else could we do but eat some more? So we went to get frozen yogurt/gelato (I'm not sure what it was, as it was claimed to have both). The flavors ranged from the basic (chocolate, vanilla) to the unique (Werther's candy, nutella, ferro roche). I got Snickers and caramel.
Had we eaten enough? Yes. We wandered around for a bit. Entire streets were taken up by candle-lit tables at little restaurants. It was so gorgeous and, well, romantic. Eventually, we ventured back to our hostel, to change and rest, with plans of going out in the evening. We ended up just sitting around, looking at the stars and talking. I ordered my first beer, drank 1/8th of it and gave it away. I really don't like beer. Slowly, we got sleepier and sleepier, till we were tucked on our respect sofas/hammocks.
A midnight revelation: I was, for the first time, celebrating Sukkot. Sukkot was the first real Jewish holiday I celebrated with my family. It is a very pagan celebration of the harvest. You construct a temporary building (with various requirements, of course. One is that you must be able to see the stars) and put decorations of fall fruits around it. And here I was, with a see-through tarp over my head and the moon right above me. Beautiful.
I woke up to a blue, blue sky. We decided we needed another kiortush before we left. The man who was working yesterday was tickled to see us. "This is the best thing you ate here, yes?" YES, I told him.

We then wandered around the area, where there were tons of antiques and various other items being sold in the street. I bought a pair of very flowy, genie-like pants which are in very vogue here. I then bargained (kind of) for a bunch of bangles. Check one on my bucket list: bargain! It was fun. We Americans are so reserved: it is hard to bargain!!!! But, the shop owner obviously was having a blast, enjoying our discomfort. "It is Shabbat, I just want to go home. You want for 200NIS? No, 350NIS. Here, you take. I just want to go home!" was his running monologue as my friend tried to buy a large tapestry (amusingly, we had just watched him fill in the pattern on another tapestry with a cheap felt tip pen). When we left, he smiled at us and shook our hands, wishing us happy holidays. He then pinched my cheek and told me I was so beautiful in a very grandfatherly way.
It was then time to split up. A friend and I were going to a dance performance (The Project) at the Tel Aviv Opera House, while our other friends were planning on wandering around.
After the performance, we grabbed huge slices of pizza (we hadn't eaten anything for hours! GASP!). Hopped on a bus and were headed home to Tel Aviv. We actually knew how to get back this time and our way around Tel Aviv! We still walked around a ton, but it was all in good fun. Got off the bus, very groggy, bargained down a taxi driver and ended up back in my apartment. Great adventure.  Bring on the next one!

Turns out I live in the shuk + some meal math

Turns out I live in the shuk. Whenever I have free time, I seem to be in the shuk. Tonight we went to the shuk to party. My life revolves around the shuk. 

French Hill, where I live. 

 Some meal math: 

The shuk!  

Dinner begins with 1. 

1 conversation about food and moves 2 quickly to 3 people in the kitchen. 

4 dinner tonight we have 5 pots on the 4 burner stove and 6 people who are actually in the kitchen. 

7 people are sitting around, drinking wine and eating appetizers, they can’t wait till they have 8. 

9 extra dishes are needed and 10 extra utensils. 

Want some cheap cereal? Just be sure to check the expiration date.
Sometimes it expires in a month. Sometimes it expired
3 months ago! 

With 11 people, I begin to worry that there isn’t enough food and we are up to 6 dishes on the table, a number that is still increasing. 

12 was the first big dinner, but now it seems we have skipped to 15, 17, 20 people.

The birds love this store. They had just flown away when
I took this picture.

 5 people sitting on the floor, 9 people on chairs and couches, 8 dishes. 

6 people have wandered in randomly and are invited to stay.

Spices and spices and spices galore. 

 4 people clean up, 2 dishes are set out for dessert, 3 hours have passed since we begun. 

One of the few women who works at the shuk. 

Everyone is full, everyone is smiling, everyone is talking or just being. 

1 dinner = Me + a roommate, or maybe 2 + 4 people from another apartment + 2 people who live below us + 3 people who live above us + 1 person who lives next to us + some random people who seem to have a sixth sense and only ever show up when we are cooking food + 1 person from my class + a roommate’s friend = a normal amount of people for dinner any given night of the week.

On the menu this week?

Yesterday: Scallion pancakes, sweet and sour soup, rice noodles, sweet rice balls with a peanut sauce, tapioca pudding, bruschetta and pita, guacamole and chips, mashed potatoes with garlic and cheese, white rice, stir-fried broccoli, white wine, red wine, plum wine, cookie dough/cookies

Tonight: improvised curry made with left over coconut milk and so many veggies, scallion pancakes, left over rice, tapioca pudding, no-bake peach crumble, Israeli salad, leftover chili, leftover squash, potatoes and olive dish, broccoli and bean sprout dish.

Tomorrow for brunch: yogurt, fruit, pancakes, French toast (with nutella?), a frittata

My mantras: There can never be enough people. There can never be enough food. No, you don’t have to bring anything! (Just do the dishes later…) Stone soup (everyone contributes something at some point and we get to eat a wider variety of things and more things). Dynamics are important: if someone doesn't fit in well with the 12 or so normal people, well, that's all, bye-bye!

Nuts and dried fruit

I thrive in this setting, with so many people stopping in and eating and the chaos and the way that, in the end, everything always works out, and everyone is always so much happier after a good meal and good, leisurely time with friends. This is how life should be, yes? 

OF COURSE YES! 

Canddddyyyyyyyy

Don't know how I managed to miss taking a picture of the pastry stores.
Next time. Muhahahahaha.