Graduation Party on the Nile

Romani graduated from the American University in Cairo! I was so proud of him! One of my best friends from AUC, he graduated with highest honors and invited me out to dinner with his family who came in from Sudan. He is half Sudanese and half Egyptian. We met around 11pm at a large boat on the Nile called the Blue Nile which holds several posh restaurants. I was nervous about meeting them and speaking totally in Arabic during the whole dinner. What I didn't realize was his sister and brother both live in London and are darn near fluent in English. We chatted about what I was here, why I loved Arabic, basically all the usual small talk. Then his mother asked me if I was alright with marrying an Arab boy. Then she jokingly added in a harsh Arabic accent full of mischief, 'will you marry my boy and get him an American passport too?' Not knowing what else to do, I laughed out loud. We finished the rest of the dinner with laughter and of course, what night would be complete without a belly dancer? Watching men be completely mesmerized by shimmying was odd. It was seeing mans visual fixation firsthand. Ironically, tomorrow I have my first belly dancing lesson with my program. Several girls decided we wanted to learn how to belly dance. Wish me luck!

Sequoia

It began Thursday after class. I had all these big plans to see everything- my first day off (after class ended at 3:30). We are in class and studying so often that what precious little time I have, I want to spend it seeing the things I didn't get to see during my last trip here. Of course I was so tired I ended up napping and then running. But in the end we went to Sequoia for the night. Sequoia is a posh restaurant in Zamalek filled with white plushy couches, every sheesha flavor you can imagine and food whose taste lives up to the prices they demand. 10 of us sat down and truly relaxed for the first time in 10 days with the World Cup in South Africa playing on screens above us. We sat next to the Nile, literally about 5 feet away. The breeze was warm and the fans in the outdoor restaurant circulated the smells of Egypt, the scents of different sheesha flavors and the fresh food being thrown on the grill in typical Egyptian fashion. We all ordered sheesha and plates of food because there is a 100LE minimum which roughly translates in USD $15. It is the place to be seen in Zamalek with all the rich Egyptians relaxing in summer heat. Unfortunately I got sick from the food which was kind of a bummer. We walked around after finishing our meal and I gave them a mini-tour of Zamalek. By midnight we were all exhausted from our long week of classes, orientation and adjusting to the crazy jet lag. Sleep, beautiful sleep.

A Rooftop Classroom

Teaching English is more difficult than it seems. We had the opportunity today to go to an Christian school in a poorer part of Cairo to teach some of the kids English and play with them. I couldn't have left in a better mood. Besides being absolutely adorable, the children helped us with our Arabic, taught us some new games and better yet kept us smiling the entire time. They were so excited to interact with us. We played with kids from 5 years old all the way to probably 14 years old.
With so much interest they asked us our names, where we came from and if we could speak Arabic. Of course the littlest ones only knew the alphabet and numbers in English but they were so proud of their knowledge and sang the alphabet song with gusto and smiles. Many of the students also spoke a little French and tried so hard to communicate with us. I was truly surprised that I understood what they were saying to me in Arabic. Kids are very difficult to understand because they only speak street Arabic, don't have clear pronunciation and generally speak very quickly. I was thrilled that there was mutual comprehension. Communicating their names, ages and directions of games we wanted to play made me more confident in my Arabic.
We played red light green light, sang some songs, ran around, twirled the little girls in circles and held hands while having them show us their school. When it was time to leave the girls were all sad, hanging on to my legs and asking when we were coming back. I promised I would see them next week. The nun in charge of the school had all the children line up and sing a song thanking us for coming. They shouted goodbyes and kisses out the windows as we descended the stairs to head back to our hotel. We were exhausted and all passed out on the way back to the hotel. We actually had our driver drop us off in Tahrir Square so we could grab a quick dinner from a restaurant called Filfila. A popular choice among Cairenes there are all the popular Egyptian fast food dishes like koshary, shwerma, and fuul. After indulging in some food we headed back to the hotel and passed out.

A Nook

I love nooks. I suppose the word summons images of old books, coffee tables and eccentricity. The smell of old books may be the best part of the American library system.
My nook in this sprawling African city lies in Garden City, next to the Nile below a residential building. A little Arab/French cafe, it is filled with desserts (my weakness) from both cultures. Glass display cases show off the culinary perfection displayed. From besbousa to croissants, the smell takes me back to memories of France. Attached is a cafe which serves amazing coffee and conveniently has become my study place. My nook gives me my free time. I figured out while traveling, alone time is an absolute necessity. I used to dread grabbing lunch by myself and now I find that I actually prefer it. Life changes you without evening knowing it.
Tonight I met two gentlemen, bow ties and all, in my nook from Syria and Egypt. They began to speak to me in Arabic asking about what and why I was studying. One of them was a translator between Syria and several Spanish speaking countries. The other was a radio announcer for a Cairo Radio channel. Speaking in perfect fuhsa (classical Arabic) we conversed about the media portrayal of the Middle East in America. We agreed that generally the ME is shown to be a place full of terrorists, backwards customs, extremism and deserts. Anything could be further from the truth, at least in the places I've been. While some of these things are obviously present, the majority of the people, the land and the ideals are diverse. We switched to Aamiya (street Arabic) and I learned about some great new places to go and more about my new two friends. I have never met two more polite, welcoming and elderly gentlemen in my life. Conversations with random people have changed my life. It is high on my to do list in every country.

Zamalek

The air is sweeter here. Zamalek is a suburb within the city of Cairo. Full of ex-pats, foreign diplomats, and wealthy Egyptians, this is the sweetest city within THE city. Trees line the streets emitting a feel of a faux-desert oasis feel. The streets are the least littered with trash and every street corning is lined with cafes, restaurants and upscale stores. Mixed in between there are random Egyptian stores selling everything from yarn to Egyptian cotton to RubberDuckys to DVD players and corn fresh off the grill. I don't think a more random compilation could be found elsewhere. Zamalek has the best food, the best people (ahsahn shabab!) and overall is an amazing suburb to stroll through. Restaurants on Abu AlFeda Street are the best- including Sequoia, Goal and countless others. Lest we not forget La Bodega and the other restaurants which boast tables 2 feet away from the Nile. I returned again tonight for some soy milk (one of the only places I can find it!) and a meal with one of my oldest friends, Romani. We relaxed and reminisced about old times over a meal of fresh cooked fish and sheesha. I could see myself moving back here. Maybe, fee mustakbal.(In the Future)

Backpacks, Pencils and Brains

Today was the official first day of school. We were there from 9am until 5:30pm. My brain hurts. I was so nervous before class started, butterflies and all. I felt like I was back in 1st grade, nervous about the first day of school, meeting my new teacher, lunchbox in hand with my brand new backpack with all the fancy multicolored folders. I guess some things never change. After the madness of all the class, Zack and I went to grab some food and study at a cafe so we could simultaneously fill our bodies with copious amounts of caffeine to stay awake. We ended up grabbing some delicious street food- shwarma (lamb), foul (mashed fava beans) and roz lebn (rice pudding). Now I'm sick. I thought my immunity from my first Cairo experience would transfer over. You know, once an immunity, always an immunity? Apparently not. All our days are filled to the brim. I have never spoken so much Arabic in my life. During lunch, our speaking partners sit with us, after class we have one on one practice with an Egyptian. After that we have more class and then four hours of homework. Bah. The weird part is, I love it. I thrive off of the intensity, the challenge and the culture. I only hope I am not studying so much I miss out the other amazing things in Egypt.

Arabic Huh?

Today we had our class introduction. So here is my schedule. From 9-1 every day we have four hours of class. then from 2-5:30 is homework time with teachers/teaching assistants. We are supposed to have 4 hours of homework every night! Then for two hours in the evening Sunday through Wednesday we have mandatory activities like scavenger hunts through Cairo, language partners, lectures, films in Arabic, belly-dancing, etc. Then we have "unstructured time" where we get to do more homework and eat. Oh, plus office hours, field trips on the weekends and of course random additions. Well, at least I will come away with a strong grasp on the Arabic language, Insha'Allah.(God willing)
Other than that, we walked around the streets of Cairo to explore Tahrir Square a bit. Crossing the streets in Cairo is like playing human Frogger. If you make the wrong move, there is a very real possibility you will be hit by a car. Weaving through the traffic, estimating the distance between you and the car and the approximate distance from you- you run/dash/leap across the street. The best way is to use an Egyptian as a buffer. They know what they are doing. Follow them. We drank some fresh mango juice and relished in the polluted air of Cairo with its smells of fish, chicken, shwerma and fresh fruits being squeezed in the streets.
Everyone begins to come out after dark because the heat dwindles to a bearable temperature. It's a party in Cairo; cars beep at everything and people walk along the boardwalk of the Nile holding hands or out on a family venture. I simply love watching and talking to new people. Everyone here is so eager to help me learn and practice my Arabic. Full of compliments, so many Egyptians will come over and help me with my homework, correct it, and make me practice speaking it with them. Egyptian culture is definitely warm, opening and inviting.
Well, I must go do my Arabic homework. 1 hour down, 3 to go. Tisba'alKhair (good night)!

Bus Tour

Leaving bright and early, we took advantage of the traffic reprieve on Friday. Fridays, you see, are holy days for Muslims. Because of this, the usually unbearable traffic is temporarily lifted, leaving us the possibility of doing a bus tour of Cairo without being stuck in hours of crawling traffic. Taking full advantage, we bumbled along in the bus down the bumpy roads of Cairo, swerving in and out of the different neighborhoods, pausing to take photos of major sites and listening to the history of each neighborhood. Built up from ancient times, the city of Cairo, or at least what we think of Cairo as today, is actually two cities- Cairo on the East Bank of the Nile, and Giza on the West Bank. We went to the top of the city of Cairo and overlooked the neighborhoods slowly rising around the perimeters, and systematically learned about the rich history of one of the oldest cities in the world. The map below shows the suburbs of Cairo decently well. I live right next to the Egyptian Museum and the Nile!

Where I Live (Next to the Egyptian Museum)

First Days on the Nile

I’ve been in Egypt for about 24 hours now. I am slowly readjusting to Muslim Standard Time (MSE). A joke among the students here, MSE represents the Islamic culture in respect to time. Basically, there is none. Every time there is an event with a time on it, it is appropriate to arrive at least 30 minutes late. You will still be the first one there. An hour and a half late is usually when people begin to show. Ironically enough, the program I am participating in now is surprisingly punctual. Our entire program was given to us planned done to 16 hours of every day. I kid you not.
We are staying in the Shephard Hotel, a very nice hotel on the Nile that is over 100 years old and literally right next to the Nile. Not a block away- right next to the famous Nile. The River of Life. Outside my window. Right there. Our room has a Nile view, AC, two large cushy beds, a huge bathroom and everything else we could need for two months. After settling in, we dove right back into our Arabic with intensive colloquial classes and more orientation. It was nice practicing my Arabic again in a real environment. Walking around Zamalek and Garden City, both neighborhoods of Cairo, I systematically took in every smell, sound, sight and interaction I experienced. There were new restaurants, bigger billboards and less people. My favorite shisha place had closed down. But, it was still my Cairo. Streets were peppered with garbage piled neatly in corners and around the sidewalk perimeters, the distinguishable stinging in my eyes from the smog was ever-present and the smell of the roasting lamb filtered through the grimy streets and the beautiful dress of the Muslim women and traditional men proudly presented their culture.
Later, I walked down the Kornishe (the street along the Nile) and was very quickly reminded of what it is like to walk by yourself in the Arab Middle East. Whistles, hissing, a lot of wow’s…It is absolutely crucial that you walk with your head straight forward, walk with a purpose and do not entertain eye contact with men hitting on you because it is a sign that their flirtatious behavior is encouraged. One man yelled at me, with impeccable English I might add, “your body’s worth will be high!” I have no idea what that meant, but I couldn’t stop myself from giggling. I met up with some old friends from the American University of Cairo beside the felucca’s (the boats that sail the Nile) and gave them all hugs before heading back to get a head start on some studying.

Back to Basics. Cairo revisited.

Well Egypt, I’m back. Well not quite. I leave for Cairo tomorrow. Today, I am in the capital of our great American nation, Washington D.C. If I didn’t say before, I am participating in the Critical Language Scholarship, a program with the US Department of State in order to promote difficult language acquisition. Short version- they give me money to learn Arabic at a really prestigious institution/program in Cairo. I arrived at the airport where my old friend Richie met me to accompany me to my hotel via the metro. Checking in was a breeze and I met my roommate, Michelle who is such a nice girl! A grad student in Indiana in Comparative Literature, I can already tell we will be getting along for the next two months!
We prepped for orientation and met everyone as we gathered in the meeting room of the hotel. Tall, short, blonde, bald, old and young- the CLS is the most age and interest diverse program I have been a part of. We have people from rising college sophomores to those in their late thirties finished their PhD programs. Subject interests range from International Relations to Biology to Pharmaceuticals to the Arabic Language. All welcoming each other, we told fun stories about ourselves and afterward went out for dinner at a Thai restaurant while learning tid-bits about each other. Having not visited the area in years, I forgot how beautiful and dynamic the city is. I later met my friend for dinner and we took in the old prestige and vibrancy of Georgetown. We sat down, ate a delicious meal and then walked up to the National Cathedral. It is breathtaking. Grand, populated with multitudes of steeples, the church is almost outdone in splendor by the gardens surrounding it. It must be the closest thing to European architecture that exists in America (in my amateur opinion). I ventured home, woke up early and sat through a long day of orientation. The State Department, I must report, is blessedly efficient. Full of lots of information in small time periods we are now on break before meeting to go to dinner at this fancy restaurant! Will write more upon arrival to Egypt.

Hiatus

I am on a blogging hiatus until my return to Egypt. I love all your emails and input into my blog but I am exhausted and really need to catch up on my Arabic! I hope you learned a little bit about daily life and the world of the Middle East. I promise I will start up again once I head back to Cairo for more Arabic. Salaam until then. (June 6)

In Summation.

I honestly don’t think I understood Israel before. Really truly understood, that is. I now get the grunt and grind of daily life. The paranoia of safety and protection permeates the most closely woven of the strings that make up Israeli culture. Everything in Israel comes down to safety- independence- the ability to survive and the pride of being Jewish. For centuries it was taboo, dangerous or embarrassing to claim a Jewish religious identity- regrettably this is true even in some places today. I think it is brilliant how valiantly the Jewish state has fought to retain its statehood and culture. I love that Israel is a melting pot, accepting Jews with open arms from all over the world. Always, the first question asked in Israel is, ‘are you Jewish?’ The significance of that question should speak for itself. The insider/outsider or who can be trusted is a major question there.
My major beef with Israel is the education. I don’t mean the ABC’s (in Hebrew called the AlephBet) but rather the cultural awareness, or lack thereof. Obviously they are exposed to the history of the State of Israel and focus on the Jewish heritage as the common, uniting factor. However, there is very little focus on the similarities between them, the Christians and the Muslims. I realize this goes back to survival instinct, but it is fostering an us versus them mentality. Survival is one thing, but the reality in Israel and in the Middle East is that it is a place of religiosity of all three major religions and a lack of understanding of the commonalities and differences of each other will only lead to more separation and more fundamentalism. The lack of desire to learn about the peoples surrounding them will only harm the Jewish State. Understanding and a desire to learn is the first step to building a lasting peace.
A silly boy in my Ulpan once told me that attempting to learn, to study another culture is offensive because it puts your ‘subjects’ (a rather cynical way of looking at the situation) into boxes, into a scientific-esq situation. I completely disagree; for if people never step outside their culture, if there is no desire to learn about cultures outside your own, how will progress happen? How will understanding unfold? How will people learn to look past appearances? How will prejudice be combated?
I believe that Israel will play an extremely important role in the future. Israel is the shining beacon of light in the Middle East, of progress, where so much of the region is crippled by poverty, illiteracy, and political Islam. Israel has the potential to become a major world player, an innovator and a leader. This will not happen until changes are made on a grassroots level to increase the understanding of the other. At a party I attended on the Israeli Independence Day I was asked by some friends (after learning my background) if ‘I liked Arabs?’ My response- “I like people.” Look at people, not at what defines them.

I guess what I have learned is this: You will never know it all. Keep seeking. Keep learning. If you think it can’t be done, push harder. It is possible. As JFK once said, “We need people who will dream of things that never were.” The world exists to be explored.

It's So Hard to Say Goodbye

Leaving Na’an was surreal. I packed all day, went for a nice long run through the fields and around the perimeter of my kibbutz, relaxed at the pool and tried to take in the beauty of this place. Only when you are saying goodbye do you realize how lucky you truly are. Of course I had my days where I wanted something different. The endless rows of eggplants, oranges and vineyards will be images stuck in my mind forever. The view of the rolling hills of the central plain of Israel was just outside my window. The trees that bloomed these iridescent purple flowers was right outside my door. But all in all, this experience changed me. Kibbutz Na’an, minus our jerk of a director, was a growing experience. I met people who challenged me, people who changed me, and people who I had to learn to live with. Goodbye Kibbutz Na’an. This marks the end of my time living in a socialist community. And probably sometime soon, the uniqueness of the Kibbutz in Israel will morph into something modern, and become a normal community. I feel so blessed to have experienced something so unique which opened my eyes to a whole different world.

FieldTrip!

We all go to Tel Aviv every chance we get so as a place for a fieldtrip, many of us were questioning what exactly we were going to be doing that we hadn’t already done a million times. We left early in the morning and they took us to Independence Hall, which was actually interesting. A rather plain building with a white, simple façade on the beginning of Rothschild Street, Independence Hall housed the conference where Ben-Gurion declared the Israeli state into being. We listened to a lengthy, emotional presentation and then sang the national anthem, HaTikva (The Hope) at the end. It was quite moving. The house, however, was not in the shape I would’ve expected out of a building with such importance. We ate an al fresco lunch and then journeyed to the first neighborhood of Tel Aviv. Beautiful and full of alleyways with houses that each tell their own story, walking down the roads was like hearing whispers of history at every block. Love stories, war stories, and stories of mothers, brothers, daughters and grandparents witnessing new generations build a state that was fought so hard for. We walked from there to the shook (the outdoor market) and I gathered up the last minute things I needed before I left. Leaving my friends to catch a bus at the opposite end of the shook, I ran back up to the other side of the market to catch the bus with the rest of my Ulpan. My director left, knowing I was right there, and I, needless to say was particularly irked. Thankfully, it all worked out and I met with a friend where we plopped down at this stir-fry stand and devoured some good Moroccan cuisine. I made my way back to Rehovot around 6 and had to take a sherut, a bus, and taxi to get home.

7.

7 is a number many consider sacred. There are 7 physical properties, 7 types of natural disasters, 7 colors of the rainbow, 7 Wonders of the Ancient World, 7 days of creation, 7 deadly sins, 7 days of Pesach, 7 Heavens (in the Islamic faith) and 7 chakras. I have 7 days left in Israel. Only 7. So many of the amazing things in the world come in 7’s.
7: The amount of days left.
6: The number of holidays I was lucky enough to experience here. (Pesach, Independence Day, Holocaust Remembrance Day, Veteran’s Day, Purim, & Jerusalem Day!)
5: The number of amazing friends I met here who have changed my life and challenged me to be a better person.
4: The number of times I was mistaken for an Israeli celebrity named Roni Superstar.(Awful name, right?!?) I still don’t think I look like her. Thoughts?
3: The number of languages I am in love with. (Right now at least)
2: The number of religious revelations I have had while here.
1: The number of moments I regret.
I am bummed to be leaving Israel. I feel it is a place I will most definitely return to, maybe even live. It is one of the most inspiring places I have ever lived. I have learned so much about the history, culture and languages here but know that I have only touched the tip of the iceberg. I have so much respect, love and admiration for the Jewish people and am in awe of the perseverance and determination they faced for centuries in order to create their state. I will miss this trans-formative, inspirational place.

Fear

I headed to Tel Aviv to meet some friends. As I prepared to leave Kfar Gaza, again even in broad daylight, Gaza loomed threateningly close. It struck me as odd that I should feel uneasy around an Arab settlement. I wondered if living in Israel and hearing all the anti-Arab tirades had effected me without my knowledge. No. After living in Cairo and traveling around parts of the Middle East, I maintain that at heart, the Arabs are a warm and generous people. It is a rather uncomfortable situation for them, as literacy rates are purposely left high and much of the Middle East remains in a state of dilapidation and antiquity. The leaders of the Middle East play on the state of desperation that hey have kept their people under and manipulate them into religious and political submission; flexing their muscles to use the people as a weapon (sometimes against each other) when and how they please. I am not afraid of Arabs. No. My nerves were a product of survival instinct. In the rockets and mortar fired from Gaza, amidst their frustration and despair, there is no distinction between friend and foe. There is only death.

A, B, C, D, E, F, G.

Leaning a language is never easy. Some people are better at it than others. While I love learning these languages, at times I want to pull my hair out. For about a year now, I have been conversing with people in English whose first language is not English, or speaking in Arabic, Hebrew or Italian. The frustrating part is not looking like an idiot, which I have hopelessly resigned myself to. The most frustrating part is the lack of intellectual communication. All you can use are the words you know accompanied with dramatic hand gestures to get your point across. I can speak about my life, what I like, where I come from, what I want to do and contribute to general conversation topics. But, when it comes to actually conversing about what is going on the world, politics, religion, or any topic with vocabulary way beyond my skill, I am forced to listen and attempt to understand the new words as they pour out of peoples’ mouths. Generally what I am thinking is this: 'okay, she just said that word--which is has the same root as this other verb I know, so which verb grouping can I put that in? I suppose I would conjugate that in the past tense, first person as this and think of other words I know with the same basic root. Then maybe, I may have some general meaning as to what the verb she just used was.' Then after thinking all of these things, I join back in the conversation which probably has just taken a turn to something completely different. And then the process repeats itself.
I found this amazing article which explains what learning Arabic is like. It even touches on the similarities between Hebrew and Arabic. Read and enjoy.
I'm Trying To Learn Arabic Why's it taking so long?
Robert Lane Greene Posted Thursday, June 9, 2005, at 6:04 AM ET
When I walked into Arabic class last week, Karam, my teacher, cheerily asked me how I was doing. I said, "Tamaam, hamdulillah," which means, "Fine, thanks be to God." But I was lying. I'd just spent a full day at work and was sitting down at a desk for two hours of mind-bending grammar, vocabulary, and pronunciation. I knew it would be a long night. Everyone else was partying in high school, I was learning the Spanish past subjunctive and loving it. I studied German, French, and Portuguese in college. I speak decent Russian and have taught myself some half-decent rudimentary Japanese. Languages are usually fun. But Arabic is really killing me. I'm one of a growing wave of people trying to come to grips with Arabic, a language long neglected by Americans in the years before Sept. 11. Since then, the CIA and the military have tried to recruit Arab-American "heritage speakers." The federal government has spent tons of money, both teaching Arabic to spies and soldiers at its specialized schools and encouraging university students to study it. College enrollment in Arabic classes doubled between 1998 and 2002, with much of the increase coming in a patriotic spike after the World Trade Center attacks. As a foreign-affairs writer, I thought it would be good to give it a shot.But these patriotic students are probably finding, as I am, that learning Arabic is complicated. The first challenge, the script, is a tough one. But it is by no means the biggest. Arabic has an alphabet, so it's easier than, say, Chinese, which has a set of thousands of characters. There are just 28 letters, and it does not take long to get used to writing and reading right-to-left. (Though it still feels odd to open my book from what seems like the back.) Most of the letters have four different forms, depending on whether they stand alone or come at the beginning, middle, or end of a word. Even then, so far so good. But in Arabic, as in Hebrew, people don't include most vowels when writing. Maktab, or "office," is just written mktb. Vowels are included as little marks above and below in beginning textbooks, but you soon have to get used to doing without them. Whn y knw th lngg wll ths s nt tht hrd. But when you're struggling with comprehension to begin with, it's pretty formidable.
Then there are the sounds those letters represent. I do not recommend chewing gum in Arabic class, because a host of noises articulated in the back of the throat makes it likely that the gum will end up in your lungs. Arabic has one "h" akin to ours, and another that has been described as the sound you would make trying to blow out a candle with air from your throat. That's not to be confused with another sound, the fricative kh familiar to German-speakers as the sound in "Bach." There's also 'ayn, a "voiced pharyngeal fricative," which is like the first sound in the hip-hop "a'ight." Unwritten in Roman-alphabet transliterations, it's actually a consonant that begins many common words and names, including "Arab," "Iraq," and "Arafat."
The sounds are tough, but the words are tougher. An English-speaking student learning a European language will run across many familiar-looking words, but English-speaking Arabic students are not so lucky. Merav, an Israeli classmate, should have a leg up on us: Arabic and Hebrew both use a nifty, three-letter root system for word building. The three-letter root represents a general area of meaning, and different prefixes, vowel additions, and suffixes can make it into a person engaged in that activity, the place where it goes on, the general concept, and so on. Most famous is slm, which generally means "peace." Salaam is the noun for "peace," Islam is "surrender," and a Muslim is "one who surrenders." (In Hebrew, this can be seen in shalom.) Ktb functions similarly for writing: Kitaab is "book," kaatib is "writer," maktaba is "library."
Merav is fine with this, though the rest of us are struggling. But the ferociously unfamiliar grammar sets us all adrift. Arabic is a VSO language, which means the verb usually comes before the subject and object. It has a dual number, so nouns and verbs must be learned in singular, dual, and plural. A present-tense verb has 13 forms. There are three noun cases and two genders. Some European languages have just as many forms to keep track of, but in Arabic the idiosyncrasies can be mind-boggling. When Karam explains that numbers are marked for gender—but most numbers take the opposite gender from the word they are modifying—we students stare at each other in slack-jawed solidarity. When we learn that adjectives modifying nonhuman plurals always have a feminine singular form—meaning that "the cars are new" comes out as "the cars, she are new"—I can hear heads banging on the desks around me. I want to do the same.
Karam sees the wear and tear on us, and so sometimes we pause and have a cultural chat. Arabic is peppered with a lot of God—even secular Arabs will append insha'allah, "God willing," to almost any statement of intent, as in, "I'll file my story by 3, God willing." Sometimes Karam tries to teach us how to work various niceties like this into daily speech. "Thank you" is usually just shukran. "But," Karam tells us, "that is sort of boring, so if someone gives you food it's nicer to say, 'May your hands be blessed,' or …" This is way too much information for my skill level, so I squeeze my eyes shut and hope that Karam's flourishes don't enter my brain and dislodge something vital, like, "Where is the bathroom?"
The State Department reckons that it takes 80 to 88 weeks (roughly a year in the classroom full-time and a year in-country) to get to a level 3 on a 5-point scale in Modern Standard Arabic, the language I am learning. But there's a twist. MSA has about the same role in the Arab world that Latin had in medieval Europe: It's the language of writing, religion, and formal speeches, but it is no one's native spoken language any more. Arabic has long since become a series of "dialects," which are actually more like separate languages, as many varieties are mutually incomprehensible. Arabic spoken in Morocco is as different from Arabic spoken in Egypt and from Modern Standard as French is from Spanish and Latin. When Arabs from different regions talk to each other, they improvise a mix of Egyptian Arabic (which is understood widely because of Egypt's movie industry), Modern Standard, and a bit of their own dialects.
So, if I go to Egypt or Lebanon in a year, having managed to get some near grip on my classroom language, I will be walking down the street asking people for a bite to eat in something that will sound almost as conversationally inappropriate to them as Shakespearean English would to us. Most literate Arabs know the Modern Standard from schooling, newspapers, television, sermons, and the like, though, so hopefully they will not laugh too hard as they help me out and respond in something I can almost understand. And that is if I work my tail off for the next year. Insha'allah.
Welcome to My Life.

Rosh HaNikra

Sierra and I decided to go camping. I had never actually been camping before. I mean the kind of camping where you carry your own tent on your back, bring food, build a fire, etc. I was thoroughly excited for the idea- you know, hard core camping. I told my director I was leaving, and he was less than thrilled, but I left anyway. I traveled up to Rosh HaNikra, a beautiful little spot on the border of Israel and Lebanon. Famous for its grottoes, Rosh HaNikra reminded me of the Blue Grottoes of Capri, Italy. (Though Capri beat them in awe factor) Guarded heavily by a base in between Israel and Lebanon, the grottoes boast the steepest cable car dissension in the world. We took that down to the grottoes, watched an adorably cheesy introduction video complete with water splashing on your head during the dramatic parts of the film. We went down to explore the caves. We met this adorable family form North Carolina with two kids with accents that make you want to pinch their cheeks like a creepy aunt! We reminisced about the good ole US of A and chatted for a bit about what brought us to Israel.
Sierra and I tromped around for a while through the area, taking in the salty sea air, the sun peaking out through the clouds and the beautiful crashing water inside the grottoes. After enjoying a refreshing Israeli beer and soaking up the beauty of north Israel, we hopped in a cab and headed toward Achlifa Beach, a small private beach. Adjacent to a camping ground, there were hammocks in bungalows, a beach side bar, a lifeguard tower and a beach with fine white sand that stretched on forever. We set up our tent piece by piece and built our fire. I had never done that before, but success happened! Can I just say, toilet paper starts a darn good fire. We roasted marshmallows, made some new friends and taught them the art behind a good s’more. None of the Israeli’s had ever heard of s’mores before. We relaxed all night, met tons of interesting people but were kept awake much of the night by a huge party that was going on in a private venue down the beach.
Waking up to the bright blue water of the Mediterranean was stunning to say the least. We woke up, cooked a hot breakfast on our portable stove and layed on the beach until the sunset.

The Night I Slept in a Bombshelter

After an amazing weekend at Achlifa Beach near the Lebanese border in the border town of Nahariya Sierra and I packed up out tent, portable fire, our pans, our burnt selves and prepared to leave. We made a friend from the campground who took us to the Nahariya bus station so we could catch the first bus after Shabbas ended. During the two hour bus journey, I poured over the book Exodus (which I highly recommend) but was constantly distracted by the most beautiful man specimen I have ever seen. Tall, dark, handsome and piercing blue eyes – this soldier was whoa. I felt like an 8 year old girl with a crush. Anyways, Itay, Sierra’s boyfriend picked us up at the bust stop to drive us over to his family’s house in Kibbutz Kfar Aza. I got off the bus, turned around and asked Itay, “woah, is that Gaza, that city, like, right there?” “Yep.” He replied. I asked him if he ever got nervous living so close to Gaza. He told me “Growing up it wasn’t so bad, but now, after everything, it’s disturbing.” We rolled through the large Kibbutz and into his driveway. (Even after all my time here, it continues to amaze me how the Israeli’s made this desert bloom.) The fence guarding the Kibbutz was covered with barbed wire and surrounded on the outside with rolls of barbed wire in cylindrical shapes. Peering through the fence, I pointed at the lights, the cars I saw whizzing by in the distance and the activity that seemed so close- “that’s Gaza!” “Yes, Italy said; every year what really scares me is the lights and the buildings of Gaza keep moving closer. I fear one day they may be right outside our fence.” As of now, Kfar Aza is 1.8 miles from the city of Gaza.
We were led into their beautiful home which was empty at the moment with all the Kibbutzniks celebrating Lag BaOmer. Lag BaOmer is the holiday commemorating 7 weeks after Passover and the harvest. In Israel, it’s traditional for all the children to stay up late and make huge bonfires, made barbeques, parades and traditionally, the orthodox children get their first haircut on this day.
We chowed down on barbeque meats and salads while Sierra attended to her intense sunburns. After all the fun, I was offered Itay’s sisters room that was vacant. Leading me through the rooms snaking to the back of the house, they directed me to her room which also happened to be the bomb shelter. One window, the metal blinds closed tight with blue thick walls- my sleeping chamber couldn’t have been more silent. I head nothing and saw no outside light until they woke me up at 8am. Opening the thick bomb shelter shades allowed some light to penetrate the darkness I had slept so soundly in.

Barmitzvah of the Year.

Far more grand than any wedding I’ve attended, the Barmitzvah I attended a few weeks ago was impressive, to say the least. Reut’s brother, Ariel, was turning 13. In Israel, Ariel is a boy’s name and a Barmitzvah is celebrated to the nth degree. I mean big people. I arrived at the party site, an outdoor garden near my Kibbutz. Walking in and expecting a patio and a big party room, I was in for quite a surprise. Over a bridge with a flowing stream beneath lie an expansive green lawn surrounded by white plush couches, and elegant serving booths full of appetizers; peppers and eggplant smothered in tsum tsum (sesame seeds), baby burgers on the grill, wok concoctions flung through the air, and sushi stacked neatly on the table. The open-air bar set in the middle of the grassy area was decorated with flowing white cloths from the top poles to the grass, giving the area an aura of grandeur. In any contest, it would've been Barmitzvah of the year, hand down. I was thirty minutes late and still arrived before everyone else. Quite typically Israeli. As the people began to pour in I met the rest of the extended family I hadn’t yet met through Passover events or Shabbat. Slightly embarrassed by my accent, I tried to engage with everyone in Hebrew. More than sweet, everyone taught me new Hebrew words and were quite interested in where I came from and why I was here studying Hebrew. (Which has become quite a common theme in my life) At the bar getting a glass of red wine for dinner, I turned around and saw Smadar- my roommate who I lived with in Haifa two years ago! What a reunion! We relaxed together all night, exchanged stories and caught each other up on our lives. Her Hebrew is so fast, she had to repeat a lot, but through it all, we managed to understand each other and have an amazing time.
For a few hours everyone mingled, enjoyed their cocktails, brimming beer on tap and the company of family, friends, and a celebratory occasion. Slowly but surely, the crowds began to meander into the main hall- check out my pictures on facebook if you can. It was ridiculously gorgeous. Green, water and silver decorations covered the tables, and I felt instantly transported to some kind of Slytherin event at Hogwarts. (Yes, I realize I am a super nerd) More appetizers sat on the tables and the other two bars inside delivered a steady stream of vodka red-bulls. Not that I indulged, wine is really more my style. I was surprised at how many adults were drinking them. Ariel performed his introduction song-“I Gotta Feeling” by the Black Eyed Peas, and was astoundingly good. At first, I thought he was lip-syncing. The traditional candle lighting began, where Ariel thanked the special people in his life for shaping him into who he has become.
They served two main courses, one meat and one fish. Dancing was trickled in between each course, with all the young people grabbing their parents out of their chairs to join in the fun. Hebrew music reverberated throughout the night, pounding in our ears and causing our feet to move effortlessly. Champagne flowed, Israeli and American music played without rest and the before we knew it, it was pretty late. Only about 50 people left, I saw David (Reut’s sister Moran’s boyfriend) get down on one knee. I shrieked. Everyone gathered around in a circle while he proposed to Moran. Crying, happy beyond words, she obviously accepted and everyone was clutching their hankies, dabbing tears and giving hugs and kisses of congratulations. Seeing love and commitment really begin, and produce something beautiful was moving- I cried a little. Everyone did. Two in the morning rolled around and my old roommate drove me home while recalling the best events of the night. Lila tov!

Search and Rescue

Today instead of class our Ulpan took a trip to one of the neighboring Army bases where they paired us with a Search and Rescue Unit for the day. The age of the soldiers always seems to take me by surprise, though I see them everyday. Eighteen and nineteen years old, these young kids walk around with guns slung over their soldiers in their matching olive green uniforms, hats tied to their right shoulders, ready to defend their nation. Mandatory, service in the Israeli Army applies to all Israeli citizens. After high school kids are forced to grow up quickly here when faced with the reality of defending their livelihood and their country, the possibility of killing someone, and the reality of answering to someone other than their parents.
Entering through four separate gates, when we finally got to our destination, we were asked to file into an assembly hall and take a seat. The point of our seminar today was to acquaint us with the soldiers which we were paired with and to introduce us to their basic duties. They were clearly shy about speaking English, so spoke in mixed Hebrew and English. Two minutes after sitting down we were ushered outside a told to sit in a circle. Apparently icebreakers are an international phenomenon. You’d think that as an English Tutor in Italy and as a Cicerone I would love every icebreaker known to mankind. False. We sat in a circle, the language barrier almost literally tangible hung over the circle like a cloud. We had to introduce ourselves, share where we came from and name our hobbies. I felt like I was in high school. I tried to take in as much of the army base as possible, to see how they really lived. When we had breaks, all the soldiers would stack their guns in a square figure, on top of each other. I asked them why they did it in a square: “because they are less likely to go off, and someone can watch over them more easily than if they were in a big pile.” After talking to the soldiers, they expressed a less than enthusiastic view of their base. Most loved their unit, but hated the food and all the restrictions. But, all assured me that it was something that was important to them and they would serve even if it weren’t mandatory. (This is not true for all Israeli’s, by the way).
After eating in their cafeteria, I can say I understand the term ‘army food.’ Poor kids, it was awful. I got scrambled eggs and could only take one bite. How do you mess up scrambled eggs?!? We ended the day with a demonstration of their training sessions. Dressed from head to toe in their army uniforms; hard hats on, gloves strapped on their helmets, eye goggles set, they all reminded me of gophers ready to dig. All wore watches, clearly a product of living by military time (though they somehow still manage to be late.) For the demonstration, two teams competed against each other for the fastest time. They used a lot of heavy machinery to break through metal doors, concrete blocks, scale walls and then carried someone out on a stretcher through all of that. My team won! On a related note, this unit was the one sent to Haiti. Israel was the first country to send a search and rescue crew after the disaster.

Class Skits

Right now we are doing skit in class. Can I tell you how awkward they are? The two Argentineans stand at the front of the room, leaning in, speaking in Hebrew the practiced dialogue they just wrote. Full of mistakes (like all of ours are) they are explaining the meaning of what they are saying every minute. Giggling, embarrassed and staring at the paper, confused with what they wrote- they finish out the dialogue. Next group. Our topics are- things you say to your husband, what a mother in law says to her daughter in law and what an Arsim (Israeli equivalent of Guido’s) says to a girl he is trying to pick up. My group was what a mother in law says to her daughter-in-law: we made the mother hate her daughter in law, and teach her how to make her husband happy. All trying to hold back laughter, we sit painfully through the skits that are both awkward and awful. The great part is that we are all awful.

Kitchen Master

I arrive at 7:30. I leave at 2:45. 2000 people live on my Kibbutz. About 1000 eat in our cafeteria every day. 6 days a week. 1 meal per day. 50 tables. In the kitchen: 15 workers. 4 Ulpanists.The morning usually begins with vegetables. Tons of vegetables. We wash,, dice, slice, and prepare eggplants, squash, tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, beets and onions every day. Those are our staples. We use huge machines, clanking and whining while vegetables whirl through the blades. Arabic and Hebrew phrases are screamed from one end of the kitchen to the other. Samea, our boss screams “Lo!!!(No!)” at us, because one of us is always messing something up. I washed the mint leaves and they weren’t supposed to be washed. Pavlo works at the speed of a slug. Jonty doesn’t understand what they are yelling at him and Gisella just chops things at her own pace in her own world. We are quite a team. Sounds of Hebrew music drift through the kitchen, able to be heard when the growl of the machines isn’t deafening. We dance in our own little corners, knife in hand, well on our way to finishing the 25 pounds of tomatoes that need to be washed. The day is separated into three sections. Work till break. Work till lunch. Work after lunch till 3. I usually jam out to my ipod while slicing and dicing- though sometimes they put me in the meat section. Last time, I cried. I am not joking. For those of you who don’t know me, I usually don’t cry in public- not my style, but I was upset. The hunks of meat are thrown down on the table. They are huge. Last time, they tried to get me to cut up a huge cow back and that definitely didn’t work. 5 minutes later I threw the knife down and walked out. Then they put me with chicken. I deplumed chicken wings (is that a word?!?) for hours. Literally plucked the wings out of the chicken. I left with blisters all over my fingers from knife usage, mascara running, and hands that smelled like chicken for days. I will never eat another chicken wing again. I have yet to master my kitchen, or a chicken.

Al-Ha-Ash

Literally meaning on the fire, Al-Ha-Ash(barbeque) is more or less the national event on Independence Day. The special thing about the Israeli Independence Day is that they commemorate Memorial Day the day before. So appropriately honoring the lives precedes the celebration of the sacrifices made for the nation. Ready for the celebratory aspect after days of poignant, but melancholy ceremonies, Reut picked me up midmorning with her sister in tow. We drove from Na’an to a little park near Beit Shemesh in the middle of a vineyard. Gaping all the way up the mountainside, I was in awe of the amount of families celebrating in this little slice of paradise. Our spot was overlooking a valley with rows of grape trees between two towering mountains full of lush greenery. We parked next to the lively game of volleyball and I quickly noticed in Israel, volleyball is a male phenomenon. I asked Reut why no girls play and she responded- “girls don’t know how. They kind of teach us in school, but girls here don’t play.” (leave it to me- later that day I was the only girl playing)The day was one of total relaxation and enjoying family. Spreading out big blankets and surrounding several picnic tables, we indulged in an Israeli breakfast followed by great stories, a game of volleyball with a neighboring family and, of course, the preparation for the big lunch. A family that we were camping with were the owners of all the vineyards, and, knowing the area well, brought with them their ATV and an off road jeep. For a good hour, we bumped up and down along the pot-marked holes of the mountainside roads. At some places only 4 feet wide, maneuvering far enough away from an edge with a drop straight down to the valley left my heart racing. On the ATV we sped down the mountain, breathing in air that only exists in places like this. Drooping trees, fields of blooming flowers and vineyards covered the mountain like a watercolor painting. Blending together seamlessly, the nature we were surrounded by reminded me of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. Surreal, like the trees were dancing, the flowers were bending to whisper replies-we sped by, tickled by the prospect of escaping reality, even only for a moment.
Returning for lunch, the table was exploding with all kinds of salads, and the men cooked different types of meat for at least 2 hours. I tried hearts for the first time. A bit apprehensive when it was offered to me, I slowly bit into the heart of the chicken- and guess what? It tasted like chicken! Delicious actually. Listening to music, hearing stories of the families’ travels and learning some new Hebrew words was how I spent my Independence Day. One of the best things about spending time with my Israeli friends- there is never English. Every once in a while, if I look really lost, I’ll get a quick translation, but generally, everything is in Hebrew. Israeli Independence Day It is similar to our Fourth of July, minus the watermelon. We even roasted marshmallows. Though, believe it or not, Israeli’s have never had s’mores. In Italy it was the same. We just ate roasted mellows. Clearly missing out, I informed them of the necessity of adding the chocolate and cracker. Probably changed their lives. On the drive home, we noticed the sky had a covering of smog as far as we could see. The weather that day was beautiful, but by the end it was a fully covered in smog- from the barbeques alone! Apparently, every Israeli family barbeques today. I don’t think we saw one stretch of shady space that wasn’t occupied by a celebrating family. Well, Yom Hatsmaut Sameach (Happy Independence Day!)

Independence Day

Last night was the Kibbutz Party. And when I say party, I mean hundreds of lawn chairs in every direction, Israeli flags in clusters around the courtyard, children running around with cookies, buffet lines filled with barbeque foods, and to top it all off, a huge ceremony somewhat equivalent to that of a really awkward talent show. (but in a cute way) The first part was quite tasteful; they shared the stories of all the people who were war heroes from our Kibbutz. Their families came up with flaming torches and lit a part of the menorah (like the Olympic torch). Followed shortly by singing and dancing, the children of Kibbutz Na’an proudly performed their renditions of classic independence songs, interpretive dances, and solo’s in honor of their country. It was quite awful. The best way to describe is: when a parent knows their child worked really hard on something, say a dance show, gets on stage and the choreography is just atrocious. But you love it because it is your kid, and you know how hard they worked on it. And, it is even cuter because it is a bunch of kids who were all really awful, but also awfully adorable? That was what is was like. Lots of awws and giggles throughout the performances. The reception was full of more food (by now it should be no surprise that Israeli families put food in your stomach every possible chance they get), popcorn machines, cakes and coffees. Fireworks blasted into the sky, in blues, reds, purples and greens, exploding into the night. I walked to the edge of a hill to meet my friend, and looked over the valley surrounding my Kibbutz. For miles, I saw fireworks exploding in every direction. Tonight was a night of Celebration. 62 years strong, the State of Israel has proven its determination as a country.
Following the ceremony my friend picked me up to go to her sister’s fiancés friends house for a barbeque. Typically Israeli, there were tables overflowing with different salads, pita, hummus and immeasurable numbers of coke products. The men sat by the barbeque, grilling the meat for everyone throughout the night. Old Israeli music drifted through the windows and the air was crisp. The night was perfect for celebration. I spoke with everyone, practicing a little bit of my Hebrew. I always entertain Israeli’s when I speak Hebrew- I probably sound like a 7 year old, with my vocabulary. (Maybe 8) They love teaching me new words, and correcting my grammar mistakes.
We ended up getting into a discussion about Israeli politics. Never a good idea, by the way. I definitely did not bring it up. They asked me why I was here, asked me if I was Jewish- to which I answered no. Astounded, they looked to my friend, and back at me, as if to say, wait, hold on- she’s not Jewish? Of course, more questions poured out. What does America think of Israel? Are there a lot of people who think Israel is full of terrorists? What do you think? Why do you learn Arabic? We don’t like the Arabs over here, you know. Do you like the Arabs? Are you going to convert to Judaism? Do you support Israel? I was a little overwhelmed with 15 people asking me all these questions. I always want to portray America as full of diverse views, peoples and cultures. But the questions were so general, I found I had to break everything down- get them to specify their questions in order to give an accurate representation of typical American beliefs on the Middle East, and Israeli specifically.
This was the first party where I think I left feeling weird about not being Jewish. Embarrassed is the wrong word. I am proud of my background, but at times I feel instantly disregarded when I say I am not Jewish. As if my perspective isn’t credible because I am not Jewish. It is extremely frustrating. The American stereotype doesn’t help at all. I hate that when people find out I’m American, two assumptions are made. First, I am easy. Second, I love to party. Incorrect and a little offensive. Even last night, I had this discussion with Moran’s friends in the circle around the barbeque- about their perceptions of American’s, about how whenever I speak in Hebrew I am ‘normal’ and when people find out I’m American, perceptions immediately change. Maybe 30 minutes later, a friend of the host arrived. After we left, I was told me that when the host introduced me to his friend, he winked at him with a nudge and said, ‘she’s American.’ I can’t tell you how much that upsets me. I wish I would’ve known then. Guest or no guest, I would’ve stood up for myself. I know stereotypes generally exist for a reason. There is usually a bit of basis in truth, but when you don’t fit that stereotype, all you want to do it prove it wrong.

Treading the Torah.

I am currently reading “Walking the Bible” where I ran across a quote that resonated with me: “it’s that tension- between being with others and being alone, between reaching salvation within a sometimes unruly community and seeking enlightenment on your own—that lies at the heart of the story of Mt. Sinai.”
Physically, a place like the desert represents this kind of conflict- the pulling between the chance of experiencing a spiritual peak in isolation, or immersing oneself in the (very human; flawed) behavioral patterns of a community. I whole-heartedly appreciate the rationale behind this classic conflict. In Israel and Egypt especially, I have felt an indescribable draw to the desert- to the unknown. To the untouched beauty, to the purity that sand washes away, and to the history of the wanderers that have been drawn there for decades. Similarly, the cities of the Middle East are brimming with religious diversity, aromas, historical monuments, and cultural anomalies that challenge your intellect. For centuries, people have sought the refuge of the desert: the Israelites, hermits, monks, and pilgrims in attempts to reach some kind of spiritual high. Traveling is my spiritual high. While I love the mysterious promise of the desert, my time alone from the world is found anywhere outside myself. I love escaping from the world I know into my version of reality. Throwing yourself into a place where you can’t communicate, can’t read the signs, don’t know the food, and have never walked the streets- that is what I crave. The plunge, those moments where you say to yourself- holy shit, what did I do?
I never truly appreciated the places I have been treading over for the last year. Without even knowing it, I have walked a significant portion of the Bible/the Torah throughout my travels in Israel and Egypt. I climbed to the place where Moses received the 10 Commandments, I floated down the Nile where Moses was, lived where Joseph reigned, traveled through the desert where the Israelites fled to, climbed the pyramids the Israelites built, and am living in the promised land where they finally arrived. I live in the place where the three major religions experienced their split. It blows my mind. And I love every minute of it.
I have discovered so much in these two years during all my travels and now have found myself inextricably obsessed with religion. The book “Walking the Bible” has forced me to conclude that my passion for understanding the three major religions is not something that will go away. I’m a woman obsessed. Anybody want to start a faith club?

eeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!

Amazing news is exciting to share. I am finally able to say that I am a scholarship recipient with the US State Department's Critical Language Scholarship this summer in Cairo, Egypt! Unfortunately, that means I am leaving Israel early in order to begin my program on time. We study Arabic intensively for 2 months in Egypt- so I will get to see my friends once again this summer and immerse myself back into Egyptian Arabic. It’s time to switch my brain back to Arabic. All these languages are actually starting to form a kind of organized system in my brain. What I mean, I think of my language acquisition stored in my brain like super market aisles. Each has there own section, but sometimes there’s a little overlap. You know, cheese in the refrigerated section but you can also find it in the aisles- but in a different form. Same thing with languages- different categories, but sometimes you’ll find variations or similarities with the same roots. Anyways, that is neither here nor there. Cairo, here I come.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

One thing I have done in Israel more than I ever have before- assess my feelings. About people, about myself, about the world, what people think of me. I’m not sure how much I like it, to be honest. I don’t know how people spend so much time contemplating their feelings. The more I assess, the more confused I become.
For example, for a long time, I really didn’t care what people thought of me. Maybe even to a fault. Then, I began to think, well, maybe I should. Not because their opinion of me is what I should think, but rather, to do a kind of qualitative self-analysis, to more or less review how I come off to the world. I usually care only about the opinions of people whom I respect. But, it is interesting anyways to look at a variety of opinions.
Maybe we ignore more of the bad things about ourselves because we surround ourselves with people who like us. Okay, so now imagine that is not the case. Surround yourself with people who don’t particularly care for you- not hate you per se, but you just aren’t their cup of tea. Now, surrounded by all of these people, you start to question yourself. Why don’t certain people like you? Is each person only supposed to have so many best friends in a lifetime? Is it important to develop strong relationships with a few people or have more people, overall like you? Should you care if people like you? Is it possible that people you get along with, that they bring out the best in you and that is why you’re friends? Or perhaps there is a subconscious affinity of some personality types to others? Now, I sit here thinking about all these questions, and have no answer. (Unless I decide to do a thesis in psychology, which is highly unlikely). Now I am left with more musings. I don’t know how introverts do it. All of this emotional thinking makes my brain hurt! (ironically)

Silly Little Nothings

I have this weird habit. I take a lot of language classes and have developed this nerdy habit while in class. I write down awkward/funny/interesting things people say in the margins of my notes in an effort to remind myself of a)silly experiences and b)the fact that I’m not the only one who lets really stupid things spill out every once in a while.
For example, my teacher, Khedva, who was raised as an orthodox Jew always enlightens us with tidbits about Judaism while learning in class. For example, there are 70 names for Jerusalem in the Torah along with 613 miztvahs (laws, but in modern times interpreted more as good deeds). In addition, we were discussing the differences between Ashkenazi and Sephardic Jews and this kid is my class asked, “where does the word Sephardic come from?” His friend next to him responded quickly, “Safari…duh. (like Africa)” I almost peed my pants.
One of the funniest things about Israel is the bluntness that reigns. In Israel, anyone with red hair gets a new name. My friend Dave, a redhead, on the first day of class was immediately labeled gingey by the teacher. In America, it is obviously quite rude to call someone that- especially someone you don’t know. Here, its endearing, and quite common. In Jerusalem, Dave and I walked through the markets and the vendors would yell things like “hey gingey! Gingey, your wife is nice!” It always makes me laugh. Israeli’s are notoriously blunt. The language barrier probably doesn’t help with being politically correct either. Introverts, extroverts, old and young- when an Israeli has an opinion, you will know it.