Imagining the Future is a kind of Nostalgia

(The title of today's blogpost is not from my head, but from author John Green's head, or more specifically his wife's head apparently.)

The following are the thoughts I scribbled in my notebook as I sat by the beach for the last time today:

As I was walking down Arlozorov Street, I was thinking of StarKid, this musical theater production company that put on a Very Potter Musical, A Very Potter Sequel, Me and My Dick, and just recently, Starship.  StarKid is a group of college friends that started this production company together in L.A. (or Chicago?  Must check which one, I have heard both).  I was thinking how freaking awesome it was that this group of normal, non-celebrity type performers had enough determination to procure the resources and means to do something this cool on their own.  Then it occured to me that being given the opportunity to do something on your own is sort of what Walkabout is for.  I had a little moment of self-satisfaction as I walked down Arlozorov in the stifling Israeli heat, full after eating a falafel pita alongside Ayelet at the Berensteins' store, because I felt that I was just as cool as the StarKid people.  (The fact that I believe a group of nerdy theater kids who wrote a very smart, witty musical paroding Harry Potter, one of my favorite book series, and are now continuing to write such silly musicals as Me and My Dick (all about high school romances) and Starship (hero is Bug from BugWorld) should say something about my definition of the word 'cool'.)

I realized the difference between myself and people like the StarKid production company is that while I certainly take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way, these guys make their own opportunities.  And maybe I do that to some extent, but I think what this entire Walkabout experience has taught me - CCT included - is that awesome things and meaningful experiences exist in the universe, but it's up to me to make/take the opportunities to discover them.

I used to believe that when it came to helping people less fortunate than myself, if I had the ability to help, I had the responsibility to help.  Now I believe that about increasing the awesome in the world.  If I CAN create, then I SHOULD create.  I think what I would regret the most about my life at the end of it is if I looked back at all the times I could have been doing something really cool and awesome to help people (directly or indirectly) and instead found that I had wasted my time caring about things that didn't matter, or sat on my butt wasting my life on Facebook.

Currently I am sitting on a bench just outside the sand of the beach.  I am listening to the most appropriate song for the sea: "Haiti" by Arcade Fire.  It's 3:21 in the afternoon.  Soon, I'll be going back home to Ramat Gan to finish packing.  Soon, but not now.

I will miss my freedom and I will miss this country, as warped and twisted and contradictory as it is.  I am ready to go home now, but I know my love affair with Israel is far from over.

"Haiti" by Arcade Fire 
Your Gateway into the Magical World of StarKid 

My Last Camera Party

Three days.  Here are some pictures you haven't seen before.

One of my favorite winter pictures.  Moda'in.

Nicole, one of the students at La Escuelita, puts on lipstick for Purim.  Tel Aviv.

Lod.

Danielle, one of the part-time volunteers for Sadaka, is running a theater workshop with Ro'ee (not pictured).  Bat Yam.

One of the students in the theater workshop.  Bat Yam.

One of the students in the theater workshop.  Bat Yam.

Yotam leads his critical thinking/writing workshop.  Bat Yam.

Diran and Samer at the youth group meeting for Sadaka.  Yafo.

Yafo.

A monster and Ortal.  Kfar Saba.

Someone who manages to transform any picture into a hideous nightmare and the always beautiful Ortal.  Kfar Saba.

The view from Rina and Avraham's apartment, where I stayed during Passover.  Ashkelon.

Rina, my adopted grandmother person.  Ashkelon.

A neighborhood in which religious Jews are given permission to evict the Arabs that live there.  Jerusalem.

A wider shot of a previous photo.  The Negev.

I climbed that.  All of that.  And you can't see how far down it goes.  But it goes down pretty far.  The Negev.

 

What?

I awoke this morning to a siren going off.  Today is Holocaust Day in Israel, and the day is dedicated to remembering the Holocaust and holding ceremonies and memorials for it.  The siren is supposed to stop whatever everyone's doing and stand all together as a country for a moment of silence.

Outside the apartment window, however, the construction raged on.  I have a feeling this is because most of the construction workers are Arab.

I think days like these are important especially for younger kids so that the significance and terror of the event is never lost on incoming generations.  Holocaust Day is followed by Memorial Day and then Independence Day in Israel.  Memorial Day and Independence Day are next week, though, so I won't be here for those events.  Because Israel is such a smaller country with such a bloodier history and a very real sense of brotherhood, Memorial Day here means a lot more than Memorial Day does in the States.  I mean, Memorial Day for us is a chance to have sales at Macy's.  Here in Israel two sirens go off - one in the morning and one in the evening, and everyone is supposed to just stop what they're doing, even if they're driving.  I know there are ceremonies in the States especially among veterans, but it's nothing that wide-spread.

In other news, I'm leaving in less than five days.  Every time I think about leaving I grow more and more anxious.  Maybe it's because of all the flight stuff (can I check in the night before in an international flight?  How early should I get to the airport?  I know I am leaving on my Israeli passport, but what if they stop me because of army crap?  I can't leave on my American, but they'll know I am American when they start jammering away in Hebrew and I only catch about 80% of it), or maybe it's because I have been here for so long that it's almost inconceivable for me to be leaving.

Yesterday I went to the supermarket to buy ingredients for the dinner I was making for my Uncle people.  I always check out with the same Russian woman every time I go to that market, and yesterday I found out her name was Svetlana.  Goodbye, Svetlana.

Maybe a part of me doesn't want this trip to be over, and maybe a part of me is really excited that it is coming to an end.  Alon thinks that I am mixing my excitement to be going home with the pool of anxiety I always have at my disposal.  He's probably right.  Yesterday he was explaining to his niece that whenever I'm in a transitional phase, I get really anxious.  I thought it was really hilarious that he knew that.  He should have - I've stayed with him and Udi for the past two and a half months, and during those months I have gone through several transitional phases.

I am feeling some of the same emotions as I did the first couple days I was here - panicky, on edge, hyper aware of the differences between me and the people around me.  I guess these emotions are now stemming from different places.  I'm panicky because I'm about to pack a huge chunk of my life away into my suitcases, board a plane, and have it be over.  I'm on edge because when I get home...what will I do?  Like, I already have plans for the day I get back to spend time with my family and my friends, but...how am I going to spend my time?  It'll be the same strange experience as when I got here - everyone already has their schedule, and I'll have to readjust to find mine.  On the last note, I guess now I'm more hyper aware of the similarities of the people around me and myself.  I hope when I get to baggage claim in Columbus I'm not super pushy like the Israelis have taught me to be.  Yesterday I was on the bus and sitting in the aisle seat while the window seat was free, and when someone came to sit there, instead of a normal human American, I didn't scoot over to the window, I let him climb over me.  I was slightly ashamed of myself.

Today I'm taking the train into Kfar Saba one last time to say goodbye to everyone.  Because of foot injuries from magic communes, I had to change my plans a bit this weekend.  I couldn't go to Nazareth as I had planned/wanted to, but it also turned out that Diran couldn't go either, so I didn't feel so terrible.  I plan the next three days to be spent at the commune or at the Sadaka offices, and then Friday I already made Alon and Udi swear to me that in the afternoon before we leave for the airport, we're going to watch A Town Called Panic, that silly French movie that Amy showed us in her class this past semester.  As I was describing the movie, I talked about how surprised Amy and the rest of the class was when we were watching it, and I felt like classes at Graham (I have literally forgotten all my French, which is promising) was so disconnected from where I was then.  I mean, standing in the doorway of my Uncle people's room, explaining the premise of the movie to Alon, in Ramat Gan, which is East of Tel Aviv, which is on the shore of Israel, which is a Middle Eastern country on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea, which is south of Europe, which is East of America - I felt like thinking of the amber-lit French room at Graham was like thinking into a past life.  It's going to be so weird to go back.

I guess that's what I'm most anxious about.  I am sooooooooooooooooo excited to see my parents and my brother and my friends again, but what I'm most afraid of is trying to adjust to the two separate lives I have experienced this year.  I know that presenting the Walkabout to the students and the parents and all of the process of graduating will bring it together a bit more in my mind, but right now they're so separate.  If it wasn't for journaling, I would think I had already graduated.

I had put a jazz CD on while I made my coffee this morning, and the song that just came on is Mood Indigo by Duke Ellington's band.  It's such a soothing song and I feel like it came on at just the right time.  (Seriously - in a tizzy?  Listen to Mood Indigo.)

Yotam asked me yesterday, "What are you going to do on your last few days here in the country?" and I said, "Not think about the fact that it's my last few days in the country lest I dissolve into a puddle of anxiety attack."  I may have scared him, I don't know.

My next blog post will be much more frenzied, as it will be on Thursday, the night before I'm leaving.  I can't wait to see everyone again.

Saying Goodbye to my Childhood for now and Commune Magic Fun Time

On Monday I spent the day with my uncle and his Norweigan friends again (the same Norweigan friends we went into the desert with).  We basically roamed Yafo for the entire day.  Because it was Easter (I COMPLETELY forgot), there were all these parades and festivals going on.  I would say that most of the Arabs that are living in Yafo are Christian.  There are all these small religious Arab Christian schools all over the country, and so youth groups from these schools came together to Yafo to march and play music.  Weirdest thing ever?  Seeing a bunch of young Arab kids wearing kilts and playing the bagpipes (these kids are from the Scottish Christian school).

On Tuesday I spent the day in Pardes Hana.  This was going to be my last time seeing the town I lived in as a child before I return to the states.  Most of my time was with the Berensteins (that enormous family that all babysat me and is still living in Pardes Hana).  David, the only son in the family, had just gotten back from an eight-month long trip in Central and South America with his friend, Baruch.  It's very typical for Israelis to go to South America for a year or so traveling after they get released from the army, which is exactly what David and Baruch did.  Just when David got back, he started getting harassed by the army to enlist in reserve duty.  Apparently that had been a source of great stress in the entire family.  David is the only one who actually did the army (my mother calls their family the Draft Dodgers), and when he did enlist, everyone was shocked/disappointed.  David finally decided that he wasn't going to do the reserve forces, that he was going to try to get out of it somehow.  His sisters are all very proud of him.  I ended up interviewing Ayelet, Miriam, David, and Baruch about the conflict.  I have to say it was my favorite interview so far.  Maybe it's because I know them really well and I love their group dynamic, but I felt like they weren't holding back and were saying very flatly realistic things.  I'd already interviewed people who were sticking with the opposition no matter what happens, and people who are sticking with Israel no matter what happens, but the Berensteins were the first people that I interviewed that had a basic attitude of, "Screw it, we're out of here."  I don't think they'll ever actually leave, but nevertheless their interview was as funny as it was interesting.  Everyone made really great points.

I saw one of my mother's other friends who has known me for years and years that day, and then on Wednesday, my mom's friend Shulamit and I finished our banking stuff for the final time.  We were quiet as she drove me to the train station.  I don't feel sad or anything, and maybe that's because I haven't quite figured out how I feel about the whole 'home' situation, but I do know that years from now I can come back to Pardes Hana and still have the same feelings.  Maybe I'm jinxing it, but I can't imagine Pardes Hana without eucalyptus trees, hippies (ha), or the Berensteins.  I know eventually and probably people will move around, but the same feelings will always exist when I go back - that will never change.

On Tuesday night, I was online and put up a status on Facebook that I was going to be home next week.  Mahmoud, one of the commune guys, read it and then promptly organized a 'party' at the commune for me.  The adorable thing was he didn't exactly let any of the other commune guys know, so when I showed up at the offices yesterday afternoon, everyone gave me a big hug and a smile, but had NO idea what I was talking about when I mentioned a party.  No one seemed to have an issue with it, but Mahmoud did not seem to think it important to let anyone else know.

The commune kids and other members of Sadaka-Reut were meeting with this Anti-Fascist group from Cologne, Germany.  I wasn't at the meeting (I was writing my second article about racism in Israel), but I did go to dinner with everyone after.  The Germans were really cool and really interested in Sadaka.  They're doing a tour of the middle east to learn more about fascism.  I think the fact that they chose to visit Israel should say something.  We had dinner with them in the same Bulgarian restaurant that I had lunch with the commune kids when I first met them.  I only realized then how happy I am that I am friends with them.

The soccer game between Madrid and Barcelona was that night, and Samer went over to my mentor Hana's house to watch it, while Ro'ee, Mahmoud, and Yotam and I stayed in the commune to watch it.  We lost interest very quickly and instead put on Inglorious Basterds.  Eventually we got bored with that as well (I know, impossible), and when Samer came back, we played a rousing round of hide-and-seek in the dark.  This was just a recipe for disaster what with my drowsiness and giddiness, and I ended up slamming my foot up against something as I tried to beat Ro'ee to our base.  Foot injuries seem to be abundant lately.  The best thing is that it was the SAME FOOT AS LAST TIME.  I woke up this morning and my foot was so swollen and sore it was hard to walk on it.

I really regret not pushing to live in the commune more.  I think the combination of my not really knowing the boys very well as well as (I'm being completely honest here) the messiness kind of turned me off of it.  Now, I feel very comfortable around all of them, and I guess they must have grown tired of stewing in their own filth (ha), because when we got to the apartment after dinner last night IT WAS CLEAN!!!  WOOOOOOOOOOO!  I was so proud of them.

I'm going to spend a couple nights there next week before I leave.  Apparently, the five of us plus Diran are supposed to go to Nazareth on Saturday, which should be AWESOME.  The details still need to be ironed out.  In general I just wish I could spend more time with them.  I'm glad I'm going home just on the I-miss-everyone-there level, but I do want the chance to spend more time and get even closer to these guys.  They're all goofballs.

Everything's wrapping up, and this weekend I'll be seeing my people in Moda'in and Kfar Saba for the last time before I leave.  At the same time, I'm working on the collection of interviews I have as well as the articles for Sadaka.  I think I'm going to end up finishing them in Columbus, but it's looking really awesome.  I'm very excited to be able to hand out copies of both to people in Columbus and send them to Sadaka and everyone I interviewed.  It will be a very tangible and physical way of validating my time here, even though I know I don't need a paper to do that.

The Negev + Camera Party

Weird storm clouds over the Negev?

On Friday ten people went into the Negev.  Udi, Alon, and I were in one car.  In the second car was one of Udi's best friends - Tal, and her daughter, Tara (13), Tal's Norweigan boyfriend, Niels, and his two daughters, Maria (14) and Johanna (9).  In the last car was Roni, a good friend of Udi's and my parents, and his girlfriend Elin.  These ten brave souls had lunch in a Bedouin restaurant (Bedouin pita, labane, and za'atar with chile - BEST EVER??), then drove a bit longer to park off the side of the road in the middle of nowhere with a single path mark leading into a ravine where they would be climbing/hiking for the next three hours.

I love the Negev so much.  It's a rocky, barren, empty, mountainous, beautiful place.  When we got there, it was raining (??) but it's Desert rain - even when it touches you it feels absurdly dry.  Regardless, the rain cooled off the desert quite a bit, so it was actually cold while we climbed/camped.  Also, I am a mountain goat.  I can climb any rocky Negev mountain, and I love to do so.  Johanna, who understands English but was too shy to speak it was also a goat - she and I wordlessly bonded as we climbed ahead of the group a good fifteen minutes.

We walk to the ravine.

Doesn't it kind of look like they're all sitting in a mouth?  I climbed up the other side of the ravine to get this picture.

After our hike, we drove to find a campsite.  When I say campsite, I mean a place where there weren't any people and that was relatively flat.  We easily procured this place a good five minute drive beyond the road.  In the distance, we could see the skyline of the nearest town, Arad.  We set up our tents and started the fire.  The wind was kind enough to die down for a couple hours just as we were making/eating dinner, and then it picked up again as we had cake for dessert.  Dessert in the desert.  It was awesome.  Food kind of tastes better when you can't see it (dinner was rice and cooked cabbage, slightly sandy salad, and charred potatoes.  Love it).

While Tara, Johanna, Maria, and I gathered around the fire to warm us up (SO COLD in the desert after the sun sets!!), the three of them taught me some Norweigan (Tara was born in Norway but speaks Hebrew at home with her mother).  It turns out that Norweigan, Swedish, and Danish (so basically, the Scandanavian languages) are all very similar to each other, it's just that they pronounce their words much differently.  To say "what is your name" and "my name is" in Norweigan is practically saying the same thing in Danish, just pronouncing it differently.  I realized as we were talking (in English - Maria and Johanna didn't know Hebrew) that I really didn't know a whole lot about the Scandanavian countries, and I'd like to know more.

Our campsite.  (My own personal tent is the second to the left - the orange one.)

When everyone finally settled into bed around midnight, I curled up in my sleeping bag, listening to the wind rage around us.  It occured to me that even though the Negev is so big and empty, it's emptiness cradles you and comforts you.  I found myself startled at the sound of a car or a barking dog, sounds that would comfort me were I in the city.  You're covered in dust head to toe, but for some reason you've never felt cleaner.

Some camels and their Bedouin herder wandered across our campsite...or their desert...

Tal and the Bedouin herder

After watery coffee and the last of the carrot cake for breakfast this morning, we packed up camp and headed to our second hike of the trip.  This hiking spot was much more touristy and it was PACKED.  The point of this hike was to visit some of the natural pools that occur in the caves and gorges and ravines of the mountains in the Negev.

 The water was EXTREMELY cold.  Today was much hotter than yesterday, though, so it felt really great.  We spent a good hour in one area of the natural pools.  There was a spot where you could climb up and sit above the pool.  After I got my feet wet, I climbed back up and took pictures of the desert around me.  I like the feeling of being physically active, the kind of aches that you get in your legs and arms from climbing as your body groans, satisfied, at being used.

Tara and Maria climb down to our perch.

I'm standing (black shirt and blue shorts) as Niels helps Tara, Johanna, and Maria down into the pool.  Alon is taking the picture from up above at our group's perch.

A little later in our hike, on the path that leads down to the most beautiful spot in the world.

We ate a bit by the first pools and then continued our hike, which included climbing up and then down a huge mountain into a gorge where the most beautiful pool was crowded full of people.  Just before the pool, for some reason, a huge group of families on day trips decided to sit down and eat?  This resulted in our climbing down from the mountain, hot and sweaty only to the smell of garbage and stinky children.  All of the kids were crying, too.  We took off our shoes and socks and waded through a tiny miny pool (and when I say tiny I mean the water went up to your chest) to where the gorge opened up to this beautiful, beautiful, deep pool of cold water.  On the other side of the pool the smooth, white rock dropped off into an enormous cliff, about half the length of the cliff pictured above.  It was like an infinity pool only it was real and not infinity, but it was the same feeling.  Less people were crowded around this pool, because it was much deeper and just beyond it it was much more dangerous.  Out of our group, Roni, Udi, Alon, and I were the only ones who went to this spot.  I think it is probably the most beautiful place in the world.  Even though all my clothes were wet, I was freezing and sweltering at the same time, dust was caked in my hair, and I was hungry, I couldn't help but feel completely at peace.  The same feeling had come over me when I woke up that morning, and I promptly scribbled some thoughts into the journal I carry around with me everywhere.  Here's a snippet:

You fell asleep in a beautiful, silent, windy emptiness.  You wake up and the desert is transformed - the sun has scoured all cracks and corners and blasted them with light.  Where the wind made your sleep almost unbearably cold, now it's pleasantly cool, like a crisp September morning in Columbus, Ohio.  Even though you're full of sand and every part of your body aches from the hike and the night before, with the sun awake happy people who have flourished in the desert, who have awoken wiht the sun and twinkled in its' rays.  And though you should be crabby (you'd like some plumbing and perhaps a back massage), you're not, because the nature (or lack thereof) of the desert and the happy contentedness of your fellow campers ensures that you're not only happy, you're at peace.

After our second hike, we changed into dry clothes and then drove to a park in Arad, one of the most confusing cities I have seen since I've been here.  It's smack dab in the middle of one of the driest deserts ever, but it's blooming with flowers.  I assume there's under-ground irrigation, because otherwise I can't fathom how there is an abundance of trees and colorful flowers in almost every garden.  I digress.  In the park, we laid out any remaining food from the night before (there was a lot of it) and gorged ourselves, which felt really great after two very good physical excursions.  We sat and ate and talked and then rested and had our last cup of watery coffee before saying our goodbyes and making our separate ways - one car to Pardes Hana (I'll be seeing them later this week), one car to a hotel near the Dead Sea, and one car back to Ramat Gan, where I am now showered and un-dusty.  I know I'm leaving in two weeks and I'm very happy about seeing my family and friends again and about graduating and finishing up this wonderful Walkabout process, but that morning as we drove away from our campsite, I realized that the parts of Israel that I connect with most are the parts where I feel most like myself.

Exhausted Sleep Times

Last night an obnoxious and completely childish mosquito kept me up by buzzing in my ear every half hour or so so that I only got about two and a half hours of accumulative sleep, and as we all know, accumulative sleep is the worst kind of sleep, especially if there's only two and a half hours of it.

I woke up at 8:20, got myself ready for a difficult day (soooo tired), and then took the bus to Jerusalem.  Maybe it was because I was so sleep deprived, but for some reason I found myself NOT overanalyzing every possible outcome of the bus travel, NOT freaking out that I didn't know EXACTLY where it was going to drop me off, and NOT panicking at all in general.  I'd like to think that that's me having grown up in the past two months, but it could also have been that horrible mosquito.

I came to Jerusalem today to interview my mother's uncle Rueven Kaminer, who's basically an Israeli-Palestinian conflict scholar.  He's very famous.  Howard Zinn mentioned him in his forward for the People's History of the United States.  (Fun fact: Matan, my mentor from La Escuelita, and Rueven's grandson, translated the People's History of the United States from English to Hebrew.  As in, anyone who's reading the Hebrew copy has only done so because Matan is awesome.)

Rueven made some really interesting points in the interview.  When I asked him what he believed to be the root of the conflict, he said it was ultimately that there were two national movements from two different groups of people pushing for the same tiny piece of land.  In Europe, as consequence of the Diaspora, the Jews were developing Zionism, and the Arab world all around what was then called "The Holy Land" was going through independence movements from whatever Empire they were suffering occupation from at the time.  (Automan...British...who knows?)

After the interview I had lunch with Rueven and his wife Dafna (who is my grandfather's sister) and after a short nap (they napped, I was stupid and for some reason didn't), we went to a very interesting art museum in Jerusalem.  It was a social modern art museum, so their current exhibit was all to do with protest rights.  It was AWESOME.  After that, Rueven showed me some neighborhoods in Jerusalem where Hasidic Jews have somehow managed to get their hands on court orders that the neighborhood houses actually belong to them and not the Arabs that live there.  There was one house we saw where it was literally divided into two - the front room was for the Israelis and the back room was for the Arabs.  HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!  I asked him if there was a lot of violence between the Jews and the Arabs in those neighborhoods and he told me that there have been some occasions, but the police are REALLY diligent in those areas.  After that we had dinner and it was lovely.

Tomorrow Udi and Alon and their friends and I are going to the DESERT to go camping for a night.  I literally know what I am doing for the next two weeks.  Now I'm too exhausted to even digest anything that happened to me today (I helped three loud, slightly ignorant and stupid American college frat boys - it was quite funny.  They didn't know what street they were staying on.  I told them that was probably something they should figure out, and fast.  I also told them not to take a cab, because the cab driver would take one look at these buzzed, Jewish American college boys and charge them like, 50 shekels each to get from one side of Tel Aviv to the other (it should only really cost 50 or 60 tops).).  <--That was a long parentheses.

Rueven gave me a copy of one of the many books he has written on the subject.  It's called The Politics of Protest: The Israeli Peace Movement and the Palestinian Intifada.  I think we already have a copy of it at home.  In either case, I want to find another copy to give to Tom, because I think it'd be really useful to his class on radicalism, even though it's not American radicalism.

Also, in other news, I hate all insects.  Stupid mosquito.  I swear, when he landed on my face and I flipped out and my toe hit the corner of my laptop and now it's BLOODIED AND THE TOE NAIL IS RIPPED, I could HEAR THE MOSQUITO LAUGHING AT ME.

Sleep....

Passover in Israel

On Monday I woke up early to catch the train to the South before the massive onslaught of people rushed towards public transportation.  Yesterday was Erev Hag (the evening before the holiday officially starts), so public transportation stops in the afternoon.  I was advised to catch my train early to make sure I wouldn't be smooshed between thousands of people.


I got into Ashkelon around 11:00 and I waited for Rina, my adopted Israeli grandmother (as in she was my dad's host mother when HE was doing Arab-Jewish relation work stuff, and I have known her since I was tiny and she is all grandmotherly to me) to pick me up.  And she did and then we went back to her apartment which I remember from when I was very little (the balcony overlooks the SEEEAAAA) where we had coffee and pieces of cheesecake and chatted and it was lovely.


For Passover, Jews do this marvelously boring and torturous tradition called the Seder, where you read from a book called the Hagadah all about, you know, ye olde Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt.  I realized that it's really not a fun holiday, Passover, especially for people who are religious - the stress level is high in the days leading up to Erev Hag.  Because the Israelites left Egypt in such a rush, they didn't have time to let the dough for the bread rise, and thus matzah was born, this gross, salty unleavened bread.  So, to commemorate the hard work and toil our ancestors went through, Jews are technically not supposed to eat leavened bread for a week, so this includes completely cleaning every nook and cranny of your house for any kind of leavened bread crumbs.  It's quite stressful.


OBVIOUSLY this is not something my particular family does - not eat bread for a whole week/clean out our entire house.  But we do a cripplingly long Seder, and it's always the same feeling - prayer after prayer after prayer - now you dip the parsley in the saltwater, eat the egg now children, matzah with charoset, matzah with maror, opening the door for Eliyahu, three cups of wine, the ten plagues (one drop of wine on your plate for each one), and then FINALLY after a rousing chorus of Dayenu, you get to EAT!


Rina and her husband Avraham and I went to Avraham's daughter's house for the Seder, and their Seder was faster than my family's, which I found terribly impressive.  The food was amazing, and it was a perfect spring evening in Israel - it had been unbearably hot that day, but it had cooled off to a dry heat with a cool breeze.


At the beginning of the Seder I was feeling very lonely and homesick - maybe it was because all of the sudden there were thirty new people I had to meet and I was the only one who didn't know everyone else and it all reminded me a lot of my family.  Seven weeks is a long time, and it was made worse by the fact that I had spoken to my parents that day earlier and they were in Virginia doing Passover with my dad's side of the family.  I felt strange, especially when I talked to my cousin, knowing that I'd be doing something differently than them this year.


But as I was sitting and trying to follow along with the Hebrew of the Seder (I could understand a lot more than I thought I could, and definitely more if I just sat and listened than tried to read), I realized that whenever I was feeling lonely and homesick and panicked and sorry for myself, I had lost my sense of humor, a tool EXTREMELY necessary for whenever you're traveling.  After that, it was like everything changed - I was speaking to everyone in Hebrew and holding long conversations with all of Avraham's grandchildren (I completely surprised myself with the lack of language issues I had) and having a spectacular time.  When I got home I was really, really proud of myself at how well I was able to turn my attitude around.


Today we spent the day at Rina's son's house, where Rina's son was barbecuing and there was, once again, loads of amazing food, and lots and lots of people.  Once more I felt the pity rise as I was overwhelmed by all the new people I was going to be meeting and expected to speak to, but I made myself snap myself out of it and speak to everyone in Hebrew and calmly and coolly ask for words I didn't remember/know/understand.  I spent time with Rina's oldest granddaughter (that was there - Rina has a daughter who, and I don't know how to say this in Hebrew exactly but I know what its' translation is in English, 'returned to the religion', meaning she was secular and then she became orthodox.  Rina's oldest grandchild is 20 and just got married), who is fourteen and really sweet and nice, and we spoke to each other in Hebrew and once again I was very proud.


Being with Rina has once more cemented my conclusion that the conflict is far more convoluted than I had originally anticipated and that both arguments have merit.  I mentioned something about "Palestinians in Yafo" and then Rina perked up and said "there's no such thing.  You mean Israeli Arabs."  I realized that because the Arabs in Yafo have Israeli citizenship and live within the borders of Israel and not the Occupied Territories, they aren't TECHNICALLY Palestinians.  I also remembered what my mentor Hana had said about that, "If you call us Palestinians, you're making a political statement."  I had always called them Palestinians because that was what they liked to be called, and I don't want to offend anyone.  When Rina was speaking about the issue (and when my mother and I were speaking about it on the phone as well) I realized the hedginess of the entire situation - if there is a two-state solution, will the Arabs in Yafo pick up and go to the borders of the new Palestine and renounce their Israeli citizenship?  It's a tough question, and I'm not sure how well any of the Palestinians I'm working with are able to answer.


There is one thing that I have concluded concretely: the amount of racism rising within the Israeli people is really, really frightening.  I'm talking segregation and propaganda type racism, like people are saying they won't sell to Arabs or hire Arabs.  That kind of racism.  It really scares me.


I used to think (and by used to I mean within the past month since I've been working with Sadaka) that I had a bit of Stockholm Syndrom - I don't support Israeli policies but I get angry at people who bash Israel.  Now I'm realizing that the people I'm getting angry at aren't actually Israelis or Palestinians or 'Arabs in Israel' or anything - they're people outside of Israel who are bashing Israel.  There have been a couple instances where I have seen, heard, or spoken to Americans who started bashing Israel.  This is my conclusion:


It's not cool to side with Israel and it's not cool to side with the Palestinians if you don't know what you're talking about.  Before I got here, I was really, really hesitant to give my opinion simply because I didn't know enough to back up my opinion.  It's the same thing now.  I really don't trust an American's opinion about the subject unless they have learned about it.  I would only accept an American's opinion on the conflict if they were confused, hesitant, flip-floppy, and afraid to offend anyone.  That shows that they are aware that they really don't know a whole lot about it, and thus they can see both arguments.  Americans who go ahead and decide without hearing both sides clearly and without hearing them from actual Israelis or Palestinians?  It's not cool, it's stupid. The conflict is INSANE and CRAZY and COMPLICATED and has sooooo many sub issues.  It's especially not cool to take my word for it.  I would HATE that any of my friends or peers would make up their minds on this conflict based on MY experiences.  Educate yourself.