Random things about Israel

Corn is on everything. It is what they sell on the streets, like cotton candy and/or pretzels. My friend had a tuna and corn sandwich. Note: learn how to say words of vegetables. Because friend could only say tuna, this is what he got.

People just sit in their cars randomly. They stare at you. Sometimes they are eating. Sometimes they are preparing for a nap. Sometimes they are just sitting there. So they can stare at you.

No one buys kleenex. You see people carrying around toilet paper rolls in their cars, in restaurants, in class. Actually, very smart. Who needs the propriety of kleenex anyways?

An argument or problem has occurred. It may concern two people, say the ticket checker and someone with an expired ticket on the train. Within the span of 20 seconds, half the train car will be participating in the conversation, vehemently arguing for one side or the other. Remember the beginning scene of "Fiddler on the Roof"? Not an exaggeration.

Time? Doesn't really matter. If the train station says the train may arrive in 17 minutes, it could be true. Or the train could arrive in the next two minutes and the only way you know is that you will see the signs flashing "Vehicle in Station" as the train whizzes by you.

December 22

Wake up early. Make 10 eggs with sauteed garlic and onions. Add some fresh basil.

Start off to school. Report my apartment's latest craziness. 

Attend Hebrew class where my teacher speaks increasingly quickly in order to finish reviewing in time for us to eat. I cannot think without eating so I stare blankly at the board. We present her with a beautiful necklace to thank her as she was an amazing teacher. She must know at least 5 languages fully and bits and pieces of pretty much every other language. 

Head home, take a 2 hour nap to try to catch up on the sleep I have been missing because of the delicious, heavy late dinners we have and the homework that I try to do while my eyes heavily drift shut. Wake up, head to Tmol Shilshom, an adorable bookstore with amazing milkshakes with some friends. 

We decide to take the train. We get to the train station and neither of the 2 ticket machines will take our money because there is no change in the machines!!! Decide to take the bus. Which is at least 90 degrees despite the fact that it was a pleasant 75 outside. We sweat and chat with other students we run into on the bus. It takes us an hour to a place that we could have walked to in less time, but it was fun! Meet up with friends and start studying. Our chatter over milkshakes and coffee drives everyone else away. We study hard, preparing for the finals that are stretched out over the next three weeks.

"If you need a little touch of America, go to the West Bank"

"Hey, want to go to Bethlehem with us?" "SURE!" 

You hear a lot of things about the West Bank. In America, there is an insecurity about this Palestinian land. In Israel, the opinions range, as do those of international students. Our schools and sometimes our families tell us that it is unsafe to go there. I have heard many people say, "The West Bank? Yeah, I'd love to go. But I'm Jewish. And I LOOK Jewish." (I always find that statement funny as I feel like internationals are identified more with their nation than with their religion, especially as the Jewish stereotypes that exist in America are not the exact ones that exist about Israeli Jews.) Other people are very nonchalant about it. I didn't know what to think, but I decided that, regardless, I was going to go. 

I was invited on this trip by a friend who is interning with the UN. He absolutely loves wandering around the West Bank and he served as our tour guide throughout, explaining to us the political tensions, the best places to get fried chicken, and what we should see. 

We boarded a bus at Damascus Gate. An Arab bus. That is really what people call them. Paid our 10 shekels and began to make our way through suburbs of Jerusalem that I have never seen before. All of a sudden, we were surrounded simply by hills with little groupings of houses on top of them. Some of them were settlements, distinguishable in their defiant-neatness. Others were Arab cities, looking much more ramshackle but filled with building materials, as though no one could decide whether they were being built up or torn down. 

The security barrier, which DOES not follow the green line at all.
In some places, it is simply a fence, in others it is a wall, and in
some places it looks like this. The overhang is so that people
cannot shoot down at cars.

As you can see, the Security Barrier cuts through many parts of the West Bank that it is not supposed to. Very clever, if you think about it, but it really, really has hurt the lives of Palestinians. It separates many farmers from their crops, people from their schools and jobs etc. It makes commuting disastrous and frustrating. Israel is taking over more land than it is supposed to regardless of the people whom they are taking the land from. One of the many things that I spent this short trip contemplating. 

Green line = The line drawn in 1949 to demarcate
the difference between Israel and a potential
Palestine. The red line is the part of the security
fence that has been completed. The purple is the part that
is planned, as is the blue.

 The wall has been covered in art and words. This is not a phenomenon isolated in Palestine; art covers many walls in Israel. But it was obvious that the Security Barrier was a very relevant canvas for the people's protests, messages, thoughts, hopes etc.

Prejudice

It never ceases to amaze me the prejudices that people have and that they feel comfortable expressing, regardless of who they are around (although more often than not it seems exacerbated by who one is around). Traveling around Jerusalem, this tension is constantly felt. And it really doesn't matter whom you are with. The secular like to believe that it is the religious who cause all the problems. They get angry that some of the streets are blocked off on Shabbat so that no cars can drive through, they complain about the lack of stores and transportation in operation on Shabbat and holidays as well. The religious contribute to the problem, and the fanatics throw stones or bleach at those who disrupt their lifestyles. Everyone is so angry at everyone else.

What bothers me the most about the prejudice that I am most often exposed to, that of the secular, is that it comes from international students. I have never even heard an Israeli citizen living in Jerusalem complain about living in Jerusalem. This could be because I am not around Israelis very often, but I wonder if they also understand that, having chosen to live in Jerusalem, this is how things operate. It is not true of the rest of Israel. Almost everywhere else, things continue to operate on Shabbat, even if at a slower pace, similar to that of Sundays in the States. I simply cannot understand this prejudice. Often times I say something or make a mean face when someone makes fun of the eight little children crowded around a tired looking Hasidic woman or when people make blanket statements about the religious, but I more and more feel the increase of this antipathy.

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.

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?

And it's only 9 o'clock!

(So called because of a broken clock in the dance studio the other day. We had our break from 9 till 9 and had to hurry through the rest of rehearsal cause it was 9. Luckily, we had some time after before the bus came because it was only 9.)

I woke up at 4:40AM this morning. I have a friend who works in the shuk and my roommate and I were planning on accompanying him to see the shuk open. An hour later, I hadn’t heard a peep from either of them and was getting a bit tired of wandering around the empty campus. Suddenly, I got a call, and we were off and running.

The shuk is an open-air market in the middle of Jerusalem. It is by far my favorite place in all of Israel. Just getting there is an experience. There is such diversity on the train/bus: Haredi Jews (the Ultra Orthodox, in their dark suits, with their long hair curls and tzit tzit hanging down), Muslim women, Arab teenagers with hair slicked this way and that, tourists, people like me who still seem like tourists even if they are residing in the city, Ethiopian Jews, Middle Eastern Jews, Asian Jews etc. Huge families squeeze on the train, with as many as 6 children. You have to be careful who you are standing next to as it seems every other person is garbed in order to protect themselves from physical contact with the wrong gender. A beautiful, interesting mix of people. We rode the train down, which has signs in Arabic, Hebrew and English (hopefully a good sign for the future of this city). It is still free, although it has been working since I got here. They have yet to figure out how they are charging people or how the tickets work or something. Just my luck!

We hopped off the train and walked into the shuk. There were huge trucks in the middle of the shuk, full of fruits and vegetables. Men were carrying hot trays of fresh bread and pastries to various stores. Slowly things were beginning to open. The shuk is a sensory delight. The air is filled with the smell of so many foods: rugelach (a sticky, chocolate pastry), sweet, ripe mangos (mangos and pomegranates are not delicacies here! They grow in abundance! We Americans can’t seem to get enough of them), spices that sit outside in bags…Everywhere you go, you are surrounded by beautiful food. This morning, the vegetables shone. Dark eggplants, cheerful, bright tomatoes, small cucumbers, pale lemons…piles and piles of vegetables and fruits. Bags of rice and lentils and beans. Sticky towers of dates and raisins and other dried fruits. Bowls full of nuts, stores full of pastries, wheels of cheese, mountains of olives. And the sounds. Everyone yelling out their prices, yelling at each other, laughing at each other. The bakeries are surrounded by a soft buzzing sound as they are loved by huge, peaceful wasps. People wheel small cloth carts around, ones I associate with little old ladies. Others carry their bags in their arms and on their backs. Some just run into the shuk to grab a handful of candy from one of the stores full of sweets. I. Love. The. Shuk.

Well, it was only 6:30 and I was still a bit asleep. I walked around until I found a place to sit in the sun to wake up. Two men came sprinting past me in bright yellow shirts and black spandex. Then two more men. I looked up the road and saw that there was a whole gaggle of people running down the hill toward me. I watched them whiz by my while trying to get my courage up to venture into the shuk by myself. Eventually I did. I find it difficult that I cannot converse with the shopkeepers. I want to ask for this and for that but do not know the words. I was able to apologize to someone today (for having big bills) and to say hello, how are you, I’m fine, happy holidays. I know all my numbers and no longer hesitate when they spit a price at me (sometimes in the shuk, it is best to just act as unpleasant as you possibly can. As though the shopkeeper is wasting your time just owning a store. At other times, a smile and a greeting work wonders, sometimes even winning me a discount or a sample. It seems to depend most on how the shopkeeper feels about us foreigners who don’t speak Hebrew acting like real Israelis and shopping in the shuk.) I am going to try to start learning the words for food so I can stop just saying “excuse me, excuse me!”

It was my plan when I came here to make friends with the shopkeepers. I began to do so today! I bought mini-challahs from the same store that I always get pastry and pita. The old man recognized me and gave me a big smile, asked how I was. I bought rice and bright orange lentils from an Ethiopian Jew who spoke fabulous English. He asked where I was from, if I was black. I am, I told him, with a Jewish mother. He wanted to know if I was planning on making aliyah and told me that he had. I told him how cool it is for me to see black Jews as there are so few in America. He gave me a mini-history lesson. I am planning on going back there, especially since I bought a kilo of rice and a kilo of lentils for 10.5 shekels, which is roughly the equivalent of about $3.50. That is the other fabulous thing about the shuk: the prices! Vegetables, fruits, grains and spices are so cheap here. I eat really healthy food all the time because it is less expensive than bread and dairy. It is going to be a difficult transition back to America!

I walked out of the shuk with a big smile on my face. I was laden down with cauliflower, grapes, peaches, green beans, tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, mini-challah, lentils and rice. I only spent $90 shekels- less than $30! I have food to last me the week. As I was walking out, I saw an old woman selling flowers. I have always wanted to buy flowers just because and this seemed like the day to do it. I picked out a bunch, smiling at her as she chattered at me and wished me a good day, a good year and good luck on Yom Kippur (that God would write my name in the Book of Life). I sat down to wait for the train, munching on bright purple grapes and holding my fragrant, beautiful bunch of flowers. And that feeling that today was a good day went through my entire body.

As I was sitting there, a grandfather and his granddaughter came and sat next to me. He was singing and stroking her hair while she ate a bit of candy. It was the sweetest picture. All of a sudden, we were surrounded by a loud Israeli family. There must have been 30 people! All talking and yelling at eachother and commenting on the countdown till the train got there. A woman took a video of her family, and there I was, sitting right in the middle of it, a foreigner with a bright pink backpack. What a great situation.

I rode the train home and picked some wine bottles off the top shelf of the kitchen (the customary place to put used alcohol bottles). I cut the stems of the flowers and placed them all over the apartment. What a good day. And it was only 9 o’clock. 

Just learning the wrong history

It's 3:30AM and I am awake. It is in fact the only time in the past 12 hours that I have felt lucid enough to do anything. Thus, I am catching up on life in the wee hours of the morning.

After spending that great day in Tel Aviv, I returned home for some quality R&R. For the first time since I was 12, I slept till 1 in the afternoon! Woke up at 11, ate breakfast, read, went back to sleep. It was amazing. Our apartment was also incredibly quiet - surprising how the absence of 2/5 people can make such a difference in the noise level!

When I woke up, I decided to go for a run. There had been some conversation at a little after-dinner get together about all the great places there are to run to/around in the area. After this conversation, I felt inspired to check out the area. I also hadn't run in about a month. Running is my favorite ways to see more of where I live (and to stay in shape!).

Running shoes on, clothes that I hoped were decently modest on, I groggily strolled out of the apartment. I got slightly sidetracked when I decided that I should find my mailbox. I have only lived here for a month, maybe it was about time! Unfortunately, my key didn't work! I stood in the creepy, narrow mail room for 5 minutes, jiggling the stupid key, while letters with my name on them sat there tantalizingly. Thank goodness for a friend of a friend who resolutely stood there rattling the entire wall of mailboxes until the latch on mine (and possibly a few others) clicked open.

Anyways, away I went. I decided to run to the Mt. of Olives. The Mt. of Olives is the oldest Jewish cemetery. It sits East of the Old City. I have been reading a fantastic book about the history of Israel and the Bible and was incredibly curious. Run, run, run. Thank goodness I am in shape! Because the hills here are relentless and seem to be about a mile long! Keeping my internal compass in check, I turned this way and that and found myself, after only 15 minutes, in a completely different world. An Arab neighborhood. Honestly, this isn't that strange. The Student Village is basically located in East Jerusalem and we are surrounded by Arab neighborhoods (student orientation went a bit like this: "So, don't go to any of these areas marked in red." Basically all the areas surrounding the Student Village...). I felt a bit of panic rise up in me. Honestly, the people in the neighborhood looked just about as shocked to see me merrily jogging along as I was shocked to have entered into such a completely different world. Whereas most of the street signs in the area that I traverse the most are written in Hebrew, Arabic and English, all of the signs in this area were written in Arabic (later, a friend joked that they could say anything, such as "beware of land mines" and we would have no clue!). I think Arabic is absolutely beautiful. As I ran, I found myself confronting this strange discrimination/prejudice that I wasn't really aware I had until in this situation. As an American, as a Westerner, as a Jew, there exist so many stereotypes and negative images of Arabs (whether Christian, Muslim, secular, etc.). But I LIVE in the Middle East. I realized that this was and is something that I need to think more about.
Running didn't last for very long, as I began to speed more and more out of control down a hill. Not to mention that it was the hottest time of day...Somehow, I made it to the Mount of Olives. I walked past the Tomb of Mary, technically where she ascended to heaven, and the beautiful Basilica of Agony, the last place that Jesus prayed before he was betrayed by the Romans. These were only a few of the beautiful places that I saw as I walked by, open-mouthed, dripping in sweat. I was also fascinated by the people. Everywhere in Jerusalem, extremely religious Jews are easy to spot. But here there were also Christians and Muslims in full religious garb. And so many tourists. I could just imagine what they were whispering to each other: "Such diversity! Look at all those religious people! And then there is that girl running, just like in any other modern city!" Or something along those lines.
After stopping to admire the stark white beauty of the Mt. of Olives and to try to forget about how thirsty I was (really, to ignore the irrational part of me that told me it wouldn't be disgusting for me to pick up a random bottle full of whatever and drink it. Cause that would be safe, right?), I began to make the trek back, having resolved to return as soon as I could.

Which I did. 3 friends in tow, we trekked the same route back to the Mt. of Olives the next day. We had done thorough research on the places we were visiting and were all incredibly enthusiastic about getting to spend so much time in such a religiously important, ancient place. I was so grateful to be traveling with such fantastic people! We talked about the historical, religious and political issues while gawking at the everything we passed. Truly tourists, we were, decked out in backpacks, water bottles, cameras and maps. When do you really stop being a tourist?
We visited tombs of prophets, tried to read the Hebrew inscribed on the graves, stared at the beautiful view of the Old City. I talked and talked about all I had read about: how, in the time period that the Second Temple was built, most religious structures were built facing the East. But Jews pray to the Western Wall because it was closest to the innermost sanctum of the Second Temple, the Holy of Holies, where, once upon a time, God was actually thought to have lived. We marveled at ruins dating back to the time of the City of David and the fact that these ruins exist underneath the ground that we walk/drive upon today. We wandered the Old City, traversing the Arab quarter in search of food, as that quarter was not closing down for Shabbat yet.
We ended our FABULOUS day sitting at a small lookout point above the Western Wall, the Kotel. I convinced the people I was with that it was imperative we stay to watch the actual proceedings of Shabbat, as my Shabbat spent there on Birth Right was a huge part of me wanting to return. So, we sat (and napped) for about an hour and a half as below us, the divided sides of the Kotel began to fill with men in black suits and hats and women in dark wigs and modest skirts. All of a sudden, we heard loud singing. An enormous circle had formed close to one of the entrances of the Western Wall area and people were hopping in, dancing around, singing a song to celebrate the arrival of Shabbat. I hummed along, my eyes filling! I find Israel such a fascinating, difficult place to understand. It is so charged, politically, religiously, historically. It means so much to so many people and I find myself empathizing more and more with everyone in their quest to claim it as their home. It makes me chuckle to think how entranced I am with the history of this tiny land; it is more passion for one place than I ever felt for American history. Watching the proceedings of Shabbat as the sun set and Shabbat, one of my favorite and one of the most meaningful holidays in my Jewish background, tugged at my heartstrings in the way my Birth Right Shabbat had. My Jewish identity, and Jewish identity in general, has often troubled me. I think it is a struggle for many people to understand themselves in this religion/ethnicity/nation. But watching Shabbat, where everyone is singing the same songs and praying prayers known to all, at a spot so holy to so many religions, where there are people of all colors wearing kippas, and the muezzins' call to prayer has begun from all sides and the bells in the Churches have just stopped tolling...it took my breath away.

And it all brings to mind the question: whose history are we really learning? Are you really learning? Running through those Arab neighborhoods was hard: sidewalks seemed so scarce, as there was no official parking. Back into the Jewish neighborhoods and everything gets nicer, less crowded, less dirty, less dusty. Am I part of the problem or the solution? I'm not really sure of the answers, but I know that I want to try to learn as much about every side of the history of this amazing, tough place.

What the hell am I doing here?

This is a question that has crossed my mind so many times recently. The question itself, I have discovered, is much more layered than it appears. Thus the answers produced range from the literal to the philosophical.
Literally: I am sitting here enjoying the internet that, after exactly 4 weeks, was FINALLY set up in my apartment!!! Thus, facebook chatting with someone who I can actually talk to if I stick my head out the window and doing other such silly things.
Literally on a bigger scale: Studying dance and religion. Living in Jerusalem, Israel. Going to school.
Emotionally: Trying to find my equilibrium. Attempting to balance so many hours of dance and school with establishing a life, while attempting to maintain connections to those who are much further away.
Physically: Trying not to fall asleep.
Mentally: Trying to wrap my head constantly around all the amazing things that I am doing and what they mean for my life and for the world. A few days ago I was in the Elah Valley, where David fought Goliath. David, who became Judaism's most beloved King, fought the giant Goliath in the valley where I slept a few nights ago. I can see the shining gold dome of the Temple Mount from my living room window. The place where Abraham almost sacrificed Isaac, where Muhammed ascended to heaven, only a few blocks away from the Church of the Holy Sepulchur, where Christ was resurrected. The Western Wall, the Mount of Olives, etc. All these places are a part of my daily life.
Which brings me to the more intense layers of this question. What am I doing here? All I seem to do is go to school. I have had little time to explore or engage with the place in which I am living. This is beginning to drive me crazy. With the week-long break that comes with the Jewish New Year, I plan to explore and spend quality time with this center of so many religions. But at the end of the day, what is it that I want to get out of being here? I am honestly not sure.
I find myself asking this question in dance class, when I am exhausted and staring at the clock, counting the minutes to when we will be done. When I am feeling absolutely hopeless about executing a piece of choreography that we have been practicing for weeks. When I watch the other dancers and hear them discuss the icons of dance, whose work and lives I know so little about. I am immersed in this world but, just like to Judaism, I came so late! It leaves me unsure of where I want to be and unsure of where I am. Thus leaving me feeling unsettled about the correctness of actually being here, in this program. Am I just wasting my time? What do I want to get out of this? What do I hope to do with these two fields of study? Usually when nagging strangers hear about my majors and ask why I am studying them, I simply reply that I love them and will gladly go where the wind takes me.
The wind has brought me here. What will I do now that I am here? I feel so exhausted by the whirlwind way that I have been moving through life, while am becoming so aware of my complete ignorance of the place that I am living. I am so caught up in this bubble of international students, in the bubble of dance students within that bubble and I feel unsure of how to escape. Time itself is moving so quickly. How to take advantage without being dashed to pieces?
The optimistic, strong Elisa who got me here with so much passion and curiosity and drive would set goals down here. Set goals about speaking Hebrew, about exploring as much of Israel as I possibly can, about not only reading but really touching and being touched by the people and culture and history of this beautiful place. The exhausted, yet to be emotionally settled Elisa can only think about how great those goals sound, but how much better some quality rest time sounds.
So let the winds blow. I suppose I will try to follow them where I may without getting lost.
And for now, maybe the literal answers to this question can ground me so that I do not feel lost as I search for answers to the deeper, philosophical ones.

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)!