When we first settled in Jerusalem (haha I could make so many jokes about us “settling”, but I won’t…), I really hated living in this city. I missed the “Israel” that I knew, that was free of the conflict and people lived their daily lives without much mention of the politics going on around them. Besides the fact that we were living in a tense city (and it was my first time doing so; I have only lived in Haifa before and it is one of the few mixed cities that actually has some semblance of peace/at least co-existence), we were also learning everyday about all the politics that revolved around the city and how the three majors religions interacted. I longed to be in Tel Aviv, the “sin city” as some religious Jews call it, where we would be able to go to the beach every day, and clubs at night. Yet, I was living in Jerusalem, so I had to get used to it somehow, and get used to it I sure did. I grew to love my bus ride through the Arab and then Haredi neighborhoods (see earlier post), and I appreciated the fact that there were so many people in this city “outwardly” displaying there religion, unlike in America, where I feel like it is a sin to stand-out, especially for being religious. I loved the fact that no matter where we went for dinner, I could almost always be positive it would be a kosher restaurant; if not, I could walk about ten feet to find a restaurant that was kosher and that I could eat in, and then I could meet back up with everyone. I loved trying to figure out how religious a person was just by looking at them, and seeing that in some of the most unexpected places—such as the Biblical Zoo or the Mamilla Mall.
So, when Bess and I went to Tel Aviv before she left, I found myself in quite a shock at how different it really was for Jerusalem. I couldn’t believe how few religious people there were! It’s interesting how something that seems so foreign and different to us at first eventually becomes the “norm”, and what we thought was normal becomes something quite different.
-Katy
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Even though Israel is in the Middle East, I find it less and less shocking each day at the number of [native] English speakers there are in this country. Everywhere I go, I hear Americans talking about something else funny or ridiculous that they see in this country, and I love to see tourists being so obviously American that even the shopkeepers know where they are from before they even speak a word of English. Something interesting that I have found since being in Israel this summer is that for some reason, I am now automatically labeled as an “Israeli”, even when I am on Ben Yehuda or in a touristy place like the Israel Museum. But why is that? Is it because of the way I dress? Is there something innate about me that screams “Israeli”? (Clearly not, because I am definitely not an Israeli) Maybe it is just because I do not walk around with my phone around my neck in a large group with other girls who look just like me. Either way, I find it fascinating that compared to a few years ago, when I was automatically categorized as “American”, now that I am living in Israel, I get the label of Israeli. -Katy This will be a short post, but as we are sharing our final thoughts on this trip, I realize that no one has mentioned the heat yet. The weather here has been surprisingly tolerable (for the most part), and the nights continue to be chilly. In the past week, however, the temperature has spiked up incredibly during the day. As it is a dry heat, you do not realize as fast how dehydrated you are getting. But after 10, sometimes even 5, minutes outside, you feel the heat weigh on your body, your head begins to ache, and you suddenly realize that you are drenched in sweat. Even sitting at the bus stop is uncomfortable. I have, a few times, wondered if I was actually melting. Well, perhaps I am exaggerating a bit, but it is pretty awful. It seems like perfect timing that we are leaving when the weather is finally getting unbearable. Especially as there are no beaches nearby, being in Jerusalem in this heat feels a bit like being stuck in a little jar in the sun. -Carole Last night, which was my last night in Jerusalem, I was walking towards Ben Yehuda, on a mission to get one last fruit shake from the little stand at the top of the street. I walked down Yaffo street and turned onto Ben Yehuda, where I encountered a huge wave of protesters swarming down. One woman beckoned to me with her arm, yelling, “Come join! Come join!” I politely declined, and stood a while at the side of the street, watching the mob. I quickly learned that the protest was related to the tent protests that have been going on here, in response to the rising cost of life in Israel. The demonstrators were marching towards the Prime Minister’s house, shouting and holding large signs. The crowd was so dense that when I did finally decide to venture up Ben Yehuda for the fruit smoothie, against the current, I found myself standing more often than walking, unable to push my way through. I did finally get to the top of the street, only to find the place closed. By that point, however, I was too distracted by the scene to care much, and just stood at the corner watching this hopeful and invigorated community marching past. What a way to end this trip. In a way, it seems fitting. And while my chapter here comes to a close, life here continues. -Carole I have always known that the Smith alumna community is vast and with many resources for current students, and once I graduate, as an alum myself. Yet, something very interesting I have encountered since being in the Northampton/Amherst area is that a nearby school—Hampshire—has quite a history in the Jewish world for disillusioned Jews coming into the school and over time becoming more religious. I know quite a few of these very people, as they tend to stay in contact in some way or another with the Jewish community in the area. For example, the Chabad rabbi’s wife herself was a Hampshire student before becoming religious. Anyways, I ate Shabbat dinner at the house of one of these very women. She had a fascinating story and it makes me think about what it is about Hampshire that has “bred” so many religious—specifically Chabad—women. Is it Hampshire itself or the people who choose to go to Hampshire? This woman, who lives in Kfar Chabad, a neighborhood just outside Tsfat, is married to a major Chassidic scholar who has deep family roots in Israel. (His family came to Tsfat in the 1700’s– as his wife said, “they were the original zionists”.) The fact that he married a Baalat Teshuva (Returner to the Faith) is quite a surpise and out of the ordinary, and I had quite a nice time talking to her about how the two of them got together. (Her husband spoke beautiful yiddush and very good Hebrew, but absolutely no English.) It was a very interesting dinner, complete with in-laws from Bnei Brak who came from the misnagdim (“opposition” to hasidism) and had much to say about the “plight” of Jews in America. Oy.
-Katy
As I mentioned in my earlier blog post, Bess and I went to Tsfat a few weeks ago on an impromptu vacation. We thought we would be able to stay at this hostel that provides meals and everything for Shabbat, but that fell through right as we were about to leave. Therefore, we had very few options that kept our budgets in mind. We found out about “Shoshanna” though a Ministry of Tourism website for Tsfat. It looked all very legitimate and said that Shoshanna was a nice little old lady who ran a modest hostel and always made sure everyone had a place to stay. She was even nice enough on the phone to offer to meet us at the bus station. When we arrived in Tsfat, the bus driver just yelled, “egged!” when we pulled up to a gas station and we saw some old decrepit structure in the distance. Apparently that was the central bus station. We got off the bus, crossed the street, and saw this little old lady pushing a baby stroller around—with newspapers inside, and not a baby—and she told us she was Shoshanna. At that point we knew we were in for an interesting night. She took us back to the “hostel”, which actually turned out to just be a regular apartment with a big room filled with a bunch of beds. To say it was creepy is an understatement. I just wish I had taken pictures of the place. I’m pretty sure she didn’t come home at all that night, which makes me wonder where she stayed, because the next day she brought home a man who seemed to not have taken a shower for weeks and didn’t have shoes. Needless to say, we spent as little time as possible there, and as soon as Shabbat ended, we ran out of there with our stuff, determined to put the whole experience behind us. Actually, I think it will be one experience we will never forget, a quintessential, “only in this country” experience. -Katy On Thursday, I caught a glimpse of the 2011 Jerusalem Pride Parade. Held at Gan HaPaamon (Liberty Bell Park), the parade was secured by policeman, security guards, and several Magen David Adom ambulances lined up on the curb. The crowd was much smaller than it was at Tel Aviv Pride last month. Walking down Agron Street, I was pleasantly surprised to see pride flags waving from street lamp posts. Unfortunately I missed the parade itself, but at least I made the one in Tel Aviv. – Lena Here’s a link to a Haaretz article on the event: http://www.haaretz.com/news/national/gay-pride-returns-to-jerusalem-1.375722
Last night, the Lone Soldier Center held its final shabbat dinner for the month of July. Sitting at our table were many familiar faces from the first dinner. I had a very nice time talking, singing, and laughing with volunteers and soldiers I’d worked with these past two months. Although it was my final dinner with the center, that certainly didn’t mean the learning process was over. Yael, a former lone soldier from Chicago, mentioned that a lot of people came to the comedy show on Thursday, despite it being “the three weeks.” From the confusion on my face, she could tell I needed an explanation. Currently, it’s the three weeks leading up to Tisha B’Av, which is a holiday marking the destruction of the temple. While I had always thought Yom Kippur was the most somber holiday in Judaism, I found out that Tisha B’Av is also a day of mourning. Before dessert was brought in, two guests stood up to make a speech about Michael, or “Mikey” Levin. Having been good friends of Michael’s, each guest made a short speech thanking the center for their work. Each talked about how Michael touched many lives, and had a gift for bringing people together. “When you were with Michael, he made you feel like the most important person in his life,” one guest said. “If Mikey were here tonight, he would have loved this.” After watching A Hero In Heaven, a documentary about the life and aspirations of Michael Levin, I wish I could have met him. Hearing everyone at the center talk about him this summer has made me miss him, in a strange way. I’ve never met him, his family, or members of his unit. Somehow though, I feel as though I’ve gotten to know him a little through the mission of the center: to bring people together, of any background, to care about soldiers needing a home away from home. – Lena Yesterday was my final day of work. My last time getting up early (though actually, yesterday, not too early) while the rest of my apartment sleepily lounges in bed. The last time wondering if the rest of them are noshing on challah French toast and caviar blinis while I’m typing out reports. The last time… working on a Friday… here…(?). Actually, it was a really nice day. I came in and to my surprise (in addition to two small embroidered Palestinian bags she gave me on Wednesday) my keyboard had a few “holy Land” themed gifts scattered across it. Additionally, Harout gave me an Armenian mug with my name written on it. I kept thinking, This took planning! Effort! A week to for the order to come through! It was incredibly sweet, although I kept having second thoughts about not bringing a cake or something for everyone else. (But then, what’s the occasion? “Hi everybody, we’re celebrating ME today! Here’s a cake which also celebrates me.”) Speaking of cake, there were also pastries from a shop in Beit Jalla which someone had brought (not, I think, to celebrate me, but still awesome). At any rate, I was quite touched. Here I kind of thought I was just doing my job, hopefully well, but not (despite my boss’s consistent repetition of, “What will I do when you LEAVE?? You shouldn’t leave.”) anything that noticeable. But, by the end, the whole office had begun to seem pretty familial. My boss is kind of like everyone’s grandmother– everyone’s caring, and yet possibly intimidating, grandmother; my co-workers like brothers and sisters and cousins. (Including one lady who names her children after various co-workers, apparently…) Not that we have that long a history, but few people outside my family know (rather, HAVE ASKED) so much about my family, my medical history, and my personal life. Plus my family, dear Southerners they are, have also sometimes-unintelligible accents… At any rate, it was a really good experience. It confirmed for me the idea that I really want to work with words in some way, that I love interacting with people, and I can handle new and completely unexpected challenges. I have to admit, at first I was a little scared about my internship, since I knew that mostly the office ran in Arabic, which I don’t speak, and not much English. But, though at times difficult, and though I was at first uncertain, it helped me to grow in ways I couldn’t have foreseen. Even the little task of getting to work and back– figuring out how to live in a new city far from home as an independent person– was incredibly useful (though, as with nearly everything in Jerusalem, also at times frustrating). Had my last day been a month ago, I wouldn’t have looked back, I would merely have hopped on a plane overjoyed to be getting back. And, no doubt, Monday I will be really happy to be home. But with time I’ve actually grown closer to people here (the people I’ve worked with, people I’ve met, not to mention the other wonderful GES participants!). I’m surprised to find that I actually feel that when I leave Jerusalem, I’ll still be somehow connected to it. – Natalie One of my friends is an intern at Al-Qaws: For Sexual and Gender Diversity in Palestinian Society; last night, the organization hosted a big dance party in a club. As someone commented, the atmosphere really could have been taken from any gay club worldwide (okay, so maybe excluding Divas): lots of gay men, loud music (only here it was all in Arabic), various girls who are either queer themselves or are dancing alongside their gay male friends, and a strong haze of cigarette smoke, strobe lights, and heat. It was also very reminiscent of other dance parties that I’ve been to in the Middle East, though obviously the atmosphere brought by the attendants made it wholly its own entity. I’m nearly packed to go back to the States, though I’m sort of in a depressed and overwhelmed and excited whirlwind and therefore can’t really process what it means to “go home”. I’m not particularly excited to go back. I love Jerusalem in an odd and complex way, not because I feel particular ties to the land, but because of the warmness with which my friends have accepted me and shared their stories and homes. My experiences this summer have allowed me to begin to draw concrete parallels between struggles here and abroad and allowed me to develop a stronger voice that is just a bit less intimidated by the banalities of “unbiased” approaches. This means remaining critical of each narrative presented, but without allowing the development of my conclusions to be hindered by the ever-present requirement of objectiveness. Looking back on our (amazing) seminar, there are things I’d like to prod a bit more, responses I wish I had mustered up the courage to give. I’ve encountered both approaches during my summer, both that which refuses to acknowledge the faults of political or social movements they support and with the obsession to remain unbiased, apolitical, neutral. I have attempted, albeit often unsuccessfully, to experience life in Jerusalem according to the words of Edward Said: “Nothing in my mind is more reprehensible than those habits of mind in the intellectual that induce avoidance, that characeristic turning away from a difficult and principled position that you know to be the right one, but which you decide not to take. You do not want to appear too political, you want to keep a reputation of being balanced, moderate, objective. Your hope is to remain within the responsible mainstream. For an intellectual, these habits of mind are corrupting par excellence.” -Molly |
