homeward

I am home again, and my body is all ache. We hiked for what seemed like forever in the hills surrounding Petra.

Petra--how to describe it. The famous "lost city" of the Nabotean Empire, built entirely from the red stone of the Jordanian Desert. To get into it, you must walk over a kilometer through the "siq," a narrow pathway forged between two sky-high cliffs. When you reach the end, the facade of the most impressive structure--the Treasury--is just visible between them. Then you step out into this rocky valley, and there it is, this massive tomb cut from the rock face, with huge corinthian columns and aging Hellenistic statues perched on impossibly delicate ledges. It is huge, bright coral-colored, and beautifully preserved, having been so well protected from the desert wind by the cliffs that encircle it.

From there you can continue on the length of the city, with eroding pillars and hundreds of tombs and temples and caves cut from stone. It is hard to imagine what it must have looked like in its prime--at one time Petra had a population of 30,000 people. Then it was abandoned for 1500 years, inhabited on and off by nomadic Bedouins, until its rediscovery in the 19th century. I have never seen anything like it.

For some of the higher hikes, we did the smart thing and hired some donkeys to take us up the steep steps. That felt a tad precarious, on the back of this wheezing beast as it tripped its way up these narrow rock stairways, with a gaping drop two inches from its hooves. But they got us safely up to the high place of sacrifice, where we saw the alter, complete with gutters for draining blood and sites for burning the bones of animals and the unfortunate virgins whose fathers gained prominence in the communtiy through their sacrifice. From there you could see the entire city, and the red valley spread out for miles.

After several hours in the sun, hiking through caves and ruins, we would eat huge Bedouin feasts of lamb and yogurt and rice and salad and bread, and drink non-alcoholic beer, as Muslim Petra does not serve alcohol in any establishment. Everywhere we went the people would welcome us and talk to us and ask us where we were from. They reacted with indifference to Germany, but every time I said I was American, their eyes would light up and they would say "Welcome! America and Jordan friends!" So perhaps not everyone hates us. Or perhaps it had more to do with the fact that I am an American woman that apparantly most Jordanian men found attractive, as evidenced by the fact that inevitably they asked if Bernt and I were married, if I was looking for a husband, and if I would marry a Bedouin. When I told them I had a boyfriend (and they were always surprised to find that it was not Bernt--why were we travelling together then?) they asked if maybe, since I was not married yet...

One man asked me if I would trade my boyfriend in for a Bedouin. When I said that Jef might not like that, he said "tell him I will give him 100 camels." Jef should be very proud, as 100 camels is quite a lot for just one wife. Hopefully he will not be too upset that I took the liberty of turning down the offer. Another man, who worked at our hotel, insisted on giving me tea and food every time he saw me, and we would have stilted conversations in sign language, in which he asked me several times, if I interpereted correctly, if I would marry him.

Last night Bernt and I were hoping to watch the sunset. We saw a particularly lovely perch on the roof of a hotel high above the city. When we went in and asked the proprieter if we might sit on his roof and order a cup of tea, he said "of course" and proceeded to carry two chairs and a table up to the roof. As we sat there, he brought up, in twenty minute intervals, the following: sweet tea, Arab coffee, mango juice, and cake. When we left a little later, after a spectacular sunset, we asked if we could pay him and he said no, everything was free, welcome to Jordan.

This morning, we sadly said goodbye to Petra, and began the long journey back to Jerusalem. Now I am resting, and planning my next visit to the Hashemite Kingdom.

The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan

I am writing this from the Petra Internet Cafe in Petra, Jordan. Bernt and I arrived here at eight o'clock this morning after a four hour bus ride from Jerusalem to Eilat at the Dead Sea, where we arrived at four o'clock in the morning and spent two hours camped out on someone's front porch waiting for the border to open.

At the border, exhausted, we talked with the Jordanian border gaurds while we waited for a taxi to take us to Aqaba, from where we would catch a sherut to Petra. The border gaurds were friendly and funny. They asked us where we were from, and when Bernt said "Germany," the younger one smiled and said, 'Oh yes! Germany. Hitler!" Which I found hilarious.

Everybody we've met so far has been like those gaurds, so friendly, conversational, interested. Who are we? Where are we from? First time to Jordan? Welcome! We've gotten a free place to stay, free rides, free coffee and tea--the Bedouins being perhaps the most welcoming and hospitable people on Earth. I really like it here. The streets are clean (cleaner than Israel), everyone is polite and helpful. At the coffee shop we just came from we had two waiters--one who worked there, and one fellow patron who translated for him.

As for Petra itself--that will have to wait until tomorrow. I am too tired to do it justice.

Easter

In the interest of remaining connected, I went into the Old City yesterday sans camera and other ecoutrements of memory-preservation, carrying only my Bible and some money for the market. I went back to the Holy Sepulchre and stood by the tomb, watching the long line of pilgrims fighting there way to the door to get inside to get a glimpse of the possible place where Jesus rose from the dead. I read the ressurection story in Luke, then John, then stood there at a loss for the appropriate thing to do.

That night I went back to Luise's (of course) for a fish and rice dinner. We had a sort-of make-shift communion, in that we ate bread and drank wine and I silently remembered, and then sat on the terrace until the sun went down. Later on we went out in search of--of all things--creme brulee, and by God we found it, and it was gooood.

Today I was supposed to be on a bus to Eilat, from which I was supposed to head into Jordan to see the awe-inspiring ruins of Petra. However, unbeknownst to me, Israel went and shut down...well...everything, once again, for the holiday. Hence there are no buses until tonight. But at exactly midnight, Bernt and I will be on our way. And when we return, praise God, we will be able to buy bread again. (Aside: in Israel, during passover, it is illegal to sell bread, or pasta, or popcorn, or even rice. Illegal, mind you. So I have been sneaking it in from the Arab quarter. Shhhhhhh!)

Via Dolorosa

Yesterday was--again--quite a day. I am emotionally spent. At eleven thirty Ksenia and I headed into the Old City for the Way of the Cross, the procession that travels the route of Jesus to Golgotha. The experience is difficult to describe. The day was hot, a bit fierce even, and we were standing on the border between the Christian and Arab quarters. To our right, the Arab suq was in full swing, with merchants crying out and people making their way through shops full of baklava and jewelry and pottery and sheep heads and underwear and stalls full of almonds and cucumbers and popcorn and multicolored spices. To our left groups of pilgrims stood whispering, leafing through guidebooks or Bibles or maps. And everywhere there were people wandering about in the traditional dress of a hundred denominations: Catholic priests with white collars, Coptic Egyptians in white cotton, Men all in black with pointed hoods, Jesuits in brown robes reminiscent of Robin Hood friars, Polish women with their heads wrapped in scarves clutching crosses, Americans in shorts and tank tops, Ethiopians wrapped in yards of white cloth. It was like a gigantic Christian costume party, and the air was one of anticipation.



Soon the priests formed a line and announced the first station, where Jesus was sentenced, and the long solemn parade began. We were all smashed together, walking slowly behind the line of priests who announced each station as we passed it--here is where Jesus was whipped and beaten, here where he fell the first time, here where Simon volunteered to carry his cross, here where he saw his mother in the crowd. People were carrying crosses, some so large they required four or five worshippers to hold them. We were winding through the market, passing electronics stores and butcher shops and music stores with bootleg copies of "The Passion" for sale. The procession must have been a mile long, and every few yards or so a different group was singing a different song in Latin, Arabic, Russian. I was furiously taking pictures, with the result of feeling even more disconnected from what we were actually doing, but such is the way I deal with things like this. I don't really know how to keep myself from feeling removed.



Finally we made our way to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, on the site of Golgotha and the tomb of Jesus. While it is disputed, archaeologists generally believe that this is the actual site of the crucifixion. I made my way up to the chapel over Golgotha, and read the crucifixion chapter in John amidst all the noise and chaos. I walked around the church, to the slab where his body was laid out for burial--around which a crowd was gathered--everyone waiting their turn to kneel at the slab and cover it with perfume, incense, rose petals, kisses. Then I walked to the tomb, where ceremony after ceremony was taking place, one after the other, each in different languages, singing different songs.

Somehow I had managed to lose Ksenia and two other friends. I left and wandered the Old City, a bit overcome, and ran into Luise and some others. We had a bit of lunch outside on a roof overlooking the Dome of the Rock and the Holy Sepulchre, sipping Arak with water and generally trying to calm down. The Arak helped, of course, and soon I felt almost normal.

The rest of the day played out in typical incongruous Holy Land fashion, with a birthday party for Luise on the terrace of her house, where we ate shashlik from the grill, drank wine, and danced to Arabic music. At three in the morning, Shadi dropped me off, and I stumbled into bed, called Jef just to hear him say goodnight, and fell promptly to sleep for ten hours. I am tired. I have very few emotions left to feel.

Maundy Thursday

Jerusalem is surreal and particularly holy this week. It is more crowded than usual; in the streets you can hear Christian pilgrims speaking in all sorts of different languages: French, German, Italian, Korean, Swahili, Arabic, Syrian--just a few that I've heard. They walk in solemn groups, cameras flung over shoulders, yellow bandanas or green nametags differentiating one group from another. The Old City was crawling with them yesterday, and yet I didn't get the claustrophobic feeling I usually do when I'm in a place with a million other tourists.

Ksenia and I were in the Old City by two thirty, and our first stop was the Upper Room, or what is reported to be the Upper Room, where Jesus and his disciples had the Last Supper together the night before the crucifixion. There was a brief service in Italian, and then everyone just stood in silence, staring into this large empty room, most likely picturing the same thing I was: Jesus washing the disciples' feet, Jesus breaking the bread.

After that we went to the other supposed site of the Upper Room, and one of the first churches in Jerusalem, at the Syrian church deep in the winding streets of the Christian quarter. The service was long, in Syrian, and full of chanting and singing, and afterward there was a procession of priests to large drums and bagpipes.

By this time we were hungry, ao we ate at Papa Andrea's rooftop restaurant in the Christian Quarter before heading to the Anglican Church of St. George for a Maundy Thursday Service. It was quite beautiful, in Arabic and English, with a foot-washing ceremony and communion, which I took for the first time in a year and a half. I've been avoiding communion, not quite willing, I suppose, to submit to whatever God might tell me to do if I open myself up to him again, but I took it yesterday. A reaffirmation of something suffocating, I guess.



After the service we walked in silence to Gethsemane, where Jesus prayed in agony, knowing that he was soon to die on the cross. We prayed and sang some songs in the garden, then walked through the Olive Trees that have been there since the time of Jesus. In the Basilica of the Agony I prayed by the symbolic "Rock of the Agony," where Jesus is said to have prayed so hard that he sweat blood. In a strange moment completely uncharacteristic of me, I kissed it. Just in case. Just in case he really did touch this rock. Suddenly I was a true to form pilgrim. Something I guess I don't mind at all.



By this time it was almost midnight and my legs were aching, but we walked through the Kidron Valley on the route that the soldiers took the captured Jesus, and up to St. Peter's church, built on the site of Caiaphas' palace, where Jesus stood in a makeshift trial.



The stairs there are from the time of Christ, and he probably walked up them in chains. In the church we went all the way down to the pit where it is believed he was held. The whole night was unimagineable, really.

I finally made it home exceptionally late, and now I'm off to the Old City again.

Pesach

Yesterday was the first day of Pesach (Passover), and I went with Tammy and her family to a cousin's house for the Seder feast. Their house was incredible, a bit on the museum side (they had an elevator), and their was one impossibly long table beautifully set for something like twenty-five people. We sat and read the Haggadah (my first time all in Hebrew) and when it was my turn I got all shy and asked to be skipped. There might be rules agains Gentiles reading it, after all.

We dipped the parsely in the salt water, ate of the eggs and the matzah and the bitter herbs, drank the prescribed four glasses of wine, and even sang a few of the songs, albiet somewhat half-heartedly. The funny thing is that most of them didn't know why they did half the things they did, and I, the only non-Jew, knew more than they did. Apparently, once you live in Israel, you've done your part.

It was great fun. We started at eight and ended at eleven thirty, and there was much feasting. I ate until I got sick, but it was all so good. I got a bit tipsy from the wine, but not enough to start speaking Hebrew, but everyone was gracious and spoke to me in English. One of theses days I'm going to have to be brave and use my Hebrew outside of class and taxis. I'm really not half bad--I just clam up or forget everything all of a sudden.

I love this country. I'm thinking of converting.

Ra'anana

It's been a busy few days. On Saturday we went up north, and it was wonderful. We left at eight in the morning, and arrived at Rosh Pina by eleven. Rosh Pina is a small town that was first settled in the late 1800s, built on the side of a mountain. We had coffee and cake and walked through the oldest part of town, with its cobblestone streets and old stone buildings full of art galleries and craft stores.

Here we are in Rosh Pina

After that we drove to the Hula reserve, a huge nature reserve that used to be a swamp. We walked the length of the trail, most of it a boardwalk over the remaining swamp, and saw pelicans and buffalo and lots of turtles. The whole swamp was full of papyrus plants, and maybe I would have picked one and made me some paper if it weren't, you know, illegal.

The Hula Reserve

After that we drove up to the Tel Dan, another reservation that was absolutely beautiful. The Dan River is one of the feeders of the much smaller Jordan River, and also the site of the ancient city of Dan, where naughty King Jeraboam set up an alter to a golden calf. (See 2 Kings) We saw the ruins of the altar and the city gates, then walked through the park. The trail was almost completely made up of stones in the river, so that we were basically walking on the river itself. The trees hung over the trail, so it was like walking through a big green cave. It was beautiful. I took many pictures.

Yesterday Tammy and I ate brunch at a moshav, or farm settlement, in their little restaurant overlooking a field of wildflowers. The food was fresh and yummy and we ate ourselves silly. After that we headed north of Tel Aviv to Netanya, a beach town, and drove to a ranch north of the city, where we went horseback riding on the deserted beach, through cliffs and sand dunes. It was, again, beautiful. I've never ridden a horse on a beach before, but it was all very romantic, as evidenced by the fact that one of the Israeli guys riding with us kept hitting on me, in spite of my horrendous Hebrew. I have discovered it is incredibly hard to speak Hebrew atop a horse on a beach. He didn't seem to mind though, and after we drove away, he pulled up in front of us at a red light and his friend hopped out of the car, walked to my window, and proceeded to hand me a slip of yellow paper with his friend's number on it, saying I should call him. Interesting. We shall see. It was a strange way to be picked up.

Beginning of the holidays

I am now in Ra'anana with Tammy's family, where I will remain for the next few days. I'm having the passover seder feast with her family, and I'm a bit nervous as everyone has to read out of the Haggadah, and my Hebrew may not be up to the task. I will try my hardest, however, and be on my best gentile behavior.

Tomorrow Tammy, Yoni and I head up to the Golan Heights in the north, one of the most beautiful places in Israel. It's up close to Lebanon, the area siezed in 1967. We're going to hike around a bit, maybe have a picnic. Hopefully the weather, which seems to be a bit two-faced these days, will cooperate--because I also have big plans for the beach on Sunday. We will see.

Druze Village

Yesterday my Arabic class took a field trip. They chartered a bus for us and we drove up north to a Druze village in the Galilee. It was absolutely beautiful, the real milk-and-honey deal, perfect except for the cement wall to the right of the highway.

We went to an olive farm, and the Jahsan family gave us a tour of their factory, and we all loaded up on fresh olive oil to take home before heading out to eat at a hummous restaurant. We stopped at another village and took a walk through the hillside before heading home. It was a long day, tiring, but very fun.

Arabic Class Trip!

Eating Olives!

I am also halfway done with my second paper. I've been plodding through, despite my efforts having been hindered by my computer's sudden decision to quit. Well, just Word quit. It no longer exists somehow on my laptop. So I have to go to the computer lab, which is actually better as I work without distraction.

Tomorrow is my last day of class before Pesach break. Hooray!

Yes.

That's all.

Lots going on

It's been a busy couple of days. As far as school is concerned: I have only to write the conclusion (arguably, for me, the hardest part) and my Ancient Near East paper will be complete. I finally finished the outline for my Jewish Classical Texts paper. I got a 43% on my first Hebrew test, which was much higher than anticipated, owing to the fact that I am a year's worth of Hebrew behind (not to worry--last semester I failed the first four tests until I caught up). Arabic has come to a standstill; my capacity has been reached. I absolutely love my seminar courses, and finally my brain feels thick again.

Other stuff: On Thursday, I went to Yad Vashem (literally: a memorial and a name), the Holocaust Memorial. We spent two and a half hours wandering through the history museums, the separate memorials, the hall of names, etc, and it was quite difficult. None of this is new to me, but it's fresh and raw every time I have to face that time in history. I'm sure you've heard about the eerie children's memorial, but nothing compares to walking through that dark hallway, where mirrors have been set up behind eternally lit candles giving the affect of infinite points of light in a pitch black room, where two voices slowly read off the names and ages of the Holocaust's one and a half million child victims. It was quite an intense visit, and left me pretty incapacitated for the rest of the day.

Do I have a sleep disorder?

So I'm still having nightmares every night. I have no idea why. They're not necessarily scary nightmares, but I'm always feeling some sort of negative emotion: fear, worry, anger, stress. I'm always in a situation over which I have no control, and I am always powerless, usually alone. It's horrible--mainly because I don't ever feel rested. I wake up remembering vividly all these dreams I had during the night, and I feel like I ran a few miles, not like I just woke up. Which means that I'm always tired.

And here's the strangest part: one of the results of this anomaly is that I still have to take a nap during the day, even if I slept eight hours, because I just can't make it. And, when I take these naps during the day, the dreams are even worse. I don't know how to explain it except to say that I don't quite fall all the way asleep. In my dream, I wake up in my bed, but I can't move my body. I am paralyzed. I want to reach over and see what time it is, but I can't move. And then, when I do manage to get out of bed, my movements are sluggish and take all this energy. Then suddenly I'm back in my bed where I started, and the whole process starts over again. I also really wake up several times, and have the same problem: I can't move. And yet I know that this time that I am actually awake, and that I am too tired too move. So I drift in and out of consciousness, experiencing varying degrees of paralysis, until finally I wake up and I'm breathing in these huge hysterical gulps, which is pretty frightening.

Okay, that last part only happened today and is not a regular occurance, but it's still odd. And the rest of my day is colored by it--suddenly I feel a bit surreal, a little out of place, off-kilter, what have you. And more tired than ever. Yuck.

There is more to write about, but I am exhausted, and think I shall sit upon my couch and do nothing for a while.

Sharon

Ariel Sharon was at my school today, which was pretty annoying if you ask me. Policeman, soldiers, and security gaurds were everywhere, as were makeshift blockades cutting off entire sections of the campus--the result being that I had to walk around in circles for twenty minutes, unable to find a way out, until I finally snuck out well below the campus in the tunnel used by buses to whisk students off on their journeys home. When I finally came out into the fresh air, I enjoyed a pleasant breeze from the far too close army helicopters patrolling the skies. Delightful, really.

I didn't get to see Sharon, don't even know what he was doing there. I just saw the results of his presence, including a spontaneous protest against the assasssination of Yassin. All in all, every day here is surprising. And it appears that Spring has finally come. There's not a cloud in the sky, if you don't count the black smoke of burning tires wafting from the Palestinian territories.

I don't have any answers

At five o'clock this morning, Israel assassinated the spiritual leader of Hamas, Sheik Achmad Yassin, in an airstrike as he left the mosque where he was saying morning prayers. He and some seven of his bodygaurds were killed.

Thousands and thousands of Palestinians marched at the funeral, crying and vowing revenge in the usual colorful terms--declaring that Sharon had "opened the gates of hell" and that they will not stop until they "cut off his head." Yassin was the founder of Hamas in 1987, jailed by the Israelis shortly thereafter, released in the late nineties in a peace aggreement with Jordan, and had already survived a previous assassination attempt in September.

All the students at Rothberg got an e-mail today warning us to steer clear of--well, pretty much everywhere--for the next few days at least. We talked about it endlessly in stilted Hebrew during Ulpan, and everyone has a different opinion.

I couldn't say what my opinion is. Certainly I believe this man was horrible, a hateful man who sent countless people to their deaths in the name of Islam, promising them however many virgins they get in the afterlife or whatever while he went on living quite comfortably. But even so, before I came to Israel, I was dead set against Israel's assassination policy, which flies in the face of democracy. Capitol punishment without a trial. But then again, the greatest democracy on Earth invaded a whole sovereign nation without trial or legislation, so there goes that argument. Apparently democracy has its limits?

But then again, it's different here. To many people, this is a war. In a war, the rules of democracy don't apply. Whether or not I see it as a war...I'm too close to it to make a just decision. It's too easy to stand on either side, when the reality is probably somewhere in the middle. I know that Hamas doesn't want a border at the green line, no matter what their rhetoric. I know that once they get it, terrorism will continue until Israel is no more. I also know that that will never happen. Israel is not going anywhere. The result: this.

I'm more scared than usual. Mad at everybody. Frustrated that I can't get at what is true here. All I know is that I'm going to lay low for a few days. See what happens.

I hate shabbat

I'm feeling a bit down today. I've decided that I hate Shabbat. Everything is always closed; my roomate is always in Tel Aviv; all my friends are out of commission with schoolwork; and I am all by myself at home all day long. It's not entirely bad, as my apartment is now clean and my paper is only a couple of pages away from being done, but I am so lonely that I just want to sit on the couch and do nothing. No. I want to sleep. I'm too lonely to watch TV or even exist. I wish we had power switches and we could just turn ourselves off for a few hours to make days like these pass faster. Blech.

Th Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade claimed responsibility for the shooting last night, and apologized for their error--they accidentally shot an Arab. Oops. Sorry everyone, thought he was Jewish! Our bad! He was a twenty-year-old student at my school, out jogging on a quiet evening. They drove by and shot him in the head and in the stomach. Apparently they mistook him for a "settler" (as all of West Jerusalem is considered a settlement to them).

I am a little bitter about it all. I'm sad to say this country is turning my dovish heart into a hawk. How can you be liberal when some idiot might shoot you on your evening jog? Of course I have to remember to maintain some sort of perspective, but I'm in a bad mood to begin with.

Luise evenings

I had a (relatively) quiet evening tonight. I was lazy all day long--sleeping, day-dreaming, calling Jef--leaving my work for other days. Finally I pulled myself together and hailed a taxi to Luise's. We got stuck in a huge traffic jam, which ended up being a soldier check-point. The radio was on in the cab, and with my small knowledge of Hebrew I managed to pick up a few words: Terrorist attack. This evening. French Hill. We spent ten or fifteen minutes in a long line of cars, finally waved through after a few brief questions from heavily armed soldiers. Turns out a young man was shot in the head while he was walking around in my neighborhood, in fact right near the post office where I walk to pick up my packages. There were police and army everywhere. I don't know if they caught the guy, or how they seem so sure it was terrorism. Odd to think how much I'm hoping it turns out to be crime. Please let it just be a harmless criminal murder. Don't let it be that terrorists have taken to shooting pedestrians down the street.

We live in interesting times.

The strangest part: the rest of my night was quite normal. Luise and I went out to dinner, then to a bar for a drink, and headed home. My taxi driver taught me proper Hebrew on the cab ride home, and now here I am. I'm feeling rather tired and think I will go to bed. History goes on down the street, and I worry about my paper, the dishes.

Interesting times indeed.

Procrastination

I'm having serious trouble concentrating. Must be Spring Fever. So I've been doing all sorts of things to keep me from having to work on my paper. The other night I made dinner for a bunch of friends, and it actually turned out pretty well. I'm surprised to learn that I can cook. Perhaps I have other latent talents I never knew about. I was always convinced growing up that I was a child prodigy in something, I just could never figure out what it was. Maybe I should start trying a bunch of different things until I finally hit upon my genius. Because, while I am pleased to discover that I can throw some tomatoes and onions and chicken together and somehow make it taste good, I'm pretty sure that cooking is not it.

But anyway, the dinner was nice; we alternated between Hebrew and English--felt very cosmpolitan, very ex-pat, very Hemingway. Well, except that we were speaking Hebrew. Unfortunately the dishes are still sitting on the counter while my paper collects dust. Ah well.

Last night I went for dinner at Luise's, then we got into her nieghbor Shimi's car and drove down to Talpiot for a CD release party. I had to pretend that I was Sabina, who was sick, so that our names would be on the guest list. I was instructed not to speak, because Sabina is, after all, German, and while I am picking it up a bit, I don't quite speak it just yet. Inside the band was playing some kind of electronic something-or-other, with a little light show and a small screen on which an odd loop of English words was playing. Butter. Contract. Bubble. Mister. Mouse. Coupon. It was very odd. I danced a bit, and ended up talking to another German all night, until we took a cab back to Luise's and I crashed in a heap on her bed.

Now I'm home, staring ruefully at the dishes and the notes for my papers, nursing a little hangover, and writing in this blog. I am happy. The sun is out. If I'm not careful, I'll end up calling Jef and talking for an hour like I did yesterday, just to hear his voice. I definitely have Spring Fever.

A brief and total beauty

The other morning I heard this strange trilling noise coming from my shower. It would go away, then I would hear it again. It sounded like some kind of bird, but not any I'd heard before. Finally I climbed up onto the tub and peeked out the tiny window above the shower, and found myself face to face with this enormous, beautiful hawk perched on the ledge outside the window, literally inches from me and staring me straight in the eye. But when I moved to adjust my own precarious perch, it flew away. Still, that kind of thing doesn't happen every day now, does it.

I am skipping Hebrew today. I have a quiz in Arabic and must needs study. I did get an A on my Arabic final, but it was a low A and I am determined to do better. I shall lock myself in my room and read Arabic till I see squiggly script everywhere I look. I shall speak only in Arabic, even with my rather limited vocabulary...(happy, university, eat, drink, student, apartment, friend, guest)...One needs very few words to effectively communicate. I do not, however, possess the correct font to write this blog in Arabic, so unfortunately you will have to continue reading it in English. I also just realized that I'm not sure if I spelled the word "possess" correctly. Posess? Hmmm.

Arak

I wish my roomate stayed in Jerusalem on the weekends. I think I need human contact in the morning before I can do anything productive. Otherwise I just end up drinking coffee, surfing the net and talking to myself, while my work sits untouched and my apartment sinks into messy oblivion. I can't even do the dishes without a bit of conversation. How did this happen to me? Ah well.

Speaking of human contact, I've called Jef every day this week. We are supposed to be taking some time off so I can get my act together, and he's behaving very nicely with enviable self control. I, on the other hand, am apparently addicted. I cannot stop! We must speak! When I wake up in the morning, and again when I go to bed at night. Sometimes I can resist the urge, but last night, after two araks (a dangerously deceptive drink) there was simply nothing I could do. The phone was in my hand...I was dialing...and suddenly, there he was! Just like magic!

I really like this one. I might keep him.

It's finally the weekend

For some reason I am really stressed suddenly. I know I have until April to finish my Mesopotamia paper, but I feel so pressured to get it in as soon as possible. The thing is, I am so accustomed to literary papers, being an English major and all. I like being able to trumpet my opinion, using unconventional evidence, as well as the text, to "prove" my stance on a relatively small aspect of a single work. With this type of paper, I am spanning millenia, in a subject on which I am definitely not an expert, dealing with actual fact, as well as interpretations of fact, tens of scholarly opinions, and with very little right to my own opinion at all. The result is that I have no idea what I am doing here. I am playing it entirely by ear. Twelve pages thus far by ear, twelve more to go. but I have noticed, unlike the papers of my past, that simmered inside me for two weeks, finally to boil over in a matter of hours into something hand-in-worthy, the longer I take with this one, the better it gets. But also, the longer I take with it, the more work I have every day as the assignments in my new classes build up. I know I had to deal with an unusual situation last semester, and that it won't always feel this way, but I feel rather submerged--and who knows when I'll get to breathe again! ARRRGGHHH.

An aside: I added a new photo album or two from my recent experiences with Jewish security and Jewish holidays. I also finished (finally) the long overdue Christmas album. Check 'em out, down and to the left.

Purim Sameach

Yesterday was Purim, a holiday I have come to love. Certainly the most festive of Jewish holidays, it celebrates the saving of the Jewish people by Mordechai and Queen Esther, who approached her husband, King What's-his-name, on their behalf when Haman had convinced him to have the Jews destroyed. Instead, it was Haman who was put to death on the very gallows he had built for the Jews.

Hence, the happy, carnival nature of Purim. Purim is celebrated on the fourteenth of Adar all over Israel, and on the fifteenth of Adar in Jerusalem (due to the fact that residents of walled cities were to be killed a day after everyone else, I forget why) On the secular calender, this usually falls in the end of February, or the beginning of March.

The rules concerning Purim: Everyone must be happy. It is actually a commandment. It is also a commandment that people give gifts to friends, alms to the poor, and hear the Megillah, or the Esther scroll, read at synagogue. One is to eat a great feast, and many people dress up in masks or costumes, as Esther hid her Jewishness from Xerxes. It is also an actual rule that on Purim, one must drink until one can no longer tell if one is cursing Haman or blessing Mordechai.

So, the entire weekend was one long party, with people dressed in strange costumes on the street, making lots of noise, and gleefully obeying the drinking statute. Last night we all had a great feast, started early due to the fact that the feast must be during the day, and were all quite comfortably obeying the drinking rule by seven. We painted our faces with bright colors, got all dressed up, and made great plans to go to several different parties, none of which actually came to fruition as we couldn't bring ourselves to leave the fun in our own apartment. Eventually, however, the party moved on, and I headed home to my own place where there was currently another party in progress. The drive home was wonderfully surreal, with large groups of Hasidic and ultra-orthodox Jews weaving and stumbling their merry, drunk way through the streets, sidelocks swinging, dresses trailing through the dirt, hats off heads and into hands. Everyone was happy, even the soldiers and policeman stationed every few feet or so.







I feel so happy and full these days. I truly feel like I am home, like I have made a life for myself here. First semester was difficult--adjusting, dealing with homesickness, trying to make my home feel like home, but now I have finally gotten past all that, and have really...settled. I am aware of this happiness all the time, as I have this tendency to suddenly and without warning separate myself from everything going on around me and mentally assessing my situation. Stop, look around the room, and yes--I am happy. Then come back to brain and start to live again. All is well.

The Propaganda Machine

This morning I went to see the "separation fence" with some other students from my University. I assumed that the trip was sponsered by my school, and it would just be a small group of us going to see it and discuss it. Turns out it was part of a huge tour planned by the Israeli government for foreign students in Israel. There were over a hundred students, mostly American Jews still in college, and they shepherded us into a building, passing out fliers titled Saving Lives: Israel's Security Fence, and led us into an auditorium, where the fence was vigorously defended by members of the Israeli government, and where Natan Sharansky addressed us and encouraged us to get involved in student activism in support of Israel when we returned to our home countries. He himself was freed from a Russian prison after thirteen years due to political pressure from "students and housewives."

In spite of the obvious propaganda being hurled at us, I did manage to learn some interesting facts, such as the fact that 97% of the barrier is chain-link fence hooked up to an electronic surveillance system, meaning only 3% is actual ugly cement wall--not something I would have thought from the media's portrayal. Also the fact that since the security fence was built around Gaza in the nineties, not a single suicide bomber has passed through the fence to attack Israel (a sort-of exception being the two bombers of Tel Aviv's Mike's Place who passed through the checkpoints with British passports--the point being that they didn't get over the wall). These were interesting and convincing facts, and in truth, I am not entirely opposed to the wall (much to the horror of my more dovish friends, I'm sure), but I certainly did not like being fed this information in such an obviously slanted manner.

After the speeches, we set off in several buses to view the fence from Gilo, a neighborhood in southern Jerusalem. Here it is merely a fence, barely obtrusive on the landscape, and the soldier in charge of the security fence (not separation fence) in Jerusalem spoke to us, spouting more facts about dead Israelis and the drastic steps Israel has had to take to protect itself.



After this, we headed to Abu Dis, an Arab neighborhood near Mount Zion, one of the most disputed areas home to a huge concrete wall that looked to me over fifty feet high. We were most shocked to find when we got there that Israel had placed bus number 14, destroyed last week in a suicide bombing, right in front of the wall as a grim justification for its existance for all the Arabs to live with every day. (Another such bus was shipped to the Hague, Israel's only contribution to the International Court discussion of the fence). So here we were, staring deep into the bowels of this decimated bus, with all its twisted metal and blown out windows and seats stripped from their places, where seven people died a mere week ago. It was a bit more than I could take.





I was looking around at the Army Jeeps and the soldiers checking the IDs of the Palestinians passing through, at the graffitti scrawled on the wall (no to another wailing wall...from warsaw ghetto to Abu Dis ghetto...paid for by America...etc), and then at all the students, crowding around the bus, cameras flashing, people posing in front of the wall...it was hard to keep my thoughts straight. I was angry with Israel, angry with the Palestinians, angry with the students. I don't know why. Maybe because I find it so impossible to get to the truth here, when I'm surrounded by so many arguments from both sides--I just don't know what's right. Of course this wall is horrible, awful, should be taken down, but then again, if it works...if I can take buses here one day...not worry about blowing up...things are so much more complicated than either side is willing to admit.



 

First Week

The first week of school is over, and I'm exhausted. I've taken on another heavy schedule, and am still dealing with some of last semester's work, so I've been either in class or in the library for most of the week. It's a good feeling though--I get so much more done when I'm busy.

The courses I'm taking this semester include Early Christianity and the World of Late Antiquity; Early Jewish and Christian Interperatation of the Bible; Godfearers and Judaizers: The Problem of Boundaries in Early Judaism and Christianity; and Maimonedes' Guide for the Perplexed. I am also continuing my Islam tutorial, for which I will be writing a seminar paper on either Islamic philosophy in the 10th through 12th centuries, or asceticism in Mystical Islam, as well as Hebrew and Arabic. It all seems a bit daunting, but it's really exciting as well. My intellectual curiousity is piqued anew.

Tonight it's over to Ksenia and Helen's for dinner, and then tomorrow morning, bright and early, I'm off to see the much-disputed separation fence

Palestinian Film Festival

Yesterday evening, after school, I went to East Jerusalem to meet Luise, Shadi, and Fadi at the Palestinian Film Festival being held at the YWCA there from February 26-March 2. Shadi had acted in a short film, and it was playing along with several other short films.

Shadi's film was excellent--twenty minutes long, about a group of Palestinian film-makers trying to cross the border from the West Bank into Jerusalem. Shadi played an Israeli soldier, much to the chagrin of his family. All of the other films were pretty depressing, without relief--but Shadi's took a difficult and depressing situation and, pretty accurately I'm told, managed to find as much humor as frustration. It was definitely an interesting experience. Afterward we walked to a sandwich shop and ate outside, and I was altogether content and happy.

In other news, my electricity got turned off today. Apparently the bill never got paid. So I was in the dark for a few hours until we paid it and they turned it back on. I have a hard time with the bills, since I can't read all that technical Hebrew. Tammy has a hard time with them because she's in and out of town all the time. Together, we are somewhat incompetent in that area. We also have no phone at the moment. All such good fun.

Security

First day of school today. It was really good to be back; I've been getting bored recently and was ready for the classroom again. They let me skip another Hebrew level--so I am now officially in level gimel. I'm going to try it for a week, and if I can't hack it, I'm supposed to go back to bet. We shall see. The future tense I basically taught myself already, but I'm over two hundred words shy of gimel-level vocabulary. I'm not making any promises.

Today, in the midst of my first gimel Hebrew class, a man came to the door of the classroom and said that everyone had to evacuate the building, as a suspicious package had been found inside. Sure enough, all the international students were making their way outside, and there were police cars lined up in front of the school. After a few minutes, men from the army dressed in green storm trooper get-up, complete with helmets, could be seen making their way inside. After that, there were four explosions, one after the other. I was told that they shot the bag, but as I've never actually heard a gun go off that I'm aware of, I can't be sure what they did. But my building is still standing, so I assume that it didn't blow up, and soon we were all back in class.

Later on in the day, I was heading to the library to work on this paper, the current bane of my existance, and the whole other half of the campus was closed off for security. I had to exit from the back of the campus and walk all the way around it just to get home, let alone to the library, which was completely shut down anyway. Just another normal old day.

School starts tomorrow

The weather is still perfect here--blue skies for miles and miles. Yesterday I had to study, but I couldn't bear to stay inside another day, so Helen and I went to the British War Cemetery, where we sat and studied until the heat forced us back inside. An aside: always strange to go to a war cemetery. This one is for the British soldiers who died in Palestine in the first World War. Private so-and-so, aged twenty-five, sergeant so-and-so, aged nineteen. They were all so young. Just a bit heavy.

So I've developed into a routine: study by day, party by night. Thursday night I went to a party with Tammy, thrown by one of her friends who is leaving soon to study abroad. So I practiced Hebrew, interspersed with bits of English with the inevitable German or two. The hostess, Nino, another artist from Bezalel, had her work all over the walls, and she is extremely talented. She recently had an exhibition at the Bible Lands Museum here in Jerusalem. Every one of Tammy's friends has this amazing talent. It's a bit inspiring, I must say.

Last night, Shabbat dinner at Luise's. Bernt cooked, and it was delicious. We ate out on their terrace overlooking the street. All very romantic, lovely. I met a few more people, another German and their Israeli neighbor. We went out, to the d1, of course, and I was back home by 1:30. Perhaps I am reining it in a bit?

As for tonight, Ksenia and Helen are cooking for me. All these dinners! I'll come home fat...

Spring is here

The last few days have been absolutely beautiful. Sixty-five degrees, sunny, absolutely lovely. Unfortunately I have been stuck inside most of the time finishing up my paper and studying. But I have managed to get out every once in a while and enjoy how wonderful it is. I feel so full--life is good, if not easy. I know I am where I am supposed to be, even if so many of my questions have yet to be answered.

Bus Fourteen

It's almost six o'clock here, and I'm getting ready to cook dinner for Ksenia and Helen--and hopefully my roomate, who I expected home by now. I have been inside studying all day, so I only just now heard about the bus bombing that occurred this morning at eight thirty. It's odd, I found out the same way I always found out at home--the Internet. Only this time I am here, in Jerusalem, a few miles from where this tragedy took place, yet I feel just as separate and insulated as I did back home. This is a good thing, I guess. Maybe. I don't know actually.

There were mostly schoolkids on the bus, teenagers, ten or eleven of them from the same school. One of them is confirmed dead, and the status of the others seems to be still unknown. The official body count is seven, with sixty wounded.

Apparently this has something to do with the delegation in the Hague, scheduled to start tomorrow, regarding the security fence. I must admit, I don't see the logic here--don't more bombings just add to Israel's case?

Study, No Dancing

I slept until two o'clock in the afternoon today. I must still be jetlagged, because I can't seem to fall asleep until seven or eight in the morning. I'm all out of whack. But it's okay for now--I still have a week until school starts.

Yesterday I went to the Mahane Yehuda Market in West Jerusalem. I can't believe I'd never been there before. Easily as colorful as the shuk in the Old City, and bigger and more accessible. I bought two overflowing, heavy shopping bags full of fruits and vegetables for a whopping fifty shekels (about ten dollars). I am set for the week.

That night I went to Luise's for dinner with Luise, Gosia, Bernt, and Felix, after which we headed to the d1, the dive of choice, where the DJ was playing gypsy and Arab music all night. We stayed for a while and danced till we were good and sweaty, then headed off to find a highly hidden, highly underground rave somewhere in the city center. Raves are illegal in Israel, so it was all very hush-hush, with a phone number, and a few detailed directions in Hebrew. Eventually we ended up in this alley, at the end of which was a huge abandoned building. We had to climb up a makeshift iron ladder to get in, as several stairs were missing. Inside we followed a few well-placed candles down, down, and down into the bowels of the parking garage, where we were greeted by strobe lights, smoke, and loud music of a techno-trance variety. There were people everywhere, though you couldn't always see them through the smoky, colored light haze. So we danced a while, looked everywhere for Luise, who had disappeared for a bit, and then decided to go get some food.

I went with Shadi and Fadi, two Palestinian brothers who I find absolutely charming, to a 24 hour bakery in East Jerusalem. They helped me practice my Arabic, although they laughed at me quite a bit, and we stood outside the bakery eating bagels dipped in sour cream and za'atar on the hood of the car. It was a lovely time.

But now it's time to study.

Feels like home

It's so good to be back in Jerusalem. I miss my family already, but I didn't realize how much I would miss Israel. And I missed several events as well. An earthquake that knocked everything off the shelves in my apartment, a bus bomb on the number 19 bus (the only bus I've ridden besides the 23), a snowstorm...it feels like I've been gone forever.

I feel like I'm getting things back in order around here, talking to professors, taking tests, writing papers. I had my Hebrew exam the day after I got back, which was worrisome as I hadn't slept much, but I got an A and they've seen fit to pass me onto the next level...and I'm actually hoping they'll let me skip a level. I would be behind again, but everyone loves a challenge.

Last night I went out with Luise and Bernt and Luise's boyfriend, who's visiting from Germany. I didn't eat dinner, so the drinks went to my head faster than I thought they would, and I'm paying for it today. I also have the unsettling feeling that I behaved foolishly, as often accompanies such nights of revelry. Oh well. I was celebrating my return. Tonight I head out to the Hauman, Jerusalem's largest dance club. Should be interesting.

Back again

It's been a long time since I've written anything, but this life of mine spun out of control briefly and I'm only now picking up the pieces. My grandmother passed away three weeks ago, and the next thing I knew I was on a plane from Tel Aviv to Cleveland. I had two weeks left in the semester, but my professors all let me arrange things so that I could go home and be with my family. I did just that, and in a few days I head back to Israel and all the work I left behind. I feel disconnected from my life there right now, understandably so, but I have this nagging feeling I won't be able to catch up.

It's been a long time since I was in school last, and even then I don't recall ever worrying as much about my grades as I do now. That's not all I'm worried about though. The future is still there, lurking, closer than it felt when I was in my last respite--college. There is no more running from it! But I am. I am running from lots of things, and toward nothing certain. Bla bla bla.

Sof Shavua

It's been a bit of a lonely weekend for me thus far--not counting Thursday's terrific party. Luise, Gosha, and Bernd really went all out with their apartment, covering the walls with foil, moving out all the furniture, filling the tub with ice and cheap Israeli beer, and renting sound equipment. There were people from all over there--artists from Germany, volunteers from France, a handful of Israelis, Italians, and even a few Palestinians. I tried practicing my horrible Arabic, to no avail, but they were all very encouraging. I talked to an Arab drummer, who I had seen perform a few days before, and we talked about religion and Israel and Palestine. I suppose my first real conversation with a Palestinian. The strange thing was how western they seemed in a lot of ways, blond, blue-eyed, excellent English (better than a lot of the Israelis I know here), well-educated. I don't know what I expected. Anyway, the party was a great time.

But yesterday I spent the whole day in my apartment by myself. The idea was to study like a maniac, but something happens to me in absolute solitude for more than four or five hours: I sort of shut down mentally. This is not good for me. I guess I need human contact for at least an hour every day. I didn't get nearly as much studying done as I should have, but I did do quite a bit of Hebrew. Today I am scrambling to get out of my apartment, but none of my friends are answering their phones, and I can't just head to a coffee shop as everything is closed for Shabbat! Well, tonight I go to church, and I'll get my fill of people there.

Finals are approaching

I am skipping class today. I just decided. It is dark outside, and I am supposed to walk to class right now and sit for three hours on a Thursday night (which is the equivalent of Friday night in the states). That is what I am supposed to do. Who makes class on a weekend evening? Moshe Idel, that's who. He may be The Man in Kabbalah but right now I am very angry at his choice of schedule. So I am skipping! I am being very naughty, writing this instead of being a good student...but I have a party to go to tonight and I must get ready.

I have been studying hard though. Arabic is getting increasingly complicated, and I am attempting to recopy all of my messy notes from my other classes whilst reading the million assigned books, so I've been in the library quite a bit. I'm worried about exams, more than I thought I would be, mainly because I don't know what to expect. I've managed to get out a few times though. The other day I went to a student concert at the Givat Ram campus of my school, in which a Spanish friend of mine played the violin. Afterward we went out to the Stardust, and I met up with some Israeli journalists who took me out for a drink or two. I understood about 1/4 of what was said, so I guess I'm improving.

It's very cold here

Jerusalem is in the midst of a cold snap, which for the most part I enjoy, except for the fact that I have to walk the twenty minute walk back and forth from school in freezing rain. I am getting used to being wet. It's not so bad actually. I'm just happy to be living in a place that has (at least) two recognizable seasons.

I am slowly but surely getting better. I finally went to the doctor to get my antibiotics, after having figured out all the insurance stuff. Luckily with my card I don't have to pay a thing--not for doctor's appointments, not for prescriptions--very nice. So now I am left with only a cough and a runny nose. I think I have forgotten what it feels like to be healthy.

This week I went to two very different birthday parties, the first for my friend Ephrat, an Israeli, and the second for Anya, from Poland. Ephrat's party was all in Hebrew, so I was pretty lost, but I understood some things and had a good time anyway. Anya's party was in her boyfriend's lovely apartment in the German Colony. His father is the Israeli ambassador to Poland, so it's apt that he's dating a Polish girl. This party was all in English with Polish subtitles, and it was a great time. I talked to one girl for quite a long time, and she explained to me some of the intricacies of keeping strict kosher (such as, if you should accidentally use meat in a dairy pot, it can be salvaged if the pot is ceramic, but not if it is Teflon.) I learn more every day.

As for classes, everything is going well, and I am in the middle of writing my final paper for my class on Ancient Mesopotamia. I'm writing about the origins of Jewish Monotheism in the Ancient Mesopotamian pantheon, and am learning some startling things. Maybe I'll post all twenty pages when I'm done.

Ani Yoter Tov

Yesterday in Arabic, we finally learned the last two letters in the alphabet, and theoretically should be able to read, though not understand, everything written with vowels. In Hebrew we are about to finish our first level (Aleph) textbook, and in Classical Jewish texts we are up to the Mishnah. My actual class time in Islam is over, and now it is time to start thinking of my seminar paper. Soon the semester will be over, and I will be a quarter of the way through my Masters. Everything is going so fast, and yet I feel strangely detached lately. My mind is in several different places, and I'm having trouble concentrating on schoolwork. The mid-semester lull, I suppose. Hope I snap out of it.

On the Mend

Finally went to the doctor today, and am now thankfully taking Augmentin. Hopefully I will soon be able to concentrate on something, be it my room, that still needs drastic attention, as the rug is a rusty, mildewed mess, or my classes, in which I am very behind, or any number of things that I have let slide over the past few weeks, due to traveling, or visiting, or illness...soon all will be in order again.

This is Jef and I atop the Tower of David last week, with all of Jerusalem beneath us. 

Chola B'lev

So now I am alone in my apartment, having dropped Jef off at the airport a few hours ago. I miss him already, and everything seems worse since I am sick sick sick. I never get sick, and yet it seems like I've been sick since I've been here. Why is this? All I eat are healthy foods. I walk a few miles a day. I take vitamins. When I was home, I never exercised, didn't take vitamins, and ate a disturbing diet of fried everything, and yet there I was healthy all the time. So what am I doing wrong? Should I eat more McDonalds and watch more TV? Maybe then I'll feel better.

As for my week, it was great--except for the sick part. Jef and I had to take turns trying to nurse each other back into health. Yesterday we were in Tel Aviv, and all we managed to do was take a taxi to the only open pharmacy (shabbat) where we loaded up on drugs and sat on a bench outside, barely speaking, waiting for the stuff to work. Finally we went to a movie. Last night we managed to make it to Jaffa, the "old city" of Jerusalem, and one of the oldest ports in the world. This was the place where Jonah took off when God told him to go to Nineveh; this was the place where Solomon received his Cedar from Lebanon. The city was charming and beautiful, but it took a lot of energy just to have dinner and take a few pictures. Maybe we'll laugh about this experience one day. We'll see.

Home Again, and Sick Again

Here I am back in Jerusalem, home from a wonderful (and very full) week back in Cleveland. I realize I've been very slack in keeping up here, but my whole life feels like it's on hold at the moment: I am super-behind in all my classes, Jef is here (the best part of it all), my radiator exploded while I was out of town, leaving me with a room submerged in a rust-puddle, and to top it off--I have the flu. The horrible, body-aching, throat-searing, fever-inducing, cough-shaking, moan and groan flu. So I am missing more classes, and falling more behind. Oh well. There is very little I can do about it.

And I certainly wouldn't trade my time at home with my friends and family, and my time here with Jef, for anything. If you want to know of Jef and my adventures, he's been writing more than me, so click here.

Flying Tonight

It's freezing in Jerusalem tonight. For the past few weeks I've been wearing t-shirts to school, and today, thinking it was to be the same, I went out in just a light sweater. The wind was blowing fierce and I ended up running to school blinded by sleet. When I got home this afternoon, it was hailing and thundering, and it got me worried that my flight would be cancelled. Luckily, Ben Gurion's website says all flights out of Tel Aviv on time.

So, now that I'm on my way home to true winter, finally Jerusalem feels like Christmas. Tammy and I threw a party the other night, and around thirty guests crowded into the apartment, most of them new to the concept of Christmas. But they ate our cookies and listened to carols and drank egg nog, and we danced and ate and talked about nothing much, just like a Christmas party should be.

Now, in about five hours, I fly home to my house and my family and this distant other life of mine. I have never felt so completely at home in two different places before. I'm not the first to say that about Jerusalem. Maybe since it's been a part of my life since I was a child, the mythology and the history of this city, but from the moment I arrived here, it has been familiar to me. I will only be gone a week, but I will miss it.

Two Hundred Shekels

Yesterday I went into the Old City for yet another round of Christmas shopping, and somehow managed to spend the better part of a thousand shekels (a little over $200) in the course of a few hours, while also finding myself the unfortunate victim of the pushiest of salesmen for the first time that I can recall. Here is how it happened (keep in mind that at the time of my story, I had been up since seven in the morning after a night of four hours sleep, had been in two two-hour classes, was stressed out about finding something for everyone, catching up in my classes, planning a Christmas party and packing for home, and had already been walking around the Old City for several hours, bargaining to the point of exhaustion): I was on my way out, laden with gifts, when a man passed me on the street and asked me to come look in his shop. I said no. He said just come take my business card. I was so tired, and just wanted him to go away, but finally I sighed and followed him. Next thing I know, three Arab salesmen are showing me things, talking to me, confusing me, and in a few short minutes, one of them is packing up a necklace, and removing from my outstretched hand 200 shekels. I have no idea what happened, how I could have been so weak and discombobulated that I actually finally agreed just so I could leave. I actually burst into tears when I walked out of the shop. It reminded me of a few times in India when I had felt so utterly taken advantage of, and so manipulated, that control suddenly flew from my hands to some stranger's and I was left with this feeling of violation. It was awful.

So now I have this necklace, which is actually quite beautiful, but which I never wanted in the first place. I had a few thoughts of trying to return it, but I know how futile that would be, and besides--I will never set foot in that shop again. From now on I limit myself to one hour of shopping, on a full night's sleep, and only when in full command of all my mental faculties.

Egg Nog

Spent last night decorating Christmas cookies and making egg nog with Tammy. We didn't have any cookie cutters, so we ended up having to sculpt our own cookies. Among our best creations were a donkey, Bart Simpson, and the Baby Jesus, all of which were covered with festive blue and pink frosting and colorful orange sprinkles (I couldn't find red and green anywhere). The egg nog, for my first attempt, turned out pretty decent. Just needs a little rum and a little nutmeg, and it should be perfect.





I have to finish my Christmas shopping today, and then head home to get ready for the big party. I have no idea how many people will show up--it could be ten, ir could be thirty. But either way, there'll be plenty of food, and plenty of Christmas cheer. Tammy is so excited. So far, she seems pretty impressed with Christmas--the carols, the cookies, the decorations. Strange how easy it is to leave the actual Jesus stuff out of Christmas...it will be nice to be home where I can put him back in again.

We Got 'Im

Such a strange day. I am baking Christmas cookies for the party I'm throwing on Tuesday, and I am listening to carols that are all centered around the land I am living in right now. The Little Town Of Bethlehem is just four miles down the road. To top off the surreal nature of my thoughts tonight, my head is swimming with images of pathetic Saddam Hussein being examined by a doctor, bedraggled and defeated. What does one do with days like today? Enjoy them, I guess.

I am happy to report that I somehow managed to get A's on both my language midterms. Hooray--a major source of stress for me now gone. And I go home in five days! I can't wait to see everybody I miss so much...

@$%#@

I just spent an hour and a half writing this long post, and I clicked on a link in order to check on one of my facts before I posted, and subsequently the "back" thingy took me to every site I'd been on today EXCEPT of course, my brilliant post. I am so so so upset about this. I mean, where the hell is it? I actually want to throw things. Or hit things. Or break things.

Yom Rivi'i

My black mood has finally passed, and I am back to (somewhat) normal. My mom's comment made me smile, made me remember what I haven't lost. She has been telling me the same things for as long as I can remember, whether I woke her up in the middle of the night after having had a nightmare, or whether I called her up crying after breaking up with a boyfriend. Having my roomate back in town helps a lot as well--this week was mainly difficult for having been by myself most of the time. But now, I have friends over, my apartment is Christmasy, my plans for the weekend low-key and relaxing, and my midterms have passed. I actually think I did pretty well, but I won't know for a few more days. Although I suppose anything would be better than a 51.

Tomorrow I go into the Old City to procure some Christmas presents to take back to Ohio. I shall be armed with 500 shekels and ready to bargain. I've become quite good at the art of haggling over the years, though sometimes I tend to get carried away with the competition of it, and I have to consciously remind myself to give a little bit. I have to force myself to pay more for things than I need to, remembering what I would pay for the same things elsewhere, and keeping in mind the slowness of business here--I can afford the extra ten shekels.

For now, I must get back to my studying. Tonight I must finish Aisha, Beloved of Muhammad for my course on Islam, and I've got to try to make a dent in Scholem's Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism for Kabbalah.

December Already

I received a Christmas package in the mail from my Mom and Dad, full of cookies and candy and decorations and, best of all, Christmas music. I may be the only one of my friends who still loves Christmas music, but I hold fast to the belief that it is wonderful, magical, altogether lovely. Maybe it's just that I am one of those peculiar people who had a blissfully happy childhood, but I think there is something to be said for maintaining the innocence that allows us to enjoy the trite and cheesy kitsch of life that most people, so set on seeing The World As It Is, choose to regard with such disdain. Of course I could just be trying to defend my affinity for sappy movies, happy endings, and all things Christmas. But I proceed.

It's odd though, I can't seem to listen to the music of my memory without feeling, of all things, sad. Nostalgia is a nasty little illness. The unfortunate byproduct of said happy childhood is this nagging feeling that something has been lost. I know I'm not the only one who's felt this way, but sitting in my apartment by myself, decorating a miniature Christmas tree and listening to Nat King Cole, it feels like I am. Is adulthood just meant to be loneliness? I'm not a lonely person at all; I have an incredible family, great friends, and plenty of people to talk to--but on certain nights, in a certain mood, with a certain scent or a certain melody, I feel so disconnected from everything else, almost lost. Maybe I took a wrong turn somewhere way back, and if I'd gone the other way there would be newness in every minute rather than this constant tug-of-war between experiencing the present with joy and excitement and thinking of the past with sadness and regret.

I know I'm taking a bittersweet mood and waxing it to death here, but I'm not sure what else to do with it. I'm so accustomed to bringing these feelings to God, these inklings and yearnings all too big for me, and asking Him to make sense of them, to bring my life back, somehow, to that place of security, to return to me whatever it feels like I am missing. There is such a comfort in being able to do that. To trust in this Being, this Power that is working everything out for good just for me. There's a promise in it that has made these moods--which come all too often to me--bearable. But now, now with this handful of doubt I'm dealing with, there is only me to go to, which doesn't help at all, since I have this strange feeling that it's me that's the problem from the start. I guess what I mean is, while nostalgia for most people may be warm and fuzzy and merely bittersweet, for me it is all these things, coupled with this tiny little pocket of hopelessness. And when I have to sit, listening to "O Come All Ye Faithful," and secretly, quietly praying that This Whole Thing is true--whereas I used to be able to fight this tiny pocket off with such confidence--the hopelessness feels like it's gaining a bit of power.

Enough of this. This is a happy day. I have cookies to munch on, a party to plan, a test to study for, a visit from my best friend to look forward to, and I'm going home in less than two weeks. What's the sense in these drops of despair?

Viva La Israel

Am very happy today. I slept in till 12:45, got up, tidied, read the paper, surfed the net...just as Shabbat should be. Then Matt and Eugene came over bearing pizza with onions and eggplant, and we all sat down and watched "24." Now they're gone, and my apartment is quiet and clean, and finally, finally, I feel ready to sit down and study. (Never mind that I'm online at the moment).

Last night we went to the party we'd been invited to the night before, in a ramshackle, wonderful apartment in the city center. The previous owners had built a wall around the front yard, covered the ceiling with plastic, and pronounced the courtyard a living room. So we sat in the front yard/living room, staring at the wall--entirely painted into a green, black, and orange mural of trees or something, drinking, dancing, and alternating languages.

The owner of the apartment, and our host, was a young Isaeli named Nimrod. I found that fascinating. Correct me if I'm wrong here, but isn't that sort of like naming your daughter Jezebel or something? Anyway, he's nothing like his name--a really nice guy--and all of his friends were very welcoming and open. I ended up dancing with this crazy guy named Daniel, who made me laugh with his utter un-self-consciousness. I also saw Yoni there, the guy who decided I was Jewish, and I still haven't confessed that I'm not--even after he called me a JAP when I told him I'd never smoked out of a bong before. I suppose that's what you get for such presumption.

Okay, a Little Play...

Last night I attempted to ease the Hebrew-induced pressure in my head by drinking lots and lots of alcohol. At the time, it worked wonders--my Hebrew was flowing beautifully--but this morning I am being punished for it. Blech.

We started out the night in Ksenia's room, performing a little Polish tradition for St. Anne something-or-other's day (at the end of November). All the girls sit around and take part in a few games that are supposed to tell us about our future, whether or not we'll get married (and when...), how many kids we're going to have, etc. We opened up a couple bottles of wine and dug in, and my future appears to be bright.

After the ceremony of St. Anne something-or-other, Ksenia, Helen and I headed out into Jerusalem to meet up with a couple friends. We started out drinking Israeli beer in a bar no bigger than my bedroom, and ended up drinking Palestinian beer in a bar that looked like it was carved out of the wreckage of an old building. We danced until four in the morning, and met a few Israelis who invited us to a party tonight. I was talking to one of them in Hebrew, and he noted how he was certain I was the only Jew in my little group of friends. He said he could just tell, and not because I was the prettiest. Apparently I just exude Judaism. I asked him if it was because of my--shall we say--Aquiline nose, and he said that wasn't it either. He just knew, something about sweetness. I didn't have the heart to tell him he was flirting with a Protestant, especially one particularly fond of Jesus.

All Work and No Play

My Hebrew midterm is tomorrow and I can't bring myself to study. I have been memorizing and memorizing words, trying to catch up with the rest of the class--five or six chapters a day. The combination of that with my Arabic class, which suddenly feels like it's getting faster and faster, has been turning my brain to mush. I feel like a sponge submerged in water--there's only so much I can soak up. For the past day or so, I can't seem to learn any new words. There is simply no more room. I am full. Capacity reached. No more studying for a while.

This is really a shame, however, since on my last Hebrew test a pulled in a paltry 51%. I can't remember the last time I got a 51 on a test. Luckily, the highest grade in the class was a 54, so I don't feel so bad. And: Hebrew doesn't count. We don't get credit for it; we just have to learn it. So I suppose the number doesn't really matter. Maybe I can manage a D tomorrow. We'll see.

Belated Holiday Cheer

I realize I have been pretty pitiful in updating the past week--but my Internet was down. What can you do? Now, is better. So I write.

Well, another Thanksgiving has come and gone without my family. It gets easier every year to be abroad when one is supposed to be home, but I still hate it. But it's either Thanksgiving or Christmas, and, well, the food's basically the same, and Christmas has presents, hence....Thanksgiving is relegated to second place.

I had over a bunch of people for Thanksgiving dinner--two of whom were actually American. I must say, for my first attempt at actually preparing Thanksgiving dinner, I did a damn good job. I've never made stuffing--or even mashed potatoes--but they turned out pretty good. Never mind that I bought already roasted chicken. (I hear there's turkey somewhere in Jerusalem, but come on, it was a schoolday...) And there was no pumpkin pie. So we improvised (brownies and ice cream). But the point is: it was Thanksgiving. Matt told his rather odd version of the Thanksgiving story (including scalpings...what?!) for the foreigners, and I repeatedly had to remind everybody that the pilgrims did not kill the Indians after the feast. In fact, the pilgrims never killed the Indians. That, of course, was some other colony of white people. Anyway, the dinner was great fun. Plus my family called from their own table in the Pocono Mountains, and it was (almost) like being there, only not as tasty.

Sick Sick

Well, after having been a little bit better for about a day and a half, I am now sick again--worse than before. I feel like I'm walking around with my head in an aquarium. Everything's all muddled and I'm sleepy sleepy sleepy.

It started on Saturday morning. I spent Shabbat evening (that's Friday) at a friend's house, where we ate till our bellies hurt and ended up dancing to reggae and house music, passing around a two-liter of vodka. When I finally left and started walking down the street to catch a cab home, I tripped on the heel of my shoe and fell flat on my face in front of a group of Israelis just coming out of a bar. I was all by myself, so there wasn't even anyone to laugh it off with...I just kind of had to stand up and keep walking. A taxi that was stopped at a traffic light honked at me, and all the passengers inside waved and smiled. Another thing to add to the list of stupid things I've done here.

Also included on this list, and having nothing to do with my IQ:

1) Walking to the Post Office to pick up a package and forgetting my ID--and having to run the 1/2 mile home to get it and come back before the Post Office closed.

2) Dropping off two unused rolls of film to get developed.

There are more, but I suppose that's enough for now.

Katka in Katamon

Tonight I went to a party for my friend Katka's birthday. She is one of a number of Polish people I've become friends with, and at the party in her Katamon apartment I was the only American among a large group of Czecks, Polacks, and Israelis. We drank Czeck vodka (a strangely thick yellow liquid that tasted like cloves and cinnamon), red wine, and cherry liqueor, smoked out of a huge communal hooka, and sang "happy birthday" in three different languages. We talked about politics (of course), the American accent versus the British accent, the fascinating circumstances that led us each to Israel, and Katke's dog, a mix of--unbelievably--a Daschund and a German Shepherd. Nobody knows which parent was which, but I think we all secretly hope the father was the Daschund. And what a brave, desperate little Daschund that must have been.

I also got into an interesting discussion about religion with a British/Israeli Jewish educator, and I found that, in spite of my recent spiritual quasi-ennui, I described and half-defended my faith with a vigor I don't actually feel. You can take the girl out of the religion...

Sad News

Miriam Scheffer, the head of the graduate department here at Rothberg International School, passed away this weekend. I never met her, as she was already out on sick leave when I arrived, but apparently she was the one who kept this place running. Classes were cancelled on Monday, to allow the graduate teachers and students to attend her funeral. The mood of the week thus far has been somber, but also business as usual. She was herself a student here twenty years ago. In fact, almost all of my teachers were students here. Kind of makes me wonder where I'll end up--whether I'll be able to escape this place, or get sucked in like so many others I've met here who came for a semester and stayed ten years.

My Famous Roomate

This morning Israelis throughout the country received glossy copies of the new Geneva Accord, a semi-grassroots initiative aimed at bringing an end to the cycle of violence here. Prominent leaders on the Israeli side (including Yossi Beilin, Amram Mitzna, and Amos Oz) as well as on the Palestinian side (including Yasser Abed Rabbo and Nabil Qassis) were apparently holding "secret" talks in Switzerland through mid-October, drafting a peace proposal that is the supposed answer, at last, to the situation here.

The proposal itself reminds me of a more tightly-reined version of the proposal from Gush Shalom, with specifications that include Israel returning to its pre-1967 borders, with the exception of some of the largest settlements, which will be "traded" for more tracts of land in Gaza, as well as the Palestinians giving up their right of return in exchange for a few refugees being allowed to return (with strict Israeli approval) and compensation for the rest. Under the Geneva Accord, Jerusalem would be divided, serving as the capitol for two different and sovereign nations (although if I read correctly, the word "sovereign" is never actually used to describe the Palestinian Nation. Mine was a short perusal, so correct me if I'm wrong about this). The Temple Mount would remain under Arab control, and the Western Wall under Israeli, with an International mediator of some sort to ensure the safety and accessibility of both.

There's certainly a lot to digest, and not just from the Accord itself, but also the manner in which it was presented to the Israeli people and the world. This morning, the Italian news correspondent who lives down the hall from us knocked on our door and asked us if he could interview Tammy (that's my roomate, of course) concerning her opinion of the Accord. So now, my illustrious and artistic roomate can be downloaded the world over on a Swiss/Italian news website, sharing her opinion. Her main problem is not with the ideas presented themselves, but with the fact that people who are not elected officials, and therefore not true representatives of the Israeli people, have met with foreign leaders and drafted these proposals as if theirs were the voice of Israel. An understandable position. It certainly makes Israel more vulnerable should the people ultimately reject the proposal, as it has gained--how should I put it?--illegitimate legitimacy from having already been seen and approved by outside sources.

Check out Tammy here: And click on "Israele: la pace di Ginevra" It's in Italian, but it's also in my apartment and with my roomate! Watch it!

Blech

I've been feeling under the weather for a few days--not exactly sick, but abnormal, with the promise of imminent illness--and last night was the most awful night I've had since arriving in Israel. It started out perfectly normal; my friend Ksenia came over to study for our Hebrew quiz, after which we ordered in burgers from the new kosher place across the way and watched Jumpin' Jack Flash. But then, after she left, I started feeling queasy. I talked to my parents and grandparents online for a while, but my discomfort was increasing the whole time, and I had no drugs in the house and no way of getting any. Turns out I just got violently ill, all alone (poor me) in my apartment, moaning. Blech. I skipped class today--and I had a quiz in Hebrew and Arabic. Oops. Still, if my digestive system refuses to cooperate, what can I do?

Korea House and Cafe Hillel

Went out with Matt and Eugene again last night, this time to a restaurant near Zion Square called Korea House. Eugene (who's Korean) ordered a set menu for us, and it was delicious. I tried to remember what the dishes were called so I could tell Jef, but I've gone and forgotten them all. So here I am in Israel, eating Korean food, and there Jef is in Korea, buying a plane ticket to Tel Aviv. It's as if we never left each other...sigh...

After dinner we walked down Ben Yehuda street in the city center, which is beautiful. It was my first time into the city, and while most things were closed for Shabbat and the streets were nearly deserted, I still had that feeling of familiarity, still felt so privileged to be living in such a place.

We kept on walking to the German Colony, an affluent neighborhood full of beautiful old homes and coffee shops and restaurants, most of which are closed on Friday nights. But in my voyeuristic way, I enjoyed looking in the windows of the houses and apartments, and seeing families gathered around tables for Sabbath dinner.

We walked past the rebuilt Cafe Hillel, sight of a suicide bombing in September. I remember reading about it in Cleveland, how a Cleveland native, Dr. Applebaum, who had made Aliyah to Israel years ago, was killed there along with his daughter, who was to be married the next day. I thought about that standing outside the cafe, which is really nice--a place where I would go to sit for hours and study. It's hard to think of something to say about such a place, normal as it is, and yet completely foreign--a place that could be on any street corner in Cleveland, but ended up in the middle of a war zone.

Malka

Last night Matt, Eugene, and I went to the Malka Mall to try and see Matrix, but we were too late. We were taking a gamble anyway--we had no idea what time it was playing and our feeble attempts to decipher the Hebrew online were (obviously) unsuccessful. We know the words for theater (kolnoa) and movies (seretim), but our feverish clickings of these words never actually seemed to lead us to any kolno'ot or seretim, at least not any in Jerusalem. So we didn't see the movie; instead we just sat in the food court eating pizza and talking about Kabbalah and school. It was surprisingly fun.

Smartypants

I have to admit, I often feel like an idiot here. I mean, here I am, a graduate student in religious studies, with absolutely no knowledge of religion from a scholarly perspective. Everything I know about religion I learned in Sunday school and on my numerous mission trips. Until now, my religion has been based on my own experiences, my own interpretations of scripture, and what I've read from Christian books that can (sadly) be described as somewhat-less-than intellectual. It has been far more personal than anything else.

The point is that I thought I knew a lot, and, as it turns out, I don't. I know next to nothing of this religion I profess, and even less of the religion that gave birth to it. I sit in these classes, and everyone's discussing pseudepigripha and Maimonedes and Shekhinah, and they all know what they're talking about, and it's taken for granted that I should know too. And I suppose I should, but this is all new to me. Nobody talks about how they feel about God. That's what I'm used to--warm fuzzies and unconditional love, not the transformation of the Ein Sof--or invisible, unknowable, infinite nothingness--into the personal God that interacts and creates.

But this, after all, is why I came. This is exactly what I want, as far behind as I am and as ignorant as I feel. I can no longer satisfy the questions of my intellect with the rhetoric of Wednesday Night Bible Studies or Vacation Bible School. If I am really, truly going to believe what I have always believed, then I need to challenge it, scrutinize it--detach from it even. It's too close for me to see clearly. And here, every day, I feel like I'm taking a step or two back. Whether this will lead to a more focused picture or a more confusing maze I can't yet say.

View of the Judean Hillside

The view outside my door on a cloudy day

Meanderings

Last night I had a few friends over for Shabbat dinner, and we ended up talking politics until two in the morning. The major consensus: Labor good, Likud bad. Well, that pleases me anyway, even though I wouldn't be inclined to describe any party here as actually good. But I've already admitted to not knowing very much, so my opinion doesn't carry that much weight at the moment. I'm still learning, still trying to sift through the myriad of very strong, very opposing opinions I hear everywhere I go.

Today I wandered through the Old City again, winding my way through the Arab market, buying a few things here and there, touching everything. At one point a picked up a copy of the Koran at a shop in order to impress Ksenia with my knowledge of Arabic, and the shopkeeper came over and asked us if we were Muslims. We said no, and he took the book from me and said "No Muslim, no touch Koran." He wasn't rude or anything, but I felt pretty dumb. Here is a rule I did not know. Oops.

Eventually we ended up on the Via Dolorosa. I didn't stop at all the stations, didn't sit and ponder what had transpired on that same street two thousand years ago. I surprise myself with my current detachment from all the religious themes that have been the center of my life. Now, here I am, in the center of it all, and I can't tear my eyes from the scenery long enough to contemplate where I really am. I'm cutting myself a little slack--there's a lot to take in. I just hope one day these two strands of my life will fuse here: the beliefs I've held forever, and the city I live in now.

Ramadan

We are now into the third week of Ramadan, the Muslim holy month, wherein righteous Muslims from all over the world abstain from food, alcohol, smoking, sex, and music during daylight hours. What this means to me is that every evening, right around seven o'clock, I hear guns going off right outside my window. My apartment building overlooks an Arab village that comes alive with celebration every night--music, dancing, fireworks, and gunshots included. It's taken me a little while to get used to, but in the end, it sounds like a lot more fun than sitting in my room, reading, reading, reading....

Coming Home

Well, I bought a plane ticket to come home for Christmas. This means missing a week of school, as the only day off for the Holidays here in the Jewish Homeland is December 25. The original plan was just to stick it out, but I can't. How can I miss Christmas? Or more importantly--how can I concentrate on the Akkadian pantheon and the epic of Enuma Elish on Christmas Eve? I just can't.

The Pope's Doorman

I've learned a few more sentences in Arabic. Ibni bawaab bayt Albaba: My son is the doorman of the pope's house. Literally it says my son doorman house the pope. Hmmm.

I went to a party for graduate students the other night, and met a bunch of people...Two Australians, an Indian Brahmin, A Finn (is that how you say it?) a few Germans, a couple Eastern Europeans (Polish, Hungarian, Russian) a Canadian, and a grand total of two Americans. We are extremely underrepresented in the graduate program, which I actually like. I am not accustomed to being a minority. Luckily the conversation never turned to America and how badly it sucks (a conversation I'm used to having when I meet Europeans especially). Instead we focused on safe topics, like our majors and how many languages we speak and what we make of Israel. But I could tell beneath the surface there were opinions and arguments just waiting to come out.

It's just something about Israel. I remember at home how often people would shy away from outright arguing about religion and politics (with the exception of a few), not wanting to "get into it." Not so here. It's as if Israelis are just looking for a good fight. They talk loud; they talk forcefully; and they talk a lot. And yet, nobody ever gets mad. The argument can blow up, be huge, and then be over and everyone wants pizza. I find it fascinating, and it's having an effect on me, and all the other strangers here. We're all ready to argue. Not that I've ever been afraid of sharing my opinion, but...

Old City

On Thursday night, Tammy and I had our first official party at the apartment. We went all out--three different types of pasta, fried eggplant, hummus and pita, mediterranean salads, foccacia bread with feta dip, and lots and lots of wine. There were a little over twenty people crammed into our living room, which we had hastily cleaned by moving all the still-moving-in boxes and trash into our bedrooms. There was a little too much Hebrew for my taste, but after a few glasses of Israel's finest I felt a bit more comfortable. Most of the people were Tammy's friends, artists from the Hebrew University's Betzalel Academy of Art, and they're offbeat and a little crazy, even in a foreign language. It was the most fun I've had since I've been here.

 

I spent most of the weekend cleaning and trying to catch up on my Arabic and Hebrew. I missed the first few days of Arabic, which put me further behind than I thought. But I have successfully mastered ten letters, and can now say simple sentences such as Bibayti tine wa toot. Translate: In my house there are figs and berries. (You only have so many words to work with using ten letters). Anyway, I figure I am well on my way to reading the Qu'ran. As for Hebrew, I missed the first three or so months of classes (after some sneakiness on my part--mainly, attending the advanced Hebrew classes for a few days before consultiing the director--I have been given permission to move up a level) which means that I understand about 1/16th of what goes on in the classroom. Never mind. How hard can it be?

On Shabbat--Saturday--I finally went into the Old City. I had to find one of the more adventurous types to go with me, since I am not allowed to take buses and had to walk. That wouldn't be such a big deal, except that to walk to the Old City the quickest way (about twenty-five minutes) means walking through Arab East Jerusalem and entering through Damascus Gate--again, Arab--and making one's way through the throngs of beggars and vendors in the Shuq (market) to get to the better known parts of the city. Most Israelis won't go this way at all, and very few students. I think it's ridiculous. Aside from the awesome religious sites, the Arab Quarter was my favorite part of the city. It was strangely familiar to me, maybe because of the time I spent in India and Morocco--the odd scent of sweat, spices, smoke, and shawarma, the jam-packed stalls selling entire carcasses of sheep(?) along with socks and makeup, the windows full of exotic foods and glass tea-sets and stone-carved chess boards and persian rugs, the vendors calling out to you in English (where you from? you buy nice gift!) or Arabic (I'd rather not know). It was a tangible change leaving there and entering into the quiet, clean, and utterly uncrowded Jewish quarter.

Of course we started with the Western Wall. I had thus far separated myself from the history of the place, content to enjoy the very much alive present, but you can't see the wall without going back two thousand years in an instant. I have much too much Sunday School and Judeo-Christian culture in my blood not to be immediately transported back to David and Solomon (never mind that this isn't the same temple) and straight on to Jesus Christ. I touched it. I put my face against it. I wasn't thinking anything at all. I wandered around the rest of the city that way, not really thinking, semi-aware that if I started to think maybe Jesus walked here or these walls have seen entire empires rise and fall or some philisophical/emotional whatever, I would never make it out.



Today I had my language classes, and now finally some time to catch up on this site before I go home and start studying again. I am knee-deep in Tobit, one of the books of the Apocrypha, Roux's Ancient Iraq, and figs and berries for my Arabic class. Hooray.