So much time has gone by since Israel. With all that's going on right now, I've been reflecting on my time (in a personal, not political way).
I've done so much since I came back home. I'm back at Wellesley College, taking classes like Archaeology and a seminar on Apocalypses and Armageddons. Junior year of college creeps up on you. Your future starts hanging over you. But I love what I'm doing, and that's all you can ask for. Our Shakespeare Society put on Henry IV Part 1 in which I had (have I should say--at the time of writing this, we have 3 more nights to perform) the role of Hotspur as well as the producer for the show. It's been a lot of work but one of the best challenges I have undertaken. Outside of class, that ends up consuming your life, and outside of work for the show, I haven't had a lot of time for much else. Without speaking every day, my Hebrew's fallen behind a bit, but my Hebrew copy of The Prisoner of Azkaban keeps me in shape. I've also taken up archery. I signed up for the PE class, and I've actually gotten pretty good. I tied for first in an on-campus tournament a couple weeks ago, and my coach is encouraging me to keep going after this semester.
If you'd asked me three months ago, I would have said, "Yes. I will definitely be going back to Israel." Now I'm not so sure. Current political/dangerous climate or no, I don't know that I'm as much a one for travel as I thought, and I'm honestly enjoying being home a lot more than I thought. It's a large part of why I never made a final entry. I made it home and I wanted to let it all slip behind me. I had memories and stories and photos, but I wanted to let myself be here and not have to dredge up all the sensations of being there again.
After I returned, I kept describing my feeling as not "culture shock" but "cultural exhaustion." Granted I was only there about 2 months, but after a while, especially when you don't speak the language, there's something grating about every time you want to read a sign--you have to work. If you want to buy food--you have to work. Everything takes focus and effort. Nothing is entirely familiar, so there's this constant sense of displacement. And on top of it all, Jerusalem is filled with a tragic air of tension that is tiring. It's a beautiful city full of such wonders, and it's constantly undercut with religious and political tension. I described the palpability of the city's holiness, but the tension is no less tangible, and the two strain to mix together. And it's exhausting to be in that mix. So as much as I loved Jerusalem and Israel and everything it has to offer, I am in no rush to return. I know I'll get restless again and eventually want to travel somewhere, but maybe not somewhere so tense (and of course, if Wellesley wants to give me another grant, who am I to say no?). Until then, I'm content here.
But I'm looking back because Israel finds me here. In memories and in the news.
When I was there, I commented on the daily interplay the Israeli-Palestinian conflict created. I see it again now in America. Facebook posts from friends from Jerusalem 'calling out' Hamas propaganda are followed immediately by Muslim friends shaming the President's response to the situation. Overseas, lives are being lost, and here, friends are being lost in petty argument sover right and wrong. I say petty not because I feel the conflict is so but that reducing it to name-calling arguments about religious rights, propaganda, and who's in the wrong is both petty and insulting to those who are suffering. So long as these arguments are our responses to these events, they will continue. Both acts of war and our responses to them propagate a culture of hate in any direction.
This is an issue of life. Human life. No less.
So for now, my blog is concluded. My time in Israel is done. I've finally closed out my thoughts. And I'm moving along. I may use this space for other related thoughts in the future, but for now I'm done.
Thank you, readers, for enjoying this blog and checking so frequently as you did. It was lovely to know while I was there you were all out there staying updated.
But for now, on to the next adventure.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Winding Down
Much as I adore this city, I'm looking forward to going home. Five and a half weeks is a long time, and since it's always go go go between class and touring and studying (and remembering to do things like feed yourself and do laundry), it's an exhausting month.
Katie and I are having a hectic night of packing, sweeping and studying. We have our final exam tomorrow morning. Katie leaves that night and I the following night (at midnight. Yipee.)
I will miss my class immensely. I know I keep describing them this way, but they really are an incredibly diverse group. I've learned from each and every one of them. And they've become my friends. I'm grateful to have shared this with them.
Mostly, I'm impressed by how much Hebrew I know. I know after two years of Greek, a speakable language is just plain novel, but I've loved learning it. It's a beautiful language, which I admit, with all its "ccchhhhhh"s, I didn't expect. (Also known as the letter chet.) I love that it's revived from a dead language purely for the sake of speaking something that much closer to the sacred texts. Not only is the language beautiful--its purpose is. It's also been a while since I'v been able to speak something other than English so, well, close to, fluently. I can talk to locals on the streets about why they love a particular falafel shop or catch words fo their muttered prayers at the Kotel or explain to an old woman how to buy a train ticket.
All of this, I will deeply miss. Nevertheless, I cannot wait to be home. Though a big hurdle remains in my way. If you recall my post about my flight here, you might understand why I am just a teensy bit nervous to fly home. (Fingers crossed I can hang on to my Kindle this time?) An 11 Hour flight plus 5 or so killing time in Ben Gurion airport. Tuesday will be, in short, a very long day. But I can handle it. All in the name of going home.
I hadn't planned to blog about my own faith. On the other hand, I hadn't planned on being affected by the city either. After all, why should I? It is, despite everything, just a city. Yes, there ar sites and places of importance, but that's all that makes it the Holy Land, right? The remains of history.
But I was wrong. I come back time and time again to that poem by Yehuda Amichai. The air over Jerusalem is saturated with prayers and dreams like the air over industrial cities. It's hard to breathe." I first encountered these words at the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit in New York and thought them beautiful, but I didn't understand them. This city--this country--is so saturated with hope and prayer. If I could believe anywhere that faith and prayers and devotion could become tangible, it would be here. Maybe that's what all the haze in the air is. Every act, every thought is made in adherence to a religion. The faith comes first. It's there, even if you're not devout yourself. The city operates on a schedule according to Shabbat. Ramadan gongs and fireworks fill the air night after night. On a Jewish day of fasting, the whole city drags and lulls in a quiet reverence. Hasidic men in tall black hats brush past women in flowing dresses and hijabs. Crowds of visitors wait to catch the bus across from the Ethiopian Monastery in the Russian Compound. I know I'm making it sound like peace and roses when in reality there is so much conflict based on these very things. But my point is that to almost everyone walking these streets--this is a special place. A Holy place. And that belief carries. To the point where you can't help but feel it as you walk along the streets with everyone.
This is a Holy Land. Be it inherently so or made so by the belief of those in it is irrelevant. It is here. And that's what saddens me most about the conflict here. This is a place that should be shared. Palestinian, Israeli, the whole world. It is a place of peace surrounded by its antithesis.
I'll probably post once more from home with the story of my flight (Maybe there won't be much to tell this time?) and some final reflections, as well as a massive pile of photos, but don't worry. I promise you'll know when it's the final post--no guess work. Nevertheless, next one will be coming to you from back stateside.
Katie and I are having a hectic night of packing, sweeping and studying. We have our final exam tomorrow morning. Katie leaves that night and I the following night (at midnight. Yipee.)
I will miss my class immensely. I know I keep describing them this way, but they really are an incredibly diverse group. I've learned from each and every one of them. And they've become my friends. I'm grateful to have shared this with them.
Mostly, I'm impressed by how much Hebrew I know. I know after two years of Greek, a speakable language is just plain novel, but I've loved learning it. It's a beautiful language, which I admit, with all its "ccchhhhhh"s, I didn't expect. (Also known as the letter chet.) I love that it's revived from a dead language purely for the sake of speaking something that much closer to the sacred texts. Not only is the language beautiful--its purpose is. It's also been a while since I'v been able to speak something other than English so, well, close to, fluently. I can talk to locals on the streets about why they love a particular falafel shop or catch words fo their muttered prayers at the Kotel or explain to an old woman how to buy a train ticket.
All of this, I will deeply miss. Nevertheless, I cannot wait to be home. Though a big hurdle remains in my way. If you recall my post about my flight here, you might understand why I am just a teensy bit nervous to fly home. (Fingers crossed I can hang on to my Kindle this time?) An 11 Hour flight plus 5 or so killing time in Ben Gurion airport. Tuesday will be, in short, a very long day. But I can handle it. All in the name of going home.
I hadn't planned to blog about my own faith. On the other hand, I hadn't planned on being affected by the city either. After all, why should I? It is, despite everything, just a city. Yes, there ar sites and places of importance, but that's all that makes it the Holy Land, right? The remains of history.
But I was wrong. I come back time and time again to that poem by Yehuda Amichai. The air over Jerusalem is saturated with prayers and dreams like the air over industrial cities. It's hard to breathe." I first encountered these words at the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit in New York and thought them beautiful, but I didn't understand them. This city--this country--is so saturated with hope and prayer. If I could believe anywhere that faith and prayers and devotion could become tangible, it would be here. Maybe that's what all the haze in the air is. Every act, every thought is made in adherence to a religion. The faith comes first. It's there, even if you're not devout yourself. The city operates on a schedule according to Shabbat. Ramadan gongs and fireworks fill the air night after night. On a Jewish day of fasting, the whole city drags and lulls in a quiet reverence. Hasidic men in tall black hats brush past women in flowing dresses and hijabs. Crowds of visitors wait to catch the bus across from the Ethiopian Monastery in the Russian Compound. I know I'm making it sound like peace and roses when in reality there is so much conflict based on these very things. But my point is that to almost everyone walking these streets--this is a special place. A Holy place. And that belief carries. To the point where you can't help but feel it as you walk along the streets with everyone.
This is a Holy Land. Be it inherently so or made so by the belief of those in it is irrelevant. It is here. And that's what saddens me most about the conflict here. This is a place that should be shared. Palestinian, Israeli, the whole world. It is a place of peace surrounded by its antithesis.
I'll probably post once more from home with the story of my flight (Maybe there won't be much to tell this time?) and some final reflections, as well as a massive pile of photos, but don't worry. I promise you'll know when it's the final post--no guess work. Nevertheless, next one will be coming to you from back stateside.
Monday, July 23, 2012
What a Country
So we have but one week left in Israel. Which means Katie and I had to pare down what we had left to do and create a Bucket-List-schedule which uses every minute of our remaining time. On tap for the week is Yad Vashem--the Holocaust museum, one more trip to the Old City, the Mount of Olives, the Dead Sea, and Tel-Aviv. That's right folks. We're finally going to leave Jerusalem.
This weekend's Shabbat was fairly quiet. Katie and I made fried rice (with curry powder, our only spice, and one we have grown quite fond of. It is amazing how many things you can put curry powder on.) and watched a movie. Before that, we went to the opening day showing of Dark Knight Rises with a good chunk of our class. Aleph 1 seems to appreciate their Chris Nolan films.
That thursday, we didn't really feel like clubbing, so we went shopping from 4 to 8pm, joined two of our classmates, bought many souvenirs (highlight: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban in Hebrew. You shall be conquered.), ate delicious cheap falafel, and haggled haggled haggled. I will not miss the haggling. At all. I'm really awful at it, and I admit I had to have Katie do it for me once. She's a professional, after all.
Ramadan began last week, so there have been fireworks and banging all night, every night. Once again, I speak without hyperbole. By 1 am, you start to wonder who's even watching the fireworks.
But one of the things that's struck me most about my time in Jerusalem is some of the subtler differences to America. Yes, of course, being in a different country always poses it's challenges. But living in America, and furthermore going to a liberal women's college in that country, has made it easy to forget that there are still places where the standard of behavior is treated women unequally. I am not speaking of religious garb or practices--the rules of Orthodoxy may seem antiquated or sexist to an outside eye, but speaking to people has taught me a lot about why the follow the practices in the first place. No, I'm actually speaking about me and the other students.
Mt. Scopus campus of the Hebrew University is just above Jerusalem, technically in the heart of an Arab village. In fact, most of our views include the large steel wall separating Palestine. And in Jerusalem, codes of dress vary depending on where you are. Going into the Old City or a Jewish neighborhood, I would cover my knees and elbows. Around campus, everyone dresses like your average American college student, so I wear shorts in the 98 degree weather freely. And every time, particularly in the evenings, I or Katie, or even other students we see walking in front of us, have left my dorm with my elbows uncovered, I am honked and/or shouted at by young men in cars. It's never threatening or invasive. Just honking. I talked to some locals and frequent students who said that that's just the norm here. That is simply how they are taught to regard women. One woman simply rolled her eyes and muttered, "Those Arab boys."
Was she right? Would it be different in a Jewish neighborhood? It's possible. Religious codes of behavior are a huge divide in this city, among others. Sometimes, behavior like this is used to separate themselves further from each other. I hadn't learned a lot about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict before I came here. After all, when you do, it's always one side, and America is officially pro-Israel. But just being here, seeing it all, and listening to people has taught me more about this conflict that I ever could have learned. All you have to do is listen. The same woman who made the marginally-racist comment about the sexist boys in the village gave us a full explanation of her very pro-Israel stance one night. Once again, marginally-racist described it well, but I just listened, even encouraged with questions. Because that's the only way to understand. Meanwhile, I read the museum pamphlets my Palestinian flatmate left on the table, directly citing the Palestinians as "the last victims of the holocaust" for having been ousted by the Jews. I take classes in a building where I look left to see the steel dividing wall and look right to see the golden dome of the mosque built on the Temple Mount. I am completely fascinated by this country. I want to come back. Because I want to see a peaceful end to this conflict. And because all of this sits on top of some of the greatest history in our world. And these weeks of experiencing all of that has taught me more than I ever thought I would learn.
This weekend's Shabbat was fairly quiet. Katie and I made fried rice (with curry powder, our only spice, and one we have grown quite fond of. It is amazing how many things you can put curry powder on.) and watched a movie. Before that, we went to the opening day showing of Dark Knight Rises with a good chunk of our class. Aleph 1 seems to appreciate their Chris Nolan films.
That thursday, we didn't really feel like clubbing, so we went shopping from 4 to 8pm, joined two of our classmates, bought many souvenirs (highlight: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban in Hebrew. You shall be conquered.), ate delicious cheap falafel, and haggled haggled haggled. I will not miss the haggling. At all. I'm really awful at it, and I admit I had to have Katie do it for me once. She's a professional, after all.
Ramadan began last week, so there have been fireworks and banging all night, every night. Once again, I speak without hyperbole. By 1 am, you start to wonder who's even watching the fireworks.
But one of the things that's struck me most about my time in Jerusalem is some of the subtler differences to America. Yes, of course, being in a different country always poses it's challenges. But living in America, and furthermore going to a liberal women's college in that country, has made it easy to forget that there are still places where the standard of behavior is treated women unequally. I am not speaking of religious garb or practices--the rules of Orthodoxy may seem antiquated or sexist to an outside eye, but speaking to people has taught me a lot about why the follow the practices in the first place. No, I'm actually speaking about me and the other students.
Mt. Scopus campus of the Hebrew University is just above Jerusalem, technically in the heart of an Arab village. In fact, most of our views include the large steel wall separating Palestine. And in Jerusalem, codes of dress vary depending on where you are. Going into the Old City or a Jewish neighborhood, I would cover my knees and elbows. Around campus, everyone dresses like your average American college student, so I wear shorts in the 98 degree weather freely. And every time, particularly in the evenings, I or Katie, or even other students we see walking in front of us, have left my dorm with my elbows uncovered, I am honked and/or shouted at by young men in cars. It's never threatening or invasive. Just honking. I talked to some locals and frequent students who said that that's just the norm here. That is simply how they are taught to regard women. One woman simply rolled her eyes and muttered, "Those Arab boys."
Was she right? Would it be different in a Jewish neighborhood? It's possible. Religious codes of behavior are a huge divide in this city, among others. Sometimes, behavior like this is used to separate themselves further from each other. I hadn't learned a lot about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict before I came here. After all, when you do, it's always one side, and America is officially pro-Israel. But just being here, seeing it all, and listening to people has taught me more about this conflict that I ever could have learned. All you have to do is listen. The same woman who made the marginally-racist comment about the sexist boys in the village gave us a full explanation of her very pro-Israel stance one night. Once again, marginally-racist described it well, but I just listened, even encouraged with questions. Because that's the only way to understand. Meanwhile, I read the museum pamphlets my Palestinian flatmate left on the table, directly citing the Palestinians as "the last victims of the holocaust" for having been ousted by the Jews. I take classes in a building where I look left to see the steel dividing wall and look right to see the golden dome of the mosque built on the Temple Mount. I am completely fascinated by this country. I want to come back. Because I want to see a peaceful end to this conflict. And because all of this sits on top of some of the greatest history in our world. And these weeks of experiencing all of that has taught me more than I ever thought I would learn.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Three pairs of pants, four train tickets, a mysterious bottle of soda, and a bar of chocolate
Or, today's purchases. Partridge in pear tree not included.
After class today, Ibegged politely asked Katie to take me to the store near the Central bus station where she and Jordan bought these beautiful stretchy pants on our first day. They're loose, silky pants that come in gorgeous colors and hang low around your knees. If you happen to watch Downton Abbey, they're not unlike Sybil's dress pants. If you don't happen to watch Downton Abbey, I would advise you to correct this immediately.
What made this a slightly poor decision was the fact that today is the hottest day it has been so far. (98 F. And yet it's Day 25 without a cloud in sight.) But it was worth it, as we emerged with three new pairs of pants between us, not to mention having a good look at a different local shopping district. Whereas Ben Yehuda is clothes and kitsch, Central is food stands and dollar-store like shops. Let the record show that my two pairs cost a total of 30 shekels. For those who aren't familiar with the conversion rate, that would be $7.50 total. Yeah. I like shopping here.
We stopped at the grocery store for a few things on the way home and left with an illegibly labelled bottle of soda for Katie and a chocolate bar for me. Toda robah, Mr. Zol's.
Last night, we had a movie night with our class, Aleph 1, as well as James's wife. We baked cookies in a real apartment, watched Inception on a real TV, and talked about it for two hours on a real couch. It was a very momentous night for us. I've been spending a lot of time with my classmates; they're so diverse but all such great people. I'm so lucky to have gotten to meet them. Some I'm sure will remain my friends.
I've hit my food limit. I'd eaten almost entirely vegan since I've been here. This week I caved and bought eggs and a small amount of meat. But one can get tired of rice, couscous, pasta, apples, tomatoes, pita, and hummus. That might sound like a lot, but that is all I eat. That is it. I just told my mom over Skype that when I get home, the first thing we will do is go to a Thai restaurant, and I will order every bowl of noodles and hot chicken that they have. All of them. But, it's two weeks from today that I fly home, so I think I can last.
But it's something to look forward to.
After class today, I
What made this a slightly poor decision was the fact that today is the hottest day it has been so far. (98 F. And yet it's Day 25 without a cloud in sight.) But it was worth it, as we emerged with three new pairs of pants between us, not to mention having a good look at a different local shopping district. Whereas Ben Yehuda is clothes and kitsch, Central is food stands and dollar-store like shops. Let the record show that my two pairs cost a total of 30 shekels. For those who aren't familiar with the conversion rate, that would be $7.50 total. Yeah. I like shopping here.
We stopped at the grocery store for a few things on the way home and left with an illegibly labelled bottle of soda for Katie and a chocolate bar for me. Toda robah, Mr. Zol's.
Last night, we had a movie night with our class, Aleph 1, as well as James's wife. We baked cookies in a real apartment, watched Inception on a real TV, and talked about it for two hours on a real couch. It was a very momentous night for us. I've been spending a lot of time with my classmates; they're so diverse but all such great people. I'm so lucky to have gotten to meet them. Some I'm sure will remain my friends.
I've hit my food limit. I'd eaten almost entirely vegan since I've been here. This week I caved and bought eggs and a small amount of meat. But one can get tired of rice, couscous, pasta, apples, tomatoes, pita, and hummus. That might sound like a lot, but that is all I eat. That is it. I just told my mom over Skype that when I get home, the first thing we will do is go to a Thai restaurant, and I will order every bowl of noodles and hot chicken that they have. All of them. But, it's two weeks from today that I fly home, so I think I can last.
But it's something to look forward to.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Back to it
Hello, readers.
I apologize for the break in posting. It's been a very difficult week for all of us. While respecting her privacy, I will tell you that Jordan was in an accident here in Israel. Her family is with her now, and she's going to be ok. It's been a tough week for me and Katie, but it's important to me to start blogging again.
So there have been some interesting things this week. Tonight, for example, Katie and I are going to our second weekly Bible study with classmates of ours. I admit, I went mostly out of curiosity, but I end up enjoying myself very much (and not only because there were cookies and soda. I may or may not have eaten like I had not seen food before. Oh, please let there be more cookies tonight.)
Our host is Terho, a Finnish Lutheran pastor living here with his wife and three adorable and energetic sons (half an hour of the Study was a rousing game of 'Throw the Hat.') In attendance were me and Katie, Taylor, an American of an interesting religion he calls 'Hebrew Roots' (for example, he wears a kipa and prayer shawl, but is a Christian), Bernadette, a German, Marianne, the Norwegian student we went to the museum with, James and Kate, American Mormons, and Min, a Korean. I really love the diversity of the group. I mostly just listened, but I love hearing everyone's perspectives and reflections of their faith.
We discussed Psalm 1, reading it first in our respective languages. It was pretty beautiful that way.
We managed to get out a bit more during the week. Thursday night, the start of the weekend, we met up with the Hannahs, two of our classmates, in the heart of the city for a bit of food, pubbing, and gelato. We returned to the Uganda, and this time is was hopping with people and musicians. Much more like it. After that, we grabbed a bit of falafel and wandered around the bustling night life and enjoyed getting out in the night air.
We shared shabbat dinner this week with Jin, a recent MIT grad Katie met here, and Sarah, a roommate of Jordan's. Katie took her turn cooking and made what I will rightfully declare the most delicious stuffed peppers, impressively cooked in a toaster oven (due to a severe case of lack of an oven.) Curried rice, tomatoes, garlic pasta, white wine, grapes, challah, and dried fruit--oh, we feasted. We had the traditional eating from 5 to 10 pm and just talked and got to know each other. Katie and I felt that this prepared us for our future roles as dinner-party hosts (Not, mind you, because we are women, but because we happen to enjoy dinner parties. I think they're classy.) So we set out our little coffee table with plates and everything. And then took pictures with it in aprons. Sometimes, you just have to be silly.
Saturday, we had some time to kill in the city after we'd gotten there but before public transportation started back up again once Shabbat was over (9 pm. sigh.) We walked around our usual haunt--Ben Yehuda and Jaffa Streets, only this time, everything was completely shut and the streets empty but for a few children playing ball or women walking together. It was so peaceful, and Katie and I sat on a bench and just talked for hours. We had time to get pizza and/or burgers and some ice cream (and the most amazing melon sorbet) before it was onto the light rail to finally head back to campus.
Today's class was particularly good. We went on a 'field trip' to the campus rooftops and the ba'it knesset (synagogue), and I and several others stayed after for a talking practice room. Which meant an hour of conversation in Hebrew. I finally learned the word for actor, but I still, try as I might, cannot pronounce the infinitive form of 'to walk.' Still, the practice was helpful.
Afterward, I inadvertently hung around campus for another hour chatting with my classmate James about Feminism, Progressives, and families in America. I tell you, nothing feeds me more like good-natured intellectual debate. It's still a challenging discussion and well-articulated, but no one gets personally offended. The absolute best. He's someone I look forward to staying in touch with after the Ulpan, especially since he has archaeological contacts here in Israel.
Oh yes, folks. I will be back here again.
I apologize for the break in posting. It's been a very difficult week for all of us. While respecting her privacy, I will tell you that Jordan was in an accident here in Israel. Her family is with her now, and she's going to be ok. It's been a tough week for me and Katie, but it's important to me to start blogging again.
So there have been some interesting things this week. Tonight, for example, Katie and I are going to our second weekly Bible study with classmates of ours. I admit, I went mostly out of curiosity, but I end up enjoying myself very much (and not only because there were cookies and soda. I may or may not have eaten like I had not seen food before. Oh, please let there be more cookies tonight.)
Our host is Terho, a Finnish Lutheran pastor living here with his wife and three adorable and energetic sons (half an hour of the Study was a rousing game of 'Throw the Hat.') In attendance were me and Katie, Taylor, an American of an interesting religion he calls 'Hebrew Roots' (for example, he wears a kipa and prayer shawl, but is a Christian), Bernadette, a German, Marianne, the Norwegian student we went to the museum with, James and Kate, American Mormons, and Min, a Korean. I really love the diversity of the group. I mostly just listened, but I love hearing everyone's perspectives and reflections of their faith.
We discussed Psalm 1, reading it first in our respective languages. It was pretty beautiful that way.
We managed to get out a bit more during the week. Thursday night, the start of the weekend, we met up with the Hannahs, two of our classmates, in the heart of the city for a bit of food, pubbing, and gelato. We returned to the Uganda, and this time is was hopping with people and musicians. Much more like it. After that, we grabbed a bit of falafel and wandered around the bustling night life and enjoyed getting out in the night air.
We shared shabbat dinner this week with Jin, a recent MIT grad Katie met here, and Sarah, a roommate of Jordan's. Katie took her turn cooking and made what I will rightfully declare the most delicious stuffed peppers, impressively cooked in a toaster oven (due to a severe case of lack of an oven.) Curried rice, tomatoes, garlic pasta, white wine, grapes, challah, and dried fruit--oh, we feasted. We had the traditional eating from 5 to 10 pm and just talked and got to know each other. Katie and I felt that this prepared us for our future roles as dinner-party hosts (Not, mind you, because we are women, but because we happen to enjoy dinner parties. I think they're classy.) So we set out our little coffee table with plates and everything. And then took pictures with it in aprons. Sometimes, you just have to be silly.
Saturday, we had some time to kill in the city after we'd gotten there but before public transportation started back up again once Shabbat was over (9 pm. sigh.) We walked around our usual haunt--Ben Yehuda and Jaffa Streets, only this time, everything was completely shut and the streets empty but for a few children playing ball or women walking together. It was so peaceful, and Katie and I sat on a bench and just talked for hours. We had time to get pizza and/or burgers and some ice cream (and the most amazing melon sorbet) before it was onto the light rail to finally head back to campus.
Today's class was particularly good. We went on a 'field trip' to the campus rooftops and the ba'it knesset (synagogue), and I and several others stayed after for a talking practice room. Which meant an hour of conversation in Hebrew. I finally learned the word for actor, but I still, try as I might, cannot pronounce the infinitive form of 'to walk.' Still, the practice was helpful.
Afterward, I inadvertently hung around campus for another hour chatting with my classmate James about Feminism, Progressives, and families in America. I tell you, nothing feeds me more like good-natured intellectual debate. It's still a challenging discussion and well-articulated, but no one gets personally offended. The absolute best. He's someone I look forward to staying in touch with after the Ulpan, especially since he has archaeological contacts here in Israel.
Oh yes, folks. I will be back here again.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Jordan and Katie's Blogs
Hezekiah's Tunnel
I have to attempt something very important with this post. Namely, I have to successfully tell you all about our shabbat trip to Hezekiah's Tunnel in the City of David. I must do so without making it entirely about the screaming children who walked behind us the entire way through.
First of all, this is the test I warned you about. Did you read the wikipedia link on Hezekiah's Tunnel? If not, it's a water drench dug underneath of Jerusalem so that the city could have water in case of siege. They dug from two separate ends and met at the middle. How they managed that is incredible. In the tunnel itself, we saw several turns and brief dead ends where it appeared they had started to dig in one direction and quickly corrected their course. While the real inscription is now in the British Museum, another facsimile marks the place where the two teams met.
The entrance to the tunnel is beneath a place called the City of David, a park that somehow marks the ancient city and resembled the entrance to a water park more than anything else, with wood paneling, ticket windows, lockers, and shops. We'd walked there from the Kotel a few yards away, so the transition was unexpected.
This was one sight in particular we were eager to visit, despite the fact that we were...er, slightly nervous. The tunnel, you see, is exactly that. A tunnel. Built to carry water and perhaps not so many people. It's a 1500-foot walk through calf-deep water in total darkness, or at least it would be were it not for the flashlights carried by the line of visitors. At its widest, it's just wide enough for you to pass through comfortably. As far as height...we probably spent about a third of the time completely doubled over to fit through. Frankly, I can't believe I made it through. I had a moment of panic when we splashed into hip-deep water as the lit staircase gave way to black crags and curves. But, I took a deep breath, held onto the back of Jordan's backpack for dear life, and told myself I would regret chickening out. After that, once you're in, you're in. There isn't exactly room to turn around, so the only way out is onward. 1500 feet of sardine-squished of onward. Eventually, I told myself it wasn't so bad. Because that was the only option. It was completely worth it though. We were, after all, walking through a passage carved out some two to three thousand years ago. We occasionally had to grip onto the walls to keep from slipping in the water (or to catch a quickly floating away shoe), and Jordan wondered aloud how long they could keep the tunnel open before people's hands simply eroded the walls away. Our way back was confused. We were told that the quickest way back was through a second tunnel (Oh. Goody.), this time lit and dry, which spit us out in a park beneath the Western Wall. We didn't mind the detour and spent an extra time photographing around there.
But the thing was. The thing. We're lined up in there person to person, and behind us the entire way was a group of 14 or so year old school children. Who screamed. The entire way. 45 minutes of screaming. Sometimes screaming just for the hell of it. Sometimes to see who could do it loudest. And sometimes, and this was the best one, to see if a panic would catch on. Jordan tried asking their leader to ask them to stop, and he just looked at her blankly. It's stressful in the tunnel, and we were at our wit's end, as were all the other visitors in front of us. When we absolutely couldn't take it anymore, we saw the light, and emerged back into Jerusalem. Having been driven outright mad, I approached their leader and told him that their behavior in a place like this was inappropriate. He told me they were young and scared and that excused it. I said it didn't and left. (Scared children don't sing 'Somebody I Used to Know' and pretend there are rats at their feet.) Now, I am not one to approach people. Pretty much ever. And hey, maybe this was just my schools, but I knew if I had behaved like that on a school trip (first of all, my Dad came on all the trips, so it wouldn't matter what my school did because he would have actually killed me for such behavior. See, Dad? You totally taught me something.), if we had behaved so poorly that someone had to come up to one of the teachers and say something, we would've been in trouble until graduation. I was always taught when we travelled, we were representatives of our school and carried its reputation with us. Here, they also carried the reputation of their country in a Holy Land. I even remembered times in elementary school when our teacher would tell us about someone who had approached her on a school trip to say how well we behaved and why this was a good thing. Maybe this is just what I was taught. And maybe I was just so completely startled by people on whom this concept was lost, on people who thought an ancient archaeological site in a foreign country was equivalent to their morning school bus. And maybe 45 minutes of screaming pushes me to new limits.
So on our way out, Jordan asked a different leader the name of their school. Which we googled. And wrote a letter to. As of ten minutes ago, I had a response saying my comments would be considered in conjunction with other ones they had received about their good behavior. That's all I ask. And I felt better.
After that, it was back, in a round about sort of way, to campus, with a few wrong buses, a stop at an Ethiopian Church, for a much-needed shower and my turn to cook Shabbat dinner. I got a rose wine (l'chaim, which is in fact, Hebrew for 'to life.' Go figure.), fresh challah, apple cake, and cooked curried couscous with eggplant, tomatoes, pepper, chickpeas, and peas. It was, if I may say, delicious. Since we had to finish cooking by sundown, we sat and talked and ate from 5 until 10. We were later joined by Noriko, our flatmate, who shared ice cream with us. I very much enjoy the Sabbath.
Yesterday, I took the 'rest' concept of the Sabbath to heart and slept. Quite a lot. I spent the rest of the day catching up on some studying. When you do 25 hours of Hebrew class a week, it's easy to fall behind.
How long we're here for is starting to catch up with me. It feels like ages, and it hasn't yet been 2 weeks. Still three and a half to go. I suspect I will be exceptionally tired when I finally get home.
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| Inside the Hezekiah Tunnel |
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| Jordan in the Tunnel |
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| Park beneath the Wall |
Friday, July 6, 2012
Celebrating the Fourth of July: A How-to Guide
This wednesday, we travelled after class again to the Old City. This time, we were joined by our flatmate Noriko. She hasn't really poked her head out much since we've been here, but we happened to bump into her on our way out and invited her along. Her English is good despite not being fluent, but she studies Hebrew with Jordan, and we learned that she is a Buddhist from Japan.
Our first day in the Old City was for the beaten Tourist-treks. Wednesday, we took a different angle of the City. Off of the Armenian Bazaar are stairs that lead up to public rooftops you can walk along. There, it's quieter, as most tourists don't know about them. You get unbelievable views of the city and have an unobstructed view of the Temple Mount. We stopped there to take several hundred pictures.
From there, we walked along the seam between the Jewish and Muslim quarters. The line is easy to spot. The buildings change dramatically. On the single path that separates them that leads both to the Temple Mount mosque and the Kotel, people once throw rocks down on the people below. When the metal grate overhead that remains there was put up, they started pouring water and hot oil. On the train ride home, Jordan and I chatted about the more subtle social separations in Israel. Education for Muslims and Jews is separate, causing economic stratification on the schools and people. If Jews will only go to a Jewish doctor and Muslims will only go to a Palestinian doctor, who may have different levels of education and resources, does this cause a bigger separation for healthcare? It's easy to think about the conflicts of territory and religion on the streets of Jerusalem, but what about the day to day struggles?
We returned to the Kotel after that, this time from a quieter, rooftop observation point, from which we could see the entire plaza. We stood for a long time watching the people pray, watching groups of soldiers approach on a break, watching them assemble as one was given a medal of some kind.
On our way out, we walked along the ramparts to the City of David, old stone structures with ancient guard towers at intervals. If the Western Wall wasn't enough, standing here, where a guard would have patrolled some 2,000 years ago, reminded us of where we really were. Jordan, however, reminded me that the delightful iron railings that keep you balanced on the thin, slippery stone steps would not have been there for those ancient guards, and we decided that they were even more impressive for not falling to their deaths on a daily basis. In the distance, we could see the Palestinian wall, the Judean desert, and far away, the mountains of Jordan, covered in haze.
As we made our way home, we stopped off at Ben Yehuda street for some more tasty falafel, this time with the traditional hot sauce that makes it oh so much better. I, once again, ordered exclusively in Hebrew, and while Katie did the same, the man in the shop replied to her in English. For me, however, he replied in Hebrew, and I was able to tell him falafel in a pita, yes hot sauce, yes everything, no drink, 12 shekels, thank you very much! I may have gloated afterward.
Not that my Hebrew's that good. Yes, I got by in the city today speaking exclusively Hebrew, but I still struggle to keep up. Jordan has this annoyingly helpful habit of speaking to me in Hebrew when we're in the city, so I have to follow and learn new words as she points things out. It's awful, I know.
It wasn't until that night, as we did a bit of homework and chatted about the day, when we saw some fireworks shoot off from the city skyline, we remembered it was the Fourth of July. Not that those were what the fireworks were for. There seem to be fireworks every night here. We're not really sure why. Maybe they're just very, very happy. (Unlikely. Jerusalem.)
I think I celebrated the holiday quite appropriately. In my, er, own way.
The next day in class, I put my Hebrew to the test, not only in our, well, actual test, but also in the film we watched that afternoon, an Israeli movie called "Noodle." Despite our wild predictions as to what it could be about (my vote was for an inner-city teacher who reaches her students through Italian food-making. Classmate James backed a translation of "Avatar."), it turned out to be an adorable film about a boy whose mother is deported and is left in the hands of his mom's Israeli employer, an El Al flight attendant who smuggles him to China to be with her.
Now here's the thing about me. There is one thing above all else in films that I cannot handle. That is small children being separated from their parents. And if you ask me if I cried in a lecture hall at the Hebrew University surrounded by a bunch of students I barely know, I will answer no. No I did not.
Once I had recovered, I went to get more money from the ATM. This should not be as momentous as it was, but after my first money-getting experience, it's always a victory. When I first arrived at Ben Gurion airport, I came with no shekels, planning to just get some from the ATM I knew to be there. It was there; that is technically true. But at that point I a) knew zero Hebrew and b) was dead from aforementioned Flight From Hell. So I started pressing buttons, and eventually, the card slot light up. Instinctively, I put my card in. Which proceeded to get stuck right on the lip of the slot, neither being pulled in or spit back out. I, in turn, proceed to freak out. I would not be losing my ATM card my first 10 minutes in the country. I would not allow that. I informed the ATM thusly.
When it didn't respond to my words of abuse, I pulled out my health insurance card and a Starbucks giftcard (Oh Starbucks, what can't you do for me?) and after about five or so minutes of fishing, managed to slide it out. I eventually found another ATM at a small bank on the empty second floor of the airport and clutched my new shekels victoriously.
So when getting money works, I'm usually relieved. I got my ingredients for Shabbat dinner--my turn to cook. Which I'm actually doing it right now, but I'll tell you about that in my next post about today's adventures.
Our first day in the Old City was for the beaten Tourist-treks. Wednesday, we took a different angle of the City. Off of the Armenian Bazaar are stairs that lead up to public rooftops you can walk along. There, it's quieter, as most tourists don't know about them. You get unbelievable views of the city and have an unobstructed view of the Temple Mount. We stopped there to take several hundred pictures.
From there, we walked along the seam between the Jewish and Muslim quarters. The line is easy to spot. The buildings change dramatically. On the single path that separates them that leads both to the Temple Mount mosque and the Kotel, people once throw rocks down on the people below. When the metal grate overhead that remains there was put up, they started pouring water and hot oil. On the train ride home, Jordan and I chatted about the more subtle social separations in Israel. Education for Muslims and Jews is separate, causing economic stratification on the schools and people. If Jews will only go to a Jewish doctor and Muslims will only go to a Palestinian doctor, who may have different levels of education and resources, does this cause a bigger separation for healthcare? It's easy to think about the conflicts of territory and religion on the streets of Jerusalem, but what about the day to day struggles?
We returned to the Kotel after that, this time from a quieter, rooftop observation point, from which we could see the entire plaza. We stood for a long time watching the people pray, watching groups of soldiers approach on a break, watching them assemble as one was given a medal of some kind.
On our way out, we walked along the ramparts to the City of David, old stone structures with ancient guard towers at intervals. If the Western Wall wasn't enough, standing here, where a guard would have patrolled some 2,000 years ago, reminded us of where we really were. Jordan, however, reminded me that the delightful iron railings that keep you balanced on the thin, slippery stone steps would not have been there for those ancient guards, and we decided that they were even more impressive for not falling to their deaths on a daily basis. In the distance, we could see the Palestinian wall, the Judean desert, and far away, the mountains of Jordan, covered in haze.
As we made our way home, we stopped off at Ben Yehuda street for some more tasty falafel, this time with the traditional hot sauce that makes it oh so much better. I, once again, ordered exclusively in Hebrew, and while Katie did the same, the man in the shop replied to her in English. For me, however, he replied in Hebrew, and I was able to tell him falafel in a pita, yes hot sauce, yes everything, no drink, 12 shekels, thank you very much! I may have gloated afterward.
Not that my Hebrew's that good. Yes, I got by in the city today speaking exclusively Hebrew, but I still struggle to keep up. Jordan has this annoyingly helpful habit of speaking to me in Hebrew when we're in the city, so I have to follow and learn new words as she points things out. It's awful, I know.
It wasn't until that night, as we did a bit of homework and chatted about the day, when we saw some fireworks shoot off from the city skyline, we remembered it was the Fourth of July. Not that those were what the fireworks were for. There seem to be fireworks every night here. We're not really sure why. Maybe they're just very, very happy. (Unlikely. Jerusalem.)
I think I celebrated the holiday quite appropriately. In my, er, own way.
The next day in class, I put my Hebrew to the test, not only in our, well, actual test, but also in the film we watched that afternoon, an Israeli movie called "Noodle." Despite our wild predictions as to what it could be about (my vote was for an inner-city teacher who reaches her students through Italian food-making. Classmate James backed a translation of "Avatar."), it turned out to be an adorable film about a boy whose mother is deported and is left in the hands of his mom's Israeli employer, an El Al flight attendant who smuggles him to China to be with her.
Now here's the thing about me. There is one thing above all else in films that I cannot handle. That is small children being separated from their parents. And if you ask me if I cried in a lecture hall at the Hebrew University surrounded by a bunch of students I barely know, I will answer no. No I did not.
Once I had recovered, I went to get more money from the ATM. This should not be as momentous as it was, but after my first money-getting experience, it's always a victory. When I first arrived at Ben Gurion airport, I came with no shekels, planning to just get some from the ATM I knew to be there. It was there; that is technically true. But at that point I a) knew zero Hebrew and b) was dead from aforementioned Flight From Hell. So I started pressing buttons, and eventually, the card slot light up. Instinctively, I put my card in. Which proceeded to get stuck right on the lip of the slot, neither being pulled in or spit back out. I, in turn, proceed to freak out. I would not be losing my ATM card my first 10 minutes in the country. I would not allow that. I informed the ATM thusly.
When it didn't respond to my words of abuse, I pulled out my health insurance card and a Starbucks giftcard (Oh Starbucks, what can't you do for me?) and after about five or so minutes of fishing, managed to slide it out. I eventually found another ATM at a small bank on the empty second floor of the airport and clutched my new shekels victoriously.
So when getting money works, I'm usually relieved. I got my ingredients for Shabbat dinner--my turn to cook. Which I'm actually doing it right now, but I'll tell you about that in my next post about today's adventures.
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| The View from the Rooftops |
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| Me on the rooftops |
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| Katie, me, Jordan left to right |
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| The Temple Mount |
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| Some of the rooftop houses |
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| The view of the Western Wall |
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| Me in front of the Wall |
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| Can you see the Jordanian mountains? Yeah, me neither. |
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| The Mount of Olives |
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| The City of David Ramparts |
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Illuminated Texts and Illuminatis
I'm typing today's post with my feet finally propped up on my bed and a bowl of leftover couscous finally in my hands. (I cooked it up last night. Surprisingly easy. Added curry powder and sauteed garlic, eggplant, chickpeas, and peas. Surely, this is what the Gods eat. It's good it's tasty, though, since one batch will feed me for at least a week.)
We've been in the city all day. Straight after class, Katie, I, and a classmate from Norway named Marianna, took the city bus from campus to...er, what we hoped would be the Israel Museum. Now, we really did try. The Museum's website said the 9, 14, and 17 buses went there, so we didn't get on the 17 bus completely blind. Just mostly blind. (Nothing says 'fun' like my first time on a bus in any city and having zero clue where I'm going. Maps are all in Hebrew you see...) So we knew vaguely what to look for and hoped for the best.
Astoundingly, that did not work. +5 travel points to Katie, who approached the driver with a, (phonetically) "sleekah, atah medeber anglit?" He shook his head. "Eifo Mutzeon Yisrael?" (Excuse me, do you speak English?, Where is the Israel Museum?) With some helpful translation from a passenger, we determined that me needed to switch to bus tesha (9) at the next stop, which took us straight to the front door. The three of us shared in a modest group high-five as the bus pulled away.
There, we met up with Kate, another classmate of ours from America, and proceeded into the Museum.
I dragged everyone along eagerly to our first stop, the Shrine of the Book, a white dome set into the Earth amidst a fountain, housing Israel's collection of the Dead Sea Scrolls. (This biblicist has her priorities and is not ashamed of them.) But I was not alone in my enthusiasm. If you're going to go see old Biblical Texts, always take a handful of Bible, Classics, and Text nerds. Much more fun, trust me. I saw some of the Scrolls in a touring exhibit in New York this spring, but this collection was more complete, including the famously mostly-intact Isaiah scroll, and the emphasis here is that the texts are being enshrined in Zion itself. We spent at least an hour under the dark dome before Marianna started gesturing downstairs excitedly--they had the Aleppo Codex.
In short, the Aleppo Codex is a manuscript of the Hebrew Bible from the 10th century and is believed to be the most complete, authentic version of the Masoretic text. It's been hidden, stolen, shunted, and hunted all over the world for as long as it has existed until it finally found a permanent home in the Israel Museum. Signs around the display asked us to approach the text with respect.
While we were waiting for everyone to finish, I heard Katie cry from behind me, "Wellesley!" I spun around, and, sure enough, the woman behind us had a 'Wellesley Class of '07' shirt on. We introduced ourselves and chatted about what brought us to Israel (she was on a birthright trip.) Wellesley women--we are truly everywhere.
From there, we went to the Jerusalem model--a 1/50 scale model of Jerusalem in the Second Temple Period (you didn't think you were going to have to learn, did you?) The description doesn't do it justice. I wasn't prepared for how, well, cool it was. Beneath the ledge, a stand-in Mount of Olives (google that one yourself if you need to), the city lay sprawled out in reconstructed white stone about an acre wide. Tiny huts and stacked walls surrounded the Temple itself as it would have stood in Herod's Jerusalem. We spent an equally long amount of time there, taking photos and listening in on tours to learn what we could.
From there, I made what was my second trip to the Archaeological wing. This time, skipping the early stuff, I got to spend as long as I wanted with the Tel-Dan inscription (the first written reference to the House of David, a thorny archaeological issue), the Hezekiah Tunnel Inscription (the point at which the two digging teams building an aqueduct beneath the city met, proving the levels of literacy at the time and how cool the Hezekiah Tunnel is), and the oldest found Biblical text (a blessing from Numbers written on two silver pendants, predating the Dead Sea Scrolls by about 400 years). I did warn you I was a nerd about this stuff. (Are you reading all these links? There's going to be a test, you know.)
After that, it was nearly closing time, so after an obligatory trip to the gift shop in which I oohed and ahhed over some prints of illuminated Biblical texts, we tried to make our way back to East Jerusalem.
Once again, tried.
We wanted to avoid changing buses this time, so we thought we'd walk over to the Givat Ram campus of the University and take a direct bus from there.
Except we got lost. We did not find the University. We found a Circus.
Well, across from which was a random bus stop that had the right bus in the right direction, so after half an hour of wandering, we decided to just wait there. We're pretty sure we heard a motorcycle demonstration from the circus tent, labelled in bright lights, 'Amerikani.' Classy.
If Marianna ever forgives me for getting her lost, I think she'll come out with us again. She (a grad student of theology. That woman knows her biblical Hebrew.) was super cool and intelligent, and she seemed glad to have someone to tour with.
For now, my homework calls me before it gets too late. I have a few more trips planned for this week (stay tuned for the actual Hezekiah Tunnel), so there'll be plenty to talk about in my next post.
Shalom!
We've been in the city all day. Straight after class, Katie, I, and a classmate from Norway named Marianna, took the city bus from campus to...er, what we hoped would be the Israel Museum. Now, we really did try. The Museum's website said the 9, 14, and 17 buses went there, so we didn't get on the 17 bus completely blind. Just mostly blind. (Nothing says 'fun' like my first time on a bus in any city and having zero clue where I'm going. Maps are all in Hebrew you see...) So we knew vaguely what to look for and hoped for the best.
Astoundingly, that did not work. +5 travel points to Katie, who approached the driver with a, (phonetically) "sleekah, atah medeber anglit?" He shook his head. "Eifo Mutzeon Yisrael?" (Excuse me, do you speak English?, Where is the Israel Museum?) With some helpful translation from a passenger, we determined that me needed to switch to bus tesha (9) at the next stop, which took us straight to the front door. The three of us shared in a modest group high-five as the bus pulled away.
There, we met up with Kate, another classmate of ours from America, and proceeded into the Museum.
I dragged everyone along eagerly to our first stop, the Shrine of the Book, a white dome set into the Earth amidst a fountain, housing Israel's collection of the Dead Sea Scrolls. (This biblicist has her priorities and is not ashamed of them.) But I was not alone in my enthusiasm. If you're going to go see old Biblical Texts, always take a handful of Bible, Classics, and Text nerds. Much more fun, trust me. I saw some of the Scrolls in a touring exhibit in New York this spring, but this collection was more complete, including the famously mostly-intact Isaiah scroll, and the emphasis here is that the texts are being enshrined in Zion itself. We spent at least an hour under the dark dome before Marianna started gesturing downstairs excitedly--they had the Aleppo Codex.
In short, the Aleppo Codex is a manuscript of the Hebrew Bible from the 10th century and is believed to be the most complete, authentic version of the Masoretic text. It's been hidden, stolen, shunted, and hunted all over the world for as long as it has existed until it finally found a permanent home in the Israel Museum. Signs around the display asked us to approach the text with respect.
While we were waiting for everyone to finish, I heard Katie cry from behind me, "Wellesley!" I spun around, and, sure enough, the woman behind us had a 'Wellesley Class of '07' shirt on. We introduced ourselves and chatted about what brought us to Israel (she was on a birthright trip.) Wellesley women--we are truly everywhere.
From there, we went to the Jerusalem model--a 1/50 scale model of Jerusalem in the Second Temple Period (you didn't think you were going to have to learn, did you?) The description doesn't do it justice. I wasn't prepared for how, well, cool it was. Beneath the ledge, a stand-in Mount of Olives (google that one yourself if you need to), the city lay sprawled out in reconstructed white stone about an acre wide. Tiny huts and stacked walls surrounded the Temple itself as it would have stood in Herod's Jerusalem. We spent an equally long amount of time there, taking photos and listening in on tours to learn what we could.
From there, I made what was my second trip to the Archaeological wing. This time, skipping the early stuff, I got to spend as long as I wanted with the Tel-Dan inscription (the first written reference to the House of David, a thorny archaeological issue), the Hezekiah Tunnel Inscription (the point at which the two digging teams building an aqueduct beneath the city met, proving the levels of literacy at the time and how cool the Hezekiah Tunnel is), and the oldest found Biblical text (a blessing from Numbers written on two silver pendants, predating the Dead Sea Scrolls by about 400 years). I did warn you I was a nerd about this stuff. (Are you reading all these links? There's going to be a test, you know.)
After that, it was nearly closing time, so after an obligatory trip to the gift shop in which I oohed and ahhed over some prints of illuminated Biblical texts, we tried to make our way back to East Jerusalem.
Once again, tried.
We wanted to avoid changing buses this time, so we thought we'd walk over to the Givat Ram campus of the University and take a direct bus from there.
Except we got lost. We did not find the University. We found a Circus.
Well, across from which was a random bus stop that had the right bus in the right direction, so after half an hour of wandering, we decided to just wait there. We're pretty sure we heard a motorcycle demonstration from the circus tent, labelled in bright lights, 'Amerikani.' Classy.
If Marianna ever forgives me for getting her lost, I think she'll come out with us again. She (a grad student of theology. That woman knows her biblical Hebrew.) was super cool and intelligent, and she seemed glad to have someone to tour with.
For now, my homework calls me before it gets too late. I have a few more trips planned for this week (stay tuned for the actual Hezekiah Tunnel), so there'll be plenty to talk about in my next post.
Shalom!
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| Me in front of the Shrine of the Book |
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| The scale model of Jerusalem |
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Mr. Cheap's
Or, in case you were worried my time in Israel was all glitz and glamour.
Because shabbat begins in Friday, the Israeli weekend is Friday and Saturday, meaning it was back to class today after only one night off this week. We took the lone opportunity for some much needed rest. I saw neither of my Wellesley friends until 2 pm. Likewise, they didn't see me. We hung out in the apartment, ate lunch, and swapped around our college courses for a while. (You can take the girl out of the Wellesley, but...) We kept quiet and to ourselves until 8 pm or so, when we started to get ready to go out.
We learned a lot about nightlife in Jerusalem this week. Like the fact that the light rail does indeed run until midnight on saturdays, but doesn't start until 8 pm due to shabbat. Like the fact that Thursday is actually the better night out, again, because of shabbat, and while Saturday is still popular, things do not get going until at least midnight.
But we blundered out nevertheless, headed for a small pub recommended by two separate guide books and our flatmates, Dima and Ahlam. The Uganda, named for the alternative country offered as a Jewish home state, is very, well, alternative (I was right at home.) Around the pub are vinyls, cds, books, and comic books for sale, great music streaming from a side room, and seating out front to enjoy the cool night. We poked around for a bit before trying an Israeli beer in my case (Goldstar. Not bad.) and a Middle Eastern liquor called Arak in the case of the others (which was pulpy and, respectfully, disgusting.)
We were clearly too early for things to get going, but we enjoyed hanging out. While we were there, we started to hear cheering from the main road a block away. We peeked around the corner to see a large crowd parading through the streets, banging drums, and waving flags. A protest. (Mom, I see you, and I am fine. We are all fine. Everyone in the city is fine. The cats we saw in the alley way, barring any large birds, were all fine.)
At first, it was hard to tell what their cause was. They were loud but orderly, and security followed along with them the whole way. All I could read was one of their flags that bore general Israeli-isms, like "From The Land," a phrase similar to this blog title. Jordan caught the phrase "social justice" as she was taking photos. Half the crowd at least was photographers, since it was in the heart of the bustling city center, so it seemed larger than it was. Once they moved on, Amon, a man at the bar, explained to us that they were a young group not unlike the American "Occupy ____" movement (whose protests I have also bumped into and found to be much more violent and imposing than this). They were young, angry, and not really specific or unified about what. It had become a fad, again like Occupy, for them to protest at odd times like clubbing nights so they could break off and go clubbing themselves. Sure enough, two young guys with flags entered the pub not five minutes later. On our walk back, we saw others distributed amongst the other bars and clubs. Two birds with one stone, I suppose.
Remembering class the next morning (and our impending first quiz), we decided to cut our night short and caught the last train back to campus.
Today is a rest day. Going into town every day gets exhausting, so today I nap, take some pictures of the dry dirt path leading to campus, practice telling time (currently, hasha'a reva v'shalosh) and go grocery shopping at Mr. Cheap's.
Yes, that is what it is called. At first, we couldn't read the label on the doors of the grocery store two blocks north of the village. But the vegetables were good and the prices fine, so we didn't worry. Now that we can read, it actually just says 'supermarket,' but according to one student, it's a chain called Mr. Zol, or, in English, Mr. Cheap. That is the name of my grocery store. Yes, we live the classy life at the Hebrew University.
But I haven't died of scurvy, and a bag of pasta costs me 3 shekels (that's $0.75), so I'm not going to complain. That said, I should probably buy something new this week. I eat an apple in the morning, a bag of cereal at my class break, and a pita with hummus for lunch. Dinner is pasta and sauteed spinach. Every day. And while this is a good, vaguely balanced diet, one can get tired of it. I could buy my lunch at the Rothberg cafeteria. The prices aren't bad--14 shekels ($3.50) for a sandwich, and sometimes they have falafel and chips or vegetarian schnitzel, but I am cheap and prefer to pack my Mr. Zol's lunch. Maybe I will a few days this week just to avoid going mad. And I'm on shabbat duty this week. I'll be cooking the big weekly meal for us, so I'll have to come up with something interesting to make for that. But it's only fresh falafel and pickles or curried salmon when we go out. Otherwise, I eat the Israeli equivalent of microwave ramen.
I just learned where the hot water switch for the shower (whose door has just broken off), and hitherto had been taking cold showers. Which are actually quite nice here (88 F all week), however, this was a pleasing discovery. A less pleasing discovery was the fact that no one here uses driers (And I can see why not, to be fair), so I acquired some hangers for hang drying my clothes, and each apartment has a line outside its bathroom. And before acquiring a can opener, we were opening diced tomatoes with a knife and frying pan (sharp point + blunt force = tomatoes.)
So lest you think my summer is all wandering aimlessly beneath shiny golden domes, remember that I shop at Mr. Cheap's.
I wanted to experience Israel. To really feel what it was like to live there. And I'm getting that, so I shall embrace Mr. Zol with open arms. And go to Tel Aviv next weekend instead.
Because shabbat begins in Friday, the Israeli weekend is Friday and Saturday, meaning it was back to class today after only one night off this week. We took the lone opportunity for some much needed rest. I saw neither of my Wellesley friends until 2 pm. Likewise, they didn't see me. We hung out in the apartment, ate lunch, and swapped around our college courses for a while. (You can take the girl out of the Wellesley, but...) We kept quiet and to ourselves until 8 pm or so, when we started to get ready to go out.
We learned a lot about nightlife in Jerusalem this week. Like the fact that the light rail does indeed run until midnight on saturdays, but doesn't start until 8 pm due to shabbat. Like the fact that Thursday is actually the better night out, again, because of shabbat, and while Saturday is still popular, things do not get going until at least midnight.
But we blundered out nevertheless, headed for a small pub recommended by two separate guide books and our flatmates, Dima and Ahlam. The Uganda, named for the alternative country offered as a Jewish home state, is very, well, alternative (I was right at home.) Around the pub are vinyls, cds, books, and comic books for sale, great music streaming from a side room, and seating out front to enjoy the cool night. We poked around for a bit before trying an Israeli beer in my case (Goldstar. Not bad.) and a Middle Eastern liquor called Arak in the case of the others (which was pulpy and, respectfully, disgusting.)
We were clearly too early for things to get going, but we enjoyed hanging out. While we were there, we started to hear cheering from the main road a block away. We peeked around the corner to see a large crowd parading through the streets, banging drums, and waving flags. A protest. (Mom, I see you, and I am fine. We are all fine. Everyone in the city is fine. The cats we saw in the alley way, barring any large birds, were all fine.)
At first, it was hard to tell what their cause was. They were loud but orderly, and security followed along with them the whole way. All I could read was one of their flags that bore general Israeli-isms, like "From The Land," a phrase similar to this blog title. Jordan caught the phrase "social justice" as she was taking photos. Half the crowd at least was photographers, since it was in the heart of the bustling city center, so it seemed larger than it was. Once they moved on, Amon, a man at the bar, explained to us that they were a young group not unlike the American "Occupy ____" movement (whose protests I have also bumped into and found to be much more violent and imposing than this). They were young, angry, and not really specific or unified about what. It had become a fad, again like Occupy, for them to protest at odd times like clubbing nights so they could break off and go clubbing themselves. Sure enough, two young guys with flags entered the pub not five minutes later. On our walk back, we saw others distributed amongst the other bars and clubs. Two birds with one stone, I suppose.
Remembering class the next morning (and our impending first quiz), we decided to cut our night short and caught the last train back to campus.
Today is a rest day. Going into town every day gets exhausting, so today I nap, take some pictures of the dry dirt path leading to campus, practice telling time (currently, hasha'a reva v'shalosh) and go grocery shopping at Mr. Cheap's.
Yes, that is what it is called. At first, we couldn't read the label on the doors of the grocery store two blocks north of the village. But the vegetables were good and the prices fine, so we didn't worry. Now that we can read, it actually just says 'supermarket,' but according to one student, it's a chain called Mr. Zol, or, in English, Mr. Cheap. That is the name of my grocery store. Yes, we live the classy life at the Hebrew University.
But I haven't died of scurvy, and a bag of pasta costs me 3 shekels (that's $0.75), so I'm not going to complain. That said, I should probably buy something new this week. I eat an apple in the morning, a bag of cereal at my class break, and a pita with hummus for lunch. Dinner is pasta and sauteed spinach. Every day. And while this is a good, vaguely balanced diet, one can get tired of it. I could buy my lunch at the Rothberg cafeteria. The prices aren't bad--14 shekels ($3.50) for a sandwich, and sometimes they have falafel and chips or vegetarian schnitzel, but I am cheap and prefer to pack my Mr. Zol's lunch. Maybe I will a few days this week just to avoid going mad. And I'm on shabbat duty this week. I'll be cooking the big weekly meal for us, so I'll have to come up with something interesting to make for that. But it's only fresh falafel and pickles or curried salmon when we go out. Otherwise, I eat the Israeli equivalent of microwave ramen.
I just learned where the hot water switch for the shower (whose door has just broken off), and hitherto had been taking cold showers. Which are actually quite nice here (88 F all week), however, this was a pleasing discovery. A less pleasing discovery was the fact that no one here uses driers (And I can see why not, to be fair), so I acquired some hangers for hang drying my clothes, and each apartment has a line outside its bathroom. And before acquiring a can opener, we were opening diced tomatoes with a knife and frying pan (sharp point + blunt force = tomatoes.)
So lest you think my summer is all wandering aimlessly beneath shiny golden domes, remember that I shop at Mr. Cheap's.
I wanted to experience Israel. To really feel what it was like to live there. And I'm getting that, so I shall embrace Mr. Zol with open arms. And go to Tel Aviv next weekend instead.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Shabbat Shalom
Tonight will be my first Shabbat in Jerusalem. (I just had to teach my computer's dictionary the word 'shabbat.' Sad.) Soon, we'll go over and help our friend Jordan prepare Shabbat dinner (which must be completed before sundown, since cooking is work). We will have eggplant parmesan, challah, ruglach, and wine. I'm looking forward to the time with them and a night off from class. We normally wouldn't have class on Friday, this week being the exception. But in the afternoon period, they taught us modern Israeli songs, which was more fun than I am willing to admit.
Unexpected downside to the Sabbath: I live on the 6th floor of my apartment building, and elevators are shut down for shabbat. Add it to the list of Reasons I Will Return From This Trip Incredibly Fit.
Yesterday's trip to the Old City was unbelievable. Jerusalem is beautiful beyond words. I was in awe. (though hopefully not too in awe. Tell your friends about the dangers of Jerusalem Syndrome.)
We took the city's brand new light rail, a sleek bullet of a train that blessedly only travels on a single line, to the heart of Jaffa street, a bustling block of shops that leads from city center to the Old City. As we approached, the grey shop fronts faded into white stone and palm trees, which paved the way to the Jaffa Gate, one of the many Gates in the walls enclosing the Old City. We started our day in the Armenian Quarter. (Old City is divided into Quarters: Moslem, Armenian, Christian, and Jewish.) There we walked through the busy bazaar, a crowded series of alleys and streets filled from wall to wall with fabrics, bracelets, beads, metalwork, ceramics, and more colors than you can name. There, you have to be a very aware shopper. Shop keepers' trick is to talk to you to get you to come to their stall. Don't make eye contact or acknowledge their questions, and you can pass just fine. Second tip: Don't be American. Be anything else. Speak in a Spanish accent if you can. Once they know you're American, up goes the price. Finally, bartering. Every price is way above normal, so you have to barter. Don't be in a rush, don't answer "How much would you like to pay?", and be ready to walk out if the price is no good. 8 times out of 10, you'll be called back in, and your price will be accepted, as our friend Katie successfully did, much to our pride.
Our next stop was the Christian Quarter--specifically, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Here, things started to get a bit emotional for us. I admit, I was envious of the devout who filtered through the dark stone corridors, rubbing altars with pendants and scarves and lighting candles in the Orthodox shrines. This was the most powerful experience in the world for them. We felt a strong vicarious joy and reverence. The Church is teeming with sights. We first encountered the Stone of Anointing, a large slab set into the floor beneath lanterns on which Jesus was supposedly prepared for burial, though this story has only existed since the crusaders. Nuns in habits and laypeople alike were bent over it, muttering prayers as they touched the stone. To the left is the Stone of Calvary, a crevice in the rock wall which, supposedly, is the very wall that split when Christ died. I also heard a tour guide say in broken English that this is where Adam, the first man, is supposedly buried. (Note: Believe what you like. I simply blog what I heard.) Further within is the Chapel of St. Helen, Emperor Constantine's mother. People lined up to light candles within the tiny but ornate structure, the side of which remains charred and black from where it was burnt. On our way out, we rested in the courtyard of an Ethiopian monastery, took a few photos, and chatted in broken Hebrew with a friendly monk.
Next, we made our way slowly through the winding streets and stone archways toward the Jewish quarter, our end destination being the Kotel (also called the Western Wall, or the Wailing Wall). We were able to get closer than I had expected. We were three women, and I had heard only men can approach the wall. It's somewhat true. The plaza is divided by gender, with a very large open plaza for men, and a cramped area off to the side about 1/5 the size for women. We did peer over the fence and watched for a bit as a young boy had his bar mitzvah before the Wall. It wasn't Shabbat, so it wasn't too crowded. We hung back as women, heads wrapped in borrowed scarves, muttering from their own prayer books or taken from the shelf as you approach and swaying, heads occasionally pressed into the stones in silence. The women stood three rows deep, as there isn't enough room for them all to approach. Above, tiny scraps of paper filled every last nook and cranny. The papers bore short prayers written by visitors, and are considered so sacred, that when they are taken from the Wall, they are buried in a scared place.
We sat on the observation ledge for a while after in the afternoon sun, watching the plaza, smiling at a small Israeli boy who kept climbing over the stones and poking his head out to giggle at us, and planning our future visits. Then it was out of the city and back up Jaffa street, stopping on the way to the train stop for some quick falafel at a shop recommended by my advisor. (I'm already a food snob. 'Oh, you like falafel? Well you've only had American falafel, and believe me, you haven't lived til you've tried the real thing on the streets of Jerusalem..')
I made it back to my apartment just in time to finish my homework and promptly fall asleep on top of my books.
Technically, I shouldn't even be using my computer, so I shall say Shabbat Shalom for now!
Unexpected downside to the Sabbath: I live on the 6th floor of my apartment building, and elevators are shut down for shabbat. Add it to the list of Reasons I Will Return From This Trip Incredibly Fit.
Yesterday's trip to the Old City was unbelievable. Jerusalem is beautiful beyond words. I was in awe. (though hopefully not too in awe. Tell your friends about the dangers of Jerusalem Syndrome.)
We took the city's brand new light rail, a sleek bullet of a train that blessedly only travels on a single line, to the heart of Jaffa street, a bustling block of shops that leads from city center to the Old City. As we approached, the grey shop fronts faded into white stone and palm trees, which paved the way to the Jaffa Gate, one of the many Gates in the walls enclosing the Old City. We started our day in the Armenian Quarter. (Old City is divided into Quarters: Moslem, Armenian, Christian, and Jewish.) There we walked through the busy bazaar, a crowded series of alleys and streets filled from wall to wall with fabrics, bracelets, beads, metalwork, ceramics, and more colors than you can name. There, you have to be a very aware shopper. Shop keepers' trick is to talk to you to get you to come to their stall. Don't make eye contact or acknowledge their questions, and you can pass just fine. Second tip: Don't be American. Be anything else. Speak in a Spanish accent if you can. Once they know you're American, up goes the price. Finally, bartering. Every price is way above normal, so you have to barter. Don't be in a rush, don't answer "How much would you like to pay?", and be ready to walk out if the price is no good. 8 times out of 10, you'll be called back in, and your price will be accepted, as our friend Katie successfully did, much to our pride.
Our next stop was the Christian Quarter--specifically, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Here, things started to get a bit emotional for us. I admit, I was envious of the devout who filtered through the dark stone corridors, rubbing altars with pendants and scarves and lighting candles in the Orthodox shrines. This was the most powerful experience in the world for them. We felt a strong vicarious joy and reverence. The Church is teeming with sights. We first encountered the Stone of Anointing, a large slab set into the floor beneath lanterns on which Jesus was supposedly prepared for burial, though this story has only existed since the crusaders. Nuns in habits and laypeople alike were bent over it, muttering prayers as they touched the stone. To the left is the Stone of Calvary, a crevice in the rock wall which, supposedly, is the very wall that split when Christ died. I also heard a tour guide say in broken English that this is where Adam, the first man, is supposedly buried. (Note: Believe what you like. I simply blog what I heard.) Further within is the Chapel of St. Helen, Emperor Constantine's mother. People lined up to light candles within the tiny but ornate structure, the side of which remains charred and black from where it was burnt. On our way out, we rested in the courtyard of an Ethiopian monastery, took a few photos, and chatted in broken Hebrew with a friendly monk.
Next, we made our way slowly through the winding streets and stone archways toward the Jewish quarter, our end destination being the Kotel (also called the Western Wall, or the Wailing Wall). We were able to get closer than I had expected. We were three women, and I had heard only men can approach the wall. It's somewhat true. The plaza is divided by gender, with a very large open plaza for men, and a cramped area off to the side about 1/5 the size for women. We did peer over the fence and watched for a bit as a young boy had his bar mitzvah before the Wall. It wasn't Shabbat, so it wasn't too crowded. We hung back as women, heads wrapped in borrowed scarves, muttering from their own prayer books or taken from the shelf as you approach and swaying, heads occasionally pressed into the stones in silence. The women stood three rows deep, as there isn't enough room for them all to approach. Above, tiny scraps of paper filled every last nook and cranny. The papers bore short prayers written by visitors, and are considered so sacred, that when they are taken from the Wall, they are buried in a scared place.
We sat on the observation ledge for a while after in the afternoon sun, watching the plaza, smiling at a small Israeli boy who kept climbing over the stones and poking his head out to giggle at us, and planning our future visits. Then it was out of the city and back up Jaffa street, stopping on the way to the train stop for some quick falafel at a shop recommended by my advisor. (I'm already a food snob. 'Oh, you like falafel? Well you've only had American falafel, and believe me, you haven't lived til you've tried the real thing on the streets of Jerusalem..')
I made it back to my apartment just in time to finish my homework and promptly fall asleep on top of my books.
Technically, I shouldn't even be using my computer, so I shall say Shabbat Shalom for now!
 |
| The Armenian Bazaar |
 |
| Me in front of a synagogue in the Jewish Quarter |
 |
| The Temple Mount behind the Western Wall |
 |
| Women praying at the Western Wall |
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Getting Grounded
Today’s post comes to you from a real live computer with a
real live wifi connection. My access was limited to when I was on the campus
(which is about a 20-minute walk from the student village where I live. Uphill,
my legs would like to remind.) My last post was tapped out at 9:30 before the
library closed on my iPod’s web browser. But right now I’m on my class break,
enjoying the slightly cooler weather today (that would be 88F), sitting beside
a waterfall and some tombs carved into the white rocks as at least 7 of
Jerusalem’s hordes of stray cats patter around me in the Hebrew University’s
botanical garden. Just an ordinary day in Jerusalem.
Today is only our third day of study, but I feel like I’ve
been learning Hebrew for much longer. Granted, we still don’t know the whole
alphabet (still can’t spell the word for ‘money.’ Slightly problematic), but
today I played the role of a humble shopkeeper greeting her customers and
selling nothing but coffee, oranges, and vodka. I had a few other items that we
know the words for, but those were the big sellers. So at least I know I could
have a lucrative career here as a shopkeeper. (Don’t worry, the ‘vodka’ was
just a water bottle, but we had 3 other bottles of ‘mayim’ for sale, so our
teacher wanted to shake things up a bit.)
I just took a break from writing this to have a conversation
with one of the cats. He said ‘meow.’ I replied in kind. He moved on. Some
things are universal.
After learning a handful of food words, my flatmate and I
returned to the grocery store (h’super) to test our knowledge. It went
abysmally. It turns out our reading still needs a lot of work, but there was a
great moment of triumph when I successfully read the label on the hummus, which
read ‘hummus.’ I maintain that the picture of the chickpeas on the lid aided me
in no way and it was a pure testament to my Hebrew proficiency.
I’m living just outside of the main campus in an apartment.
Five of us have a shared living space while each having our own rooms. There’s
me. Next door is my friend from Wellesley (there are three of us here in total.
So much better knowing a few people while you’re here.) Norika is next to her.
She’s from Japan and has pretty much kept to herself, so I don’t even know what
she’s studying here. Then there’s Dima and Acham (my best guess at an English
spelling), Israeli students who have been living here for a year or two, which
meant our apartment wasn’t sparse as some students had but beautifully
decorated and, more importantly, stocked with pots, pans, and a microwave.
Small mercies.
Last night, we bought a bottle of Israeli wine (and pudding,
because that was one of the first food words we learned, and if you talk about
a food 6 hours a day, a girl can get a craving), and sat down in our ‘living
room’ with Dima and Acham and chatted about Isreal, study, food, and where to
go in the city as the evening call to prayer filtered through our open window
overlooking the heart of Jerusalem. I felt so cultured.
The view from our hilltop is amazing. The University sits
atop Mt. Scopus, ‘the overlook,’ and from my room, I can see from the Temple
Mount in the Old City to the far hills of the surrounding villages. I wasn’t
kidding about the weather. This week’s high is 90F on the Sabbath, but it
depends where you are. I’m outside
at about 10 am, but between 1-3 pm is killer. If you have to be outside, load
up on sunscreen and water. I have not, without being hyperbolic, seen one single
cloud since I have been here. Not a one. Just blue skies and heat. And the haze
that hangs over the valleys in the cities. It’s something about being so far
below sea level, but I prefer the words of the poet Yehuda Amichai:
“The
air over Jerusalem is saturated with prayers
and dreams
like the air over industrial cities.
It’s hard to breathe.”
and dreams
like the air over industrial cities.
It’s hard to breathe.”
My friends and I have chosen this cooler day to travel into
the Old City after class (via the spiffy new Light Rail), since we must have
our arms, legs, and collarbones covered as women. Plus, we can’t go tomorrow.
All public transportation shuts down on the Sabbath. That’s in Jerusalem,
though. Travel outside the City, and it’s much more secular. Tel Aviv for
example does not sleep.
My first full day here, I met up after class with my
advisor, who was also staying in the City. We went to the Israel Museum and
toured the archaelogical wing, discussed pieces I’d studied in class, and I got
tons of backstory behind the objects. We went to dinner in a restraunt just off
of the Shuk, or ‘marketplace,’ a bustling area of stalls and shoppers. We had delicious
food: blue fin on watermelon, curried salmon, and semolina cake for me. That
day, I probably walked the length of the city, skirting around Old City. It was
so beautiful.
Back to class now!
Lahitra’ot! (Goodbye!)
Monday, June 25, 2012
Flights from Hell and Saints on Earth
Or, whatever the Jewish equivalent is. (Do they have anything like saints? My education begins.)
This has been. The. Longest. Day. I'm now past hour 36 and going strong. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)
It started yesterday at 7 am as I travelled to Newark airport. At check-in, I was ready for the Spanish Inquisition that awaits anyone flying to Israel (you might say I expected it), but I was unprepared to be called into a back room, strip-searched, and have my iPod and Kindle, which many people on the plane had, confiscated as "flagged machines" (How many lights are there, Picard?) That was fun. I was then escorted onto the plane, since it had already boarded while an El Al agent and I got to know each other much better. Then, the 11-hour flight began.
My movie screen thing worked for exactly 14 minutes (no spoilers for Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, please) at which point it went kaput. My Kindle and iPod were nought to be found, so I people-watched until dinner (couldn't eat it, though the hummus was good), after which I tried to sleep.
Tried, of course, being the operative word.
The woman next to me, who, curse the day, I was oh so quick to judge, proceeded to prod me awake to assist her with the overhead light. Across the aisle, a gaggle of women stood talking to a seated passenger, forcing anyone who needed to pass to have to sit on me just to get by, not to mention every time they themselves would jostle me. But the true icing on the cake, the true crusty topping on the creme brule, the real frosted coating on my wheaty breakfast cereal, was the baby.
Now I love babies. Probably too much. (Say it with me, "Kidnapping is wrong.") But this little girl screamed for 11 hours straight. I do not mean she cried most of the flight. I do not mean she had a somewhat annoying cry. I mean precisely what I said--she screamed for 11 hours straight. She was still screaming in the front row as we disembarked.
I am at breaking point with this flight. It never ends, I have no way to kill the time, sleeping included, and I barely know what I'm doing once I get there. But, the woman next to me, saint on Earth, starts chatting in English. She learns that I'm going to study, and we chat about the Bible and languages and Israel. She was returning home from visiting her sister and assured me Israel was a welcoming place. As we started to land, she reached into her purse.
"Here," she said in thick but intelligible English, "I have many, many of these. You take this one." She hands me a tiny, palm-sized Bible written in tiny Hebrew. The cover was almost worn through, but the pages were clean.
I tried to refuse her offer, but she just pressed it into my hand and said, "You are very welcome her ein Israel." She made the whole nasty flight worth it.
However, she couldn't make up for the shuttle ride to the University. Israel is fond of shared cabs, called a "sherut." It costs about a quarter of a cab. The catch being that you have to wait until it fills with 10 passegers, and you may have to wait while they are all dropped off. Like if your University is on the far side of the City. Or if there's crazy traffic. Or if your driver has to get to a funeral and shunts you into a taxi.
But I made it in the end. The city is gorgeous, pictures to come.
-C
This has been. The. Longest. Day. I'm now past hour 36 and going strong. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)
It started yesterday at 7 am as I travelled to Newark airport. At check-in, I was ready for the Spanish Inquisition that awaits anyone flying to Israel (you might say I expected it), but I was unprepared to be called into a back room, strip-searched, and have my iPod and Kindle, which many people on the plane had, confiscated as "flagged machines" (How many lights are there, Picard?) That was fun. I was then escorted onto the plane, since it had already boarded while an El Al agent and I got to know each other much better. Then, the 11-hour flight began.
My movie screen thing worked for exactly 14 minutes (no spoilers for Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, please) at which point it went kaput. My Kindle and iPod were nought to be found, so I people-watched until dinner (couldn't eat it, though the hummus was good), after which I tried to sleep.
Tried, of course, being the operative word.
The woman next to me, who, curse the day, I was oh so quick to judge, proceeded to prod me awake to assist her with the overhead light. Across the aisle, a gaggle of women stood talking to a seated passenger, forcing anyone who needed to pass to have to sit on me just to get by, not to mention every time they themselves would jostle me. But the true icing on the cake, the true crusty topping on the creme brule, the real frosted coating on my wheaty breakfast cereal, was the baby.
Now I love babies. Probably too much. (Say it with me, "Kidnapping is wrong.") But this little girl screamed for 11 hours straight. I do not mean she cried most of the flight. I do not mean she had a somewhat annoying cry. I mean precisely what I said--she screamed for 11 hours straight. She was still screaming in the front row as we disembarked.
I am at breaking point with this flight. It never ends, I have no way to kill the time, sleeping included, and I barely know what I'm doing once I get there. But, the woman next to me, saint on Earth, starts chatting in English. She learns that I'm going to study, and we chat about the Bible and languages and Israel. She was returning home from visiting her sister and assured me Israel was a welcoming place. As we started to land, she reached into her purse.
"Here," she said in thick but intelligible English, "I have many, many of these. You take this one." She hands me a tiny, palm-sized Bible written in tiny Hebrew. The cover was almost worn through, but the pages were clean.
I tried to refuse her offer, but she just pressed it into my hand and said, "You are very welcome her ein Israel." She made the whole nasty flight worth it.
However, she couldn't make up for the shuttle ride to the University. Israel is fond of shared cabs, called a "sherut." It costs about a quarter of a cab. The catch being that you have to wait until it fills with 10 passegers, and you may have to wait while they are all dropped off. Like if your University is on the far side of the City. Or if there's crazy traffic. Or if your driver has to get to a funeral and shunts you into a taxi.
But I made it in the end. The city is gorgeous, pictures to come.
-C
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Travel Time
Ok, I'm all packed. I've managed to fit 5 weeks worth of things in one very large checkable bag, a tiny carry on, and a backpack. I didn't know I could manage like this. Remind me to take much less to college in the fall.
I drive four hours down to Newark today (the closest place I could get a direct flight), then fly out tomorrow afternoon, and touch down in Tel Aviv at 7 am their time. (For those keeping score at home, it's 7 hours ahead of EST). I'm nervous to travel around on my own and for the fun job of finding my way to campus from the airport. But the program offered a group flight on the same one I'm on (bought my own ticket in advance, so tough luck for me, but I got it cheaper, so.), so hopefully I might meet some other students on the flight.
There is a strong probability that I will NOT have internet in my dorm (cue violin chords from Psycho), but there's a library with internet, so I can at least update this every so often. But this of course makes me wonder what I'm going to do with my evenings (Study, says my parents.) Also, if you need to contact me, I will not be as prompt. I will not have my phone, but my email (cbach@wellesley.edu) will be the first thing I check, so that's the best way to reach me.
Other than that, keep your eyes peeled for updates, wish me luck (I can do this, right? Right?), and I'll see you all in August!
-C
I drive four hours down to Newark today (the closest place I could get a direct flight), then fly out tomorrow afternoon, and touch down in Tel Aviv at 7 am their time. (For those keeping score at home, it's 7 hours ahead of EST). I'm nervous to travel around on my own and for the fun job of finding my way to campus from the airport. But the program offered a group flight on the same one I'm on (bought my own ticket in advance, so tough luck for me, but I got it cheaper, so.), so hopefully I might meet some other students on the flight.
There is a strong probability that I will NOT have internet in my dorm (cue violin chords from Psycho), but there's a library with internet, so I can at least update this every so often. But this of course makes me wonder what I'm going to do with my evenings (Study, says my parents.) Also, if you need to contact me, I will not be as prompt. I will not have my phone, but my email (cbach@wellesley.edu) will be the first thing I check, so that's the best way to reach me.
Other than that, keep your eyes peeled for updates, wish me luck (I can do this, right? Right?), and I'll see you all in August!
-C
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Preparations
Just a week and a half to go now. Very exciting!
There have been some, shall we say, headaches in getting everything in order. Wellesley lost my first transcript, so my acceptance was delayed by quite a bit, which I found out while I was in Amsterdam and could do nothing to help. Just this week, I was accepted to the program, reserved my housing, paid my bill, and learned what it was like to spend $2,500 in one go. I've got a direct flight (thank you god of air travel), and I'll be touching down in Tel Aviv the day before my program starts!
So now that ll that stress is out of the way, I have to think about being there. Make my food/living budget (oh, the falafel I shall cook) and figure out what to pack. Naturally, I went clothes shopping and bought some lovely floor length, super lightweight skirts. I needed something of modest length for visiting Holy sites but still cool enough for the Israeli summer heat.
But the rest is minutia. So for now, it's pack pack pack.
Next post coming to you from Israel!
C
There have been some, shall we say, headaches in getting everything in order. Wellesley lost my first transcript, so my acceptance was delayed by quite a bit, which I found out while I was in Amsterdam and could do nothing to help. Just this week, I was accepted to the program, reserved my housing, paid my bill, and learned what it was like to spend $2,500 in one go. I've got a direct flight (thank you god of air travel), and I'll be touching down in Tel Aviv the day before my program starts!
So now that ll that stress is out of the way, I have to think about being there. Make my food/living budget (oh, the falafel I shall cook) and figure out what to pack. Naturally, I went clothes shopping and bought some lovely floor length, super lightweight skirts. I needed something of modest length for visiting Holy sites but still cool enough for the Israeli summer heat.
But the rest is minutia. So for now, it's pack pack pack.
Next post coming to you from Israel!
C
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Getting There
This summer, I'll be doing my study abroad in Israel from June 24th to August 1st. Or, at least, I plan to. Not everything's in order yet, but there's no reason I should be denied from the program. They have all my forms, so I'm just waiting to hear back and to buy my plane ticket.
My placement test was quite literally a blank form. I guessed at two questions before calling it quits.
I don't speak Hebrew. At all. Yet. That's the point, though. I'm going to go, immerse myself, and pick up as much as I can. I'm excited to finally be learning a language I can speak to other living people. I just completed two years of study in Ancient Greek, which, while I can speak to a degree, is a dead language, and "I sacrificed 5 goats to the Gods," is a less than useful sentence.
As of now, I know three letters--gimel, bet, and dalet. And I know one phrase--the title of this blog. Ba'aretz, a phrase which, I gather, means "in the land," a term used to mean in Israel. And thus, my blog title! To chronicle my adventures ba'aretz.
I'm going to Amsterdam in about a week. It will be my first time ever out of the country and second time flying, so I'm grateful for the experience before I pack up for the Holy Land. In the mean time, my Dad got me a guide book for my birthday, and I plan to devour it.
I'm going with two other Wellesley students, Jordan and Katie, thanks to a beautifully generous grant from Wellesley's Hebrew department, for which I am exceptionally grateful. It's allowed me to study abroad at all.
There's still a lot left to arrange, but now that my semester is over, I can totally focus on getting there, and I'm starting to get very excited.
My placement test was quite literally a blank form. I guessed at two questions before calling it quits.
I don't speak Hebrew. At all. Yet. That's the point, though. I'm going to go, immerse myself, and pick up as much as I can. I'm excited to finally be learning a language I can speak to other living people. I just completed two years of study in Ancient Greek, which, while I can speak to a degree, is a dead language, and "I sacrificed 5 goats to the Gods," is a less than useful sentence.
As of now, I know three letters--gimel, bet, and dalet. And I know one phrase--the title of this blog. Ba'aretz, a phrase which, I gather, means "in the land," a term used to mean in Israel. And thus, my blog title! To chronicle my adventures ba'aretz.
I'm going to Amsterdam in about a week. It will be my first time ever out of the country and second time flying, so I'm grateful for the experience before I pack up for the Holy Land. In the mean time, my Dad got me a guide book for my birthday, and I plan to devour it.
I'm going with two other Wellesley students, Jordan and Katie, thanks to a beautifully generous grant from Wellesley's Hebrew department, for which I am exceptionally grateful. It's allowed me to study abroad at all.
There's still a lot left to arrange, but now that my semester is over, I can totally focus on getting there, and I'm starting to get very excited.
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