Going to Get Firewood

It was only 4 and a half months ago that I boarded a sherut; tired, confused, excited for my new adventure. The sherut driver shouted at me in Hebrew and amiable Yeshiva boys translated for me. A religious woman laughed when he addressed me and explained that he had addressed me as one would a married woman, based on the assumption that the bright bandana I had donned to cover my dirty, frizzy hair actually was an indication that I was married.

Now I sit in the airport again, experiencing very different emotions. I know to where I am returning, to the loving arms that I will get to run into sooner than I can imagine. My adventure has been had, a new place explored. Out of it, I have emerged someone changed, maybe wiser, certainly with eyes much more open to the world and all it has to teach me. What I do not know is how I will, as I am now, fit back into my two homes. Will I? It is a question that has kept me up at night.

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.

It's All About the Experience

When you go to a restaurant in Israel, your experience will be quite different than the one you are used to if you are from the United States. You may or may not be approached to be seated. Often, you will be allowed to choose your table and only once you have sat down will you be spoken to by a waiter. They will gladly bring you the menu and take the order, but you must remember to ask for water as it will not be automatically given to you (there is a water shortage here, dontchaknow?). When you have placed your order, the necessary utensils will then be given to you. Your food will be brought quickly and, regardless of whether you are eating at a fancy restaurant or a cafe, the food will usually be presented very professionally. You will be asked how your food is and then you will be left alone. The waiters will come to pick up your plates if they see you have finished, but they will not then proceed to place the bill on the table. You can sit, talk, drink a coffee, stare off into space for however long you would like and they will never once hurry you in any way. No dirty looks will be given to you if you linger for hours without ordering anything else, you are free to enjoy your stay in the restaurant for as long as you desire. The bill will only be given to you when you ask for it.

As someone from the States (meaning: very shy when it comes to talking about money in any shape or form and someone used to being sped out of restaurants so that they can have as many customers as possible in order to make the maximum amount of money), this was very difficult for me to get used to.

But if there is anything I have learned during my time in Israel, it is that it really is all about the experience. What is, you may ask. Everything. Everything is about the experience.

Nine Nights of Hanukkah

After our fabulous Christmas celebrations we were, well, very full. We also knew that we had to begin planning for our Hanukah celebrations!
Sufganiyot appeared in stores 2 whole months ago (I suppose this is the Jewish equivalent to putting out Christmas decorations after Thanksgiving, as they were put out after all the major fall holidays). These are fried donuts filled with deliciousness. The most basic, and my favorites, are filled with strawberry jam. They can also be filled with halva, dulce de leche, chocolate or really anything else. They can be covered in frosting, sprinkles, chocolate. There are also savory sufganiyot which I have heard are fabulous. Huge hanukiahs/hanukiot have appeared all over town. However, hanukah really isn't a big holiday. It is enough to get us a few days off from school, to garner some hanukah-lights around town and the smell of fried food in the air. But, life does not stop for hanukah.
Of course we had to celebrate it though! We had been lighting the hanukiahs every night and singing the prayers. Yet, the only available night to actually celebrate was the day after Hanukah had ended. Oh well!

Havdalah: All Things Must Come to an End

Shabbat has always been my favorite Jewish holiday. When I went to interfaith classes to learn about being Jewish, the cantor taught us that it is the most important holiday in Judaism. It was the only holiday my family really ever tried to adhere to. We spent Shabbats sans electricity, sans cars, sans work of any sort (quite a difficult task for a high school girl with a social life). Shabbat became my favorite holiday. My Dad would make golden brown challah for dinner, we would light the candles and say the only blessings I ever really learned. The comfortable, simple blessings over the wine and the bread became my own because of their repetition, unlike the rest of Jewish tradition which I often felt had been left out of my DNA.

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! 

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.

You just gotta learn to laugh.

It makes me laugh and laugh and laugh how silly life can be here sometimes.

It is as a friend once told me: Israel tries soooo hard to be part of the West. But at the end of the day, things are really very Middle Eastern. This dichotomy can drive you crazy

A list of this week's grievances:

• Last weekend, on Friday night, our water heater simply did not turn on. I learned how to do everything while walking around in a towel because I was hoping the water would heat up. It did not. So I soaped up and hopped under the freezing cold drizzle. It took my breath away, it was so cold!! It was also Shabbat and NOBODY works on Shabbat. Thus, I knew I would have to wait until Sunday to say anything. Saturday, only more of the same. Sunday I couldn't not shower anymore. So, I heated up water in the tea kettle, poured half of it into one big pot and the other half into another pot. Added some cold water (I have learned from scalding myself these past few weeks to remember that boiling hot water is in fact REALLY hot). Soaped up. Dumped it over my head. It was actually a pretty nice shower. My roommate just decided to use the cold water. She woke my other roommate up with her screaming. Cranky household that day...

"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.

Hoofing it in Haifa

6:45 WHY AM I AWAKE? I don't think I have class today, right? Great! I must've just turned my alarm on accidentally. I'll turn it off and go back to bed. Zzz...OH! We're going to Haifa!

7:15 "Elisa, someone is here!" "WHAT?" I walk out, bed head hair sticking out in all different directions. "Why are you here so early? I still have 15 minutes! Go away!"

7:30 I speed out of my room after downing a cup of hot tea and we head to catch a bus.

7:45 We pass a ton of security guards standing around looking worried. An ambulance is on its way. We look concerned, then get on the bus.

8:00 One of my guy friend's grabs my face cause he knows that it annoys me. I proceed to lick him. The Hasidic man sitting next to us looks incredibly disturbed. Then moves.

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.

Jerusalem Syndrome

I woke up two days ago to find that there was no water in the Kfar Hastudentim (Student Village). I had yet to shower, wash my face, brush my teeth or make myself breakfast. And I had piles of dirty dishes in my room that needed to be done. I went about my morning routine as best as I could without water, splashing some really old water from a water bottle on my face when I could no longer stand feeling dirty. Why, I wondered, did I have no idea that the water would be shut off? Why had no signs been posted?

When I walked out of my apartment building to head to class, I saw why. Take a look:

It is often a source of hilarity for us native English speakers to read signs posted in Israel. Reading this explains why no one was aware that the water would be shut off. After all, I am not currently in need of a massage...

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.

Shaving with Rusty Razors

It is a sad fact in my life that I am terrible with transitions.

"I am so sad that we have so little time left here!" I moaned to a friend while walking back from school. He just looked at me like I was crazy.

Ok, so it's true, I am in Israel for 42 more days. (GAH! When I say it like that, it sounds like nothing!) But I am really horrible with switching from one thing to another and I have already begun to attempt to think a bit more about the lives that I will be heading back to in the States. I try to anticipate what I will feel in the future, which, although great ('cause I am usually right), is terrible because it takes me out of wherever I am in the moment. More than that, I have begun to mourn the loss of all the amazing people that I have met here in Israel. What random events bring people together. In two months, most of the people that I spend my time with will be spread across the planet once more. Some to return back to their home towns, some to remain in Israel for another semester, some to study abroad else where.

Which brings me to why I was shaving with a rusty razor today. Granted, this is not a rare occurrence in my life. Having grown up with only a bath tub, I have never mastered/been taught the art of preserving a razor without it rusting after one use. Hence, I often find myself looking at my razor with worry, then using it anyways. (I can imagine my Mom wincing now as she reads this). It probably doesn't help that I am usually in a hurry to shower, as I pride myself in wicked fast showers, and often emerge with little rivers of blood streaming down my legs...

Becoming More Me

"So, do you feel like you have changed at all?" My friend asked me. She is studying abroad in Tanzania and has been living in a whirlwind of difference.
Changed. Changed...Changed?
I knew that word was supposed to mean something, supposed to somehow sum up how my experience here had effected who I am. I searched through my memory, looking for a memory where the stamp "CHANGED" could be placed. Nothing.
"No. If anything, I feel like I have become more myself." I replied. This thought made me rather sad at the moment. Why HADN'T I changed? Didn't that mean I hadn't learned anything? What was wrong with me that I wasn't changing?!

Thanksgiving in a Foreign Land

"Can we plan Thanksgiving? Can we? Please? Canwecanwecanwe???" Muttered responses, noncommittal smiles were all I received. No one seemed to be as concerned or as interested in recreating this strange but lovely American tradition. Or maybe they knew it would be CRAZY. And Thanksgiving was fast approaching! In the mail, I received some terribly punny Thanksgiving stickers from my Mumsy, to be used on Thanksgiving placemats. It was a sign! We had to have Thanksgiving! 

So, when invited over to do homework, I ambushed my friends. "Who should we invite to Thanksgiving?" This was the worst part of planning, the part I was dreading. When we had named all of the people who we normally hang out with, the list numbered 15. Then we had to pick from the list of 17 "maybes". Boy, did I feel like a Queen Bee. We argued and debated about who garnered an invite and why. At 1:00AM I left the apartment with a list of 26 people, with 6 starred as "probably won't come". 

The venue: 4 friends' apartment. The menu: traditional Thanksgiving food. My task: to invite everyone, assign them all a food to bring and figure out how to fit so many people in an apartment.

Hebrew Madlibs

(Inspired by my Gaga dance class which was taught completely in Hebrew. At first my guesses made sense. Then it was just too much fun to add in my own words, since I couldn't understand anything. Resulted in my trying not to laugh slightly hysterically).
"Shalom. Begin to move. Let your body parts float. Move like you are in water.
Now think about your legs. About your feet. Move like your feet are covered in wet rags. Really allow your legs to experience the feeling of being covered in slimy seaweed. Enjoy. Sink deeper into the mud. Good. Now think about your hands. Grab a pomegranate. Dig your fingernails into it. Feel the juice sliding down your hands. Begin to move in rollercoasters. Let the movement smack you. Now combine that movement with the pomegranate. Throw the pomegranate. Grab another one! Throw that one! Faster! Connect the movement to pleasure! Begin to move more slowly. The pomegranate is no longer ripe. It is moldy. It is growing on your hands and legs. Move smaller and smaller. Do not let the mold eat your flesh. It is eating your flesh! IT IS A FLESH EATING POMEGRANATE! Move more slowly! Do not let it eat you! I repeat! Do not let it eat your hands and legs. Now, sit down. Drown in a bunch of wet spaghetti noodles (yes, this was actually said). Drown! Shake! You cannot breathe! You are gasping for air! You are gasping! And gasping! Try to swim out of the spaghetti. Do not inhale the sauce! It is not air! Swim faster. Faster! You cannot escape!  Now combine it! You are being consumed by flesh eating pomegranate mold and trying to swim out of the spaghetti. You can do it! Shake that flesh-eating mold off your body! Change positions so the spaghetti sauce doesn't go into your nostrils! I can't hear you breathing! Have you suffocated because of the spaghetti?!?! TEN, NINE, EIGHT...TWO, ONE! Relax. Allow your whole body to regain its normal amount of  flesh. Do not worry. It has not been eaten."
Was a great class. The funniest part was that no one noticed I was following these directions, not the ones shouted by my teacher...

Adventures in Arad and Conversations

 How are friend groups created? Why are they? Why are they so important?

View from my window at an obscenely early hour. 

These were questions that were asked quite often last weekend on a trip (a "Shabbaton") to Arad, a small city in the Negev (desert). They were brought up with good reason. Most of the students who attended the Shabbaton have been here in Israel for at least a month. The 91 attendees went to Ulpan together and have figured out Israel together. We know each other from classes, from other friends, from living on an almost deserted campus for two months before the rest of the students arrived (see: problems with the way that schools attempt to acclimate their international students). But this Shabbaton was very different from the first.
The first Shabbaton began with my and my roomies sprinting outside after waiting for a roommate who had forgotten to set her alarm. We didn't know each other well and were glad to have this shared experience to talk about. We were all exhausted, as no one had been in Israel for more than 4 days. I met so many people on that trip, completely unsure of and not at all worried about who I would eventually hang out with. A friend of mine who I was introduced to on the trip always likes to make fun of the fact that I didn't remember anything about him for the first two weeks of our occurrence. I made the mistake of telling him exactly why this is the case for most of the people that I meet in the beginning of programs - you just don't know who you are going to end up hanging out with in the end. Remembering everything about them, especially when you have asked 50 people the same questions, is difficult and sometimes silly, as you might never talk to that person again
This Shabbaton began with me meeting friends who I knew were going in front of the buses. We worried about where a few of our friends were and I gave them a call, only to be informed they had woken up late and we shouldn't let the bus leave with them. We settled easily into our seats, comfortable chatting with, sleeping next to, listening to music with the person next to us. No obligations. We know we're friends. That's enough.

Revelation.

I do not want to be a dancer.

I came to this realization this week. After spending so much time agonizing over why I am studying dance in Israel and why I am a dance major, this thought came to me in a moment of complete clarity while I was zoning out during class.

I do not want to be a dancer. I am not truly interested in the dance world. I have been privy to so many conversations here about famous choreographers, dancers and dance companies. A few months ago, I figured that I would start to get a grasp on who they were and would become really passionate about learning more about them. But I have not. Whenever I try to sit down to watch a YouTube video by some dancer the entire dance world has heard of, I get bored (it takes at least 3x the length of the video for it to load!) and wander off to do something else. I never seem to actually sit down and watch the videos.

I walk into dance class and I am glad to be there.

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/.