Kibbutz Shefayim

Proof once more that the world (especially Israel) is freakishly small, Tomer, a friend from high school, lives on a kibbutz about 20 minutes outside of Tel Aviv.

And it happens to be a lovely place.

It's a community of families, lone soldiers, and packs of allegedly domesticated dogs that is sandwiched between the highway, a national park, and the Mediterannean.

I visited a few weeks ago, and Tomer and I walked through the park along the Cliff Trail. There were painted rocks every few meters to mark the trail.

So we're walking along, nature, sweet, trees, bushes, flowers... Then:

BAM.

We're on a cliff.

We creep up to the edge and look down, and BAM.

Water.

It was a freakishly windy day, so we didn't get too close, since sand was being blasted into our eyes and hair was being whipped everywhere, not to mention getting actually pushed around entirely.

But it means that the waves were awesome.

We gawk at the edge for a while, and then continue down the path. There's a nice boardwalk, and a crapload of couples. So many, in fact, that when we walked past two girls, they immediately began pointing and giggling. Nice.

Anyways, we kept walking down the path, and all of a sudden, there's this dog. Cute yellow lab, collar, tags (in Hebrew, of course), but no owners in sight. I pat him on the head, and it was love.

Paco, as it turned out his name he was called, followed us around for the rest of the afternoon. He would run ahead on the trails, and wait for us to catch up before sprinting off to catch the next scent or pee on the next bush.

Occaisonally I would try to shoo him off, to go back to wherever it was he came from, but he was ours. Tomer read the tags, and it turned out he was from a kibbutz nearby (not Shefayim), so when we left the park he just turned tail (ha.) and went home.

What 19-year-old has this view from their window? Seriously.

We had dinner that night at the kibbutz's cafeteria (there has to be a better word for it), and me, Tomer, and his roommate David are eating some lovely kibbutz food when this phenomenally raisiny old woman canes up to our table and starts talking in Hebrew.

I can catch the occaisonally pronoun, but other than that it's all over my head (what else is new?). She asks for our names, and that I do know, so I said my name was Amanda.

Apparently Israelis don't hear that name very often, because she scrunches up her face (I really didn't think more wrinkles were possible, but these things happen) and goes, "Ma? Ma? Amanda? Ma?" (Ma=What).

So I say it again, Amanda.

More confusion: she's asking things in Hebrew, and I don't understand, and there's cane thumping, and she's really old so I'm just smiling politely, which only confounds the situation further.

Luckily Tomer jumps in and explains that I'm American and have an American name and don't speak Hebrew (I think that's what he said, anyhow). She looks at me, and says, "Well, she's in Israel now, isn't she??"

Fair point, at least on the language, but seriously, lady. My name? I know you've been on this kibbutz since the age of the dinosaurs, but that's crossing a line.

Besides, even if I did get a Hebrew name, I would probably still manage to butcher the pronunciation.

The Old City

The Old City is. So. Sweet.

Why? You may ask. Let me count the ways...

1) There are so many religious people everywhere, of every religion, that it's totally overwhelming. To the point where I feel obscenely dressed because my skirt/dress only covers about 2 inches below my knees, as opposed to going all the way to the ground.

Kippas and hijabs are for really religious people in America, but in Israel, people go all out. Men have curls in front of each ear, kippas and wide-brimmed black hats, and tassels hanging out from under their shirts. Women are totally covered, floor-length skirts, long-sleeved shirts, hats... Some even tie up their hair in a sort of headscarf. It's crazy.

But seriously, my favorite thing about all of these religiously dressed people is their children.

Honest to God, I cannot think of anything cuter than a 5-year-old boy playing with his tassels in his little suit and curls. It's beyond adorable.

One day I'll be really creepy and take pictures of some, but sadly (and surprisingly) enough, that day has not yet come.

2) There's a really sweet market. I know what you're thinking, seriously, Amanda, more markets? But seriously. It's awesome.

There are these tiny little "roads" (alleys) criss-crossing the entire city, and packed in along both sides of every street are vendors smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee, and yelling at you in Hebrew, Arabic, and English to check out their sweet stuff.

And it is pretty sweet. A lot of it is really meant for tourists (the kind that are here for a week, as opposed to 5 months, thank you very much), but a lot of it is amazing. There were inscence shops, a place that I swear to God looked exactly like the Cave of Wonders and even had a lamp... Thousands of shops selling hamsas (little hand-shaped charms with prayers enscribed on them), jewelry, menorahs...

One of my favorites was a bead shop that had strands of beads hanging everywhere, even the ceiling. It legitimately looked like a sparkly cave, complete with multicolored stalactites. (I won the stalactite/stalagmite battle without Wikipedia. Score: 1-0, Me.)

I know, right?

There are places that sell these really neat-looking oriental-ish placards with blessings for the home, and my favorite one?

"Shalom, Ya'll."

Stucco, get ready for it.

3) HISTORY

I've always known, in an academic sense, that America is a young country, but when you roll up to the Western Wall and realize that the SECOND temple of the Jews was destroyed in 70 A.D.

1776 was a like ten minutes ago.

There's the Western Wall, the Dome of the Rock (which technically was a sanctified place since the time of Abraham, but Muhammad also ascended to heaven there during his lifetime, so in the 7th century), the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (where Jesus was crucified, buried, and resurrected; the Church itself was built in the 4th century)...

Seriously. America. Come ON.

Even just walking down the streets the aforementioned markets are on is a history lesson.

I'm not sure how clear it is in this picture, but if you look closely, you can see two narrow ramps in the otherwise stepped walkway. This is so in Ye Olden Days (Y.O.D.), people could drive carts up and down the roads.

Dude. That's awesome.

4) Basically the reason I came here.

All 3 of the Abrahamic religions, Islam, Judaism, and Christianity, have essential elements of their faith centered within yards of each other.

YARDS.

In some instances, they're actually the same place, which is mind-blowing.

The Holy of Holies, the place where the Temple was supposed to have stood, is under the Dome of the Rock. It's a room where the Ark of the Covenant was kept (Y.O.D.), along with a pot of manna and Aaron's rod.

Aka the holiest place in the history of Judaism.

And it's under the Dome of the Rock.

Incredible.

It seems, dare I say, divinely inspired, that all of these mega-important sites are so close to each other.

You literally stand in the middle of the Old City, turn in a circle, and see the basis for 3 of the major world religions.

Oh hey.

Sharim Shirim!!

As Ulpan finally and tragically comes to an end, I've had some time (5 hours a day) to reflect on the highs and the lows. One thing stands out as a far and away winner of the awesome category:

Sing Along Time.

Yes, the time when we sharim shirim. In Hebrew.

It is even more amazing than it sounds.

We get this blue songbook filled with various Hebrew melodical delights. I managed to swipe one, so luckily these songs will remain a part of my life even after Ulpan.

On the right side of the page is the Hebrew script of the song, and on the left is the transliteration. Thank goodness. Reading and singing at the same time? Insanity. Usually they also have the English translation at the bottom too, and some of the stuff is actually pretty religious. And by religious I mean Zionistic.

For example, from the song "Yerushalaim Shel Zahav (Jerusalem of Gold)"

We have returned to the cistern,
To the market and to the marketplace.
A ram's horn (shofar) calls out on the Temple Mount
In the Old City
And in the caves in the mountain
Thousands of suns shine--
We will once again descend to the Dead Sea
By way of Jericho!


I can't help but wonder what the ones they didn't translate for us say.

Anyways, I love singing these songs; it's probably the closest I'll ever get to being Jewish. Some of them just sound Jewish. Like this one: (Start the video at 1:52)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QiDAGlFh4sU

It probably sounds a lot like that when we do it too. And we definitely clap at the more upbeat part. Obviously.

Personally, my favorite song is a really peppy one that turns out to be really cynical... The singer basically says he wants to scream and shout but no one wants to hear that, and if he wants to be on the radio he can only sing simple, happy stuff.

I felt really superficial when I found that out, since I love its happiness and simplicity, but I justify it by telling myself I can only handle happy and simple in Hebrew. Enjoy:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YGzrzcc992E

When all of the Alef level classes get together and sing, it's a huge party. There's this woman who mysteriously appears and fills our mornings with cheery jazzy piano and yells at us to sing louder.

It took about a week to figure out what she was yelling at us. Now we know. And sing loudly.

Anyways, today was easily the best singing day ever because the crazy singing leader lady convinced one of the grad students to come onto the stage and dance.

And by one of the grad students, I mean a 50-some year old Asian man.

It was amazing.

Think arms outstretched to either side, a bit of grapevine, the occassional spin, and towards the end when we really sped things up (we were singing the song from the first video, btw), he started shrugging his shoulders in time to the beat.

Meanwhile, we're all screaming and laughing and falling out of our seats while still trying to sing and clap and cheer him on. It was chaos.

And it was beautiful.

Phantom of the Apartment

Overall, I'd say my living situation here is pretty sweet. I have an apartment in the Kfar Studentim (Student Village, go Hebrew) and a view of a tree-lined street to the right and the Dome of the Rock to the left. The rooms are big and tall-ceilinged, and they came fully furnished. The bed is even comfortable.

Serisously, W&L looks pretty bad in comparison.

We have a common kitchen and living room, two WCs and a shower space. There are 5 bedrooms, and I have 3 roommates and a phantom.

I'll tell you about the people first, mostly because they exist, and partially because I'm still struggling to understand the phenomenon of the Phantom.

Right next to me is Jess, an Australian who resents the stereotype of all Australians carrying giant knives and being cheery and outdoorsy. She's in the same program as me, and knew just as much (as little?) Hebrew as I did when we arrived.

Then there's an Israeli girl and I suck because I can never remember her name, but she's very nice and even helps me with my homework on the rare ocassion I will break down and ask for help. She's in the regular university here.

Next is Nadia, a hilarious British girl from Liverpool in the Mechina program, a preperatory program to help students get into Hebrew Universities. At least that's what I understand the program to be, I could be and probably am wrong.

She's from Liverpool, which means her accent is awesome, but at times totally incomprehensible. I have the same glazed-over look when she talks as when someone on the street starts talking to me in Hebrew. It's really funny when this happens, but also frustrating because it's English, from ENGLAND, for crying out loud.

And now, we get to....

THE PHANTOM.

I don't know this girl, and unlike the Israeli, I don't feel bad about it. Allegedly, she's Swiss and a student at the regular university, but that's all hearsay. I have literally only seen her once. In the entire 4 weeks I've been here.

The one memorable ocassion when she graced the apartment with her prescence, Jess and I were so confused. She was moving around in the kitchen like she owned the place (which, in retrospect, she kind of did), and neither of us recognized this ghost in our apartment.

We gawk awkwardly for a minute, and she goes, "Um, I'm [NAME]," and looked at us like this was supposed to mean something.

Awkwardness ensues.

"I live here?" Oh. I was stuttering pleasantries and excuses about why I needed to bolt, but Jess, in true Australian form, bluntly asks, "Where do you GO?"

Phantom nonchalantly replies, "Tel Aviv," like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

It would be, except she is there EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

And every single night. She is never here. Ever.

Although I suspect we had a near-sighting today, I heard a door being unlocked, some shuffling around, more door locking sounds, and suitcase-rolling-out-the-door sounds.

Goodbye, Phantom, you will be missed.

Favorite Place Ever-- Now with pictures!

I really should do this more often.

The next few posts will be abour random things that are awesome/weird/mildly entertaining about Jerusalem so far, and will definitely not be in any sort of chronological order. Go:

If I'm ever having a stressful day, maybe Ulpan (Hebrew class) was really intense, maybe sirens kept me up all night, or maybe I'm just bored from only getting 10 sentences worth of homework a night, I go to my favorite place ever.

The shook.


Which, for you non-Hebrew speakers, means market. Which is somehow linguistically related to the word for "awesome" (not really, but it totally should be).

Basically it's a semi-open air market with loads of Israelis yelling at you trying to get you to buy their ridiculously delicious, ridiculously fresh, and ridiculously cheap stuff. Everyone's pushing through the alley and in true Israeli fashion there is no waiting your turn or politely letting old women go first.

First of all, the old woman is probably the most likely person to ram into you with her rolley shopping bag to get to the strawberries first.

And second, there is no such thing as a line in this country. Seriously. Just pack in tight and stick your hand out with money and produce and hope he notices you before the guy with the giant gun squashing you.

Although I've found the money-produce combo to be an effective one.




There are stalls with vegetables, fruits, deli counters, falafel stands, halava and candy sellers, bakers, liquor stores, pastry shops, egg sellers (not refrigerated? It seems to be normal here, and so far no salmonella, knock on wood), cheese shops... The list goes on. They have everything. There are even like dry goods shops where you can buy pastas and canned foods and pots and pans and spoons and whatever else you could possibly need.

There are two main sections, one is a covered alley/street with stalls lining either side, and the other is a wider street with shops on either side and beggars/garbage/soldiers in the middle. This part is the dangerous part, not because of the beggars or soldiers with giant guns (recurring theme in Israel, trust me), but because of the giant cart people.


I'm sure there's a more appropriate name for them, but they wheel enormous carts with stacked pallets of produce around the shook at top speeds, shouting at pedestrians to get out of the way, usually a few seconds too late. I walk on the sides of that street; my reflexes aren't keen enough for that kind of life or death scenario.

At this point, I've developed a semblance of a routine, a result of looking for cheap prices and vendors who speak enough English/are willing/able to tolerate my elementary Hebrew.

Some of the shopkeepers are even recognizing me, which is awesome. The place I get my hummus (so. good.) and cheese has one guy who speaks English, accented with a bizarre combination of French and Hebrew, and he is the bomb. One day I went down and had split from the person I was there with and it was mad windy so my hair and scarf were simultaneously strangling and blinding me. The hummus guy was like, "Oh my goodness! Are you okay? You look worried!"

This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Clearly.