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.