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.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
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.
 |
| The View from the Rooftops |
 |
| Me on the rooftops |
 |
| Katie, me, Jordan left to right |
 |
| The Temple Mount |
 |
| Some of the rooftop houses |
 |
| The view of the Western Wall |
 |
| Me in front of the Wall |
 |
| 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!
 |
| Me in front of the Shrine of the Book |
 |
| 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.
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