Reality Gets Better, Always

This is one very isolated glimpse of the New Central Bus Station. Imagine that in every direction, along with thousands of people, stands with purses, scarves, every kind of electronic imaginable, as well as every kind of stench imaginable.  The three rooms for La Escuelita are located on the mezzanine of the fifth floor.

Reality as it stands thus far: La Escuelita is full to the brim with volunteers and teachers.  What it really needs is money and help with administrative stuff.  I told Matan, my mentor, that I was anxious to get started.  On Saturday night, I found he had sent me three emails with stuff to do - he had attached the application form for a British grant he wanted La Escuelita to apply to, as well as several things in Spanish that needed translated to English for fundraising purposes.  The last email was about the website that I am in charge of now.

The website was ridiculously complicated, especially for my non-techy fingers.  At first, I was under the impression that I needed to download all new software in order to create this website.  I downloaded one program that wouldn't let me open any of the files.  It was about this time last night that I was sitting at my computer while Udi rubbed my back comfortingly as I stared at the screen in tears.

Today I took a bus around midday to a very hoity-toity part of Tel Aviv - close to the beach.  Alon had told me about a coffee shop on the corner of King George street called The Streets.  When I arrived, I went to the second floor of the shop where there were thousands of plugs for people to work on their homework, etc.  The shop was mainly filled with students from the university, so they were all about 25 or 26 (university starts after the army for Israelis).  I ordered a black coffee and turned on my laptop.  Because my internet wasn't working, I turned to the translation.

I sat in The Streets for four hours, and by that time, only three of the ten pages to translate were finished.  It is slow, tedious work.  It's the first time I've ever really done translation.  I now have a new found appreciation for the industry, especially for interpreters who translate for diplomats on the spot.  It takes a moment for your brain to switch from one language to another, especially when you're doing it over and over again.

After The Streets, I went to the beach again - a short ten minute walk from the coffee shop.  I think I want to make it an official routine that I go to the beach every Sunday, if not more times during the week.

I was somewhat thankful that I couldn't work on the website during the day.  When I got home and revisited the issues, I felt myself panic again.  My dad had even downloaded it to walk me through the steps (he's a bit of a techie) - but then I realized that the website Matan had sent me to to start our website was wrong!  Instead of WordPress.com, he had sent me to WordPress.org.  They're both from the same company, but WordPress.com is more of a blog center.  The cool thing about WordPress.com is that you can condition the blog page to look like a website.  I was so happy.  My dad told me it was lucky, because WordPress.org required something like a PHP reader and a MySQL platform!  WHAT DO THOSE MEAN?  My dad translated it to ultra-techno jumbo that wouldn't stand a chance on my poor little lap top.

WordPress.com is far simpler to use, and actually will be kind of fun.  I will get an introduction to web design, even if it's dragging one box to another box, which is how WordPress.com works.  What I need now is some basic information to actually put on the website.  This is stuff that I have - in Spanish - that needs translating.  Everything else I'll be able to ask Matan via email.  I do need to actually go to more classes in order to take pictures for the website, but concering my participation with the classes, I'm really not needed.  When I sat in on Friday, I felt very useless, only because it was hard for me to jump in in Spanish (I had to have this Colombian woman repeat about five times the simple question of -de donde eres) as they were speaking like Spanish speakers and it was intensely fast.  The other two classes there was nothing for me to do - with the kids there are about a million kids and about a million volunteers, and the last class is an intermediate Hebrew class with four adult students and Matan as the teacher.

I am also, as a side project that kind of ties in with Sadaka Reut, going to be interviewing Israelis and (hopefully once I make some connections with Sadaka Reut) Palestinians about their thoughts of the conflict.  I will record these interviews on my computer, then type them up and put them together as a sort of collection.  Maybe I can have people leaf through it during my symposium.  The questions include something like this:

1.      Can you explain to me the difference between being a Jew and being an Israeli?  Is there a difference?  What is the difference between patriotism in Israel and patriotism in other countries?  Is there a grander sense of ‘nationalism’ here in Israel because of the ties to religion?

 

Something like that.  My first interview is tomorrow - my mother's cousin Tali, who's actually Matan's aunt.  It's kind of a big side of the family.

I also wrote a poem when I was sitting on the beach.  I've never really written a whole lot of poetry before, but you're kind of required to be contemplative when you're on the beach, right?

Let me describe to you what I see.

Let me describe to you the laughter I smell in the waves, the faces I hear.

Let me describe to you the wind I taste and the salt I see.

Let me describe to you the sand that cakes my toes like sugar.

Have you been to the beyond?  Have you seen it's nothingness?

Have you quaked in fear at the thought of slipping off the edge and then come to realize that the "edge" is a myth?

Have you seen the reflection of my face in the water as I saw yours?

Have you stayed until only you and the sun were left, twinkling slightly off-key?

Have you gone dizzy at the sunset?  I have.  I saw you in the last rays, but you couldn't see me.  I wasn't there.

I was in the beyond, unafraid.  I'd dive into the wave and lie on top of the sky to be unafraid.

Have you been rendered speachless by the power of faith?  Or is it tradition?  I forget which one.  Whichever it is, it can be breathless.

 Have you fallen through the looking glass?  When I got there, it really wasn't all that bad.