The End is Near...

Lost three of my four roommates this weekend, so now it is just me and Annie, like it was in the beginning. Becky had been with us for a week, but she went back to her base this morning, so I had to say goodbye to her - she won't be coming back until after I leave. So sad!

Rothberg is a whole lot quieter now that the undergrads have all went back home. No annoying kids conversing in the middle of the stairs or yelling across the cafeteria and leaving messes - not to mention no more inappropriately dressed girls running around! Hopefully that means the kfar will be a bit quieter as well. There are Israelis and Arabs living in the kfar, but it seems to be the undergrads who are loud and partying at all hours. Not that I don't enjoy having a good time, but as every grad student will tell you, there is so much work to get done in the next couple of weeks!

I fly home two weeks from today, which is super exciting but also super distracting. Even with the extra time we have to write papers after the semester ends, I am still feeling the end-of-the-semester stress. For one thing, I know I am not going to write 5 papers after I get home, so I am trying to get at least 2 of them written before I leave. I have one of them mostly written - 8 1/2 pages out of 10. I have also been slacking on my Hebrew studying, although Kristin and I kicked butt on our oral exam. The only real thing I have left before I leave is the Hebrew final on June 12th. I will also probably give a presentation in one of my classes, about the paper I have almost finished, but that is dependent upon how much the prof talks today and who (and in what order) presents next week. Oh, I guess I also have an oral exam in my methodology class - I guess I better schedule that and review the texts! Hard to believe a week from today is the last day of class! Today is the end-of-the-year party, with Ben & Jerry's :)

As you can probably tell, I don't really have a lot to report - but am desperately avoiding paper-writing!

A Confession and a Whole Lot of Reflection

I have a confession: In addition to my blog, I have also been keeping an old fashioned journal. My first semester, I was very diligent about writing in it every night, recording even some of the more mundane aspects of life abroad. But this semester, I have been rather lax. Perhaps I got out of the habit when my parents were visiting back in January and just never got back into the groove. As it is, I am lucky to get to it weekly, and sometimes weeks or even a month (or more!) goes by without a single entry.

And there are many weeks that I struggle with posting an update here.

The problem is not that as time goes on I have less to say but rather that I do not know how to put into words what I am experiencing, what I am feeling. It's been a rough semester - been sick a lot, haven't been able to sleep, lacking energy, missing home - and that's just what is going on with me personally. There were all the rockets Gaza launched into Israel, the bombing in downtown that killed a Rothberg student, Israel's return-fire on Gaza that not only killed terrorists but also innocent children, the assassination of Bin Laden, the death of an Palestinian teen at the hands of the IDF, and most recently, the events of Nakba Day (the day the Arabs mourn the establishment of the State of Israel, which usually includes some form of violence). And that, I know, is just a short list of the highlights.

Perhaps I should be afraid, and maybe I am a little bit, sometimes. But for the most part, fear is not part of my daily life. I go to class, study, buy groceries at the corner store once or twice a week, go to synagogue. Occasionally, I take the bus to the center of town, to go to dinner with friends or to make a trip to the shuk. I watch TV, talk to Mom, miss my Gabby-girl and play with Sierra instead.

Sometimes I feel numb, like I am just going through the motions. Sometimes I forget that I am in Israel; other times, I wonder how the hell I ended up here in the first place. Why in the world would I ever choose to move halfway around the world to Jerusalem?!? (And perhaps more importantly, why did my parents allow me to do so?!?) And yet I know that I have grown more in these past 7 1/2 months than the rest of my life combined. I know that I needed to come here in order to become the person I need to be, the person I want to be. I thought I came here to learn at Hebrew U, but the most important lessons I have learned have mainly been outside the classroom walls.

And despite it all, despite how excited I am to be leaving in three weeks, I can hardly believe that the school year is almost up, that I will be re-packing my life into 2 suitcases and moving back home, leaving all this behind. I have no desire to stay in Israel - as one of my friends here said, Israel quickly loses its appeal, especially if you are not Jewish - but I will miss the friends I have made, the people whose lives have touched and affected mine, who I would have never met if I didn't decide on a total whim to apply. And I know that home is not going to be the same home that I left. Many of my friends at MTSO graduated yesterday; most of them I will not see again. My goddaughter will turn one three days after I return, and another friend just had a baby on Thursday. I will not know most of the student body come fall, since I did not have a chance to meet any of the 2010 new students. My friends will have new friends, and I will have to learn how to adjust. A whole year will have went by, a whole year of which I was not a part.

And yet, I know that somehow, everything will be just fine.

East Jerusalem, An Alien City

I came to Israel with my trusty Tanakh as my only book, though I have since acquired a kindle. My roommate Annie, however, somehow managed to pack an entire bookcase. Annie, being her generous self, has lent me several books throughout the school year, most recently The Amos Oz Reader, a collection of essays from many of Amos Oz's books. A week ago, I read "An Alien City" from Under This Blazing Light, published in 1968. It is mostly reflections on Jerusalem prior to the Six Day War, ending with the reunification of Jerusalem after the 1967 war. While things have changed a lot in the past 63 years and especially in the past 44 years, much of it is still a relatively accurate portrayal of life in Jerusalem today - especially life in East Jerusalem, and the life of an international student.

Thus, I would like to share several quotes from the essay, along with my reflections.

First, on life prior to 1967:

I knew that Jerusalem was surrounded by forces that wanted me dead.

Later I moved away from Jerusalem. I still love the city as one loves a disdainful woman. Sometimes, when I had nothing better to do, I used to go to Jerusalem to woo her.

I liked Jerusalem because it was a city at the end of the road, a city you could get to but never go through, and also because Jerusalem was never really part of the State of Israel: with the exception of a few streets, it always maintained a separate identity, as though it was deliberately turning its back on all those flat white commercial towns: Tel Aviv, Holon, Herzlia, Netanya.

And there was fear in Jerusalem: an inner fear that must never be named or expressed in words, but that gathered, accumulated, solidified in winding alleys and isolated lanes.

All my childhood years were spent in the proximity of streets that must not be approached, dangerous alleyways, scars of war damage, no-man's-land.

And, life after 1967:

My dreams had deceived me, the nightmares were unfounded, the perpetual dread had suddenly been transformed into a cruel arabesque joke.

Jerusalem is mine, yet a stranger to me; captured and yet resentful; yielding, yet withdrawn.

Living in Jerusalem today, one still has this sense of fear, the fear that "the Other" is out to get you. For the Israelis, the fear is of the Palestinians; for the Palestinians, the fear is of the Israelis. Whether or not the fear is founded is another issue. I have lived through a bombing in Jerusalem at the hands of Palestinian terrorists that killed one of my classmates, but I have also lived through the Israeli revenge air strike that took out innocent children in addition to terrorists. I live within walking distance of the security wall. I see how the Israelis have forced the Palestinians out and how they can make their life a living hell just because. While I do not live in fear, I see others around me who do, and the longer I am here, the more muddled the issue becomes. I still support the Palestinians, but I also realize that they are not without their faults, that they have indeed things to warrant, at least on occasion, Israeli fear. And still today, even though the city is "reunified," there is still a sense that there are certain places in the city to which one must not go. Of course, I am stubborn and think that my Americanness will spare me any real harm, so I tend to ignore these unspoken rules, especially when the reasoning is "you can't go to such-and-such place because it is Arab." I fear the Old City vendors more than I fear the Arab neighborhoods.

Even today, I get the sense that Jerusalem is in a league of its own, the capital of Israel and yet still not part of Israel. To be sure, Jerusalem is in its own way a microcosm of the state, a place where the ultra-religious and the wholly secular meet, a place that is sacred to all the monotheistic faiths. It is an interesting city, to be sure, one that I still don't seem to have a handle on, but I always feel this sense of relief when I manage to get out of the city, even just for a few hours. Perhaps it is because I have never really lived in a city. Its very hugeness can be oppressive at times. On a few occasions, I have went out on my own, to the market and once to the Old City. It is a surreal experience. For one thing, riding the bus by myself has always been unsettling, trying to figure out what stop I need, forced to sit by a stranger - or worse, forced to stand and be thrown about like a rag doll. And then knowing how to interact with people, both on and off the bus. Do I say "shalom" to the ultra-orthodox man or do I avert my gaze? Do I make room for the Arab family to pass or do I just ignore them? (Will my politeness be interpreted as a form of racism?) Do I try to speak Hebrew or just ask in English? (For the record, almost always when I ask a question in Hebrew it is answered in English.) While a simple outing can be refreshing, it can also be mentally exhausting.

I think Amos Oz captures the essence of Jerusalem, at least for me. "Jerusalem is mine, yet a stranger to me," and "I still love the city as one loves a disdainful woman." This place has been my home for the past 7+ months, and even though I am counting down the days till I am back in Ohio, back to my real home, I know that I will miss Jerusalem. As frustrating as the city is, there is something about it. Maybe there is something in the water, but the city seems to get in your blood. My heart never quite left Ohio, but I have a feeling that my heart will never quite leave Israel either.

Life and Death, Joy and Sorrow

Monday morning, shortly after 8:30am, I was sitting in Hebrew class, my first class after the nearly 2 1/2 week Pesach break, wishing I was still curled up in bed. The teacher was asking us something in Hebrew, but I didn't quite catch it. I looked at my friend Kristin, who was sitting beside me, and she whispered "the news." I shrugged my shoulders. I tend to take an "ignorance is bliss" approach to the news. I thought maybe the teacher was referring to something about Holocaust Remembrance Day, which that day was. One of the Korean students responded, and the teacher repeated her answer so we could all hear it. (Half the class is Korean, and they all speak so softly, at least in Hebrew, that no one can hear what they say.) I heard her say "bin Laden," and I was a bit confused. What did bin Laden have to do with the Holocaust? (Clearly, I was only half-paying attention.) Then, to make sure we all understood, the teacher repeated the news in English (an extremely rare occurrence in Hebrew class). Bin Laden was dead? The classroom broke out in a buzz of English and Korean as we all processed the news. I looked at Kristin again, and in disbelief, I asked her, "Haven't we already killed him like ten times?" (I was actually thinking about Hussein and the public airing of his hanging which interrupted my Friday evening TV viewing a few years ago and how later there were rumors, maybe even confirmations, that we actually killed his double.) Kristin shrugged.

Bin Laden was dead. In a split second, I was back in sophomore honors English, where at around 9:45am on 9/11/01 our teacher took us to the library to watch the news coverage of the attack on the Twin Towers. We watched in utter disbelief and complete terror as they re-played the footage of the planes hitting the buildings over and over, as if it was on some sort of loop. We could see little specks falling to the ground - people jumping to their deaths. And then, one of the towers collapsed right before our eyes, live on TV. Most of us had just come from Chamber Singers, and someone suddenly said, "What about our trip?" Our choir was scheduled to go to NYC in just a couple of months, right before Thanksgiving. My eyes were still fixed on the TV, waiting for the scene to change, for someone to say it was just part of some cruel movie. Even when I realized it was indeed a terrorist attack, my 15-year-old brain couldn't understand what that meant. Why would it affect our trip plans? Why would it affect anything? Al-Qaeda, Taliban, bin Laden, Hussein - these weren't part of my vocabulary. At best, I had a vague recollection of what they were. I'm not so sure I even knew what the Twin Towers were before that day.

By the time my thoughts had returned to the present, just a few seconds later, the teacher had already moved on. It was as if she had just announced the date of the oral exam, not the assassination of the US's most wanted man.

I wasn't able to get online to check the news until a few hours later, after Hebrew class and after the Holocaust Remembrance Ceremony hosted by Rothberg. I skimmed a few news stories reporting the ambush on the compound and the DNA confirmation that it was indeed bin Laden. I found a link to the text of Obama's speech. And then I turned to facebook to see what the reactions were of my friends back in the US. Since arriving in Israel, I haven't really followed my newsfeed; it is pretty much impossible to keep up with everyone half a world a way so I don't really try. But that day, I wanted to see what people were thinking and saying, mainly because I wasn't so sure how I felt. I found mixed responses: many were joyously celebrating the death of bin Laden, but others were denouncing the death of anyone, even someone as evil as bin Laden. While I was disturbed at the sort of enjoyment some seemed to get out of the news, I was equally appalled by the sense of righteous indignation that others seemed to be displaying. I don't mean to criticize anyone; we are all entitled to our own thoughts and feelings, especially in response to something like the death of bin Laden. But as someone who is currently living in the Middle East, I can tell you that we (for the most part) feel neither joy or sorrow at the death of bin Laden. While some of my friends here have joked about it now being safer to live in Israel that the US (although I still maintain that Ohio is pretty much the safest place to be - I mean, who is going to attack a bunch of cornfields?), the truth is, none of us see the point behind it. Yes, bin Laden was a bad man and the world is probably better off without him. His death, however, does not solve anything. Al-Qaeda still exists and will continue to exist. A new leader will emerge and vengeance will be taken, most likely on US soil. We're supposedly fighting over "there" (the Middle East) so we won't have to fight over "here" (the US), but the assassination of bin Laden will probably lead to bringing the war back home, even if it just momentarily.

Despite the news of bin Laden's death on Monday, we were all reminded that murder doesn't solve anything as we observed Holocaust Remembrance Day. Hilter and the Nazis celebrated the death of 11 million people - 6 million Jews and 5 million Roma (gypsies), homosexuals, developmentally delayed persons, African-Germans, Jehovah Witnesses and others - but in the end, life triumphed over death. On Monday, we mourned the loss of those 11 million people, but we also celebrated their lives. Most of them will remain nameless, faceless to me, their stories never reaching my ears, but that does not mean I can't cherish their lives, each as an individual. I remember one day in the Holocaust class I took in undergrad wondering, "What if Einstein had died in the Holocaust?" Einstein was, after all, a German-born Jew. Suddenly, almost in a panic, I realized that dozens, hundreds, thousands of Einsteins did die in the Holocaust. Who knows what those who died might have accomplished if they had lived? Many had already made important contributions before they were murdered. And so I celebrate their lives, not just what they did for society but also for who they were as children of God. And I mourn their deaths, the potential that was snatched away from them, the potential that we as a society were denied, the love that they had to share.

On Monday, I chose to celebrate the lives and mourn the deaths of those 11 million souls, and to celebrate the anniversary of the birth of my father. I chose not to celebrate nor mourn the death of bin Laden. I chose them over him.

Old City Vendors, Hiking & Sleepless Nights

Today is my last day of the break, although classes did resume today for those who had class. After a 2 1/2 week break, you would think I would be ready to return to class, but no, I really am not. I have rather enjoyed the laziness of sleeping in (when my body would cooperate) and the freedom to do whatever I felt like.

The past week has went by rather quickly. Pesach ended Monday at sundown, so Annie and I decided to celebrate in style and had our favorite, Focaccia's, for dinner. It was hametz-filled goodness. I spent some time with the baby on Tuesday, while her momma prepared for her 1st birthday party the next day. On Wednesday, I ventured into the Old City to do some souvenir shopping. I was intending to buy presents but ended up only buying for myself. And of course, I overstayed my welcome, meaning that I did not leave before the vendors started getting to me. I know they need to make a living, but they are so pushy! After the Old City was the birthday party, with Beth's amazing homemade cake & cupcakes, complete with homemade icing! The little one is all but walking now. I can't believe I am missing my godbaby's 1st birthday, even if it is just by 4 days. :-(

Annie and I visited En Gedi on Thursday, which was an adventure. First, Annie almost didn't get on the bus - she had to go to the ATM and by the time she got back and back in line, the bus was full. I couldn't get off because I already had my ticket punched. But somehow, by the grace of God, Annie was the very last person that was allowed to board the bus. It meant that she had to stand for a good chunk of the trip but at least we arrived together! We had no problem getting into the national park (even though my temporary pass has technically expired and I never called in to get the permanent one...). We hiked up to the waterfalls, which I had seen with my parents back in January, and then continued on to the Chalcolithic Temple (c. 3000 BCE). That hike all but killed me. It was steep, with a loose gravel/sand path and uneven steps. At one point we had to climb these steps that were between a cliff and a rock-wall. Instead of having a rail to keep us from falling down the cliff, there was a steel cable attached to the rock-wall. I was literally pulling myself up by the cable, all the while hearing my mom's voice freaking out in my head. We had to make frequent stops, mainly for me, but in the end we survived, even if I am still a bit sore! After we finished the hike, we visited the ancient synagogue, which dates to the 4th-6th c. CE - Annie's period. I saw it with my parents but there was school children on a field trip so we couldn't see it as much as I would have liked. But it was just me and Annie, so we took our time and I may have climbed on things I probably shouldn't have to take better photos, but I promise I didn't climb on anything too important...

I haven't really done much of anything the past few days. Just working on a midterm paper and studying Hebrew, and most importantly, trying to catch up on some much-needed rest. I did have coffee with my language buddy Ayana yesterday, at 4:30 in the afternoon, so I couldn't fall asleep last night - and then proceeded to wake up before 7am this morning. It is no wonder I am always exhausted and never have any energy - I probably don't get half the sleep here as I did at home! But I will be home before I know it and will probably wish I was back here.