Learning to Listen to the Music

My life at Wesleyan is characterized by my constant motion. In my hot pink backpack I carry at least two changes of clothes (one for dance class, one for work), snacks, homework, books etc. My friends know that I am always rushing off to somewhere. And I love it. I relish it. There is never anything that I want to give up.

The beautiful view of Jerusalem that I have from my living room. Where I am sitting, not doing homework, listening to music and just being!

When I decided to come to Israel, I knew that I was coming because I wanted to experience a different place. Choosing my classes for the semester, therefore, presented me with a very difficult problem. Should I take as many as I normally do at Wesleyan or take fewer, give myself time to actually experiencethis wonderful place in which I am living? Back and forth I went. Finally, I made my decision. It was more important to me to actually BE in Israel and to learn from that than to take as many classes as I could.

While my roommates and friends delightedly compared how little time they had, a game I almost always win at Wesleyan, I sat and listened in silence. I couldn't help feeling racked by guilt. What was I thinking? I should be taking as many classes as I could!!! I should be working myself to the bone! That is the only way to experience things!!!
But somehow, despite all of my guilt, I persevered. I did not add any extra classes and I actually managed to condense my schedule so that I would have class from Sunday-Thursday morning, giving me an almost completely free Thursday.
And I am so happy.

Blindfolded and Doesn't Speak the Language

How I found myself one day in dance class. The girl who had been translating for me was all of a sudden no where to be found. I couldn't see anything. And the teacher was speaking in Hebrew. I heard movement and knew that we were supposed to be doing something, but I had no idea what. So I cracked open my eyes and tried to watch other people.
The experience was freeing. The teacher used me to demonstrate the next part of the exercise, where a classmate would be moving us around, while speaking Hebrew. All I could understand was her touch. So I stopped listening and started concentrating on that. And the pressure of her hand on my arm became easier to understand, until we were flowing around the room, my eyes still covered.
The paradox of being in another country. Most of my time spent here is spent with students who speak English well (I have learned so much about Mexico, Canada, Germany, China). I attend academic classes spoken completely in English (except for my Hebrew class, because that would be absurd, wouldn't it?). It is only when I go to dance class (2 days a week, 6 classes) that I am reminded how out of my element I am here.
And I love it.
It is the ultimate challenge. Stick someone in a class where the primary language is movement, the secondary language is Hebrew and the tertiary one is English. See what will happen. I think I am faring much better than many of my DanceJerusalem friends. Their intense schedules did not allow them time to fit Hebrew class into their schedule, so they are not able to update their vocabulary. However, I am constantly learning new words. And in dance class, it is deliciously easy to infer the meaning of sentences as they are always accompanied by a decent amount of gesture and/or movement. It is the nonetheless still very difficult. People do actually speak English, but I am very uncomfortable with the teacher taking double the amount of time to explain things in English when I am the only student in class. It is also strange to have a student sitting next to you whispering in your ear. And is not necessarily good for their studies either.
Or take this situation. "Hi, Elisa!" "Hi!" (It is really difficult remembering people's names when they are so unfamiliar!) "How are you?" "Great!" "How are you?" "Good. Tired. (Turns to friends) MwFmawoiefljsdlkfslamfklsdfjlksajdfls hahahahahaha." What do I do? Either sit and stare at them intently as they talk trying to understand what they are saying, smile neutrally or wander away. Because regardless of how nice people are, they speak HEBREW! Even if they are not trying to leave you out of a conversation, it is inevitable. And, even when I understand, my spoken Hebrew is atrocious.
Before I came here, I promised myself that I would push myself. I would push myself to get out of the International, English-speaking bubble, to really get to know the REAL Israel. I am so glad that I am in dance classes where I do have to do so, but I am unsure how to take the next step to actually connect to my classmates. They are also 2-3 years older than me. And truly, even just being in another country is exhausting. It is no wonder that people are content to remain in whatever comfortable, homey place they carve out for themselves.

This post was inspired by the trials and tribulations of a good friend of mine. Check out his rants about falling through the cracks as an English speaker in a Hebrew school: http://carloantonio.wordpress.com/.

Stage Presence Comes from the Armpits

Also known as my first week of real school. I think this wisdom, uttered by my Contemporary Professor,  was very applicable. What can be more nerve wracking than the first week? But it is the sweat that one puts in that makes the impression! Or something like that...hahaha.

(What does this mean? What have I been doing for the last two months? September: I was in Ulpan (Hebrew Intensive) with the DanceJerusalem classes (learning choreography, taking modern and Gaga classes. October: Rothberg International School classes began (Hebrew, Hasidism, The Emergence of Biblical Israel) and DanceJerusalem classes (choreography, ballet, modern and Gaga classes).)
In Israel, classes began on October 30th. Now I am taking my Rothberg classes along with classes at the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance.

My week was filled with quite a few hilarious mishaps.

• Was unsure where the bus would pick me up. Instead of standing at the bus stop, I decided to stand outside the gate of the Student Village. From there I had a fabulous view of the bus passing me by...
• Assumed that the "behina" being given in class was a quiz, not a test (people here don't really distinguish). Even though I knew we were supposed to study two chapters of material. So, I didn't study very much...Boy, wasn't I surprised (although, hurrah for being a good test taker, I still got an A).   
• Tried to walk into friends' apartment (they live exactly below me). Was so embarrassed I ran up the stairs to my floor, only to realize that I had managed to wash my keys (stuck my keys in a jacket pocket, stuck jacket in laundry). Had to then walk back downstairs to ask them for asylum till my laundry was done. 
• Decided to buy a chocolate croissant. Dropped said treat. Down a flight of stairs. A nice lady in front of me picked it up and handed it to me...I waited until she couldn't see me to take a bite out of it. Yum. 

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.”

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.

How to (not) navigate Israel

So, I have been here for about a week and a half.
Looking over my prior posts, it looks as though I feel rather confident about where I am and what I am doing with my life.
Am I?
No.
As I sit out here (we still don't have internet in my apartment. The people who are supposed to fix it always seem to be off. Even when they are supposed to be in the office. For three more hours.), ignoring the fact that I am supposed to be doing homework, I have begun to contemplate the hilarious mistakes and wrong turns I have made this week. Also the things I have learned about Israel.

1. Are Israelis good drivers? No. In fact, the lines seem to mean very little to them. As though they just happen to have been thrown down there on the ground but really don't mean anything. So, driving over the line is pretty common.
1 1/2. Will I ever sit at the front of a shuttle/bus ever again? No. Made me too nervous.
2. It is really hard to shop when you can't read labels. Which is why my shampoo/conditioner smell quite similar to bug spray. One of my friends has actually joked that they have seen bugs scuttling away from me when I walk in the room. This is also why the curly hair product that I bought here smells like rice. I often stop and wonder what that strange smell is. Oh, yeah. It's me.
3. Buying food based on the way it looks and the expectations that come with that is really not a good idea. I bought blue cheese this week, thinking it had herbs in it. Not my fave. I also bought bread that is certainly whole wheat and healthy, to the point of having the texture of cardboard. Luckily, raspberry jam can fix anything. Always an adventure going to the store, I tell ya. I'm trying so many new things.
4. Looking guys in the face, or even not looking guys in the face, will generally result in a prolonged, awkward stare, probably a honk and possibly a wink or rude gesture. It is generally better to stare at the ground. Hee hee.
5. If someone calls you 'honey' or 'woman,' should you be offended? No. It's just Israel. And the leer that comes with it? Meh.
6. Walking 45 minutes in flip flops into the city of Jerusalem will give you blisters. Even if you don't notice them at first.

All that being said, I am having a blast. I went to a Shabbat dinner last night in a friend's apartment and it was fabulous. Reminded me so much of being at school. Everyone was so loud, chatting at the same time, and had brought SO much food. Then we started singing. When I moseyed back to my apartment, the people there asked if I knew where the singing came from. "Oh! That was us!" I said. "Wow!" they said. "You all sounded great!" I was eating dinner on the 2nd floor. My apartment is on the 6th!!!! Being with all those people was the first time that I really felt at home here. What a great feeling! I am already feeling sad about leaving! HAHA! Today I am going to a Shabbat brunch which will pretty much be in the same style! I am going to bring toast (cardboard bread) and raspberry jam.
When I returned to my apartment, it was full of people I knew, but none of my roommates were in sight. Regardless, it felt like the most natural thing. People were drinking wine, and I made some tea and sat down. We talked for a long time, about silly things and very deep things. I was told that I was "one of them." "Who?" I asked. "A person with a beautiful mind!" I am still flattered. We talked about what our minds were. The others said theirs were combinations of famous people all piled together. I said that mine was a mixture of sunflower seeds, the way the world looks right after it has rained and it is sunny, coffee beans  and something else, which I can't remember right now. "I don't know you very well," someone said. "But I think that's pretty accurate." So, there you go. That's what my mind looks like. I'm off to keep adventuring in Israel (aka make tons of toast)!

Shalom from Israel

First, let me say that it is very confusing typing on this website as the words are entered from right to left. So, I have arrived. It is 7 in the morning, just a bit too early for me to go outside and attempt to find and board a sherut (group taxi). I figured I'd while away my time by writing a quick update before life gets busy and my computer runs out of battery. The flights were uneventful. I had a decent amount of Elisa faux pas which I think I should share. The first flight was easy. I composed this ode, dedicated to the man sitting in front of me:
Dear Man Sitting In Front Of Me,

I hate you and your

Balding

Colorless head.

With the short, wavy hair of your

Abnormally sized cranium

You take up more room

Than should be allowed

Anyone.

I have been staring at

Your annoyingly large skull

For 6 hours,

Now,

And have come to resent it

As the TV screen is 3 inches from my face

And my food is

Closer to my stomach

Than when I actually eat it.

The poor person behind me

Must suffer this same lack of space

Because, in order to avoid suffocation,

I must copy your painfully selfish move.

Therefore,

Dear Man Sitting In Front Of Me,

You take up too much breathing room

And have caused a

Lack of space chain reaction.

If only your head was smaller.

(I apologize for the strange grammar placement, I should probably figure out howto change the language setting to English...Thank goodness I can usually recognize the word for Hebrew)

Then comes the second flight, after a 10 hour interlude in Heathrow. If you remember, I have once before spent 2 nights airlining, although I was much less prepared. But I feel equally disgusting and disoriented. Good to know.

The only people left in the airport at 10:30 were people going to Hong Kong and people going to Israel. It made me chuckle how visibly and audibly different these groups were. I boarded the plane and walked right past my seat, thinking it looked too nice not to be first class. I had to then fight the flow of people back to my seat, which was the first on the plane and stuff my luggage above despite the little amount of space. In the process, I kicked my neighbor and spilled dripped water on him from my bag as I tried to make it fit. He was obviously unhappy and had probably been hoping that there would be nobody sitting next to him. Oops.

So, now I wait. I am pretty addled, the few words and random phrases of Hebrew that I know are floating around in my head. I am simultaneously so excited to be here and just really don't believe that I am.
Miss and love you allllllllllll.
E