This Tastes Like Jesus: Christmas

Let's begin with the Christmas party. We decided to have our Christmas dinner on Shabbat night, two days before Christmas because we always do Shabbat dinner!  

Our menu: Cornbread covered in dulce de leche made out of goat milk, latkes, Chinese noodles, bread, cheese, applesauce (homemade with cranberries), applesauce from a jar, mashed potatoes with LOTS of butter and sour cream, broccoli and other veggies, a pear pie with whole wheat crust, a berry pie with whole wheat crust, and ice cream! 

The venue: my apartment. My roommate was in charge of cleaning, inviting and decorating. She bought beautiful flowers and placed them all over the apartment, some in wine bottles and some floating in cute little dishes of water. She lit tons of tea lights and lined the counters and tables with them. We cut out some snowflakes which were taped up to the window. A bunch of friends showed up with food in hands and a 3-D Christmas tree they had made (way better than my 2-D one). They placed it under the sign that read "Presents Here". Somehow, everybody had managed to dress up in Christmasy colors and I turned on the Christmas carols. Another friend brought over these very strange candies that looked like little Christmas presents. Everything was ready and Christmasy! Let's eat! 

You have to remember, it really doesn't feel like Christmas here. When I told my family this, they acted like this was a silly thing. But, in the States, regardless of whether or not you celebrate, Christmas is EVERYWHERE from the moment Thanksgiving ends. Colors, lights, songs, Santas, charities, decked out department stores, heavy winter foods: it all gives December a Christmas-y, holiday feel. But here, that feeling is lacking. There are some Hanukah-type lights up and around and lots of huge Hanukiahs set up, but it does not feel like a big deal. 

Missile-toes.

So when a friend walked in and saw all the decorations and started jumping up and down, screaming "It's Christmas! It's Christmas!" I totally understood the feeling! We, as always, made something so familiar appear in our lives using limited resources and our imaginations. Most of us typically spend the holidays with our families as well, so having that homey-traditional feeling was especially nice.

We lit the hanukiahs, which we have diligently been lighting every night (including adding another yellow post-it to the post-it hanukiah in a friend's apartment). Sang the prayers and sat down to eat! 

Guess that's what I get for buying a 3 shekel hanukiah set. 

 And we ate. Yes we did.
When any one of us is asked what we do here in Israel, the typical and most truthful response is: "We eat." That is the absolute best summary of my life here!
Happily in a food coma from course number one, we got out the presents! Everyone has been asked to bring one present, wrapped, to dinner. We picked numbers out of a cup and were allowed to either chose a present from the pile or steal a previous person's present. What drama ensued! People sniffing, shaking, analyzing the presents. What wailing when a present with a pretty shape was stolen. Finally, everyone had something in their hands and we began to open the presents. They were great! I received a toy basketball hoop, which we hung up in our living room. It is almost impossible to get a basket! It rocks!

 We then ate dessert. Oh my goodness. That is really all that I can say about dessert.
We all melted into a pile on the couches, happily and painfully in deep food comas. We watched a few Seinfeld episodes and, as seems to be becoming a habit, ended up half-falling asleep on the couches/floor/piles of blankets, unable to move until 1 in the morning.

Day Number 2! I woke up in literal pain. Oh my goodness, we had eaten so much!!!!!!
"I can't ever eat again," I informed my roommate. She started laughing at me and I realized that, while I was saying that, I was simultaneously squeezing a huge dollop of carmel sauce onto my finger. There goes that plan...
People slowly trickled back into our apartment and we sleepily moved around the apartment, reading, staring off into space, drinking tea, doing homework. We watched a few episodes of "Two Fat Ladies", a British cooking show which was great. They had a tendency to say, "Now drizzle a bit of olive oil..." while in fact pouring at least half a cup onto whatever they were making. Watching that show made us hungry and we began to piece together snacks out of leftovers. We turned on Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, only realizing after it was over that we only had an hour left before we were supposed to be leaving for Bethlehem. Did we have a plan for this trip? Not at all. A few of us had gone before and knew what buses to get on and where a few of the important places were, but we had absolutely failed at planning anything. Boy, do interesting situations arise out of spontaneous trips like that!
Bundled up, we lit the hanukiahs and headed out the door. The wind had been howling incessantly all day and it had begun to rain. Well, really it was pouring. We slanted our bodies against the wind and rain to the bus stop, to wait for the Arab bus to come. While waiting, a friend pulled out his Bible and began to read us the story of Jesus's birth. Two people began to do interpretative dance of the words. Finally, the bus showed up, luckily mostly empty (Arab buses are really more like shuttles, there are about 20 seats on them). The driver just shook his head in amusement at our 10 person group. We sprinted through puddles to catch the Arab bus going to Bethlehem and headed to the back. Cool people sit in the back! The bus, which normally fills with Arabs, was filled with tourists. Most notable was the group of Americans. We forget, or maybe are able to adapt sometimes, how loud and expressive we can be (granted, our friends include people who are not from the States). But, when we come across another group of tourists, usually Americans, a general feeling of resentment comes over the group. It is astonishing though how much louder Americans are than any other tourist. And how entitled! More on that later...

We got off the bus in Bethlehem and were barraged by offers for taxis and shuttles. I have been to Bethlehem once, during the day and with someone who knows it like the back of his hand. It was really pouring rain and the streets were covered in puddles. No one else knew where we were going. Regardless, we decided to walk. Using logic (let's follow the long lines of taxis!), somehow we walked in the right direction. A physicist from Germany heard our "Where are we goings" and took pity on us, guiding us through the back way to Manger Square.

Very skinny Palestinian Santas walking
around, taking pictures with people and
passing out flyers for a nearby restaurant.

We arrived in Manger Square and had no idea where to go. There were masses of people, but nothing really seemed to be happening.
In reality, nothing was happening. All masses and services were at midnight. There were large groups of Arabs, Asians and Africans wandering around. There was a strange feeling in the air, as though something should have been happening, but wasn't. There was no music, the only sound was of people chattering. It smelled of boiled corn, sold all over the square. The lights were shining brightly and there was a slight feel of anticipation in the air, but the energy was blocked, as well as everything else, by tons of Palestinian soldiers with large guns and bullet proof vests who manned the myriad of road blockades. I got the feeling that the spectacle was not the Church of the Nativity or the touristy stores, it was the tourists themselves. Or should I say ourselves.
I was at the front of the pack, choosing which direction we were walking in for fear of standing around for too long looking indecisive. If you do that in an area with eager storekeepers, you are liable to end up in a store where you will ultimately end up buying something. It is an amazing thing, our American guilt and politeness. Not to mention our inability to say no to a bargain. When a price starts out at 50 and gets moved down to 15 shekels in the span of 30 seconds, there are few people who are not dazzled enough to buy it, regardless of what it is. More on that later...
Because of my positioning, I was completely oblivious to the two young Palestinians who had been tailing us since we had exited the bus. A few people from our group confronted them, but I guess they turned up later at the restaurant my friends were eating in. I was long gone by that time, too overwhelmed by having to make decisions for so many people. A girlfriend and I broke off and began to wander around by ourselves. We ignored the intent stares we got from many of the Arabs and pressed on, wandering and wandering and wandering. There was no where to go and once we had walked around Manger Square and the streets that branched off of it a few times, we realized how mentally lost we were. A bold boy came up and started chatting with us. I chatted back, but we ditched him easily. My companion was reticent during the entire exchange and I inquired why this was. She called my attention to the fact that women don't really wander around unaccompanied in Arab societies. This and our obvious foreign-ness was bringing us lots of attention. I started to feel uncomfortable, so we tried to locate our friends. After realizing that we had failed to acquire any of their phone numbers, we stood and stared at each other, at a complete loss as to what we should do. We were ushered (See what I said about standing around looking like you have nothing to do!) into a store nearby where we sat awkwardly until the shopkeeper was visited by other tourists. We snuck out, ignoring his protests and the protests of the tourists ("Stay! He is offering you real Arab coffee!" They had no idea what they had gotten themselves into, haha.) and decided to call it quits.

Waiting to get into the Church of the Nativity. 

Soldiers, regardless of why they are there, are always,
always intimidating in large quantities.

My bold friend approached two Palestinian soldiers and asked them slowly and loudly where we could find a shuttle to get us back to Jerusalem. They were eager to help us, but their English was lacking. They pointed out a dark parking lot where they said we could find something to get us home and then began walking us down the dark street to the parking lot. This made me nervous (being walked down a dark anything by anybody tends to...not that it happens a lot!), but my wonderful friend just kept talking, asking them their names, answering their questions about us. They called over a passing man and he told us in English that he was headed back to Jerusalem. We decided to take a chance and get into his van. I felt soothed by the two Nepalese women who were cheerfully chatting and munching on hot corn on the cob. They passed us some corn and we were off.
I talked to the man in English until he insisted I practice my Hebrew. Phew, this made things difficult. He began telling me about his "misrad" that was close by, that did wonderful things for the community. I racked my brain for what the word "misrad" meant. It is very similar to "misgad", which means mosque, and I decided to just imagine he was talking about a mosque. "Tov, tov," I replied as he told me about it  in very basic words I almost fully understood. All of a sudden we had pulled up to a stone wall that was only illuminated by the car's headlights. "Rega," he said (wait) and hopped out of the van. We were all silent. My companion turned to me and gave me a "Holy shit, what the hell is going on?" look. I shrugged my shoulders and took a deep breath, while trying to imagine what our escape options are. They were bleak, so I squared my shoulders and decided to be calm until something really bad happened. "Where are we?" We asked the Nepalese women. "He wants to show you his office," they giggled. OH! Misrad means OFFICE!
He came back and opened the doors for us, gesturing that we should go inside. The walls were covered with pictures of Palestinians going up against Israeli soldiers. There were blurbs in English and Arabic about the pictures and I felt my concern melting into interest. Our driver introduced us to a volunteer who began to tell us about the Alternative Information Center. I couldn't help it, the questions poured out of my mouth. "Why are you so interested in helping a cause that must be at least 20 years before your time? "The land, it is in my blood." "Do you work with Israelis?" "Those interested in peace and in helping us end the occupation." "What do you want to happen?" "For the occupation to end. For us to live our lives freely. The Jews are welcome to stay here, they were here before the occupation began and we lived with them no problem. We want to live free lives." I was fascinated and want to go back!
I finally clamped my jaws together, knowing that my companions probably wanted to go home. The volunteer invited us to come back for movie screenings, then invited us to the Christmas party. If we hadn't been so tired and wet, I think we would have said yes! Instead, we hopped back into the van and began to zoom along the roads towards the checkpoint.
"Put the pamphlets in your bag!" My driver cautioned as we pulled up to the checkpoint. A young, cranky woman with dreadlocks opened the door and harshly began questioning the driver. Her companion, a short, cheerful man wearing a bright silver Christmas hat piped in with funny comments until she turned to him and snapped: "Shnia!" (Wait! I have to work!"). And that was that. Because our driver, who lives on French Hill where we live, had the right license plates (the yellow Israeli ones, not the Palestinian green ones. With the latter, it is horrible to cross the border), we were only at the checkpoint for a few seconds. We didn't even have to open our passports!
Our driver dropped us off at home after the last leg of the journey was spent talking in Hebrew about my life and his. This was accompanied by drawings and words in Arabic, met on my side by wide eyes and apologetic shrugs. He pulled up to the gate of the Kfar and we asked him how much we owed him. But he refused payment. Three times, which I was later informed is the polite number of times to refuse payment in Arab culture. We took his number and headed home.

I wrote a note to a friend and stuck it on his door (you become quite resourceful sans phone). We were supposed to go to Aida, a Palestinian refugee camp (the one I had just visited a week earlier) to hand out candy to the little kids. I woke up to a note slid under my door saying that he didn't want to go anymore, but that I should join him and our other friends for french toast. A few weeks ago, he and I discovered the best french toast place in the world and we have slowly been converting all our friends to its wonderous ways.

I walked into the living room/kitchen, ready to clean up the remnants of the evening. There was a pile of presents. "Hmm," I thought. "A pile of presents." And turned away to begin cleaning. "WHAT! A PILE OF PRESENTS?!" I turned back and saw that it was labeled "To Elisa, from Mom, Rachel and Dad." WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?
My roommate woke up and I sprinted to her. "There is a pile of presents! A pile of presents for me!" "Yeah, Berke brought them up last night." "WHAT?! A PILE OF PRESENTS!!" "I am going back to bed..." I grabbed them all and took them to my room . (Obviously my child-like love of Christmas is still alive and kicking.) I began unwrapping. The first things I unwrapped was a pair of beautiful, blue glass candle holders that looked strangely familiar. I looked at them a little bit closer and started laughing. Laughing and crying! My friend had commandeered me earlier during the week, under the ruse of helping him pick out presents for a family friend. I had pointed out a few things that I liked, although I couldn't understand how what I liked would help him with the present for his family friend. Luckily, I am opinionated and loud-mouthed enough to state what I like anyways. The candlesticks, a beautiful pair of blue Svat candles and a havdalah candles were presents that I had picked out for myself and stood next to him while he bought them. I loved them! I also got halva (hardened sweet sesame seed paste, absolutely delicious), a hot pink and red bed cover (something I have wanted throughout the entirety of my time here, but have not gotten. And in perfect colors (the colors I always wear)), and an opened container of instant soup. I didn't understand the last present and looked inside. There were no noodles. Hmm....There was something rock-ish in it. Was it for flavoring? I picked up and tasted it. It was indeed a rock. OH! A stone! Stone soup! He gave me stone soup!
My Mom, lovely devious woman that she is, has been in contact with a few of my friends since the beginning of the semester. She sent them Halloween cards. The friend who helped with the Christmas gifts sent her tacky postcards in response. Due to a recipe-sharing chain, she also was able to get their e-mail addresses. She e-mailed my two friends and they picked up the bedspread. Then the one friend bought everything else, wrapped it in Waugh style (in newspaper) and brought it all into the apartment while I was sleeping. The best surprise ever!!!!!

Christmas day continued. We took a trip to the best french toast place ever, ordered 7 plates of french toast (man, was the waitress surprised!), and gorged ourselves on the absolute deliciousness that Ben Ami french toast is. We talked about God and being touristy, laughing and carrying on loudly. We are always such a spectacle, but we were enjoying ourselves so much. It didn't help that we had all ordered french toast. This peaked the interest of our neighbors and they inquired as to why. The answer was simply. The french toast is simply orgasmic. Served with sour cream and fresh fruit, the french toast is so buttery it melts in your mouth!

We sleepily rode the bus home. It was a rainy, windy day. Disturbed some of the more conservative people with attempts to imitate accordions. Watched the Hasidic men with the plastic bags covering their hats, run around, trying to avoid the drops of rain. When we got home, most people dispersed to write papers and/or study for tests.

We reconvened later that evening. Berke (look! Eric, I put a friend's name in a post! ) and I were committed to watching the Muppets' Christmas Carol and we wandered around the Kfar, trying to get friends' to watch it with us. We ended up in some friends' apartment (Eric and Carlo's) and Eric taught us how to play hearts. After two rounds, Eric and Carlo were ready to watch The Muppets' Christmas Carol. We pulled out a mattress and blankets and curled up to watch. When the movie ended, we all fell asleep. At 2:00AM, we walked home and went to bed. What a wonderful first half of the holidays!