11 January 2007

At NYU we were warned about drug-dealers in Washington Square Park, and for women to be careful of their surroundings. What do we have to be careful of at Hebrew U? Packs of wild dogs.

Getting ready for a meeting in the evening, I heard the odd sound of dogs barking on campus. As the campus, like all of Israel, is overrun with feral cats (cats are to here what squirrels are to the States), the sound of barking dogs was very strange. I looked out the window, and sure enough dog after dog was pouring into a walkway between buildings, to the extent it looked like a remake of the scene from "A Christmas Story" where the next-door beighbors have a horde of bloodhounds that terrorize the protagonist's family. Ten dogs were now swarming the campus -- I called campus security, who promptly said "we already know the situation" and "we're taking care of it, someone from the Municipality is coming." The thought of running to my meeting for fear of running into this pack of wild dogs had me laughing to myself, something I definitely needed.
From the last post, not much as changed with work, I'm progressively unhappier there. I didn't get a job offer I was hoping for, but they promised to find work for me in the next few weeks.

Meanwhile, the lack of recent posts has to do with the fact that my computer is once again going blank on a regular basis. I've diagnosed it as either a faulty screen, an overheating battery or the fan is not working well enough -- because of the last two, I end up putting the laptop in the fridge to chill, on the top shelf just under the freezer with its beard of ice. It really does work, and back in the States I've seen a "cooling" mat for laptops that I'm intending to buy (I was actually thinking of buying it before moving here, but for some reason I didn't).

Two more finals to go, both in prerequisite classes, so I can hopefully be done with htem and start the process of writing a thesis.

31 January 2007

I'm sick again, the second time this winter. This never happened in all my 25 years in the States, so to say "this sucks" would be an understatement. The weather has changed from bright, sunny and warm on the weekend to cold and rainy once again. While it's great that the rain returned...
I woke up this morning with a painful itch in the back of my throat, making me wince every time I swallow. As I began to go about the day, my sinuses felt like they were going to implode. I got through my work, and decided to go to SuperPharm to get throat lozenges. Wouldn't you know it, the day I'm sick and need to go there, only one register is open, and the guy behind it is not only a moron in that he can't properly ring up the woman employee who cut in front of me in line, but doesn't have the guts to say "sorry for the wait;" instead he proceeds to give me the same cold shoulder that I'm giving him. There's something about working in a convenience/pharmacy/toiletries store, whether it's Superpharm, Duane Reede or the infamous CVS that makes people turn into idiots, or else they're just hired that way. Either way, yet another thing in common with the States.
I have to now go back to the accursed store for better throat lozenges that have medication other than Ricola's elderberry extract flavor. Not to mention at some point soon keep working on my take-home test on Lebanon. Take-home tests: sounds like a great idea, until the attached procrastination kicks in and forces you to watch clips of "West Wing on YouTube. And/or makes you sick for the second time in a month.

29 January 2007

I'm not trying to insult anyone's intelligence when I write the following: I'm fine, nowhere near the suicide bombing that happened today. I don't assume everyone who reads this blog knows Israel's geography -- Jerusalem is in the center, and Eilat is the southernmost town in the country, a four-hour drive away.
That being said, it's rather scary that Eilat was hit. On the one hand, there hasn't been an attack in the country for a long time, in part thanks to the security buffer; on the other hand, Eilat, being a resort town for Europeans, never gets attacked and this could be a huge setback for the tourism industry in this country.

Thought I'd update the blog while taking a nap after Part 2 of my Arabic final (it went well, although I didn't remember the literal translations of some of the words that we were assumed to memorize. Once again, it's all about the assumptions here.)

20 January 2007

My computer is working for the moment, after finally deciding to reformat the hard drive (i.e., erainsg all files and starting from scratch). I saved what I could triage-wise on a USB key, completely forgetting all my Favorites page and a good percentage of mp3's (they still exist on my iPod, so we'll see what happens when I reinstall the iPod software).

All Saturday I wanted to take a walk, yet I knew it was at some point going to rain. Just as Shabbat ended, the wind picked up, the sky turned an ominous shade of mauve, and the rain began. Just like three weeks ago, it poured and poured. I guess the best equivalent to this kind of rain is a monsoon -- seasonal and when it arrives, it arrives in buckets, complete with thunder/lightning. I had an engagement party to go to, trudging through the rain to get there. After a little bit I left, only for the hail to begin. With no cars out, the sound was amplified, as if I was walking in the middle of one of those "rainsticks" they sell in nature stores. My normal way of walking home was blocked by a huge tree which had fallen over, taking some power lines with it.
It's amazing how a Mediterranean storm can make me feel like I'm back in DC.

19 January 2007

My computer has gotten possessed by some sort of demon, which in a fit will cause the screen to start flickering, eventually turning the screen completely gray with several white horizontal lines placed in a way that would make a great design for a sweater at Gap, but not on my computer. If I start up the computer in "debugging mode," it seems to help. The demon is probably a Luddite, and as a result I haven't spent hours on You Tube or a new site I just hear about from a friend with full TV shows and movies.

Where to start? Last weekend I went up to Tel Aviv for a few hours to see good friends from college. As soon as I got out of the minibus, I took a deep breath of Central Bus Station air, full of smashed Russian beer bottles and illegal migrant workers, and was so happy to be in Tel Aviv/out of Jerusalem. We sat outside at a café notorious for poor service, and I absorbed the warmth and view of the sea.

Flash forward a week and it's surprisingly warm here in Jerusalem. So much so that I opened the windows in my apartment. While it's great that it's somewhere in the 60's today, we haven't had any rain since the Great Flood two weeks ago. If the dew point is at a certain level (I never understood the dew point), everything is covered with a skin of moisture, and when one inhales the moisture fills one's lungs. An odd feeling, but that's life on a mountain surrounded by desert.

Sunday brings another strike by the Student Union, making students go a bit berserk because exams are soon approaching; not to mention the new overseas students for the spring semester arrive on Sunday for registration. More than 200, to be exact. Hebrew U is going to have an amount of students that it hasn't seen in several years, which is amazing, even if I'm still part-time staff.

The computer is starting to flicker again, especially when I started playing a movie. Damn. I'm hoping it's a software problem that can easily be fixed.

08 January 2007

After weeks and weeks of resisting getting sick, the cold/flu/virus/whatever that been spreading through Jerusalem finally caught me. This morning I was able to get to my 8.30 class relatively on time, which definitely meant something was different. As the morning progressed, the pressure in my head increased. After grabbing lunch on campus with a great friend from high school, I told work I had to go home. I had to stop at the pharmacy downtown, and unfortunately took the bus with the scenic tour of Jerusalem. The pharmacy, part of a chain in Israel, was having a Buy One Get One Free sale, so the customers and staff were going insane. The pharmacist was kind enough to explain the difference between two different types of cold medicine, and I was soon enough out of there.
Looking at the box, which contained both day & night medications, I regretted that it included the dreaded pseudoephedrine, but my throbbing sinuses couldn't wait. I got home, took the pills and ate food, and tried to rest by watching a movie. Turns out watching "Donnie Darko" (an amazing movie) while on Dexamol Cold daytime formula leads to some odd feelings, one of which being a near-complete blurring of time. Not quite sure if I was asleep or not, I got out of bed, made sure to eat something, and eventually met up with two friends for a drink. My drink being hot tea.

07 January 2007

PS: One of the other rules I forgot to mention in the previous post was that I am also forbidden to get involved with any one named Tiffany, Brittany, and Brandy.

The strike last Wednesday really did happen: The gates to the university were closed, covered in posters and locked with thick chains. The main gates for cars and buses were blocked. There was a gate open for campus staff only, which I begrudgingly entered. Anyone who showed a student ID to the security guard would be heckled by an intimidating member of the Student Union, wedged into the entrance.
After a 2-hour meeting which was uneventful, to put it mildly, I ran out of the building to get off of campus. Members of the Student Union were blowing whistles at any student they saw, despite the fact that the overseas and pre-college prep students were not affected by the strike. While they stated in an email/communiqué that due to the upcoming finals period, they will wait to wage a protracted strike until next semester, I am nonetheless impressed with how well the protest went, even though pictures from the protest showed them burning tires. As if Jerusalem wasn't polluted enough.

Regardless of the strike, I was in a hurry to get off of campus to see my mom. She was asked to co-staff a 2-week trip for DC area college students, many of whom I know as birthright israel past participants. Although I have lots of friends in Israel, and plenty of work to keep me busy, it's a whole other experience to have a family member be here. Despite keeping a very busy schedule, we managed to see each other several times in the course of her program, including coming over for lunch this past Saturday.
On top of my mom's visit, I have lots of friends visiting from the States now. Friday night dinner saw the reunion of several friends from DC, all of us managing to resort to our once-usual conversations on politics, Israel and Jewish identity. I've definitely missed those meals, as they fed my native Washingtonian soul. This week sees no less than ten people from various walks of my life passing through Israel, and with the semester for overseas students over, I can actually go out during the week to see them, and even invite them over to my recently-cleaned apartment.

This past weekend saw one of the most vicious storms in recent memory. The rain began Friday afternoon with buckets of rain pouring down on a friend & me, as we bought food for Shabbat dinner. The rain never let up, eventually escalating into hail, and then very dramatic bouts of thunder & lightning, eerily bright and booming. In Israel, it's not very common to have long thunderstorms with thunder that rattles the windows. Those of us from DC who were at dinner are used to this kind of weather, albeit not normally in the winter. I couldn't help but think about the native-born Israelis in Jerusalem, who are not only unaccustomed to such weather, but don't have the happiest of connotations with bright flashes of light and crashing noises. On the plus side, the Kinneret/Sea of Galilee, Israel's main freshwater reserve, rose by 5cm this past weekend.

02 January 2007

Tomorrow there is a planned general strike on campus by the Student Union. While I understand the strike is about the proposed increase in tuition at public universities, the concept of an organized group of students striking, not to mention canceling classes, is foreign territory. The last new I heard is that classes are cancelled, it's going to be hard to get onto campus, and they're going to let campus workers in the gates. I have a staff meeting at 10am, and while I'm planning to go, there's the issue of having to potentially cross a picket-line.
I may not take my father's advice to heart all the time, but there a few principles I've been taught to live by him: Don't get involved with a woman who's from New Jersey and/or a Republican, and never cross a picket-line. The first tenet is pretty easy to live by, but I've never encountered an instance where the second one would need to be followed. After I graduated from NYU, the graduate students held a strike in front of the library – had I been there, I would not have entered the building. Regardless of the issues and whether I support them or not, this is a legal demonstration that is planned, enshrined in Israel's young democracy, and as such should there arise the issue of facing a "mishméret shovtím" (in this country, of course there's a parallel phrase in Hebrew for a picket-line), I would have to go all the way to campus only to turn around.

To add to the sanity that is tomorrow, I'm volunteering with my old job, Taglit-birthright israel, at the "Mega-Event" this Wednesday and Thursday nights. The M-E is non-creative title for thousands of participants from around the world who come together at the convention center here in Jerusalem to hear politicians, philanthropists, and celebrate their ability to be in Israel for free. I'm manning the Alumni Association booth, and as such will be likely to bump into lots and lots of people I know, plus all the familiar sights I've grown to love: The Brazilian/Argentinean fights, the drunk American students, and the roll-call of countries present and the subsequent upping the ante of who can scream the loudest longest when their country is named.

30 December 2006

The snow came, freaked everyone out, and has just about disappeared. The resulting pandemonium on the faces and in the voices of Israelis, coupled with the instant turning of freshly fallen snow into grey slush, brought back warm memories of DC. Although it may be cold here, bright blue skies trump any possibility of slush turning into ice.

Shabbat was spent catching up the news and much needed English-language magazines on culture and music. I have just about lost all patience for the two English newspapers in Israel, which either suffer from a horrible translation job or a lack of coverage beyond the often self-enclosed English-speaking communities here in Israel (known as "Anglo-Saxons"). As for the magazines…they cost a bloody fortune here, but well worth it. If this MidEast Studies gig doesn't work out, I'm going into the print importing business.

27 December 2006



Any reader of this blog will quickly understand that I am missing the entire Christmas season. Looks like we got a little bit of the season spirit here.

After a long dry spell here, it began to rain last night. No drizzle, no sprinkling -- serious downpours with thunder & lightning. The rain continued through this morning...then turning to hail...then sleet...and finally at about 2pm, snow.

The snow went in and out in terms of intensity, but think snowflakes were soon covering the entire area, eventually sticking to the ground. My view from campus of Jordan got fuzzier and fuzzier with time, until it was a total whiteout. The Israeli students and staff were flipping out, getting their pictures taken outside. They all kept asking me if it felt like Christmas, which of course it did. Soon enough the Israelis, myself included, started acting like Washingtonians in a snowstorm -- freaking out. Rumors were spreading of classes being cancelled, and everyone was abuzz with what would happen with the multiple high-profile programs at Hillel tonight. By 4pm, all events and classes were cancelled, even mine which was supposed to be at one of the dorms.

WOOHOO! Snow Day in Israel! We had it comin', not getting off for Christmas.
I get on the bus, and as we pull into the winter wonderland, I turn my iPod on the random shuffle mode. What comes up as the first song? "Snowstorm," by an indie rock group named Galaxie 500, only to be followd by the Xmas carol "Joy to the World" in Arabic. Coincidence?

Getting home was surprisingly unadventurous, through the slick and mucky streets and the incredible views of this city under snow. The pictures above are from my balcony at around 6:30pm, so the lighting isn't as dramatic as it was before.

I'm still doing my homework, so as to fulfill the requirements of Murphy's Law for school to be cancelled tomorrow. My street hasn't been plowed nor treated with snow, and when I left campus, the outside walkways were filled with slush and liable to freeze over into ice tonight.

If I dare to venture outside tonigh , I'll bring the camera.

23 December 2006

I don't know what others dream in their sleep. Sometimes it's several different thoughts or experiences from the last few days that are mushed into one seamless narrative that is on par with work by Dali. And then there are dreams which fall somewhere between memories and predictions that leave me with constant bouts of deja vu.
Take the other weekend for example. I was helping lead a group of overseas students to Eilat for the weekend. Eilat is the southernmost town in Israel, located on the Red Sea, with Jordan and Egypt visible from the city center. In the past 6 months, I have had two dreams about Eilat which left me rather reluctant to go down there.
The first was connected to a beach that I grew up going to on the Delmarva Peninsula (I've taken a vow of silence in naming this place, for fear that the encroaching tourism from other locales will soon reach it). The ocean has been slowly but surely encroaching on the beach, to hte point where every few years the parking lots on the other side of the sand dunes are covered in water. My mind equated this already tiny piece of land with Eilat, with my entire extended family trying to flee the encroaching water by driving endlessly. The second was again had my entire extended family as cast, this time going on a vacation to Eilat. The land got progessively narrower and and narrower, to the point that at the last hill overlooking the town, once could see the ferries that took passengers to Eilat, which was now an island in the middle of a raging sea.
There's a lot more for me to explore in this country, and every time I take the train here I'm amazed at how big the land feels here....yet we're still talking about a country whose length is less than that when I drive with my parents from DC to our realives in Cincinnati. Part of immigrant absorption here is not just the culture and bureaucracy, but the compactness of things. Interesting that this lesson got taught through dreams.

It's Christmastime and I'm missing it intensely. I've downloaded more than a dozen songs, watched "Charlie Brown Christmas" and "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" online, and my mom (who just arrived the other day staffing a trip here, definitely nice to see her), brought me my CD of a famous Arab singer and her Semitic covers of classic Christmas songs, and a copy of "A Christmas Story," a true classic that I grew up watching.
It's going to take a long time to get the Christmas affinity out of me. There's something about the lights, artificial happiness, and constant biblical-themed programming on cable stations that gets me very excited in a way that Passover only can vis a vis Jewish holidays. Despite living in Jerusalem, there's very little awareness and visiblity that it's Christmastime. The other week I had to go to the city center by chance, and lo and behold the main pedestrian throroughfare was decked in lights. The parallel road was covered in icicle lights, leaving me speechless. The flower stores in the shuk are selling poinsettias, almost tempting me to buy one.

I make no apologies about my connection with Christmas, not when I sang carols with the overseas students while in Eilat, and not tomorrow when I listen to them on the way to work and classes.

12 December 2006

Postscript to the previous post: You absolutely have to click on the link for the Lottery here, www.pais.co.il. Click on the blue button at the bottom of the screen and you can see the taped lottery drawing from tonight. All I wanted were the numbers, and instead I good a huge dose of laughter.
In anticipation for the drawing, there's a studio that looks lie it's from the early 1990's (i.e., contemporary Israeli), with an orchestra andsingers performing everything from "The Impossible Dream" in Hebrew, "If I Were a Rich Man," "Money, Money, Money", and the drawing is set to a live jazzed-up redntion of the theme song from the promos. This is too good.
Much to my astonishment, I did not win. The most I got in one row (the ticket looks a lot like Powerball from the States, but a LOT more expensive) was two. Oh well, better luck next time, right?

11 December 2006

Tomorrow, in my required course entitled "Problems and Methodology in MidEast Studies," I'm giving a short presentation ("Refarat," the Hebraized form of "report") on the biography of the late Edward Said. I'm working on polishing up the 15-minute report now, including translating it into Hebrew (I'm not quite at level of original compositions in Hebrew).
A few things struck me as I was reading up on his life:
-For a moment, skip his politics and ideologies regarding Israel, American Jews and the West. The trained English professor was intellectually and academically dishonest. In his seminal work "Orientalism" he not only chose works that proved his already-formualted thesis regarding the West's inherent racism and feelings of superiority over the East (and thus left out even more evidence that contradicts his thoughts), but he lumped together writers and thinkers with varying levels of academic background and respectability. His insistence to generalize and leave out other, non-supporting examples sounds a lot like, um, his argument against the West's generalizing of the East.
-"Orientalism" was introduced as an upcoming topic to the class last month, so people could read it. From the reactions of students, I have to unfortunately assume they never read it as an undergraduate. Again, say what you will about the man and his influence on making my field of study one bug subjective mess in the States, but this is a pretty important book. And these students are only now reading it??
-This Methodologies class feels incredibly out of place in Israel. The class is an ongoing discussion on history and social theory, with philosphy thrown in for good measure. For a system that's that seems driven (at least by the students and administration) on final examinations and a "getin & out of class fast" policy, this class is out of place. Mind you, I think it's great.

I broke down this evening and bought a lottery ticket for tonight's big 50 Million Shekel drawing ($11.5 million). Supposedly half of Israel's adult population has bought a ticket in this drawing, whose promotion has gone on for way too long. You can see the promo at www.pais.co.il, but I'll explain its significance: The zero in the "50" is shaped like a hamsa ("five" in Arabic), a common Middle Eastern symbol meant to bring good luck and more importantly keep away the Evil Eye. Just as some people will say "tfoo tfoo tfoo" to ward off bad luck, many in ths neck of the woods will say "hamsa hamsa hamsa." The jingle, "50 Million, Let's hope it's for me" is set to the tun of a recent and famous Mizrachi ("Oriental") song that anyone in Israel recognizes.
Granted, the liberal arts-NYU alumnus-DC liberal in me wants to tear apart the promotional posters in the name of ending the commodification of the socio-economic lower class' cultural and ethnic traditions for the sake of a product that naturally preys on the lower classes...but I still haven't found the corresponding word for "commodification" in Hebrew. Not to mention I cannot stand Marxist theory.
It's interesting, I bought a ticket, and that's all for now.

29 November 2006

I get all sorts of looks when I say the following, but I could care less what others think: I like Christmas, from the near seizure-inducing flashing lights and metallic tinsel, to the cartoons and music I have memorized over the course of many years, to watching Midnight Mass from The Vatican on NBC. I will find some way of celebrating the holiday in this country -- I'm sure I can find some Christians hawking some Xmas gear (there's always good Jesus memorabilia to be had near the Church of the Holy Sepulcher), find a recipe for egg nog that doesn't leave friends stricken with salmonella, download music and movies (including an album of classic songs in Arabic, which I left back in DC), or go shopping until my wallet shows signs of wear-and-tear.

I've been thinking about Christmas, despite the 62 degree F weather here, especially after going to the supermarket. Slowly but surely, the cheap Menorah wax candles are making their appaearance, along with sufganiyot (more or less a jelly doughnut), a traditional food during Hannukah (hell, anything deep-fried is traditional food on this holiday). I was joking the other week with some of my Israeli co-workers that the only flavor North Americans know from sufganiyot is "red," that indeterminate filling that's somehow a combination of strawberry/raspberry/cherry/Red #4 yet tastes like none of the above. Once they understood I wasn't making a mistake with my Hebrew, they erupted in laughter. So far I've seen "Red" and Dulce de Leche, but more should be coming.
Despite how great it is to see Hannukah goods front and center in a store, instead of in the back corner with the numerous jars of borscht and boxes of matzah, I miss the tinsel and vain attempts to mask a decidedly Christian holiday with consummerism. Sigh.

On the socio-economic flip side, we're in the middle of a general strike here. The Trade Federation in Israel is pretty powerful, able to collpase everyday society with one cellphone call. No flights are leaving or entering the aiport, garbage isn't being collected, banks and post offices are closed, and a whole host of other basic services are halted.

How is this affecting me?
Not so much:

-I took out a lot of money the other day from the ATM. Today, the lines were ridiculous at every ATM on campus, since once the strike began they won't be refilled till it's over.
-Garbage collection is every other day on alternate sides of the street. Regardless of sides, the can are piled to the brim and slowly cascading into the streets.
-There's a package waiting for me at the Post Office, which will continue waiting for me for the time being.

For those of you in the States, soak up your Wal-Mart ads, auto-sensor Santa Claus robots that make you jump with their bellowing greetings, and the nonstop playing of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" that quickly becomes psychological warfare and less of a holiday greeting. I'm envious.

The weather forecast on weather.com said it was going to rain this weekend -- instead it's going to continue being in the low 60's, brigh and sunny, deep blue skies, and incredibly dry. Everyone has been getting sick lately, and I made sure to stop at the drugstore to pick up a new bottle of vitamins, Samubcol which is available in the States and is incredibly effective, and Israeli generic acetaminophen. A co-worker of mine who shares an office laughed at my American ways when she was getting sick and I popped a few aspirin. The next day, she was home sick and I was at school/work as normal. Neurosis some times has its benefits.

27 November 2006

The students and staff are still glowing about Thanksgiving, which has given my professional ego a much needed inflation. With only a month left in the overseas school's semester, and approximately 8 more programs, I'm feeling better for the time being.

I was making copies of some bills today at work when I turned around too look at the view. Mt. Scopus, where I sutdy & work, is on the east side of Jerusalem and one of the highest points in this mountain town. The views from any window here are spectacular. From the stairway up to my department's office there's a commanding view of the Old City and Western Jerusalem, undulating and rolling across the hills.

The view from the copy room, adjacent to the balcony, is just as majestic. Facing east, one sees the surrounding Arab villages, Judean Desert, and a dark patch of green that is the remainder of the Jordan River before it meets its end in the Dead Sea. At the right time of day, the Moab mountains that make up the border with Jordan come into focus, their mauve (comes from Moab, the Biblical term for the area) facade seemingly a stone's throw away.

I got home by 6pm, an amazing accomplishment. Aside from nights I have programs (2 per week maximum), I'm gonna try to make this a regular ritual: I got lots of books from school calling my name.

24 November 2006

Turns out there is an Autumn in Israel. Yesterday and today, a muted smell of autumn was detectable -- a combination of crisp, dry air and fermenting leaves still holding on to the last drops of moisture.

Thursday night was the annual Thanksgiving dinner for overseas students at Hebrew U, organized by yours truly. As the night started, I began to feel like I had just turned in a 20-page paper: Relief and freedom. In three weeks, I had managed to organize a 5-figure event at a hotel with dinner and a live band, sell 100 tickets, and annoy the hell out of multiple businesses in the greater Jerusalem area. Normally this job takes two months with a volunteer staff of at least a dozen...but why should anything be normal? Sleep, serenity, sanity: who needed those for three weeks?

The night turned out great, the students were happy, my colleagues and supervisors were happy, and I slept incredibly well Friday night. I'm hoping the rest of this semester (i.e., one more month) goes by much more chill than the last month, where I've managed to make some small and medium-sized mistakes and incur the wrath of two different organizations.

On a much more positive note, I caught up on some reading by going to the bookstore and buying a whole stack of the magazines I grew to like from the States (though considerably more expensive here, even if they're European in origin).

Next week it's off to the university's fitness center, in the hopes of getting a membership.

20 November 2006

First, let me say that I'm completely exhausted. Maybe it's because of the Thanksgiving dinner I'm planning for 150+ people, maybe it's because I have yet to find a balance that makes school a priority and allows work to be done as well....I'm pooped.

This evening, after shopping for decorations for Thanksgiving, I met up with a friend at the Save Darfur rally in downtown Jerusalem. As opposed to the last rally, where there were only a handful of English-speaking yeshiva students and a bullhorn for the few speakers, this rally was notably different. It took place in Zion Square, the epicenter of downtown Jerusalem, with a full stage, sound & lighting systems, and a bigger array of speakers. The crowd was still overwhelmingly English-speaking, but more speeches were in Hebrew, more rabbis and teachers spoke, and attention was paid to the 250 Darfur refugees currently in Israel, mostly incarcerated as security prisoners. I never got into Darfur as much as others -- Tibet was always my cause, and in the absence of working on that, joining the rally on a cold Jerusalem night felt appropriate.

I left the rally early with the same friend, grabbed food, and bumped into another student from my Arabic class. It was finally a relief to talk with another student, an atmosphere that's definitely missing from campus. He said something profound about the course, which in retrospect I've heard before and currently couldn't say as succinctly (certainly in Hebrew): The MidEast Studies and Arabic Departments are full of wannabe intelligence and security-minded students. All our reading comprehensions for homework, he pointed out, are about "Gen. Chief of Staff said" and "the bilateral communiqué between Iran and Yemen" and so on. Hell, even one of the dictionaries we have to use is published by the Defense Ministry. Whereas in the States MidEast Studies is plagued by partisanship and subjectivity, here it's so pareve (neutral), lacking any cultural enrichment, no wonder it's so connected with the defense establishment.

Off to do Arabic homework and dream of a post-Thanksgiving 2006 reality.

12 November 2006

Instead of coming up with something witty, I figured I'd finally show some more interior decorating pics from my place (furniture as seen in the IKEA Winter 2007 catalog, assembled by yours truly)

9 November 2006

As I haven't written in some time, on account of both not having an internet connection in my apartment and the encroaching cold outside, I thought I'd restart this blog with two vignettes.

(1)

Jerusalem is burning, literally. For the past week, there have been riots in the ultra-Orthodox neighborhood of Mea She`arim every night. Every night, regardless of when I left campus, the ritual was the same: My bus would approach the neighborhood from across the intersection, only to make a sharp detour around the entire area. Only once did the bus driver announce the change; otherwise, as the bus was filled with college students going home for the night, there was an unspoken understanding of what was going on. Police cars and red tape would block every street entering the neighborhood, and if one looked hard enough beyond the barricades, one could see dispersing hordes of males of all ages. The detour was abnormally packed, making an already long trip even more unbearable.
In the morning, so long as there wasn't another riot, the bus would take its original route and showcase the events of last night to all its passengers: Garbage either in large piles, or strewn about in stream-like lines alongside the curbs; Green garbage cans turned black from the smoke of burning trash, some still smoldering with thick black smoke; And the occasional fire, still raging, with pedestrians quickly walking by without a notice. The bus passengers would be glued to the windows, astounded at the third-world setting they were witnessing.
The smell of the smoke from the riots has engulfed the entire city, even on days with the bluest of skies. If one left a window open, whether on the west side of town or all the way on the east side up on Mount Scopus, the pungent smell was impossible to ignore. The association with something pleasant began to change in me, not entirely, but slowly reaching a darker period of history: September 12-14, 2001. When the smoke from the wreckage of the World Trade Center and the two planes changed direction, all of lower Manhattan (and my apartment at the time) was permeated with the smell of Burnt. This week couldn't be over sooner, because the smell is getting intolerable.

(2)

Bus 28 from Mount Scopus on a Thursday night is a sight to be seen. I had to go to the phone company's store to pick up an external modem, which is by the central bus station, and thus a different bus line from my normal one. I'm one of the first to get on, which means I have a window seat. Slowly but surely, the bus fills with students with duffel bags. The majority of students at Hebrew U are not locals, so they live in the dorms or in town. As this is somewhat of an elite university, there are no classes on Friday and few activities on Thursday night, meaning students can go home. At each bus stop the bus picks up more and more students with duffel bags, to the point where the bus is just as stuffed as the bags. Most people have two bags, one of clothes to be worn and one to be washed. People are crawling into the bus at this point, gasping with the contortions of their bodies for the last cubic centimeters of space to claim as their own. The sight of all these students, grungy guys and headscarved Muslim women alike, going home for the weekend was very sweet, even if they were clamoring about the bus.
The bus entered the main streets of Mea She`arim, but went through similar neighborhoods. At one point, in the middle of one of Jerusalem's many steep hills, an ultra-Orthodox man pushed his way onto the bus. I could clearly see him from my seat, and from his body movements it was clear he knew there was little chance of him entering; yet something internal made him try. He forced the bus doors to open to such an extent that the bus' engine shut down. The students are obviously not happy, and all I think of is walking in the middle of this neighborhood and getting attacked just for not wearing a 17th century Polish fashion trend (a friend of mine, only hours before, was on a bus that was stopped by protesters, when they hurled a flaming garbage can into the streets. The passengers were forced off the bus and my friend safely got home on foot). I gave the guy such a dirty look, hopefully it was part of the reason he didn't get on the bus.

--

The rest of this story has to do with getting an internet connection, which I'll detail in its absurdity here very soon

15 October 2006

Even though I prefaced this whole keeping-a-blog-venture by promising I wouldn't harp on more superficial differences between Israel and the States, I have to share just one.
At the end of Sukkot is another holiday that gets lumped into the former. I won't go into its significance or what happens on it, except to add that one of the additions that are added to daily prayers are two lines, praising God who "makes the wind blow and the rain fall" and asking to "give dew and rain for a blessing." Regardless of where on is in the world, at the end of Sukkot one adds these lines and continues to say them until the next Passover, so as to coincide with the rainy season in the Land of Israel.
The weather reports have said that today it would rain. This morning I looked out at my balcony and at the road, and sure enough, at some point last night, it rained. "Amazing" isn't really the word to describe this liturgical and meteorological synchronicity – more like "right on time." The first rain in modern Israel is the official start of winter, and Israelis react to winter a bit like Washingtonians react to rain or other weather patters: they don't really know what to do with themselves.

11 October 2006

This morning was very much in the same vein as the movie "Groundhog Day," where each day repeats itself over and over again. Again I woke up waiting for a call from the IKEA delivery man…except for the fact that he actually called this time. Around noon the guy showed up, all too eager to get the boxes out of his responsibility. As soon as he was gone, I got to work. In the course of five hours I assembled a bed and bed-side table which fit together. While I was assembling the various pieces, all sorts of thoughts went through my head; the most frequently occurring one being "Is this really going to support the mattress and me?" The bed's structure is a mix somewhere between a traditional bed, a futon, and a K'nex set. After assembling the wooden (read: plywood) frame, one has to add several metal beams, rods, and flat sticks that all connect to one another, after which one adds the futon-like wood beams.

In the end, with my hands feeling like they're riddled with arthritis after holding the tools too tight, my second room looks like a slice of Scandinavia in the Middle East. Since I have an, er, affinity for the Nordic lands (I'm always willing to be sponsored to travel to Iceland), I'm definitely happy with the room. Now if only I could find furniture for the first room…

10 October 2006

I'm sitting on my kitchen-nook floor, waiting for the delivery of my new bed, mattress, bed-side table and drawer pieces from IKEA. They said they would be here between 10.00 and 16.00, and I'm at the half-way mark now. Still trying to figure out how to orient my soon-to-be bed, I took the opportunity to clean the floor in the second room. I have to use some special cleaning fluid especially for parquet and wood floors, which ends up doing a decent job and smelling of not-too-powerful flowers.
At the same time, outside my porch, are hordes of people walking towards the starting point for the annual Jerusalem March, with helicopters constantly circling above the area. On the Pilgrimage Festivals (Passover, Shavuot, Sukkot), when pilgrims would arrive at the Temple to offer sacrifices, modern-day Israelis now celebrate by taking to the streets of the capital city in the tens of thousands. Apparently the starting point could be reached via my street, so all morning people passed by – some with baseball caps, some without; some clutching bottled water, others with backpacks; some by themselves, others in finely choreographed groups. Every few minutes I'd hear tambourines and indiscernible singing slowly yet rhythmically approaching. Thinking it would be a group of Hare Krishnas who made a few wrong turns along the way, I'd rush to the window to get a glimpse – instead it would be groups representing youth movements, companies and businesses, or interest groups walking in formation and singing songs about Israel or Jerusalem. For a bunch of Jews, who at least in services I've been to can't seem to continue clapping synchronically to a beat, they got their marching band skills down pat.
Now it's past the window of time I was supposed to sit by and expect a call 30 minutes ahead of the delivery's arrival. I call the moving company, who gives me the number of the driver. Fine, I think, he's a few minutes late of a 6-hour block because of the March, so I'll roll over and play Genteel American. The driver says he wasn't supposed to make the delivery until tomorrow between 11.00 and 13.00 because of the march! I asked if someone was going to bother telling me this news, and said I'd see him tomorrow. I attempt calling back the company – I say attempt, because I called back at least 10 times before I got through to someone again. I'd like to think they Caller ID'd my number and were practicing a sentence that somehow becomes harder to say when in possession of an Israeli National ID: I was wrong.
At this point I'm furious, and as soon as someone comes on the line, I start speaking in rapid-fire Hebrew, demanding to know why no one bothered to let me know about the delivery time change. The woman who answered the phone is caught and says "You're right, I apologize." If I was a little more clear-headed, I would have asked for a refund of the delivery charge, but I was so angry I hung up the phone. At least she apologized, I said to myself, trying to calm down. I eventually realizing there wasn't anything else to do (call the company back and demand someone be reprimanded for this? Please.), so I got to work on making dinner. A huge serving of carbohydrates later, my food coma has calmed me down and I'm interested to see if the driver tomorrow apologizes as well (or if he's got the nerve to ask for a tip).

04 October 2006

After a few days that truly felt like autumn, this morning the summer heat made a resounding return. Assuming that it stays around for only a few days, the humidity-free warmth feels good.

I went to a garage sale hoping to find some inexpensive furniture that I still need – the apartment was located in a nearby neighborhood called Nahlaot, full of small pastel-colored houses that look like an artist colony artificially placed in Jerusalem. This apartment was incredible (if anyone's looking), and the middle-age couple was selling it and moving to somewhere smaller.
No luck on the furniture, though I did get a nice bathroom mat. The walk back provided some great free entertainment. A policeman was directing traffic at a busy intersection that normally has a very long wait for pedestrians. The traffic lights were working just fine, so perhaps there was a motorcade that just went by. Regardless, the policeman was taking his time letting the east-west traffic pass, holding up a quickly enlarging line of north-south traffic that was losing what little patience they already had. As their honking became more constant, the policeman kept letting the other traffic flow, even if there was only one car. From his slight facial expressions, one could tell, as a passerby said to me in his American-accented Hebrew, that he was punishing them for their honking. The cars sat for what must have been close to ten minutes. My sense of humor is hoping that the policeman, on a whim, picked a random intersection and used the authority of his reflective chartreuse vest and powder-blue uniform shirt to create some chaos in the Holy City.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning my apartment. I was in the middle of cooking when the phone rang – a job applied for several hours beforehand was calling me to schedule an interview. Just like finding my apartment, I don't want to jinx this one (even though I already told a few people) – suffice it to say I would be working for one of my former employers in a job I can definitely do.

01-03 October 2006

Saturday night, after Shabbat ended, I ventured out with friends to witness one of the more bizarre rituals in Judaism – Kapparot. Before Yom Kippur, there's a custom to take a chicken and symbolically pass one's sins onto the chicken while circling it around one's head, after which the chicken is slaughtered for food. We decided to venture into Mea She'arim, an ultra-orthodox neighborhood in north-central Jerusalem, so you can imagine the multiple culture clashes going on. As we approach we begin to separate (I was with three females), as it's usually not appropriate for mixed couples to walk together in this neighborhood. Soon we get to our destination, plastic crates stacked atop one another, all containing white hens. The handlers, teenagers wearing kippot, and one wearing a shirt advertising a dance music record label, sold the chickens (25 NIS, or around $6) to buyers who would intone several blessings while passing the chicken around their head and the heads of their family. One guy in the corner had several crates and was actually swinging the chicken by the legs, finishing with one and bringing out another one. In the middle of all of this is the butcher, sharpening his knife and then holding it between his lips in between slaughters. His plastic apron was dripping with blood, and his table had six metal funnels running to the ground, collecting the blood from this chickens he quickly slices across the neck and then allows to flop around.
Besides the gore and what seems like an obvious question ("Do these people coming to perform the ritual, who by and large don't work for a living, have the money for dry cleaning if the chicken craps on their satin robes and/or shtreimels (fur-trimmed hats)?" I couldn't stop thinking about how the ritual we were watching was perhaps the closest one could approach Biblical Judaism in the absence of the Temple. When the Temple existed, a pilgrim would purchase his offering (sin or thanksgiving) at the gates and offer it up upon entering. What's the difference between this and that, save for location? As I started seeing this seemingly bizarre transaction going on before me in those terms, I was in awe and wanting to leave as if seeing something I'm not supposed to (like being blinded by something divine). As grotesque as this scene was, ladies and gentlemen, think about it the next time you pray for the Messiah to arrive, or jokingly sing along to that Chabad Lubavitch "Mashiach" (Messiah): this chicken-swinging and slaughtering scene is our destiny when the Third Temple is built.

First off, there are the services. I tried out two places, both of which I've been to for Shabbat. Having serious moral problems about buying a seat for services, I decided to show up and try my luck – both times it worked successfully, either finding a non-reserved seat or being assigned one whose original purchaser decided not to use.
The first synagogue I went to with a friend from DC Sunday night. I don't mind not knowing every prayer and hymn sung, I can follow along just fine in the book; the rabbi liked to mumble his Hebrew and the congregation, not knowing where they were either simply hummed along to the familiar melodies, making the experience more frustrating than necessary. The second was a place I knew I liked – there the Hebrew was crisp, clear and modern; the melodies were familiar from back home; and everyone sang along, men and women (men and women sit separately but participate just about equally in the services).
Yom Kippur is known as the Shabbat of all Shabbats (the Mother of all Shabbats, if you will) and this title became clear for the first time to me this year. Just like I wrote about Rosh Hashanah, YK is a very different experience here in Israel. For example, in the midst of the melodramatic liturgy, the prayer leader would burst into tunes normally heard on Shabbat, encouraging everyone to transcend their hunger and existential queries in order to celebrate. If you think Jews can't put on an uplifting service, you're going to the wrong synagogue. The spiritual intensity was palpable, the prayer leader in the late morning had an incredible voice, and only during the afternoon did the prayers drag, mainly because everyone was exhausted by then.
What was even more worthwhile about the day was the complete lack of cars on the road. I'm not talking a significant decrease in road travel – I mean no automobiles whatsoever. In Jerusalem it's apparently against the law to drive on Yom Kippur, with police cars passing every once in a while to enforce it. Not only does this create the visual of people walking in the middle of the street, with kids on bicycles everywhere, but it fulfills one of my many dreams: a world without cars. Sounds once muffled by the incessant honking of drivers came back into range and a level of tranquility descended on the city that the pious, secular, and Luddite could value.

Tuesday I spent what seemed like hours at Hebrew U. working out my schedule. I got the results of my Arabic placement exam, and they weren't what I expected: they put me in Year 1, much to my dismay. The advisor showed me my test, which admittedly had mistakes on it – I didn't vowel the verbs on the first page, despite there being no instructions to do as so. Like many things in this country, I was supposed to infer that on my own. Like duh!
After explaining this to the advisor, along with the fact that I had taken three years of Arabic in the States, he still put me in Year 1, though said that if it's too easy to talk with the professor as there's an outside opportunity to switch levels. Not only is it a matter of needing the next highest level academically – Year 2 only meets two times a week, with Year 1 meeting three times a week. If I'm getting a job, this shortens the amount of time I can devote to both. You can bet I'll be working hard to move on up a level.
I registered for Arabic and my other courses with little problems, at least I hope – the print-out the registrar gave me did not include the courses I already picked via Internet, and by the time I got back to the office it was closed. Hope they all show up online! I then tracked over to the Student Accounts, where I handed in my voucher for tuition from the government, only to be told there's extra fees not covered by the voucher. Of course there is, I think to myself. I get my bill and slump back to the bus stop.

28 September 2006

I woke up this morning and in true fashion underestimated the amount of time I needed to get ready by 20 minutes. I ran out the door as fast as possible to get to the bus stop, figuring the traffic the bus is bound to face when it passes through downtown and heads through the 18th century hovel that is north-central Jerusalem.
I arrive on campus in time and navigate through the honeycombed Humanities halls until I reach the classroom for my Arabic placement test. I get a whole stack of forms and the 2-page test. There are four levels of Arabic (Intensive Beginners, Year 1, Year 2, and exempt/advanced) and I'm handed the Year 1 test. Not understanding exactly how this works, I ask for the Year 2 test, figuring three years of college-level Arabic deserved the Year 2 test. Yikes Yikes YIKES.
The first part of the test was a table of verbs which had to be dissected into their roots, gender, tense, verb structure, gerund, and 2nd person command. When I was taking Arabic in college, I could finish a chart like this in no time; now, between two years of not using a drop of the language and staring at a chart of verbs that are pre-conjugated into the dual and/or plural feminine forms (less used forms), not to mention containing weak or hollow roots, I use the few remaining brain cells operating in my brain to request the Year 1 test.
Phew, this I can do, I think! I get to work on the test, using my new Arabic-Hebrew dictionary as my other ones are being shipped as we speak. The dictionary I brought allows you to look up individual words, as opposed to my Arabic-English dictionary that only allows you to look up the roots, after which are listed all the possible derivatives. If you haven't figured it out, Arabic is incredibly complicated.
I finish the test in the allotted amount of time, feeling wiped out, unable to speak a single language at once, and probable foaming slightly at the mouth. At the time I felt great in being able to finish an Arabic test; now that I'm writing this several hours later, I'm thinking I was supposed to take the harder level in order to fail the test and thus place into it. Hopefully my alternative "leave with some semblance of self-confidence" way will work. Either way, it's clear that I belong in Year 2, and that I need a drink, even if it is Yom Kippur next week.

I'd like to think the Blogger Demons have been listening to my outward distaste for this form of communication, and have such made it impossible for me to post in the last few days. Regardless, it's been a major pain to write on the site lately so I'm using the next few minutes -- while the site is working -- to give a brief update.

I'm preparing the best way I know for a 3-hour Arabic placement exam, scheduled for tomorrow morning: getting my apartment in order. After putting away the many donations I've gotten so far, I made another trip to the south of the city for potential furniture buying. I didn't venture as far as I should have -- into the industrial/nightclub zone -- but I decided to return to one of the malls, with its "Mega" supermarket branch and "Home Center" (if you're thinking that you now know more Hebrew than you thought because of the store names, you're making me laught and cry at once). I found a bookshelf that I want at Home Center, and waited for someone to help me. And waited and waited. I gave up, preparing my self if there's a next time to wave my credit card around in the chance it'll attract one of the workers like hyenas to carrion. I got other kitchen goods at Mega and finally made it home.

Today I woke up with little plans -- more house shopping perhaps, more Arabic studying procrastination -- and made my way to check my email out on the corner (down in the street). As I got back to my apartment, I saw several envelopes sticking out of my mail box. Lo and behold, they were the transcripts from NYU I requested....which means I can go back to Student Authority to get my tuition waiver! I bolted up the stairs and back down again, on my way to the Immigrant Absorption Ministry.
As I just registered for courses, I began to wonder/worry about tuition. Student Authority, part of the Ministry, is supposed to give me a letter to take to Student Accounts at Hebrew U that will cover the costs. The letter would wait until I got actual copies of my transcript in, along with a letter in Hebrew confirming my acceptance.
Anyways, I got to the Ministry, trying not to jinx myself too much along the way (a couple of trips along the way definitely made me slow way down). I get to the guy in charge, no one's ahead of me in line (!), and give him the transcripts. Hah!
Eventhough he shows me up by taking only one of the two transcripts he originally requested, and didn't even ask to see my diploma, he eventually prints out the tuition waiver letter. Success, even if it's per semester and I have to go back to that damn office in February!

I celebrate by stocking up on produce and spices in the shuk and going home to cook. After a huge pot of curried Israeli couscous with pomegranate seeds and cashews, I'm back on the corner with my laptop, still not thinking about the test tomorrow morning.

25 September 2006

Rosh Hashanah was fantastic, spending it at family friends in Herzliya (a town just north of Tel Aviv). Eventhough it's celebrated two nights in Israel and abroad (as opposaed to most other holidays), RH might as well be a completely different holiday -- in the States it feels like Yom Kippur Lite, with no asking for fogiveness but a similar level of solemnity. Here? You give presents, teenagers in the Scouts give out apples & honey at the bus station, and all the award shows take place.
I got lots of freebies at our family friends, stocking up on lotsa of kitchenware. I got home late, after staying in Tel Aviv after the holiday ended for a few hours – a friend of mine from college is going back to New York for a month and then moving to a kibbutz to learn Arabic. I got home very, very late, fully knowing that I wouldn't be able to sleep in – today was Registration Day. I remembered the days at NYU, where each person was assigned a specific date and time to register online or by phone, along with the seemingly hours-long wait to meet with my advisor for course approval and the subsequent travel to another floor to clear me to register.
This time I woke up early, walked across the street to a free wireless spot, entered my student number and access code, and started registering on my own – the site recognizes your major and generates a list of possible courses accordingly. Realizing that several of the courses I wanted to take were not listed, I called the Department who said that I'd have to come in to register for any course that didn't appear online. Off I went to campus, exhausted and falling asleep on the bus. The Department's secretary already recognizes me and remembers my name – a very good sign, even if it's easy to remember that poor American kid. Five minutes was all it took for her to fill out the form and sign it for me – once I take the Arabic placement exam on Thursday, and I know which level I'll take, I'll know my weekly time schedule and I can look for a job more seriously.

Rosh Hashanah instantly brings to mind laughing uncontrollably in synagogue. Allow me to explain:
Most years we go to my mom's family in Cincinnati for the holiday. Their synagogue is Conservative and rather traditional. The rabbi is a very charismatic and influential leader, and they bring in a former cantor and his wife to help lead the service…along with a choir. Never mind that this choir sings in Ashkenazi-accented Hebrew, which gets on my last ideological nerve: the real reason for the seemingly inappropriate behavior is two pieces of liturgy that the choir uses on the holiday. The first is sung when the Torah is being returned to the Ark – the tune they use sounds more appropriate for an Ohio State game against Michigan than a High Holiday service. Seriously, on hearing this psalm you expect both the synagogue's football team and cheerleader squad to come out amidst bursts of six-pointed star confetti, or the Ohio National Guard to come out in full dress uniform. I end up marching in place out of some unknown instinct.
The second piece is known in my family as "Bump Bump Bump," an onomatopoeia title we created from the first three notes of the piece. All you have to do is say that and you'll get a smirk on a person's face. In the middle of the signature piece of liturgy for the holiday, a Medieval hymn entitled "Unetaneh Tokef" which describes God's ultimate judgment over all, the choir departs from a call-and-response duet with the cantor and proceeds to spend the next five minutes regaling the congregation with possibly the funniest sounding piece of liturgy around. I always try to find the point in the text where the "Bump Bump Bump" begins, and can never find it – the choir is out on the town with this piece of music, leaving the congregation standing there with little direction. Some people try to sing along, I try my best not to make eye contact with any of my cousins for fear of filling the sanctuary with laughter, with tears streaming down my face from holding it back. I have a smile on my face just thinking about it, the tune going through my mind.

I took a nap this afternoon, and several hours later I'm still exhausted. Good night!

20 September 2006

Yesterday a friend and I traveled to a sight for sore eyes – IKEA. In the bus from Tel Aviv driving along side the sea and multi-million dollar condos, the yellow and blue sign finally rises in the horizon, a beacon for yuppies all over the country. While the furniture is very similar to the models sold in the States, the sample rooms are set up to better fit Israeli homes – think compact. I walked around with a pencil and kept two different lists – the practical one which included my minimum needs and items on sale, and the I'm Bringing Half the Catalog to Jerusalem list. I ended up with five bags of non-furniture basic necessities – lamps, a small table, a tool box – and picked out a kitchen table, bed, and small couch and/or chair. As the store is restocking the bed I want, I'll probably go back next week.
The ride from Jerusalem to IKEA is less than two hours, but on the way back we got stuck in some of the worst traffic outside of Jerusalem for the middle of the week. Struggling to stay awake, I grabbed dinner and went to sleep.

Today was all about Hebrew University. My intention was to go up today to get my student ID, and meet with my admissions advisor and departmental advisor.
The admissions advisor lodges an angry call with the person over at Student Authority in charge of making sure the government pays for my tuition, claiming that a letter of acceptance in English is as good as one in Hebrew. Then she fills in a form in Hebrew which was the letter of acceptance. Fine, I said. I then arrive at my advisor – we talk; he asks me if I know what track I want, if I want to pursue a doctorate, and if so what topic it would be (Modern MidEast, yes, and it's a secret for now); he's impressed; and then I ask about my supplementary courses and Arabic language placement. I have two supplementary courses that are a joke (Islam 101 and MidEast History 101) which he said I'll finish in no time.
But Arabic? Where's your Arabic placement results, he asks? I never took a placement exam, I answer. The departmental secretary comes in, looks at my acceptance letter, and they both tell me that the International School (and not the regular school where I'm sitting) accepted me. Somehow despite the fact that I filled out the regular school's application months ago and made it clear that was my intention, coming from the States meant that the Int'l School was my choice. No wonder I wasn't getting any info all these months – each school thought I belonged to the other.
The secretary called up the Int'l School and explained the situation – we'll know in a few hours, she said, seriously trying to help me. There would be a chance that you won't be able to register with the other students until next month, she says. As for Arabic, there's a placement exam next week that you'll have to take. OK, I answer to everything, thinking I should have had that cup of coffee this morning and done my superstitious ritual of not assuming anyone would be helpful. At least it wasn't my fault, I say to myself, thinking that comment will somehow bring forth a bright warm light on the situation.
I drop off my stuff to meet a former colleague from DC, a shlicha (an "emissary" from Israel that works with a Jewish communit yabroad for a short period of time) that just returned home. She's on the other side of town, so I hop in a cab that decides to drop off a friend's wife on the way. at least the driver let me pay whatever I wanted for the scenic tour of Western Jerusalem. I finally find her, and she drives me home along with a donation of all sorts off house goods that I somehow managed to avoid making eye contact with at IKEA, for fear of buying.
As I'm showing her my apartment, the secretary calls back, saying everything's taken care of – you can register next week with the other students and take the Arabic exam, if there's any problem don't hesitate to call me or come up to campus.
The string of curse words going through my head all afternoon comes to an end, having just survived my first attack of Hebrew bureaucrazy. Finally it's time for that cup of coffee.

15 September 2006

The ride from Acco to Jerusalem yesterday was spent hearing some of the dirtiest jokes ever, from two middle-age men form Kemp Mill. I won't repeat any of them here, but it was some act the two of them had going on – they played off each other like a classic comedy duo.
We finally arrived in Jerusalem, my arm still feeling weird form donating blood. The first bus that arrived had my roommate, who after arriving quickly disappeared for a meeting. Since the hotel was organized enough not to assign names to the reserved hotel rooms, I spent the next 30 minutes (at least) writing down everyone's name and room number. After deciding to grab dinner and seriously contemplating going back to my apartment instead, the room situation was finally solved. I opted not to go to the Kotel (Western Wall) and passed out on the bed, watching a special report on the war and of course my telenovela.

The next day we spent traveling to Beit Shemesh, DC's sister city, which is half-way between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. We spent the morning at a kindergarten, making gift bags with the kids for soldiers for Rosh Hashanah. Two of the soldiers came, who first hung out with the kids – they asked the soldiers questions, they reminisced about their own experience in kindergarten, and the kids put on a march for the soldiers, with the IDF's anthem playing and the kids saluting. An odd sight for Americans, but when you're going to end up in the army, how soon is now? The soldiers then spent time with our group, talking about their experience in the army and fielding questions. There's not a lot separating me with the average solider, except age and enrollment in university, which leaves me at times ready to line up at the initial IDF processing center – between that and no questions to ask, I kept silent. Let these tourists ask questions for which they already know the answers. The soldiers left, and the kids had a mock Shabbat, complete with a designated Mom & Dad. It was very cute and all the older participants were in tears.
We then drove back to Jerusalem to participate in a reunion. In Israel there's a group of people known as "lone soldiers," those who serve in the IDF and have no relatives in the country. A group of these soldiers, all from the former Soviet Union, were going to see their parents for the first time in several years, thanks to the Jewish Agency and money from the DC Jewish community. Taking into account what I just said above, this was going to be weird for me – granted I'm not Russian, but this could be me. I heard second-hand that participants from our group were speculating that these parents couldn't see their kids previously because they were in jail or committed some sort of offense – I was boiling mad. While it was great to create this opportunity, I felt like an intruder. If/when this happens for me, I would graciously thank the sponsoring agencies and then tell them to get the hell outta the way.
We then went to the Kotel as a group, where the soldiers & their families were going as well. It was amazing how quickly the group split off from one another, despite having to meet at the bus at some point. I sat facing the Kotel, not wanting to intrude on the group of Russians and not necessarily in the mood to pray.
Leaving was going to be an ordeal, and it soon became more than expected. The group walked incredibly slow back to the bus, which – especially with people who had never been to Israel before – is always a bad idea. We were missing someone, not from our group but a volunteer staying in Beit Shemesh who was joining us for the day. We finally found her phone number, and she was too far from us to wait. Off we went, finally dropping me off by my apartment. While it was sad to leave this incredible group of volunteers, who picked up form their lives and spent the week in Israel working and sweating nonstop, it was great getting home. Shabbat began, as did my sleep.

14 September 2006

The next day we spent the morning at the hospital in Nahariya, a town right on the Mediterranean and only a few miles from Lebanon. Aside from being an impressive hospital, with detailed protocol for biological and chemical attacks, the place sustained a direct hit form a katyusha missile during the war. Visiting the room which was hit was an eerie experience, seeing the damaged room and the further damage caused by the shrapnel encased in the missile. The hospital also contains an entire underground operations center, complete with operating rooms and roads for ambulances to enter. I remember reading about this in a Hebrew class several years ago, and now we were touring a place, potentially hermetically sealed during an attack, that looked like a bunker more suitable for Poland.
We went back to the moshav for a quick few hours of work, double bagging the bananas on the edges of the plantation ahead of the winter and its strong winds. We finished work and got a quick tour of the moshav – this was a village dating back to the days of the Talmud, which eventually became an Arab Muslim village, and then became a moshav for Yemenite immigrants. We saw some of the Arab stone homes and the mosque, before leaving our beloved banana plantation alongside a shooting range, cow shed and the Lebanese border just beyond the hills to our north.
We got tours of a family's bomb shelter as well as one of the moshav's municipal shelters, both of which were depressing as anything. The sirens (or bombs) would sound and the family (including a 9-month pregnant daughter) had only a few seconds to walk along a narrow path into a cramped shelter with no electricity and definitely no air conditioning. They did this every half-hour to 4 hours for an entire month.
After that we went for lunch at a dairy café in Nahariya, feasting on excellent food and evaluating the trip. We all agreed this type of mission was essential to continue and started brainstorming how to get more buy-in from the DC community. Then it was off to the Magen David Adom (Red Shield of David, Israel's Red Cross) clinic in Acco to donate blood. Having never given blood, I was incredibly nervous, as I also hate needles. After some persuasion from the other participants, I decided to suck it up and do it. The volunteer was a 17-year old who had lived in Puerto Rico and Ohio, and as such had a perfect American accent when speaking English. The blood-letter was an attractive dyed blond who turned out to be much older than originally expected. While they swooned over the older men in the group, they were even more so when they realized I was using my National ID instead of a US passport as identification and that I was a new immigrant. The pain was definitely there as they drew blood, but in the end it was of course worth it.
Back to the hotel to pack and drive down to Jerusalem.

13 September 2006

Back to baggin' bananas. At lunch the volunteers, separated on several of the moshav's farms, returned to a central home to eat pre-packaged meals from the hotel (i.e, efficiently packaged food from breakfast). While I was content to sit and eat, channeling the supposed life of a farm worker, the heterogeneous group would eventually begin discussing a variety of topics. While some couldn't restrain themselves in terms of engaging in a civil discourse, the topics were nonetheless interesting: Jewish identity, intermarriage, etc. with a variety of viewpoints being shared. While I didn't necessarily agree with the views presented, I was enraptured by the idea of watching these Jews be able to talk (as usual) and then get back to dirty manual work.
After lunch we got down to real dirty business: Rippin' out dead matter among the plants. Four plants are planted together in a "bayit" (house), with drip irrigation tubes feeding water to each plant. Each plant is essentially a weed, growing sprouts that need to be destroyed (watching our female host walking around with a machete, lopping off the tops of these sprouts and pouring gasoline on them was priceless). We were pulling the dead debris out, which could range from completely dried out leaves to stalks that at first appeared to be dehydrated, only to put up a fight and display it gooey, dripping innards once exposed. The liquid went everywhere, either dripping out our gushing out that made all of us give up bananas for a respectable amount of time.
We finished work and returned to Acco to package food for needy families in the area for Rosh Hashanah. The place was located in a warehouse filled with boxes and an extended family of volunteers. I'm not quite sure of what ethnicity they were, my bets are on some Central Asian republic or the only Jewish Gypsy family in existence. We get started on working, and the place is in total chaos. The two women in charge, "Ponytail" and "Goldteeth," each have different ways of packing the same box – if one taught you how to do it and the other checked it before being packed, you were screwed. After finishing several palettes of boxes, we got to a new one with different items in the boxes. Goldteeth was explaining to me how they should be packed, as she knew I spoke Hebrew, in order to explain it to the others; Ponytail, in the meantime, was getting progressively antsy with us, and finally she exploded: She yelled at the Rabbi in our group, and went absolutely nuts. Goldteeth tried to make her shut up, when then progressed into an incredibly loud shouting match which devolved from Hebrew into whatever language these people spoke (the fact that I couldn't tell was making the whole scene funnier). In recounting the story to my roommate during the trip, I said that I was waiting for the trained bear form their caravan to join the melee, or at the very least for them to start a knife fight.
After a half-hour more of packing, and Ponytail's tail tucked between her legs, we left exhausted back to the hotel. Dinner was served outside on the lawn facing the sea, a beautiful backdrop and a free dinner for the area's mosquitoes. Catching up on my telenovela, I joined another participant and my roommate downstairs for a drink and a great conversation. My roommate was a 19-year old from Kemp Mill who was a fashion design student in New York. Despite lots of differences, personal and otherwise, I felt like I was looking at a mirror-image of myself from that age (which initially depressed the hell out of me, thinking about starting sentences with "When I was your age…"). We talked clothes, music, politics and religion along with an older man from Rockville. I admired his desire to make sure that he wasn't seen as "the kid," even if it meant egging on others and making comments that pissed people off more than engaged them in conversation. Whether he knows it or not already, he will be my clothes designer.

12 September 2006

The morning felt like I was working for birthright israel again – a quick wakeup/shower/breakfast/caffeine intake/boarding the bus before fully waking up. A half of the group didn't get to their connecting flight in time (and turns out their luggage didn't arrive), so it was only a handful of us this morning. Off we went in a sherut to a moshav (a cooperative village where residents keep their personal earnings).
We got split up for tasks. Mine? Baggin' bananas. Each task consisted of the following: Setting up a 7-foot metal ladder with an attached leg, covering the fruited stalk with a bright blue piece of plastic (or nylon as they call it here), and tying the top off around a leaf. I'm definitely not complaining, and not just because the job was in the shade – I actually enjoy manual labor. Perhaps some of you who know me reading this are laughing, but I don't care. There's definitely something to be said about Jews working the land (any land, for that matter), seeing Jewish women working the land, getting one's hands dirty in the land here, and helping bring food to fellow neighbors' tables.
After work we took another Terror Tour, this one planned and following where katyushas fell in the last month. We traveled to a cow shed that was struck, a kibbutz where an American was struck dead while riding his bicycle, and the seaside Israel-Lebanon border at Rosh Hanikra, composed of white limestone cliffs with a sweeping view of Israel's Mediterranean coast and the unknown lurking behind the IDF tanks and UN vehicles (pictures to come soon).
The other half of the group finally came, we ate, and I snuck back to my room to watch what some would call a guilty pleasure and others total trash: soap operas. Israel is transfixed with the Latin American-style soap operas called "telenovelas," which only last for several months. The latest Israeli series, called "Ha-Alufa" ("The Championship"), concerns a fictional Jerusalem soccer team and has dialogue in Hebrew, Arabic, Russian, and English. The plot and subplots are so exaggerated and intertwined, I would be foolish (and more of a nerd than necessary here) to go through it. I'm finally up to date with the episodes, which is great considering that Oscar is alive!

11 September 2006

Even after retelling the following story, I'll understand if you don't believe me.

The "bleasure" friend was leaving Israel today, so we decided to go out in Tel Aviv last night. It took close to an hour for the sherut from Jerusalem to fill (they only leave once they get 10 passengers) and once I arrived in the city, thick with humidity, I made a beeline to where we were eating and promptly ordered food. The rest of the evening was spent with activities such as going for Arab pastries in Yafo/Jaffa (the ancient port adjacent to Tel Aviv), walking along the beach, and finally arriving back home in Jerusalem around 04.30.
Waking up and taking my time, the plan was to meet the volunteer group when they landed at the airport around 17.30. I decided not to get there real early and passed on several buses. Finally my bus arrived and I definitely told the driver I was going to the airport (you can figure out where this is going…). We turned off the highway for the airport, stopped at the nearby industrial park, and kept going to other stops along the perimeter. Soon enough we were approaching Petach Tikva and other towns way beyond the airport and kept going, and going, and going, and going….
Thankfully the same bus' destination was Haifa, around the corner from where I needed to arrive, and the driver clearly didn't remember that I paid the fare from Jerusalem to the airport only -- I'd like to think of myself as a fairly moral person, but in this case I had every right to keep my discount. The bus, meanwhile, kept traversing the countryside and taking its time to reach its final destination. At once junction, for example, several passengers complained that the driver overcharged them (under their breaths, of course) and then the driver just about rear-ended a car. Further along, after entering the central bus station in Netanya, a tourist asked the bus driver when we'd arrive at the airport. OOPS! The driver clearly knew he messed up and told the tourist to get on the same bus going in the opposite direction (almost an hour's drive at this point).
By the time we arrived in Haifa, I had no qualms about paying much less than the trip cost, especially since my journey wasn't over. Since I know nothing about Haifa, much less its bus station, this was becoming more and more "fun." I asked at the information desk, and they gave me directions that stretched on for way too many minutes. I found the right bus, the bus driver was kind enough to explain what to do, and off we went on Bus #2, with a scenic tour of the bay at night on a very crowded bus. At the end of the line was another station with the bus to Akko/Acre, which I needed. Bus #3 was found with another accommodating bus driver who promised to let me know when we'd approach the bus station there.
Finally! I see the hotel at the turnoff to Akko, and the kind bus driver let me off. I found my room, found the group, found food, and passed out.

Perhaps the most ____________(fill in the blank) of the trip was the fact that we passed by the sites of some of the most famous terrorist attacks in the last six years: in Netanya, we passed by a mall that's been attacked more than anywhere else in Israel; and in Haifa we passed Maxim restaurant, a restaurant catering to both Jews and Arabs that was attacked. That this twisted tour took place on 11 September wasn't what stuck out in my mind; rather, that I was passing by places that have become yesteryear, especially in the face of what I was scheduled to see in the North. These were relics of the past that few people outside of Israel recognize, that Israelis have managed to return to despite the ever-present fear, and that would soon pass their fate onto the North.

10 September 2006

It may be the start of the school year here and you know Rosh Hashanah is around the corner with supermarkets selling candlesticks, gift packs of chocolate, and products like Pomegranate/Apple/Honey juice, but the weather feels like the middle of summer. Yesterday there was a nationwide sharav, the local term for a heat wave that's characterized by little or no breeze. Going out after Shabbat ended to catch up on email, the stagnant air and lingering heat felt out of place in this town set in the mountains. Returning to the apartment I caved in and used the air conditioner, which otherwise I've been incredibly good at keeping off.

I woke up to the sound and feel of the air conditioner, a wonderful feeling indeed. Today was no improvement over yesterday, and there was work to be done. To my advantage, defrosting a freezer on one of the hottest days made the whole process much smoother even with the scene of me pouring boiling water into aluminum pans which sat in the fridge, speeding up the process.
Off to City Hall to get a new immigrant's discount on arnona, the municipal tax. The walk over felt like walking in the desert, with very few fellow pedestrians in sight (smart bastards). Despite City Hall's impressive (and air-conditioned) halls, the process was typical style to both here and in the States: Get a number, sit and wait for your turn. I picked up a form I supposedly needed, trying to make sense of it despite there being no reference to new immigrants. Aside from the few university students waiting to get their discount (the municipality is encouraging students to live here by lowering their arnona payments), the vast majority of people waiting were either yeshiva students or wives of yeshiva students. Granted, it's important to have apt students learning Torah and Talmud; but this many?? Even though I am actively looking for a job, I felt in the moment very selfish for claiming this z'chut ("rights" as a new immigrant).
As I sat down for my turn with one of the many female clerks and told her that I'm an immigrant, she promptly said I didn't need that form – Who gave you that form, she asked? Chaim?? Of course he did, he's really been off today, hasn't he?! (turning to her colleagues busily rejecting the requests of other residents). She promptly took the necessary documents, offered to make copies of them for her own use (if you're not careful, most offices will take the originals), and was done in no time. Again, one more bureaucratic hurdle that went smoothly, especially after eavesdropping on the yeshiva student next to me, in his American accent, getting flustered over the forms he needed. A stop at the post office to pay the little amount I owe and I was done in ldefinitely less than an hour. The heat was apparently making Chaim and the rest of the clerks get testier than normal, as was everyone else in the city.
The friend on bleasure and I met at the shuk to grab some lunch. We sat down in the air-conditioned, popular café across from a spice market and what at first looked like an empty butcher. Soon after came the meat on the shoulder of some guy with no gloves, apron or uniform covering his clothes. The first piece was either a half of a sheep or the leg of a cow, hooked by the same guy who promptly wiped his nose with the same bare hands used to carry in the carcass. My friend had her back turned to the scene, but didn't miss the next installment. Soon after the guy was bringing in the hind quarters of what was definitely a cow, its ribs the size of a person's arm, all taking place in the heat approaching 100 Farenheit with no refrigeration in sight. Definitely glad I settled on dairy for lunch. After watching the butcher start to carve the Ivory soap fat off the slab of beef, it was time to get out of the "in" café.

More pictures of the apartment, the Second Room:


Top -- Second room, with closet and ladder to loft
Middle -- View of the nook, fridge and First Room
Bottom -- Bathroom, with sliding door and enough space for one person (toilet is to your left, shower to the right)

Uploading these pictures took well over 30 minutes, which is especially fun when sitting on a bench around the corner from my place to take advantage of the free wireless access in this city.
A long day tomorrow, which includes : Defrosting a freezer, Paperwork at City Hall, and a trip up to Hebrew University.

Left: My apartment, with the baclony on the left, mini-kitchen, and entrance into the second room (the entrance is just behind me to the left).
Right: The building itself



I'll try to upload more in hte next few days, but it's taking a long time. Lots to do today.

I'm still trying to upload pictures of my apartment to the blog -- I think the site caught on to my disdain for itself and as such is making this a much harder ordeal....

I just got the news that I'll be joining the Jewish Federation of Greater Washington's Elul (the name of the current month on the Jewish calendar) Volunteer Mission, doing recovery work in the North 10-17 September. I had been wanting to volunteer since getting here, and thankfully this opportunity landed on my lap. Even though I have imporant tasks to finish (getting my course list for school) and others relatively pressing (furniture), there's a lot of work to be done up there.

I also really like the idea of being busy with recovery work on the 5th anniversary of September 11th -- for someone like me, who at the time lived 20 city blocks away fform the World Trade Center -- it'll be nice to be making an actual, physical change instead of watching the news and attending yet another ceremony.

Not quite clear what the internet connection will be like at hte hotel we're staying at, but I'll bring the camera and computer to keep up with what's happening.

04 September 2006

Last evening I went to one of the mega-supermarkets in Jerusalem, part of a chain appropriately called "Mega." Among the many tasks on my list were to buy sheets and pillows. It still sounds weird to buy one's sheets and pillows in the supermarket, but that's what one does here, even if the sheets look more and more like upholstery for a nondescript European airliner and the pillow deflate after one use. There is better bedding to be had in this country, but for now my Air France a la 1972 sheets are just fine
Like all other supermarkets, Mega carries a Russian black beer that if you walk by its Cyrillic label fast enough, it reads "KRAC." Too many self-evident jokes in that one.

Today I decided to sleep late, still recovering from the weekend in Tel Aviv and the state of my friend's apartment. I didn't have much to do, so I bought some necessary fixtures and spent time arranging things in the apartment. After putting clothes away and hanging up others, I decided to go back to the bank to finally get my card. Getting ignored by one of the workers, ironically sitting at the "New Accounts" desk, I decided to get my health care settled. I picked the Clalit healthcare company since they're literally next door to me – the employees there were happy to see me, the receptionist told me all about her trips to the USA, and in no time I was signed up with the General Healthcare for the Workers in the Land of Israel (the original name of the company), a reference to the Histadrut, the labor trade federation that can paralyze the entire country with a general strike.
I decided to try the bank again, not letting the surliness of one teller get to me. Within no time I was sitting in front of a woman who not only gave me my card and numerical code, but once figuring out that I'm a new immigrant from America, complimented me on my non-existent accent. Quintuple points for Bank Leumi!

You know it's the beginning of the academic year here, not just because you see parents taking their little kids to their first days of school or because every news broadcast announces it here (granted it's a small country, but this country's attention to its students makes the USA look like a third-world hovel); no, the way one knows it's time for school in Jerusalem is by seeing the hordes of girls with long hair, jean skirts and/or skirts over sweatpants, long sleeves with cuffs tightly wound around their knuckles, charm necklaces and/or bracelets, and an endless stream of English being spoken. The accents, the disregard for others in the same proximity (much like Israelis), the half-hearted attempts to speak Hebrew, and the general immaturity that unfortunately defines a good percentage of post-high school American Jews who wind up here in a yeshiva or seminary.

30 August-03 September 2006

A lot happened over the weekend so here, in my favorite fashion, are some bullet-point highlights:

-Moved into my new apartment
-Took the sherut ("service," a sort of vanpool/minibus) to Tel Aviv
-Lunch at a fantastic burger joint with a friend from college, comparing Aliyah experiences
-A friend on bleasure (business for a few days, pleasure the rest) arrives, after which we walk around Sheinkin Street ("the SoHo of Israel" – please) and Rothschild Boulevard (matching its grandiose name with multi-million condos and a shaded boulevard)
-Met up with friends of friends, walked seemingly aimlessly down the Tayelet (seaside promenade)
-Met up again with friends of friends at a beach party (reggae music, overpriced drinks, and a song whose lyrics included "aba shelach me'ashen hashish"/"your dad smokes hashish")
-Went to a favorite bar of mine: the small, dark, and packed place throbs to Israeli music blasted at full volume and slightly sped up; the patrons get drunk enough to dance on the bar; and the bartenders get so drunk they follow in kind, along with juggling fire and acrobatics from a suspended rope)
-3am post-drinking feeding, inhaling the best side of mashed potatoes this side of the Atlantic
-Lunch at a pricey place, successfully finishing a huge plate of schnitzel (think one big flat chicken tender, though this one was the size of the entire plate)
-More walking, browsing another friend's store on Sheinkin
-Chill at another friend' places on the porch, hoping the amassing grey clouds would bring rain
-Dinner that cost 30NIS for enormous portions (schnitzel again, it's just that good)
-BEACH: Gigantic waves that lapped halfway up shore; crashing waves complimented by sound of dozens of pairs of matkot (paddleball) players; People dressed in all manners of attire, casual is key and underwear is accepted; Watching the sunset behind a group of 20-somethings who rolled & smoked two blunts
-Dinner at a place that epitomizes Israelis in India – set up as a hostel and restaurant, with a pay-what-you-want vegetarian buffet, ancient sofas set up on several floors, waiters that disappear for at least 30 minute intervals, and a cast of patrons whom clearly have come back from their post-army trip looking for relive the experience. Definitely too lazy of a lifestyle for me, or perhaps I'm too much in the mood of everything I have to do.
-Returning to friend's apartment to find the door bolted and the air conditioner on – crap, I think, I left on the air conditioner or he came back. Turns out the apartment was promised to two different sets of friends – the other one was a group of five Paratroopers, coming back from/going to their field ops test. I quickly packed up my stuff, told the one solider who woke up to stop apologizing for me not knowing they'd be there, and made my way to my other friend's apartment, exhausted and still full from dinner.