Shabbas in the Holy City

Today is Valentines Day! Happy Love, I say. I’m on my work break and catching up on my blog. This morning I am working in the shrubs. We are digging out these fern looking things, plucking out root by root, getting down with mother Earth. God, I am such a nerd. Anyways, last night we got back from this crazy weekend in Jerusalem.
We left on Friday after class, gathered our stuff, ate some decent cafeteria food and hopped in a cab to the train station. We were supposed to stay with my friend at his friends place but as we were on our way to the train station, he called and apparently his friends got in trouble in the army and had to stay on base. Which meant for us at least, that we were S.o.l. Of course we start freaking out…but decide to be spontaneous and still go. We figure it’ll be an adventure. We start calling all the people we know in Jerusalem- and end up staying with Emily’s friend Arik. We took the train, which has the most scenic beautiful route from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. The tracks wind through the rocky hills full of pine trees. At the bottom of the hills is a river (maybe the Jordan?) which snakes through the valley with lambs munching on the blossoming pastures.
Upon arrival in Jerusalem, right before Shabbat, we disembarked and found a cab and drove over to Arik’s house. It was so nice- in the suburbs of the Holy City. Driving into Jerusalem was deja-vu for me. The looming white Jerusalem stone is one of those striking visuals that your mind never forgets. I could see the wall separating the Palestinians from the Israeli’s, so depressing.
The boys had cleaned the whole apartment for us, gave us three beds and made us feel right at home! We ended up passing out for a few hours and then the boys woke us up for Shabbat. We split up, I went to Mayor’s house for dinner with him and Yosi and Emily went to Arik’s while Ali slept. Going to Shabbat at his house was entertaining- of course I understood about 50% of what they were talking about- generally I understand the topic- but miss the nuances/small details. His family was so welcoming, open arms, big hugs and huge smiles welcoming me for Shabbas. (Shabbas is the Ashkenazi reference to Shabbat- where as Shabbat comes from the Sephardic Jews) We ate this amazing meat with potatoes and fresh vegetables. They all said the prayer, which I didn’t know…It was a little awkward. Then he blessed the wine and challah and we all ate. I loved speaking with his two younger sisters, who were so eager to practice their English. We drank, laughed, indulged and shared stories for hours. For desert, we ate Pomella, an Israeli fruit. It is a genetic combination of grapefruit and oranges and is extremely delicious. We watched the evening news and listened to the stories (in Hebrew of course) about the children who’s legs were either shot off/blown up as a result of the Intifada’s. Hearing their reaction, seeing the families and hearing the other side again snapped me back to the full reality of the situation. There is no right side. It is so difficult trying to explain to people what I am passionate about and why I want to work here, with Palestinians and Israeli’s. Seeing children like this (on both sides) probably best explains why. The pain, the conflict, the struggles that are experienced here on a daily basis have the potential to change. I hope one day we can learn how to achieve this end. Mayor’s family was tearing up, clearly distraught at the trauma this brings into all Israeli’s daily lives.
Before I arrived to Arik’s, the girls and I had discussed my ‘religion.’ Which is, I suppose, up in the air- religious background I can talk about. My beliefs, I’m still working on. Anyways, it is such a pain when everyone and their mother asks me if I am Jewish to explain why I am here, why I like Israle, what I’m studying, what I belive, etc. sometimes when people ask me if I’m Jewish in the grocery store or whatever I just kind of nod and go along with it. Explaining in depth every time gets a bit tiring. So anyways, this weekend, at the end of Shabbat dinner, their family asked me if I was Jewish. I awkwardly did a side nod- like a yes/no thing. I lied. I know, it’s awful. I hate lying; I have officially decided, even for convenience, I just can’t not say what and who I am. I may not know exactly who I am, but I know what I am not. I do not like lying, and I am proud of where I come from and my reasons for being here. From now on, no more side-winding around the question.