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.

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.

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...

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...

Being a Moral Tourist

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

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

My thoughts on being a moral tourist:

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

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

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

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. 

First Night

So, I am sitting outside, in a little corner, on a ledge. There are 4 of us here, huddled together, trying to get internet. I have spent an entire day in Israel. What I have learned today begins with a conversation: "So, the shower, yeah, the water goes EVERYWHERE," one of my 4 roommates informed me. I had experienced this in Israel before - the floor does not dip so that the water goes down the drain. Instead, it spreads all the way across the entire bathroom floor. If you, like me, have incredibly sneaky hair, you will then find and feel guilty that there are black curls all over the bathroom floor. This, however was not what I learned. What I learned was that she was not joking. Standing under the shower head is basically useless, as the water sprays out in about 25 directions. I learned that it was smarter to simply pick one or two sprays of water and to stay under those. So much for a nice comforting shower. 

However, the day has been good! I am unpacked in my single, bought about 230 shekels of food (about $80 or less), and have been thoroughly briefed on what the next 4.5 months will contain for my life. The dance program is AMAZING. We are studying with really famous choreographers starting on Sunday -yikes! I am super nervous but also super excited. I met someone who has been dancing as long as I have. He is enthusiastic about everything and I hope we'll be buds! I have actually met quite a few awesome people, but am a bit too overwhelmed to remember names quite yet. I also have yet to activate my phone...sorry, family. 

My apartment has the most amazing view. You can see the entire old city of Jerusalem. The Dome of the Rock is easiest to pick out, but it is simply amazing to stare at the dusty hills covered in white stone buildings and trees normally found in a variety of climates. I bought my first ever batch of groceries meant to support myself. I live with 4 other dancers (there are 14 total) and we realized that, sadly, we will spend little time in our room, as we must rush from one campus to the next in order to fulfill our academic and dance requirements. I begin the Ulpan (Hebrew intensive) and dance classes on Sunday (weird that things happen on Sundays, here!!). Should be good to remedy the way that my brain handles this foreign language - by substituting with Spanish (and sometimes a bit of Hindi or Chinese). I actually asked someone a question in Spanish today, so desperate was I to communicate with them. The muddle of those languages and the smattering of Hebrew that I know, plus the prayers that I know, are all jumbled in my head. The cool Jerusalem air (it gets chilly here at night!) is soothing though. I guess I'll head to bed soon. 

Missing you all! 

Getting ready...

So, dear friends and family, I know that I promised you I would not start a blog, due to the rather unfortunate horrible dullness of the last one I attempted to write, but I am already having adventures and couldn't imagine not sharing them with you. As I am horrible with phones and only slightly better with e-mail, and won't be able to obsessively text as I will, indeed, be in another country, this seemed like the best choice. Better than a massive e-mail thread and repeating stories 33 times, anywho.

So, I'm off to Israel tomorrow evening! This evening was filled with goodbye/talk to you soon conversations with good friends. Then, of course, came the requisite Elisa-packing-crisis. It started benignly with "M., what shoes do I bring?" and escalated into a full on debate with my family about the books I was bringing. My sister and I scoured the house looking for choices, then I covered a table, loudly interrupting my mother's quiet dessert time, and began moving the books around frantically, trying to decide between what would fit, what I would want to read in the next 4 1/2 months and what I want to read now/am reading.

An hour and a half later, I am sitting back at home. With a Nook on my lap. Indeed. I just bought a Nook. WHAT?

Haha, so there begins my adventures, with a rather expensive purchase, the decision made 15 minutes before Barnes and Noble closed, with my sister and I attempting not to freak out. She chose the case for me (forced) and we walked out with big grins. I shook her hand, "Sorry, my hands are kind of sweaty," she said. "Adrenaline rush!" I clicked my heels in the parking lot and then shouted "What the fuck did I just do?" Luckily, I will no longer be lugging 8 books with me around the world.

So tomorrow at 4 PM I leave for the airport with full family in tow. I get on the plane around 8, get into London the next morning. Spend 10 hours there doing goodness knows what, get back on a plane and will find myself, exhausted, frazzled and probably kind of gross, in Israel at 5:30 in the morning. Quick time change explanation: I am 9 hours ahead of anybody in CO, 7 hours ahead of all you East Coasters. Then I'll have to figure out how to board and explain (without really knowing myself) how to get to Hebrew University's campus. I will register, get my room assignment, settle down and...What the future brings, nobody knows!

My program works like this: I take 2 religion-focused classes at Rothberg International School, which is part of Hebrew University in Jerusalem. I will also take Hebrew. Everyday, I will board a bus for half an hour to head across town to the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance, where I will be taking 2 dance classes of my choice. I speak basically no Hebrew (although I can ask for a beer, no, beer, not wine, please. Thank you very much), have very little idea what I'm getting myself into and have never been away from home this long. I am simultaneously ecstatic and vaguely  nauseous. Adventure, hi-ho!