הסוף, והתחלה חדשה

Have you ever noticed how all of my blog posts written between midnight and 4 AM? Maybe it’s because I think more at night. Maybe it’s because the nighttime brings out emotions. Maybe it’s because I need more sleep. Yeah, it’s probably that.

I wish I wasn’t writing this. I don’t want it to be over. #cliché. Yep. I used a hashtag in a sentence. Get on my level. Now back to being sad. 5 months. Over and done with. So many things done. So many things not done. So many ‘stories to tell the grandkids’. And I’m going to miss every second of it. Walking my multitude of ways from the dorms to Building 90. Hanging out and sleeping on the plushy red things in the OSP office. Kapiyot borekas. 10₪ Shakshuka during Ulpan until 11. Zygota burgers. Munchilla. Zygota burger with goat cheese. Beit Holim Soroka, Universita! Meeester Daglas. Getting weird looks from Adi everywhere and responding with weirder ones. Sarah being the nicest person ever. Adi being the meanest, evilest person ever. Shabbat at Benzi and Rakefet’s. The long walk to the JSeids house every Monday night. The weird guy from Lotan talking about pee-pee. Sitting out under the stars in Machtesh Ramon. The beach at Nitzanim. Ima’s Kube. Too much wine at Shabbat. The days when Nisha was innocent. Long lines and annoyed clerks at Shufersal. Trying to figure out the correct pronunciation of שופרסל. Complaining about Israeli cleanliness with Ilana. Forcing my way through the lines to get tickets at Reggae BaMidbar. Getting banned from the Irish Bar. POIKE. Roadside shwarma. Hearing Sam and Ava from across campus. Wine festival. The cheeses at wine festival. Spending Rosh Hashanah in the Old City. Tiv Taam. Rockets on Sam’s balcony. Midnight drunk walk to the Western Wall. Kayaking in the Golan. Hiking in the Golan. Failing at hiking in the Golan. Meeting the mayor of Be’er Sheva two weeks after arriving. Winning that race. Finding the hidden mall behind BIG. Random concert at random kibbutz with random guy I met hitchhiking. Sunset on the beach with Goldstars and Chloe’. Aifo Shay????? Not being allowed to hike because of flash floods. Biking through the streets of Tel Aviv and Yafo. As a child, I mashed potatoes. Clive getting at least 1 phone call and 3 texts in every class. Not listening to Natan. JACKIE. Not actually being able to speak Arabic. Israeli roomates. Still not knowing one of my roommates’ name. Panic attack on the first day of the Israeli semester. Expensive everything at Aroma. Crappy pizza everywhere except Faculta. Concerts at HaHalutz 33. Beginning of the year Hadag Nahash concert. Dance parties in the office. AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT. Learning to make Shakshuka. Buying my own groceries on a regular basis for the first time. Accidentally taking the 446 instead of the 470 and spending 2 and a half hours on the stupid bus contemplating life. Yelling at the spoiled Israeli 9 year old brat on the train and getting congratulated for it. Obnoxious convert guy, Victor. Halloween party. Getting yelled at by lady in Supersal for not knowing how to use the self checkout. Fresh challah and bagels on Friday morning from the supermarkets. Walking across town to get Shwarma on Sukkot. Birthday fireworks. Skyping with Danielle during the Balagan. Getting evacuated to Sde Boker. Getting evacuated back to Be’er Sheva (thank god). Being truly scared for the first time in my life. Sunrise Masada hike instead of 9AM 115 degree Masada hike. Doing absolutely nothing in Sde Boker. Clive thinking we’re actually going to work on a paper during the balagan. That cute puppy who followed us to the dining hall. Going to the spa for Ben Gurion Day. Sneaking back to Be’er Sheva during the balagan and seeing the city empty. Week-late birthday party at Kampai. Clarissa surprising me at my birthday party. CATS. EVERYWHERE. Not getting a free Schnitzeleh with my frequent customer card. OSP event of the century not being the event of the century. Those games on the Golan trip. The amazing group, hikes, everything on the Golan Trip. “This jeep smells nice, because there are only girls here’. “Toda”. SHOSHI. Stealing a Danger, Mines sign from the Syrian border. Adi=אמא, Sarah=אבא. Seeing coyotes in the morning on the failed Golan hike. Actually enjoying the failed Golan hike. Classic. Ya Zoe. Still not being entirely sure how the printers work. Forgetting tickets to Baraka, then finding 4 on the ground on the walk back. Roza. Einshtein. Coca. Passaflora nargila. Nana tea. Challah making and the pictures it produced. Stealing Shoshana’s phone. Being able to have full conversations in Hebrew. Teaching Adi how to pronounce the ‘th’ sound. Batsheva always smiling and being happy. Bookman Old Style. Going to Hevron during Chayei Sarah (my torah portion). Rockets on Clive’s field trip. Chris Christie is the leader of the JNF? The many sights and smells of Be’er Sheva. Sitting in the aisle on the Jerusalem bus. Midnight guitar and singing on the edge of the cliff in Sde Boker. Spending five months with a group with such an amazing dynamic and cohesion.

I’ve done so much, yet I’ve done so little. There are so many things I didn’t get to do. And it’s been an internal dilemma and critical decision of the State of Israel whether or not I want to stay here or go home more. And I’ve been typing here for over two hours intermittently laughing, crying, re-enacting, and reliving in my mind as much as I can remember. And all of it was amazing. This whole trip was nothing I could have imagined. But from the moment I got off the bus in from of the Meonot until the moment I board the plane home tomorrow night, midnight 01 January 2013, has been the greatest adventure I have ever embarked on. I will forget none of it, and treasure the myriad of memories made. And regardless of whether or not Verizon decides they want to give me my upgrade discount and I get a phone and a phone number back home, I’ll make sure to keep in touch with everyone. Israel, this isn’t a permanent goodbye (especially if Benzi has his way), only a temporary l’hitraot, because this won’t be the last time Meestehr Daglas comes to visit. Just a small note for next time, please hold the fireworks.

A Novel Concept

Normalcy. A novel concept. Who'd have thought that everyday routines would be missed? Who'd have thought that Be'er Sheva would be missed? But, who'd have thought it would be gone? Wednesday 14 November is a day I won't soon forget. Nor will I forget the week that followed. We left the barrage of rockets early Thursday morning. We went hiking at Masada (מצדה). We went hiking at Sde Boker. We stayed in nice hostels in Sde Boker. We had meals provided for us. We had counsellors who put up with all of our crap (They deserve medals. And a raise). But, on top of all of the great things the OSP provided for us last week, it wasn't normal. It wasn't familiar. Everything seemed surreal. I mean, why would we ever go to a spa in Israel? Regardless of how amazingly relaxing it was, it wasn't normal. Or cheap. I mean, 60₪ for lunch? Ripoff...

But on Wednesday night, the ceasefire was announced. And on Thursday, we got the all-clear to return to campus. Cue celebration. Finally, after a week of being the most spoiled 'refugees' on the planet, we were going back. Back to Be'er Sheva. Back to normalcy. Back to our 6-month home. And finally, I could celebrate my birthday. I turned 20 on Friday the 16^th, but it just didn't feel right to have any sort of party. But we were back. So let’s party. We went to my favourite restaurant, Kampai, for some Bamba sushi and Sufganiot, the best dishes in the world. And to make the night even better, Clarissa came down from Tel Aviv and surprised me, even though she was sick and had to be back in TA in the morning. On Friday, we went to Rakefet’s for a Thanksgiving-esque Shabbat dinner. While it wasn’t Dad’s cooking, it was still an excellent way to welcome us back to B7. And to top off the return to normalcy, whether we liked it or not, Clive’s Environment paper was due yesterday (Sunday). What a great way to spend your Saturday. Also, note that this post is written in Bookman Old Style font, my new best friend.

Classes started back up yesterday and everything is putting itself back together after a week of disorder, balagan and rockets. As for me, I’m good. Yes, I was shaken, not stirred, after Wednesday night, and for most of the week, every loud noise made me jump a little. And the IDF didn’t help by shooting test missiles and having gun practice nearby every place we stayed. And I didn’t feel comfortable at Sde Boker, to no fault of anyone but my nerves. Like Adi, I just wanted to be back in Be’er Sheva, because (and mind you, I like being in small towns, but) like I said to a few people over the past week: Sde Boker is somewhere nice to visit, or to commute to to have classes. And Be’er Sheva isn’t a place to travel to, because there isn’t much here for a traveller to do. But it IS home. I’ve established myself here. I’ve got my routines. I know where the good restaurants are (BTW, I’m really craving a Zygote burger, if anyone wants to go soon). I have my classes here. I can go anywhere easily from here. And by god I’m glad to be back. Nothing could make me unhappy this week. Except Jackie’s paper. That might make me pull my hair out. 

49 Hours

It’s been 49 hours since the first siren. And everything is surreal. Nothing feels like reality anymore. Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a rocket attack. Escaping with only 2 hours of sleeeeeep. As I sit here in the hostel in Sde Boker, enjoying the second cup of tea I’ve ever drunk/drinken/dranked/drinked, it’s been 49 hours since the first siren sounded over Be’er Sheva; 52 hours since the IAF strike on Hamas’s military chief, {someone}. And since then, I've gotten maybe 7 hours of sleep. If that. Everything feels weird when you haven’t slept. But now, nothing even seems real. Is this some sick, fucked up joke that my mind is playing on me? Is all of this going to go away as soon as I wake up from this hellish nightmare? God, I hope so. I’d give anything for this mess to stop. But even on birthdays, your wish probably won’t come true.

It’s been 49 hours since that first siren. And I still hear them everywhere. When I hear a motorcycle. When a plane flies overhead. When the kids playing in the street yell. When the gazelles, I mean Ibexes, run past. Basically, when I hear sound, my mind hears the start of a siren. And there’s no escaping it. I tried playing music on my laptop, and I still heard it. Listening to the wind howl around me as I watched the sunrise atop Masada, I heard it from every direction, as I did sitting in my room Wednesday night. My heart has dropped more times in the past two days than ever before. I didn't stop shaking until mid-Thursday afternoon. Everyone has been asking each other if we’re okay. And I think we collectively lie in an attempt to make the other person feel more secure. But inside, not even deep inside, we’re all panicking.

It’s been 49 hours since that first siren. And I’m becoming less and less sure about anything as the time passes. Our original plan was to go to Jerusalem on Sunday. But now rockets have fallen in both major cities in the centre of the country. Now we have nothing, except to stay here. In a tiny kibbutz in the middle of nowhere. Which in all honesty is probably the safest place we could be outside of the Dead Sea area. But still, civilisation is comforting. Even with rockets falling, I feel more secure in numbers. And OSP group, I love all of you, but having only 8 of you plus 3 counselors is less comforting than having hundreds of students surrounding me in a shelter, or thousands of people surrounding me in the city. I honestly just want my blanket. Or a hug.

It’s been 49 hours since that first siren. And everyone at home seems to be freaking out more than I am. Which is saying something. Of course the parents are scared. Hell, I wouldn’t sleep if my child was 6,000 miles away in a war zone. The Facebook posts on all of our walls aren’t much comfort, although being able to communicate with close friends and family is helping somewhat. I want everyone to stop worrying and know that I’m safe. But honestly, I’m not entirely sure I feel that way. I got my first email from Dickinson acknowledging that they remembered I was in Israel and that they watch the news occasionally. I think the most unexpected thing, however, was the phone call I received from one of my professors at BGU this morning. Natan left a voicemail message saying in true, British form that if I wanted to extend my paper from 5 pages to 100 to cover all of the first hand accounts I was getting, he would allow it. But, out of character, he ended the call telling me to stay safe and get back to his class soon. And he sounded very concerned. Which, while very unlike him, was a nice virtual hug from a man who, until now, I didn’t really like. If only I could get a few more real hugs right now. And maybe some peace. Wouldn’t that be nice…

It’s been 49 hours since that first siren. And I don’t know anything anymore. I can’t speculate on this. I don’t know what we’re going to do after tomorrow. I don’t know when we’ll go back to Be’er Sheva. I don’t know if we’re ever going back. I don’t know if I’ll finish the semester. I don’t know if we’ll be able to leave this awful-smelling hostel. I don’t even know where we’re eating breakfast in the morning. I don’t know anything anymore.

It’s been 49 hours since that first alarm. And it’s my birthday. What a great present. Aren’t I the luckiest? I know. Happy Birthday to me…

It’s been 49 hours since that first alarm. And it still hasn’t stopped. And it doesn’t look like it will anytime soon.

It’s been 50 hours since that first alarm. 

A Hardening

Get your minds out of the gutter...

This morning, when I wrote my other post, I couldn't fathom how anyone could hear these sirens, and rockets, and explosions, and not be shaken, not be as visibly scared as I am. I couldn't understand how all of the Israelis in my apartment weren't freaking out, and instead being calm. And it took until after Round 7 for me to calm down, which in the case of a rocket attack isn't really anyone's imagined version of calm. But it wasn't really a calm, and I see that now. Now after 12 rocket barrages, I realise that I'm not calm, but I'm hardened. After being woken up almost every half hour or hour by rockets, I'm hardened to them. I am still upset that they're happening, but the emotion I show is minute. And I think I'm beginning to understand, not how the Israelis feel when they deal with this, but how they react to the attacks, that for some, my roommate included, have happened almost their entire lives. I don't think anyone who hasn't lived through this or anything remotely close can begin to imagine what it's like to live in fear of death, as do so many Israelis who live within firing range of Gaza. But I also can't imagine what it's like for those on the other side of the border, who not only have to worry about the Israelis shooting rockets, with little to no warning, but to have to deal with so many terrorists who put rockets, bombs, weapons, and high-ranking officials in kindergartens, playgrounds, schools, hospitals. This whole conflict, as someone put it last night over nargila, is so unbelievably complicated, that it's hard to wrap our minds around it and try to comprehend not only what has happened, but what will continue to happen, and how to stop it all. I can't give an answer. I can't give any possible solutions. All I can do is ask. Ask anyone reading this from either government. Ask anyone you believe in up in the sky. Ask anyone. Stop. We got the message. Both sides did. And have. We just want to sleep. We just want to be safe. We just want quiet.

Till Death Do I Part...

I never knew what it was like to think you're going to die. I never knew what it was like to hear death coming. I never knew that it would tease you; let you hear the sirens, the explosions, and the terrible calm that followed. And just when you thought it was over, another round. And another. And another. And another. But the thing that boggles my mind the most: how so many people live like this everyday. I'm sitting here clutching my blanket, crying like a baby, begging to go home, back to America, where the biggest problem is that the local restaurants aren't open, or the dog peed on the floor, or your neighbour's music is too loud. I want my simple problems, my first world problems, back. But no. Not yet. They just keep coming and coming and coming and coming...

It's 12:30 AM. The 5th round of rockets just hit; 2 sirens, 7 explosions. Each one scarier than the last. The first round came around 8:15PM. I knew they were coming; school had already been cancelled, we were told to stay within 15 seconds of a shelter, and to expect to leave early tomorrow morning and be gone for a few days. But what they didn't tell us was how to deal with the next 12 hours. We're expected to leave around 10AM tomorrow. This won't be the last attack of the night. 8:15 and I was watching an old episode of NCIS on my laptop, procrastinating writing my Environment paper due Sunday, bitching to friends about it on Facebook, and wondering what food I was going to get for my birthday party on Sunday. I knew that at some point in the night rockets would come; they have before, and with what happened earlier, it was almost guaranteed. Gibbs had just told the team to grab their gear, they've got a dead Marine. Tony made a crude remark to Ziva, and McGee tried to defend her. They walked in to the elevat-whooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. And not in the going-down-a-roller-coaster way. In the death-just-got-launched-from-Gaza-in-the-form-of-a-Grad-missile kind of way. Freak out. Grab keys, open door. Get 1/2 way to the front door. Realise I'm not wearing pants. Run back. Quickly put pants on. Run back. Burst through front door into stairwell. Stand next to roommates in stairwell. Assume it'll be quick. Wait until siren stops. BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.Watch the faces of the Israelis go pale. Run with them down the stairs to the shelter in the basement. Gather with other Americans there. Wait 2 minutes. Walk back upstairs to apartment. Facebook post. Call friends and make sure they're ok. Skype with best friend from Carlisle. Talk for 30 seconds about how fucking scary it is to hear explosio- whoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. Turn laptop towards window so she can watch. Make sarcastic remark. Run down stairs into basement shelter. Wait 2 minutes. Return back to room. Chat with best friend who's now also freaking out for a minute. Tell her about now probably defunct birthday plans. Try to hide the shaking from the camera and my voice. Sarcastically get books and prop laptop higher so she can actually see out the window if another sir- whooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. Curse. Curse. Louder curse. Run out of apartment. Stay in stairwell. Listen to siren finish. Tell roommate in Hebrew that I want this to be over. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. Maybe more. I forgot. Wait another few seconds. Come back into room. Now friend is really scared. I'm more than really scared. Try not to show it. Get off skype with her. Facebook chat anyone from home who's online. Spend over an hour trying to calm myself. Finally get heart rate back to normal. Continue watching NCIS. Finish episode. Change to Youtube and watch Rick Mercer. Laugh at his antics at the Canadian National Ballet in Toront- whoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. Fuck. Not. This. Shit. Again. Run out into stairwell. Laugh at neighbours playing guitar during siren. Wait until siren stops. Make joke in Hebrew with neighbours. Wait another minute. Return to room. Call other Americans in the dorms. Go to their room. Smoke nargila. Try to talk out everything that happened. Depress each other even more. Run out of anything to talk about besides war. 11:30. Realise I'm exhausted and need to wake up early to pack. Return to my apartment. Catch up on Facebook notifications. Realise I need to call parents.

You know, I never realised how insignificant problems back home were. Yeah, Hurricane Sandy was bad, and my parents still don't have hot water. But talking to my dad, and trying not to yell at him for complaining about how Perkins and Friday's were closed all week, while I'm sitting here trying not to break down crying from fear. A fear that I've never felt before. A real fear of dying. I understand that being in the middle of a situation is different from hearing/reading about something 6,000 miles away. But, fuck, I've almost died 4 times tonight. I think that trumps the fact that the breakfast at Gus's Diner was crappy. 

Start to wrap up conversation with Dad. Tell him to not worry Mom about this. That I'll be fine. He tells me that if I need anything, to call and let him know and he'll do it. He tells me to keep  saf-whooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.Gotta run, can't talk, bye. Hang up. Run back into stairwell. Curse. In English and Hebrew. Wait for sirens to end. Roommate makes remark about not sleepi-BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM-Whooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.BOOM. BOOM. Walk slowly back into room. Try not to show emotion in front of Israelis. Close door. Sink slowly down like in the movies. Cry. Grab blanket. Snuggle and dream of being home and away from sirens. Away from rockets. Away from war. Away. Not here. Not anywhere within 100 km of war. Not anywhere but home. Beg God to stop this. Stop all of this. Yell. Scream Curse. Nothing. Cry more. Watch alarm clock count up the seconds. Minutes. Time is much slower when you're about to die. Like in the movies. Or in TV shows. The NCIS episode I was watching was a flashback that Gibbs had the moment before he was shot. Right before he died. What irony. Slowly crawl into bed and hope that somehow I get a few hours of sleep. And guess what? Whooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

BOOM.

בתיאבון!

I write to you now on a full and happy stomach. Something that I rarely get from cafeteria food at Dickinson. I just returned from Kapiyot (כפיות), what you would consider the cafeteria on campus. While BGU has no meal plan, it has plenty of options to engorge yourself on delicious cuisine. And it's generally healthy. Generally. There are two eateries in the בית הסטודנט (Student House/Centre), a dairy option which has pastries, salads, and sandwiches, and Kapiyot, the meat kitchen. It's served on a buffet line, and you have a choice of salads that you pile high on one plate to get as much as possible, then a choice of entrees. They vary slightly day-to-day, but today's choices were chicken (coated in a delicious sauce, grilled), beef stew, and a fish entree. You also get a side, which today was either couscous or something else that I didn't look at because I saw couscous, which I still forget to call פצפצים, but oh well, it's too delicious to worry about. You get all of that, which is piled on a plate that Americans would consider a lot of food, for just ₪23 (a bit under $6)! I think Drinkinson's cafeteria needs to take some notes and serve delicious food more often and not for $14... Not that I would ever say that the KOVE is bad, because it's the saving grace of the Caf.

That's not the only place to eat on campus (thank god. If it was, I'd be much fatter...). My favourite place to eat is דללי (Delali), a Middle Eastern grill, which serves up breakfast foods, like Shakshuka (₪10 before 11AM, awesome), as well as other delicious things like Shwarma, Hummus, Falafel, Hummus, Shnitzel, Hummus, and other things, like hummus. Did I mention there was hummus in Israel? Cause there is a bit. Anyway, I think the only way I survived Ulpan was by getting Shakshuka during our 1/2 hour break and devouring it in front of everyone in class. And when the Germans would make fun of me, I'd ask them where their delicious food was. Ha. America 1, Germany 0. There are also a lot of Daily! coffee stands which sell pastries, disgustingly buttery chocolate croissants (uhhhhhhhhhhhh), and sandwiches, as well as some that sell bagels and giant salads.

But, if I'm feeling adventurous, or happen to be in Building 90 (where all of our classes are), I can walk right outside the gate and grab a shnitzel sandwich at Shnitzeleh. I've been there so much, I have a frequent customer card, which is getting tantalisingly close to that free sandwich (buy 9 get one). Bee-tee-dubs, shnitzel, for those of you who live under a rock, is fried chicken breast, and at Shnitzeleh, they have a Spanish sandwich which, on the scale of deliciousness, is slightly under orgasmic. There are plenty of other restaurants close to campus, but those are more sit-down, dinner places, like Little India (הודו הקטן), Zygota (זיגוטה), Abu Dhabi Hummus, and more.

As of right now, besides Sarah, and sometimes Adi, the food is going to be the thing I miss the most when I go back to Carlizzle. Until then, I'm gorging myself. (Relax, Mom.) And maybe I'll bring back some recipes and make them for Big Daddy. And maybe some friends. Maybe. (Since you wanted a shout-out, hi Danielle) Until then, בתיאבון!

Halftime Report

Wow. Almost halfway. ½ of the semester gone and done. And classes haven’t even really started yet. It seems like yesterday I stumbled, exhausted off of El Al flight 002 and made it down to Be’er Sheva.

And I’ve done so much in such a short time that I never would have done in Carlisle. I’ve been close to every border Israel shares with its neighbours; our first weekend in Eilat,

Courtesy Youval Yadlin

 the two trips I’ve taken in the Golan Heights,

staying at the random Israeli guy’s kibbutz next to Lebanon.

I’ve been twice to this nation’s largest city, Tel Aviv, and have barely seen part of it.

I’ve spent a holiday in the holiest city to three major religions, Jerusalem, and experienced Rosh Hashanah at the Western Wall of the Holy Temple.

I’ve hiked in the world’s largest Machtesh, the Hebrew word whose closest English translation is crater, and seen more stars and galaxies than I have ever seen before.

also courtesy Youval Yadlin

I’ve stayed in two kibbutzim, a strange socialistic society that makes my capitalist mind go crazy.

courtesy Melanie Stanek

I spent 6 weeks in an intensive Hebrew language immersion program, and am now able to have conversations with Israelis in their language.

I’ve had a whole apartment basically to myself, with a strange roommate coming and going and making the place messier each time.

I’ve met amazing and interesting people from around the world that I’ve eaten with, shopped with, travelled with, and learned with.

I’ve learned to cook and have started experimenting with moredifficult entrees, from Shakshuka to Mediterranean veggie sandwiches (which ended up being just an appetizer).

And after doing all of that, there’s still so much more that I want to accomplish before leaving here.

I’ve barely scratched the list of places I want to go and things I want to see; I still haven’t stepped foot in Haifa, the third largest city in Israel. I want to be able to have more complicated conversations and learn more things in Hebrew. I want to meet more Israelis and learn how their lives are different from mine in America. I want to cook more and bring back some Middle Eastern recipes so I can make my Dad something he’s never had before, and maybe he’ll like it. I want to have my classes start, because so far I actually like all of my classes. I especially want to not only continue learning Hebrew, but I want to excel in my new class, Elementary Spoken Arabic with a Palestinian Dialect. I want to make more friends here, and deepen the relationships that I’ve made so far. I want to actually finish my backpacking trip in the Golan, and hopefully do another. On a deeper note, I want to come back to the states different, in a good way. I want to be more organised, to be more outgoing, to get my life on a track leading somewhere good, and so much more. I hope to finally lose some weight, and I think I’ve already started, considering my shorts are starting to get to small on me. I hope to be able to do all of these things and more, and even if I don’t get to complete all of them, I want to at least make the effort. And I know I can.

It’s October. Nights are starting to finally cool down into the high 60’s and low 70’s. I’m not sure how I’m going to adjust back to winter in the states, considering the temperature is still 95 in Be’er Sheva during the day. All of the major holidays are over, meaning I don’t have any more crazy, two week vacations until the end of the semester, something I’m sure to regret in November. I’m a month and 10 days from my 20^th birthday. All of this and more is sure to happen in the coming 3 months. And sooner than I will expect, I’ll be back in Carlisle, with only 3 semesters left. Now that is something I don’t want to think about just yet. No, I’m just going to keep focused on making the best out of my time here, and enjoy every second in the holy land, Israel.

 Also, I’m growing a goatee. Again.

Holidays in Jerusalem and Travels in the Golan

     Eventful. Interesting. Different. Good/politically correct words to describe my Rosh Hashanah holiday and preceding weekend. I’m not saying it wasn’t an awesome weekend with fun and interesting things, but it certainly had its strange and odd moments. As I describe most anything I’ve experienced thus far this semester, “It’s Israel”.

     Every Monday night, many OSP students walk over to שכונה ד' (Dalet Neighbourhood) to the home of the Beer Sheva (B7) chapter of the Jeff Seidel Group, a group led by the group’s namesake from his office in the Old City of Jerusalem (Jlem) for American and Western Jewish students who study in Israel to come and learn more about Judaism and Israeli Jews. And eat free food. That’s the more important thing. Always. So every Monday, we go to Alexander Yannai 22, eat food, and talk about Jew stuff. And a few weeks into the semester, we were told that Jeff Seidel was having a Shabbaton in רמת הגולן (The Golan Heights) the weekend before Rosh Hashanah for only ₪ 140 ($35). So I signed up and got excited. Then I was told about a place in the Old City of Jerusalem that I could spend the holiday itself. So I got double excited. And the night before the trip, I got drunk. Whoops…

The entrance to the Moshav's Guest Houses

Post-drinking relaxation.

View from right outside of my house.

The park between the Guest Houses and the Moshav.

More park.

Looking southwest towards the Kinneret

Wind Turbines across Road 98.

     That was basically a pretty accurate segway into the weekend. We left B7 at 0545 on Friday the 14^th after walking across campus to catch the minibus, and got to Katsrin, the capital of the Israeli Golan region at 0930. And where’s the best place to go with a hangover? Yep, a winery. And where’s the best place to go with a hangover and right after being at a winery? Yep, rafting. The Golan Heights Winery was cool and I actually learned a few things about wine. And the rafting was awesome. The water was freezing, which after spending a month and a half in the 100 degree B7 weather was a welcomed relief. Fun was had by all in the boat, even the guy who fell out halfway through and got picked up by a boat of random Israelis, I think. After rafting and lunch, we drove east to moshav Alonei HaBashan, the easternmost moshav in Israel. We found out how far east it was on Saturday when we hiked up the eastern hills about 700 meters and found ourselves faced with the UN Buffer Zone and the Syrian border. The views both into Syria and back into Israel were amazing, and made one of my friends say she wants to move to Israel. For the views, I’m just as tempted. Other than the hike, the day and a half at Alonei HaBashan was spent with both the B7 group, and a group of about 50 people from the Jeff Seidel group at Hebrew U in Jlem, as well as Jeff Seidel himself and his son. They were certainly an interesting duo, and I could write an entire post about them, or talk to someone for over an hour on them, but I won’t bore you more than I already have.

     So after the weekend in the Golan was over, everyone went back to their respective schools, except me. I took the bus back to Hebrew U and got a ride from Mt. Scopus into the Old City by JSeids. He dropped me off in the Armenian Quarter just inside the Jaffa Gate. I walked about 2 minutes into the city and arrived at my residence for the next 3 days, the Heritage House. Basically, the Heritage is two buildings (men’s house and women’s house) in the Old City for young Jewish people to experience life in the Old City when they are either travelling, backpacking, or on leave from the IDF. And the best part: it’s free. So I got to spend Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, in the Old City of Jerusalem, 5 minutes from the Western Wall and the Temple Mount, for free. I’d say that’s a pretty damn good deal. The house is run by Rabbi Ben Packer, who works at Aish HaTorah, an Orthodox Zionist yeshiva (school) located across from the Western Wall. So during the holiday, we went to Aish and had services overlooking הכותל המערבי (The Western Wall in Hebrew). After each service, we were brought to the Wall Plaza where Jeffy would split us up into groups and send us off to different houses in the Old City and we would eat meals with the families and experience the holiday as they did. I got to eat with an Orthodox family who came to the Old City from the US about 30 years ago. There were a bunch of people there, from a recent convert from Indiana to a group of El Salvadorians, one of which looked like she came right out of a Telenovela, to some students at Aish and at other Yeshivas in the Old City, to me. Another family I ate with was a mixed Israeli-British family, where the grandfather was right out of Manchester and the youngest kids only spoke Hebrew. That night was odd, not because of the family, but because of Crazy Mike, a well-known crazy religious convert who lives in the Old City and always comes for free meals, because he doesn’t have a job or much of a life outside of yelling at anyone for not being as crazy religious as he is, or for being Arab, which surprisingly hasn’t gotten him stabbed yet. And the third family was a modern Orthodox mixed American-Israeli family living about a block away from the wall, who were very friendly and very interested in my time at B7, and like most Israelis, their first question after I said I was in B7 for 6 months was “Why?”

     The whole experience of spending the High Holidays in the Old City was a very moving one and a really different and interesting experience. And the Jeff Seidel trip was plain interesting. But it also made me want to switch hikes, and hike the Golan trail over this upcoming Sukkot break (27 Sept to 7 Oct).

Jaffa Gate of the Old City

Entrance to the House.

Holiday schedule.

I was only able to snap this pic because it was Rosh Hashanah
and you're not supposed to use electronics. Oh well.

Favourite name of a restaurant. This one was right by the Kotel.

The House is on this street. This was taken by the Cardo.

Right down the street from the Heritage House.

I Hope That's Just a Car Alarm...

     Today was number 2. But it wasn't any easier. They said afterwards that it was a false, nothing to worry about. But can you not? It's a rocket for heaven's sake. Flying at you aiming to kill you. And when you hear that siren, you have 1 minute. 1 minute to stop what you're doing. 1 minute to run to a shelter. 1 minute to get in a building, or into a low lying area. 1 minute to live.

     Today was number 2. Number 1 came at 2:00 AM on Saturday night. For some reason or another, I was awake. And sitting next to an open window. I heard it. And I did what any sane individual would do when hearing a rocket siren for the first time. Freak out. And I forgot my keys and was locked in the apartment, had to run back, got them, then couldn't calm my hands enough to open the door. I got the door open and ran downstairs. Luckily there's a shelter at the bottom of the stairs. And I ran in there an stayed for about 5 minutes with some of the Germans from my class. And we left. And everything was alright. We didn't know what was going on, but we were alright. It was only around 2:45 that the story broke. 1 rocket had fallen in the desert surrounding Beer Sheva. But in Netivot, about halfway between Beer Sheva and Gaza, a house was struck. Luckily the man living there woke up halfway through the alarm and was able to move to the bathroom just in time to save his life. Talk about a close call.

     Today was number 2. September 11th. Not a good coincidence. I was sitting on my friend's balcony having a beer with him and another friend. And we finished our discussion on how surprised we were that there weren't any more rocket attacks recently, given the retaliation attacks from the IDF and IAF. And the discussion had moved to hilarious YouTube videos about learning a new language, when the alarms went off. We dropped everything except our beers and ran. Out of his apartment and down to the fourth floor, where there's supposed to be a shelter. But there are illegal tenants living in the shelters in his apartment. So nobody can get in there. NOT cool. But we stayed in the east-side stairwell for a minute or two, complained about the shelters, and went back upstairs to the balcony. My friend posed a good question afterwards, "At what point does this not make your heart stop when that siren starts going off?" I hope not soon.

     That leaves me with the question of why the hell am I writing this post at 6 AM the morning of my Ulpan exam. Around 5:15, I was deep in the middle of a decent dream, when I thought I heard sirens in my dream. I ignored them at first, but a few seconds later panicked, woke up, and ran for the stairwell. After 5 minutes of nobody else being out there, I realised that I didn't actually hear anything. Which is a relief. And also not a relief. A relief in the sense of there was no reason to run, but at least I know I'm ready. Not a relief in the sense of is this going to happen every night a rocket comes? It's approaching the New Year, Rosh Hashanah, in Israel, and everyone prepares by donating a little extra to charity. Though, I think the Gazans could do with a bit less donating of their time and rockets this holiday season. שנה טובה...

It's Really Been One Month?!

     I mentioned in a previous post about how far behind I was on the blog. I don't even think it's worth mentioning how far behind I am now... However, for the 10 of you reading this, here we go again:

     The last time I wrote a post, I had been here for just over a week and a half, and I was still on the "Holy shit, I'm in Israel" high that study abroad students get when they travel to their destinations. Well, after being here just shy of a month, I can tell you with certainty that there is a balance. For everything. And at that point, I was still at the "I love everything, even if it's not the best" side of the scale. I was told by Dickinson's Global Ed (Study Abroad) Office that I would go through a few mood swings throughout the semester, usually starting a bit past the 1 month mark. They lied. It was week 3. At some point in that week, the balance tipped. Hard. And I may have written something a bit too extreme about the dorms. Even though some of it was true. And I may have sulked in my empty apartment for a few days and found reasons to hate most of everything. But I've been working hard these past few days trying to balance everything and find the middle ground. And I think it's working. And I hope it stays that way for a while. Let me try to bypass the boring, emotional crap and tell you what's been happening out here in באר שבע.

     I left you with my story leading up to around the middle (האמצע של אוגוסט) of August. Since then, I've done more things than you can shake a cactus at. But who wants to shake a cactus? Although, I do know someone who loves Sabra (Hi Chloe). Anyway, in the week of my last post, I joined an organisation for American students studying abroad in Israel called the Jeff Seidel Organisation. It's a group found at Universities across Israel where American students can hang out at a house (Alexander Yannai 22) and hang out with fellow Murican-speakers and learn about Jewish culture here in the holy land. It meets every Monday and has other lectures and meetings throughout the semester. But the best part is the scholarship. Cause, who doesn't love free money? Jeff Seidel has 3 different scholarships, the largest being $300, to any student who comes to all of his events while in Israel. So that's where you'll find me on Monday nights. Also, the group has trips for University students to different places during the semester. Which is where you'll find me come the 13^th and 14^th of September, when I hop on the 5AM northbound bus (that'll be interesting) to רמת הגולן (the Golan Heights) for a Kayaking Trip down the Jordan River (more like a creek, or crick for Carlislians).

     Speaking of places that aren't באר שבע, on Friday the 17^th, the group took a bus an hour to the northwest to the Dunes at Nitzanim. Which, I discovered, isn't the best thing to do hungover at 630 AM. But, as I was re-told today, your bed will always be there, adventure and new experiences won't. So I dragged my ass out of bed and went for a hike. Walking on sand barefoot is a challenge. Walking on sand wearing hiking boots going up and down dunes, absolute hell. Did I mention I was hungover? After hiking for about 30 minutes, our guide had us stop and rest under a tree. And he explained to us about naturalised trees. Which was strange, until he told us that we were sitting under a fig tree brought to the area by Bedouin tribes in the late 19^th century. We all grabbed at least one (I took 3. Walking makes me hungry) and enjoyed some fresh figs. Then we made the final 15 minute trek across two more giant dunes, rolled down the sand, and were looking out at the Mediterranean. The approach to the sea reminded me of Petra, waking through the canyon and seeing the Treasury building emerge from between the rocks, we walked between two dunes and the blue sea emerged and spread across the horizon. The best part of it was, I've never been in the Mediterranean Sea before. Even when I was in Israel back in 2008, and stayed in a תל אביב hotel on the beach, I never stepped foot in those waters. So it was a special trip. Until I left my shoes in the parking lot. That was a bitch. And that may have been the start of my bad mood. But I'm not 100%.

The start of those miserably gorgeous dunes.

If you look closely in the center, you can see אשקלון (Ashkelon) in the background.

The sea is taunting us...

So much sand...

It's getting closer

Fig break

Thar she blows, or waves. Sea what I did there?

That hat and that shirt...

Such a good reward

Contemplative and sweaty

Contemplative and sweaty, portrait style

When I got back that weekend, I had Shabbat dinner in Shoshana's room with her, Chloe, Ilana, and Shoshana's Austrian roommate Cherry. And the next morning, I barely woke up in time (1130) to walk over to Rakefet's (one of the Jeff Seidel women) apartment for Shabbat Lunch. Both meals were delicious and a good break from eating out. You see, Ben Gurion doesn't have any meal plan whatsoever, so Dickinson credited my account with some amount of money, and that's basically my meal plan: don't run out of the credit by the end of the semester. And I've been enjoying the freedom to eat anywhere. Much better than 4 options in Carlisle.

More about Ulpan (אולפן): Remember how I said I switched down from High Advanced to Low Advanced (מדלת לגימל)? Best decision of Israel, besides every other awesome decision, but hey… It's not really what I was expecting, but I'm still learning a lot. I was really hoping to learn more practical Hebrew first, like ordering in restaurants, or shopping, or telling the bus driver that you want ₪50 worth of rides without having to say it in broken Hebrish and have him yell at me then not even bother to try. That would have been helpful. But I guess the routine of reading and translating a story from 20 years ago, writing dialogues, answering questions, then taking a test, is helping … maybe? Although I had a great "a-ha" moment this weekend in Jerusalem (which I'll mention in another post) when everyone else at the table ordered dinner in English, and when I ordered in Hebrew, the waitress was so shocked, she gave me an extra coke for free J So I’m getting there, and one of these days I’ll be able to write one of these posts entirely בעברית without using Google Translate, just to mess with all of you.

     So, for now, I’m doing alright. Cause, how can I complain? I’m in Israel. For 5 months! And I’m in the process of planning a trip to Europe either in October or January. I will leave you with something I got from one of the Jeff Seidel meetings that I now carry around with me in my wallet, behind my “Frequent Customer Card” from the Schnitzel place behind campus:

“To realise the value of ONE YEAR

Ask a student who has failed his exam.

To realise the value of ONE MONTH

Ask a mother who has given birth to a premature baby.

To realise the value of ONE WEEK

As the editor of a weekly newspaper.

To realise the value of ONE DAY

Ask a daily wage labourer who has 5 kids to feed.

To realise the value of ONE HOUR

Ask those waiting for a loved one in surgery.

To realise the value of ONE MINUTE

Ask the person who missed the train.

To realise the value of ONE SECOND

Ask the person who has survived a car accident.

To realise the value of ONE MILLISECOND

Ask the silver medallist from the Olympics.