Final Thoughts and ReEntry

Note to self: when you will be leaving a bunch of loved ones for quite some time, and be saying goodbyes with tight and long hugs…don’t get your back and shoulders sunburned the day before!

Well, I am officially back in the states. I have passed through border control and customs, rechecked my bags, and now await my final leg of this trip, which will go from Newark to Los Angeles. Before I left, I started making a mental list of things I expect to miss and those I am looking forward to:

I know I will miss:

• Of course the number one thing is the people I’ve met and bonded with.
• The bus ride from my apartment to campus
• The feeling of success everyday things brought: ordering coffee, finding my way to an intended destination, asking when the next bus will arrive
• Israeli pita bread and salads
• Congregational worship in Hebrew
• Hiking the Israel National Trail, and the friends I made along the way
• Signing in ISL and working hard to suppress ASL code-switching in the process
• The reading group in the lab and all the great discussions it brought
• Shopping at the Shuk (outdoor market)
• Walking alone at night, safely
• Israeli directness – (what a different species Israeli guys are from American guys!)
• The view of the mountain and sea from almost anywhere in Haifa
• Listening to strangers’ conversations and being proud just to recognize words here and there
• Israeli accents

What I am looking forward to upon returning:

• The way American dogs act like pets
• Smoking laws
• People considering my first name common and readily recognizable
• Customer service in a highly capitalist society :-p
• Signing ASL fluently with long-loved friends and coworkers
• Mexican food
• Mexican accents
• Drying my clothes in a machine
• Congregational worship through songs in English
• Seeing Steph’s studio
• ASL worship at SAC
• Blending into a crowd, blonde hair and all
• Stores with clothes I find appealing
• Browsing the web instantly, by means of my cell
• Running shoes at 1/3 the prices
• The upcoming Summer Linguistic Institute, my friend’s wedding, 4^th of July with family, beginning my doctoral program
• and of course, the people.

Now I’ve begun a new mental list of things I was surprised to be surprised by since returning:

• Starbucks – I hadn’t realized I haven’t seen one in 11 months, and it was a kind of shock when it loomed up before me in the airport…and yet was an immediate, “Of course”. How can it feel like I haven’t been here in ages, and yet like I never left both at the same time? I feel like Dorothy or Alice waking up at the end of the movie.
• Jamba Juice – Having reached the gate for my connecting flight, confirmed its time, and visited the bathroom, I went in search of a meal. Wasn’t sure what I was in the mood for until I saw the sign, sighed, and actually said the name allowed quietly…before realizing I only have shekels on me. Now to find a currency exchange place.
• Everything is in English! – Of course I expected this, and while in Israel most everything is also in English as well as Hebrew, and often Arabic, but I guess I’d shifted to sounding out the Hebrew first, always, before turning to the translation. Being able to simply sight-read every sign is a little overstimulating…and simultaneously sadly boring.
• Recycling! – I went to throw something away in the airport, and not only could I recycle plastic, but tin, glass…all kinds of things! :-D

Digging, Kayaking, Meeting, Running, Hiking, Drama-Resolving...what a week! :-D

Well, the time has come. I am awaiting my family (whose flight is delayed a few hours), and my time in Israel is over. I am still quite behind with my blog, but I’ll give you a few highlights to catch up. The week after the hike to Kibbutz Yagur was quite full. It began with renting a car and driving out to the Galil, meeting up with a friend on the Kibbutz where she was volunteering and joining them on an archeological dig at Ginosar for the morning. It was an incredible (albeit very short) experience, digging in three-hundred year old dirt with picks and brushes, finding lots of pottery, a bead, and even some popsicles. I learned about the process of identifying the levels where we were digging, sifting through the dirt for finer finds, and their daily routine. Before the hottest part of the day (though it got quite hot as early as nine or ten – I’d met them at 5am), we packed up our tools and buckets, dusted off a bit, had breakfast, and head out.

I was lucky enough to join them on a day they were having an outing, and an hour later we all piled in pairs into kayaks and rowed our way down the Jordan river to our awaiting bus. We returned to the kibbutz for lunch and then I hopped in my rental and cruised back to Haifa, dropped it off, and caught a bus up to the lab for the lab meeting I was to lead. I had selected the first to articles in a series that is in progress, explaining the transcription process that one of my professors and colleague have designed. The meeting went well, we had some great discussion and laughter, and I think each left with more to digest along the way.

That was Monday. Tuesday I ran in my first 10K race ever – gosh, first one ever and I chose the one that went up and back down a mountain! But it went extremely well, and I was thrilled with my time (just over an hour and five minutes), and…got a T-Shirt for it! I am truly an American in that respect. (My friends here, from Israel, Russia, France, Holland, etc. all inform me that Americans are always wanting T-Shirts from everything they do. I enthusiastically agreed, “T-Shirts are cool!” :-p)

Wednesday…oh dear, I’ve forgotten. I know it was a very full week, with activities every day and every evening, but this one has escaped my mind.

Thursday I met a friend down at Mifratz early in the morning and we caught a bus back out to Kibbutz Yagur to continue on the trail. We conquered the climb to Isfyia so quickly we couldn’t believe we were already to the top (the beauty of the hike and the good company made the couple hours fly by), and then we trekked the additional four miles over to Daliet El Karmel for some breakfast and souvenir scouting (I wanted to have a good idea of the prices, so as to advise my family when we’re in Jerusalem before coming up north). Then we caught a bus and head back down the hill, her to go help our friend pack to leave from the year, and me to Shema.

Shema that day was…dramatic. We had a big balegan, with tears and revenge attempts, which led the head madrich (counselor) to lead the students in a discussion about the pros and cons of revenge (it turned out to be quite deep and I hope memorable for the kids). Partway through it, I had a golden teaching opportunity, and was able to have a great discussion with the instigator of the drama, just she and me discussing it in rapid and emotional ISL and Hebrew – and on my part, gesture and some English thrown in, and we returned to the group with new perspective, arm in arm, smiling. I felt like truly part of the madrichim. And was thrilled. But sad it would be one of my final weeks there for quite some time.

Friday and Saturday mornings I head out again with my neighbor for bike rides down to the beach and back up. She took me on a new route on Saturday, over past Hof HaCarmel, and then up to Horev, before turning back toward home. Quite a feeling of accomplishment, and beautiful views as we panted our way along. :) The following week would bring Shavuot. :)

Visiting El Sayyid

The two weeks after Independence Day, I dove into my work again, and upped my running (I signed up for a 10K on May 31^st, which went up and back down the mountain, so wanted to prepare myself a lil’ for that), and was in the thick of it all when I got an invitation to accompany the research team visiting a Bedouin tribe in the Negev. Because the tribe has had a high percentage of deaf people in the last several generations, a sign language has developed there, independent from Israeli Sign Language, and the vast majority of people in the tribe sign this language: ABSL, whether they are hearing or deaf. The research team here has been studying ABSL for ten years, visiting the village a few times a year, and they invited me to join on this trip, helping with videotaping data.


Not only was it incredible to visit this village of which I’ve read books and papers, seen a documentary, and heard about from the others working in the lab, but I was also in awe of being in the car with these three “real” linguists. It was quite intimidating, just the thoughts of how much they know, how much they’ve experienced and researched, the length of their CVs compared to mine! And they were so welcoming, just as if I were not some little podunk newbie to the field. ;-) I absorbed all I could of their conversation, and they graciously conversed with me on topics my little brain could grasp and discuss, and I had a great time with them.


We went straight to the village on Thursday, turning off the highway at an unmarked driveway type thing I hadn’t noticed, passed through a paved area reminiscent of a parking lot and down a brief length of paved road onto a dirt road. And viola: a village rose before our windshield.

I had seen other Bedouin villages, so I was not imagining tents or anything like that, but I was not prepared for the vast range of houses that made up this one. Some were what I’ve seen elsewhere, an eclectic amalgam of materials gathered from wherever one may find bits and pieces of whatnot to erect a semi-permanent shelter, to three-story Arizona-type architecturally beautiful, groomed and landscaped plots that I felt a bit underdressed for in my jeans and T-shirt. The village is growing quickly these days and as the researchers made the tour for me of who lived where, it was great to have it sprinkled with their exclamations at new constructions and conjecture as to what will come next.

I spent the four days pestering them with questions on languages, cultures, political situations and how they influence daily life and accessibility, and my head swam with the influx of information that is still marinating somewhere in my cerebrum. The first day we arrived in the afternoon (it’s quite a drive from Haifa to the Negev), and visited the new(ish) school. I was first struck by the learning environment, even apparent from the entrance to the school, where the exterior walls of the classrooms were covered in beautiful murals – one of a world map, another of something relating to biology (I’ve forgotten what it was. A plant diagram?). Do the kids stop while on the playground and contemplate the information presented there daily as they play? Doubtful, but I still say there’s something to it, better than just a plain vanilla white wall.


We met with the principal (a friend of the researchers) and learned about the history of the school, the students, the teachers, and deaf education classrooms, etc. and then received a tour to several rooms. I was happy to get my hands up when we met some of the deaf students, and between my ISL (and very few ABSL signs I’d picked up), and their willingness to work with me, we had some fun conversations (if they can be called that). Mostly we talked about where each of us was from, our ages, families, etc. As the grown-ups conversed, and the recess bell rang, the room filled with more hands flying, and when one student asked me a question I couldn’t grasp, five or six children circled me, each giving it their best shot to bring a look of comprehension to my face. It was slow to come. I got that they were talking about someone important from America. But somehow I’d misunderstood some sign and thought they were referencing a musician. I thought, “Justin Beiber?” He seems to come up quite a bit with this age group recently…but I knew my knowledge base there was slim at best, and hoped for someone more familiar. One girl signed something that seemed very familiar, but I just couldn’t retrieve the referent for that sign, and another tried what I thought was "Judge"? A famous judge in America? Finally I think someone signed "America" and then "Up", very high, and I’m sure my eyes lit up as I mouthed, “OH! Obama?!” We all joined in a little victory dance before I laughed and smacked my head, Oh yeah! That vaguely familiar sign was the word for President. That would have helped. I taught them the sign for Obama (which is difficult even for some ASL signers), and we had a great time walking around the room signing his name. I’m sure he’d be thrilled.


The other researchers and I shared with them a little about how ISL, ABSL, and ASL are all very different, and demonstrated a conversation in ASL so they could see how it differed, and then it was time to head out. I’m trying to remember. I think we head back to the principal’s office for a bit and then piled back in the van to drive over to Beersheva and check into our home-to-be for three nights. The hotel had a nice business lounge, without students to knock on office doors, nor lovely coworkers to distract my very extroverted self, and we all were able to get quite a bit of work accomplished.


The next couple days we visited a few more friends, them catching up since the last visit and introducing me and my background, etc., me practicing my language reception and inadequate, but apparently amusing, production, and I’m sure glowing from head to toe. I don’t know if it showed, but when a girl and her mother both said I “looked deaf”, I think I might have floated right off the mat for joy. :)

At one point we all piled in the van to visit another nearby village where a sister of one of the families had moved to after marrying, and I was even more surprised at the size of the houses and at the ornate decorations. They were very hospitable and we had a lovely visit, lunch, data collection, and more visiting before heading back. As many of the people there were not signing, I found myself quite bonded to the girl who had come with us, who was deaf and excellent at helping me understand when my language failed me. She seemed able to even predict when she was about to sign something I’d wrinkle my brow at, and hardly would my muscles move to form the confused expression than she would already be rephrasing the sentence with more basic vocabulary, or gesturing iconically to aide my comprehension. I was deeply grateful for her kindness to me and sorry to not have more time to deepen our budding friendship (we’re both on the older side of things for that culture and contentedly single for now—a bonding point of sorts ;-)).

Sunday we were able to visit the other school (I believe the first was high school and this was elementary and middle?), and see more of the lesson teaching in action. The wall décor, the manipulatives, the mixture of languages, and how the teacher wove it all together into a smooth, integrated lesson incorporating ABSL, written and spoken Arabic, pictures of ABSL signs, and (they were working on math) abstract quantity symbols blew me away.

The first lesson we saw was on practicing with the “greater than/less than” symbol, and it was inspiring to watch not only the students who breezed through their turn at the board, but also the teacher’s interaction with those who struggled. The pneumonic devices to remember the meaning of the symbol, the various ways to count (on the hands with ABSL, on the board with written numbers, or on the board with circles, etc.), and the teacher’s overall attitude of peace at a student’s incorrect first attempt…it made me want to enroll in the school, myself! ;-)

We visited an older class, working on a lesson in reading comprehension and public speaking (in sign), and then a speech therapy classroom (which left me feeling the way that kind of thing usually does in the states). I was thrilled to see that most of the teachers appeared to be fluent signers, and we met several of the deaf teacher’s aides, who (in our brief attendance) seemed to be quite active partners in the classrooms. One of the researchers is very knowledgeable about the deaf education situation in the states, and it was very interesting to hear her discuss the various circumstances with the people we met along the tour. I also met a girl who had been a Fulbright fellow in Florida, and had traveled around the states a bit during her time there. I wanted to ask more questions about her experience, but the conversation took a different turn, and time did not allow for circling back. But it was great to meet her, though, even briefly.

After seeing the second school, we visited one final friend, whose schedule had kept her unavailable until Sunday, and then, already attached, I pulled myself away when it was quite passed our planned departure time. Back on the road, one researcher had head home a day early and another would stay on an extra night, so just two of us head back north, and I did my best not to talk her head off or question her to exhaustion out of my overwhelmed excitement and stimulated curiosity, and we made it safely back to Haifa, and back to work as usual, with a bit of beaming on my part for days to come, I think. :)

Yom HaShoa (Holocaust Remembrance Day)

In early May there are three…are they called Holidays? Somehow that seems like an odd word for the first two -- there are three special days recognized in Israel: Yom HaShoa, Yom HaZikaron, and Yom HaAtzmaut. Yom HaShoa comes on the 27^th day of the month of Nisan, which falls either at the end of April or beginning of May (it’s shifted if that day would be on or adjacent to Saturday). Yom HaShoa is the Holocaust Remembrance Day, and like other holidays here, it begins at sunset the day before. Flags are lowered to half-mast, and the television channels are filled with stories about the Holocaust, and across the country there are ceremonies remembering the 6,000,000 Jews and 5,000,000 others who were killed during the Holocaust.

This year, Yom HaShoa was on a Monday, therefore it started Sunday at sundown. At Shema that day we had a lesson with the kids about the Holocaust. They talked about some of the key orchestrators (Hitler, Eichmann, etc.), went over what happened, and then shared some stories about their grandparents who survived – how they escaped and what has happened since.

I was working on my research pretty regularly at one coffee shop those days, and hadn’t realized the holiday would start that evening. I’d been planning to head over there after Shema for a few hours, but when they mentioned that it would start at sunset, I asked if the café would be open. They told me that yes, it would probably be open until 8pm or so. Nope.

I got there at about 5pm, and hardly had a sat down and received my order, when the barista began cleaning up around myself and the other patrons. I asked when he would close and he estimated 6:30pm, but before 5:30pm, everyone had left and all but my table were cleaned and ready for closing, so I packed up as well. I stuck around as he finished cleaning and chatted with him and his friend that had come by for a little bit, and he told me a police officer had come by earlier to ensure enforcement of the law that everything must close before sunset that day. That was so surprising to me! Of course there are days in America when almost everything is closed, but there is no law against remaining open. I found it odd, but appreciated it, too, that people take it so seriously. No one seemed against the idea. I head home and my roommate and I watched some of the programs on TV for a while, and then went online for similar memorials in English.

The next day people went about their normal daily routines of school and work, but aware of what day it was. There were ceremonies held all over the country. The one at our school was sprinkled with beautiful music, and the main speaker was a man who escaped from Europe through a small window on one of the trains he'd been put on, on its way to a concentration camp. His story was filled with twists and turns, and absolutely incredible (as related to me over lunch after the ceremony, by my Israeli coworker – I’d caught a word here and there, but mostly watched the audience to gather information about his story while he told it), but then again most people’s survival stories are incredible (someone was talking about how almost every Jewish person here has a story about how their family survived, and then he stopped and said, “Well, I guess that makes sense. If we’re here today, it’s because somehow our grandparents and parents survived. If there’s not a story of escape, there are no children to tell about it.”) On the other hand, it seems not uncommon that those who experienced the worst of it cannot bring themselves to talk about it in any detail, and their stories die with them.

At 10am, they sound sirens all over the country for two minutes, and everyone stops what they’re doing and stands at attention in honor of those who died. I didn’t see it, but I was told by many people that drivers even stop on highways and get out of their cars to stand when the siren sounds. People had made it a point to warn me that this would happen on Monday, so I would not be alarmed, and I was very interested to see it. I made sure to get to campus well before the siren, and asked my coworker to go with me to a populated part of campus, rather than us being just in our lab with a few of us. (I wondered if the siren is the same sound as the ones that warn of an incoming missile. From what I’ve heard from my friends living in Beersheva, when you hear those sirens you have less than one minute to get to a shelter before the missile hits. In 1973, Egypt and Syria attacked on Yom Kippur, an incredibly important religious day in Israel, when absolutely no one is working – even the radios and television do not play, as no one is in the studios. I wondered if people who want to see Israel abolished might take advantage of the two-minute siren and moment of solemnity, to cover their attack. What a foreign thought that never would have occurred to me a year ago.)

We walked up to the main building, and it was strange to me that everything seemed like normal. The night before the streets had been empty and silent. Now everyone was back to chatting, eating, laughing, nothing out of the ordinary. I wondered if they were having any special conversations today more than other days, or if, growing up with this day, they experience it more like we in America may experience some of our less-observed holidays. My coworker and I took a seat at a central location, and while we talked, I kept one eye on the clock across the way. 9:58…9:59…10:00…nothing. “Hey, it says it’s –” And then we heard it, and stood. At first it seemed like everyone had stopped talking and stood. (I tried to surreptitiously satisfy my curiosity by looking around subtly.) Some lowered their heads. Some titled their eyes upward. All were silent. It was very eerie, and really turned your mind to all the stories you’d heard of victims, oppressors, and survivors. Two minutes is a long time.

And then I saw someone walking. And then another. Three girls walking and talking (not loudly, but not in hushed voices, either). And one other. I was shocked. And hurt. Even if you don’t like Jews…millions of other human beings were killed as well, and more lived on with horrendous injuries and memories. And you openly refuse to join in the tribute to them? I couldn’t help but feel like it was a statement of hate. And that their action somehow condoned what the Nazis did, and what they believe and teach. Not that their faces were set in angry expressions or anything. I was hoping they just didn’t understand what the siren was about. But the fluency of their language I heard as they passed by seemed to indicate they weren’t just visitors. It made me very sad.

It was surreal when the siren ended, that it seemed that conversations picked up just where they’d ended, but kind of metaphoricalish, too. Life goes on, for those who are still alive. We cannot be silent and still forever, but that doesn't mean we've forgotten.

Two Months Left, but Who's Counting? :-/

Well, two months when I first was thinking these thoughts...now we're down to three weeks. Sigh.

It’s funny, when you’re updating your blog regularly, you have so much to say. And then as you’re busy, you think of a hundred things, but don’t make time to write it all down, then when you come back to it…you’ve got nothing. ;-)

I saw two great shows in Tel Aviv and Yafo during Pesach break. One was the Vocal People: http://voca-people.com/, and the other was a one-woman show by one of the other Fulbrighters here this year. It was great fun. They were both on Saturday (read: no/fewer buses and trains), so I had planned to head down on a sherut after the service at my congregation and plop myself down at a café to get some work done before her show that night…well, that didn’t happen. :-P Instead, my friend messaged me the night before and asked if I wanted to join him for the afternoon show of Voca People. A quick scan of the website, and the prospect of hanging out with one of my favorite friends here, and voila (how French ;-)), plans were changed. :)

So instead, I walked down to Hadar the next morning and hopped an earlier sherut southbound (they’re pretty unreliable, time-wise, so I gave myself plenty of wiggle room). As I was walking from the sherut route (that rhymes depending on your dialect ;-)) to the show, my friend called, and after some confusing figuring out where I was, where he was in his taxi, and where the show was, they picked me up along the way, and we arrived with plenty of time. Lovely. The show is about these aliens from planet Voca who have come to visit Earth, but have run out of fuel for the trip home. They need “energia” to return, which they harvest from the audience’s applause and whatnot, apparently. The plot is certainly not the point. It is reminiscent of the Blue Man Group, but the acting part is simply a frame for their outstanding acapella performance. I don’t know if it is the same every time or not, but there was a great medley of American rock through the decades, a tribute to movie music, and a run through of numerous classical genres, as well as a variety of other great pieces. They’re mostly in Tel Aviv, Italy, Spain, Paris, and New York, but if you have a chance to go, Go.

My friend had also brought some work to get done, so after the show we went in search of a cafe. We began walking in the general direction we wanted while we looked for a cab…and we walked, and walked, and walked…side note:

I noticed that my idea of “within walking distance” has drastically changed. I’ve always thought that people in countries other than the USA have a different idea of what is “close” – or at least people on the west coast, where everyone has a car. I was showing some people around Haifa and we were trying to decide to take a bus or to walk to our next destination, and I realized my first inclination was that it wasn’t very far, where we were going. Only about a 45-minute walk. And then I stopped in my tracks (in my thoughts, rather…my feet kept going) and realized the thought I’d just had was kind of insane. :-P The other day I was talking to a coworker about everything I want to get done in the one day I’ll be in southern California at the beginning of July, and I stopped again, and said, “Oh! I can drive there! I was thinking I’d be walking.” He asked how far it was, and I said, “Not far, maybe three miles, but if I'm driving it’ll only take a few minutes rather than the hour I was thinking it’d be.” Funny the change in paradigm. I’ll be interested to see what happens to it when I return stateside…

Anyway, eventually my friend and I found a sherut…to another sherut…eventually taking us to Rothschild Street (is it “street”?), where we sat down to do our work…and continued to talk. So, okay. Neither of us did any work that day, but we had fun, and got some fresh air, laughed a lot, and had some nice psychological/philosophical discussion that was good for the heart, and even got me to the night show on time. :) The Fulbrighter’s performance was excellent. She’d been telling us how it’s still a work in progress, but I thought it was well executed! And I met up with a couple other Fulbrighters, so we got to sit together and cheer and clap and laugh and sing, ready to fully support our friend; but she certainly didn’t need us, the audience was great. :)

I hadn’t seen them in a while, and it was good to catch up as we walked to and from the show. Two of us will be leaving next month, and we talked a bit about our process so far of being within the Two Month mark, our mixed emotions and how we’ve both been trading them off and on with a willful denial of the fact that our time here is ending. Our other friend is a post-doctorate and she’ll be staying here for two years total, so she is only halfway through her time. It was interesting to here her very different perspective on things, with so much more time ahead of her in Israel and with her project.

I had a funny moment that I had thought to blog about, but now can’t remember what I was going to say. Haha, it was something about how Old Jaffa reminded me of Disneyland that evening when I walked up to the clock tower (where I was meeting my friends). The other day, I also likened Jerusalem to Disneyland when I went to visit my friend last Monday. Something about going to a place that people from all around the world know about and spend tons of money to go see, and spend the whole day rushing around trying to fit everything in, and take it all in, and, and, and, that I go to, for, you know, lunch. The lighting in Old Yafo felt Disney-ish, too. Or maybe I just miss Soarin' and the Castle at night. :) I don't remember what all I was going to say about it. *shrug* When I have a thought to blog, but no time, I just hop on my computer and make a note of it. But then the time comes to elaborate, and all I have is three words and a vague memory…

I’ve noticed that many cashier attendants here have a strong preference to put your change on the counter, rather than in your hand. If you put your hand out clearly and early, they will put it in your hand, but there seems to be a clear preference toward the counter. I find it inconvenient to pick up each coin off a counter, and easier if they just put the coins in my palm, and then the bills. I tend to have more coins here than in the states, since 1, 5, and 10 shekels are coins, not bills…

I had a funny interaction with some of the other volunteers at Shema a few weeks ago. I can’t remember how it began, but they were talking about a crater in southern Israel, and trying to describe it to me. They thought there was another common word for Canyon, and were asking me for it. But I had no context, not even realizing we were talking about a geographic formation, and one of the main malls in Haifa has a name that plays on the Hebrew word “Kanyon” – a place of shopping, and is called Grand Kanyon. So they asked me how to say the word…which is where I entered the conversation.

“This place in the Negev. It’s a…oh, how do you say it in English? It’s like, um…the Grand Kanyon”

“Oh, like, a mall?”

“No, the GRAND KANYON.”

“You mean, like a shopping center?”

“No, no. Not the Grand Kanyon in Haifa, the one in…oh, I don’t know where it is. In America.”

“Kanyon. We have those in America. We call them ‘malls’. You know, like Makom Liknot?” (“A place to shop”)

Blank stare…gesture indicating a deep valley… “THE Grand Kanyon”

“OH!! In Arizona?!”

“YES!!!”

“Oh, the Grand Canyon!”

“Yes!”

“Oh, okay. So, now what about it?”
“What’s that called? In English.”

Blank stare…

“Um. A Canyon.”

Shvil Israel Days 6,7, and 8

Well, I'm only about a month behind. Here we go...So, Pesach break is a little over a week long for most people, two weeks for university students. Since a lot of my information comes from those around me who are students, I thought the latter applied to me, and took the opportunity to continue on the Shvil Israel (Israel National Trail). (Realized halfway through the second week that I was meant to be back to the lab, and made it in for, I think, a day and a half. :-P)

One of my friends is volunteering a nearby kibbutz, and one of her fellow volunteers had been looking for a hiking buddy, so he and I head out from Lev HaMifratz early in the morning and were to the trail before 8am. (We were starting on Day 6, so we took the bus towards Safed and got off at the stop next to Moshav Meron (if I remember correctly) and walked back down the hill to the trail.)
It was a beautiful day, (finally!) with lovely weather, and we made a great start, over streams and across fields, stopping to explore a cave, and marveling at the flowers and crisp air.

At one point, three trails intersected, and without seeing the orange/blue/white marker indicating our direction, we opted for the blue trail, since it said it headed for Hwy 86, which we knew we needed to cross…well…up we went. And up. And up. I knew the length of Day 6 was somewhat long, which typically indicates only little steep ascent or descent, so something seemed off. We stopped to check the map and determined we might be on the wrong trail, but since the sign said we’d cross 86, we figured we’d keep on, and just get to the road, walk down it to the left and catch the trail there…and continued to climb.

The further on we went, though, the less it looked like we’d be catching the road, or at least not before we’d spent several hours off the intended trail. Finally we stopped to check the map again, and realized our mistake. A little rest, some aggravation on both parts, and back down we went. When we got back to the sign, I saw the misunderstanding. The sign pointed to the right, but meant for you to walk under it, not in the direction it pointed. Sigh. Back on the trail. Once under the sign and on the trail a few meters, we looked back to see the familiar orange/blue/white behind us, on the side of the rock opposite from where we’d approached it. As we continued on, I remembered reading a warning in the English guidebook to the Shvil about a confusing spot, and that the author of that book also went right when the trail goes left. Ah well, it was a nice canyon we’d hiked up a couple miles, anyway. And goodness knows it was a good workout! But if you’re doing the same trail, look out for that point, for sure!

We set out on the correct trail, mostly flat and headed straight for the road, I think both disappointed at the lost time. I was hoping to hike all of Days 6 and 7 in one day, and my hiking buddy was still recovering from a cough. Neither of us had wanted to draw out the hike longer than necessary. But we could only press on. We came to a rock scramble, and were making our way up and over when his foot lost its grip and his exclamation and echoes rang through the valley, and my heart leapt into my throat. I had switched backpacks for this hike, and forgot to switch the first aid kit from the larger to the smaller, but thankfully it was not a major injury, and after a bit of cringing, and some water, he was able to continue on with a slower pace. But between that and his cough, he was not up for completing the day. He decided to opt out at the next road crossing, but encouraged me to continue on. So, at Route 86, he turned up the highway in search of the closest tachanat (bus stop), and I headed down the hill on the trail that passed beneath the cars.

The tunnel under the highway was filled with cows, who were indifferent to my friendly and somewhat timid suggestions that they come eat the yummy grass outside of the tunnel, and I found the idea of passing between them all in the enclosed space quite intimidating. So, back up the hill and across the busy highway when a break in the traffic allowed me safe passage. The rest of Day 6 went well. Pesach break had brought out numerous day-hikers and picnikers, and it was fun to greet each group along the way. Finally I reached the end of Day 6 and had to decide to push to get to the end of Day 7, or cut the hike short. There were still several hours of daylight left, but once I began Day 7 I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to bale-out if needed. I took the opportunity to stop at a coffee shop, take in some caffeine, carbs, and chocolate :-P, and rest my feet while reading a bit more of “The Catcher in the Rye”. I finally understand the concept the title references! And I thoroughly enjoyed the style of writing (and all my teenager friends that it reminded me of ;-)). After the rest, I was ready to pound out the second half. Visited the bathroom (thankful for the facilities, indeed! A far cry from a bush and hand sanitizer), and turned my face to Mt. Arbel in the distance.

Across the orchards and fields to the base of the hill, and then huffing and puffing, raced up the front of the mount, hoping to have some time atop to enjoy the view and breeze (it’s my favorite place in the country), before heading down the back, hopefully to Tiberias before dark. The hike up the front was one of my favorite sections of the trail so far, but it is certainly not for those with a fear of heights, or clumsy feet. And for that matter, not the best for the end of a long day, with shaking legs climbing up the cliffs. ;-) But I made it to the top without mishap, and took a few minutes to absorb the sight, smell, and sounds before continuing down the other side.

At a fork in the trail, I was searching for a marker down either side, and a group of four young girls caught up to me, also with their map out, scanning both options. After greeting one another and discussion the trail’s direction, we decided to head down to the left and continue for a while together. We knew the trail went through Tiberias, so even if this trail wasn’t the INT, it would at least get us to the city (turns out that the trail does NOT actually go through Tiberias proper, and it had continued to the right when we turned left. Ah well :)). Three of the girls are Orthodox Jewish, and studying at a seminary in Jerusalem, and their other friend that plays softball with them was along for the trip. We had a great time making our way down the hill, having given up the search for the Shvil markers, and rather focused on just getting to the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee), to find a campground on a beach for them for the night, and a bus for me to get back to Haifa. They were lovely lovely girls, and we talked about where we’d been, where we were going, why myself and the other American were in Israel, and laughed…a lot.

Before sunset we stopped so the three Orthodox girls could do their traditional traveling prayers. I of course began my own freestyle, and then the fourth girl came over to me and we chatted while the others finished up. As we approached Tiberias (the end of Day 7), I saw them discussing something briefly before they turned around and invited me to join them for the night. I was surprised after a quick inventory of life, responsibilities, etc., to realize there was no reason not to, and happily accepted when they persisted, telling me they had plenty of food and extra blankets. A call to my roommate to let her know I’d not be home, an odd feeling that I had no dog to consider when staying away for an unplanned night, a shift in mindset, and we set out in search of a place to lay our heads for the night.

We had a great great evening, camping next to the Kinneret under the stars, chatting, laughing, discussing faith, religion, traditions, and personal perspectives, cooking, improvising sleeping arrangements, and discussing the trail we’d start again in the morning. One of their Life stories was particularly incredible, making me even more thankful that I’d accepted their invitation (ask me about it later). In the morning, we packed up and set off in search of where the trial crosses through the city. We eventually found a bus up the hill to the intersection of the trail with the highway, and continued south, on the ridge above the lake. The view was singular all day, and we took it slow and ended early when we came to a bus stop outside Moshav Kinneret, just a few kilometers before the end of Day 8 on the Shvil. After walking back and forth for quite some time, trying to decide on a bus, sherut, or tremping (not the easiest with four of us), we finally hired a taxi to take us back to the central bus station in Tiberias, as we were eager to get to our respective homes after a long two days out (and almost 30 miles of hiking on my part).

My delightful roommate turned on the water heater for me as I made my way home, and we had a lovely evening swapping stories of our last 48 hours. Excellent spring break. :)

Pesach (Passover) 2011

Once again I find myself backlogged with blog entries, but at the same time I am in the thick with my research, so I apologize that you’ll be getting just a little overview of my life the last several weeks.

Passover (Pesach) this year began at sunset on April 18^th. I joined several others at our congregation in the morning to begin preparations for the Seder dinner we all shared that evening.

With my usual warning to the kitchen crew that I am not very good in the kitchen, but happy to follow explicit directions, I was set to work with another much more confident lady, forming the matzo balls for the soup. Between the two of us we made almost one thousand matzo balls of varying sizes according to the directives that came from the kitchen.

Then it was on to making the tabouli salad. My friend’s family has a proud tradition of tabouli-making, so she instructed me in detail, then applauded my parsley chopping skills, and I beamed with pride as we minced the dozen bushels, then moved on to the mint leaves, etc.

The best part of cooking with other people is the social aspect of it, and my cooking partner and I got to know each other quite well throughout the day, and I enjoyed hearing her perspectives on life, politics, faith, sociolinguistics, and more. (And I learned my numbers in Arabic! Well, started to, anyway :))

Having completed our assignments in the kitchen we moved over to what was to serve as our dining room and helped set the tables with the typical forks, spoons, knives, plates and napkins, and then with the Pesach Seder specifics of wine, matzah, bitter herbs, etc.

A little before dinner, a friend from the international school arrived and we walked over to the German Colony to find our other friend and her mom who was visiting and wanted to join our Seder meal. I was happy to have somewhere to invite them. :)

Usually the services at our congregation are given in Hebrew and you can access English or Russian translation through a headset, but they opted for this night (“Why is this night different than any other night?” ;-)) to conduct it all in Hebrew, and have the translations projected on the screen rather than deal with the wires, make the interpreters work, etc…

Passover is the feast remembering the night the Israelites were freed from slavery in Egypt. You can read the whole account recorded in the first 12 chapters in Exodus (the second book of the Bible), but basically God had sent Moses to the Pharaoh to tell him to free the people and Pharaoh refused, even after the plagues that God sent convinced all of his advisers and they all told him to let the Israelites go, Pharaoh would not have it. Finally, God said that if he didn’t let them go, the firstborn son of every single person, and even of the firstborn of the cattle! would all die in one night. But God spared the Israelites from this plague, to show Pharaoh the distinction. He instated the Hebrew calendar then, by making that the first month in their calendar, and gave directions on how they were to be spared from the plague (Exodus 12). What God said came to pass and the Israelites were able to flee Egypt, not only with their own belongings, but with tons of gifts from their Egyptian neighbors, too. And God said to keep this feast annually as a remembrance of him saving them.

The feast was also a prophecy of God’s anointed Messiah to come. We believe that Yeshua of Nazareth fulfilled the prophecies in this meal (and all the others made by the prophets), and is the one that all they spoke of. So, for instance, the lamb that is eaten may not have its bones broken. When Jesus and the two other guys were crucified it was on a Friday. They didn’t want to have the guys die after sunset, because that would be on the Sabbath, so they went to break their legs (because when you’re crucified, you die from suffocation, and if you break the guy’s legs, he can’t lift himself up to breathe, so he dies really quickly). But Jesus had already died, so they didn’t break his legs like they did to the other two.

Another part of the Seder is the three pieces of matzah bread. Partway through the meal, the middle matzah is taken from the other two (like Jesus came down from between God and the Holy Spirit), and broken (his death). This broken middle matzah, called the afikomen, is hidden during the meal and then at the end of the meal brought out of the hidden place back for all to see (like Jesus in the tomb for three days and then his resurrection).

Anyway, there're of course some other great connections between the original night of the Passover, the night when Jesus ate it as his final supper before his crucifixion, and the one we ate a couple weeks ago, but I hear my ASL/ISL work calling out to me so I will have to share that with you when you ask. :) We ate the dinner, the youngest at each table asked the four traditional questions, we sang the songs, prayed the prayers, and enjoyed great conversation and fellowship at our tables. It was an excellent start to Pesach (it is a week-long holiday with various food rules, and no school/work).

Next up: hiking during Pesach break. :-D

Na LaGa'at's "Not By Bread Alone"

I’ve been experiencing some writer’s block. It’s a reoccurring phase that pops up every few months in my life that I regularly acknowledge and accept. It always fades eventually. Unfortunately this time it coincides with the exact time I wish to be writing the bulk of a paper I’m working on – and what’s worse, one I am working on with other people. If my delays only affect myself, while inconvenient, they are not too disturbing, but when they potentially affect my coworkers, and I feel like I can’t break through it, it is more distressing. The other problem is that I have now seen a great performance three times, and have yet to blog about it. And it must be done. But I fear in my block I will be far from doing it justice. Well. Here goes. (I did just begin reading a novel today that seems to be starting the process out of the fog, so hopefully this will continue the trek up the hill back to ….oh, I don’t know, all my metaphors have left me.)

Two days ago, the Fulbright organization treated us to a fantastic night at the NaLaga’at Center in Old Yafo (or Old Jaffa). We had a delicious and plentiful dinner at Café Kapish, where all of the servers are deaf. As always, I felt more at home talking with the servers in the manual/visual modality of sign language than I do in my native spoken language, and I was thrilled to introduce all my new Fulbright friends to this part of my life and work. I always hope to expose people in my life to the Deaf world, and it was so great to see them interact with the servers, try out their hands in this new modality, and experience some success at visual communication. I relearned some signs I’d forgotten from the last time I was there (cappuccino, etc.), and also noticed a funny difference in conventional gestures.

Near the end of dinner, the servers presented a short lesson in ISL (Israeli Sign Language). As usual, when the Deaf teacher signed a sign, the majority of Hearing students just looked on politely, perhaps nodding slightly. And as usual, the teacher gestured for them to copy her. To feel the sign in their own hands, just like a French teacher wants you to practice feeling the word on your tongue. But the difference came in the gesture. In the USA, teachers wave their hands toward themselves with their fingers tilted sideways, in a circular motion, to indicate they want audience participation. This teacher put her hands out in front of her with extended elbows and her palms facing up, and then moved her hands up a few times. All the Fulbrighters (we’re a very cheerfully obedient and engaged crew, yes we are!) promptly stood up. I noticed several Americans at other tables do the same. The Israelis laughed, everyone resumed their seats, perhaps a little flustered, but hey, even the slightest exercise/movement and laughter are both beneficial for our brain’s learning process, so I say, “Well done”. :)

We learned signs for greeting, requests, politeness, etc. before returning to our coffee and dessert. I love watching new learners of a sign language. So many of the insights are the same, but they never cease to be endearing and exciting. What is that lyric from As Tears Go By? "Doing things I used to do, they think are new.”

Anyway, after dinner, we head into the theater to see the show, “Not By Bread Alone” performed by actors who are either deaf, blind, or a combination of both. Some of the actors were born deaf and became blind later in life, some born blind and became deaf later in life, some were born both deaf and blind. The play takes place in a bakery where all of the employees bake bread, a tiring but fulfilling process, and during the natural breaks of bread-making (while the dough rises, or while it is baking), dream about the past, present, and future.

http://www.nalagaat.org.il/home.php

At the opening of the show, the characters sit lined along a table kneading the dough, with faceless masks obscuring any individual features. They are just nameless bread-makers. As each introduces him or herself, sharing their deaf and blind status and background, as well as a fact or two about their personality, desires, or hobbies, the mask is removed and a unique and real-life person takes the place of the anonymous bread-kneader.

They each dedicate their loaf of bread to a people group (lonely children, pregnant women, etc.), and as the dough is set to rise, they welcome the audience into their lives of silence and darkness where memories intertwine with fantasies, and the sighted and hearing audience members start to enter a world that has hitherto surrounded them, but has perhaps remained unknown.

The lines are signed either by the actors or by an interpreter stage right, and are spoken in Hebrew by the same combination (although one actor also speaks a bit of Russian – an important segment of Israeli society). Above the stage there is a screen that displays the lines in Hebrew, Arabic, and English. When the script calls for simultaneous freezing or moving by all actors at once, the cues are provided by large bongo-type drums that produce air vibrations that I could feel even from my seat halfway up the audience seating. Blind actors are led very nonchalantly in their blocking by the interpreters when needed, and when the audience claps, they interpret this to the deaf-blind actors by tapping them on the shoulder in the same rhythm as the clapping. The light cues and sound cues are quite extensive, and greatly serve to set the mood for the various scenes.

In the first act while the dough rises, the audience learns of the character’s struggles and dreams. In the second act, while the bread bakes, a magician appears and brings these dreams into an oh-the-magic-of-theater reality. The performance concludes with, what else? A wedding and a feast! The bread is brought out, warm, crispy, and soft, and the audience is invited to the stage to partake and to talk with the actors and interpreters. (And when my family comes, this will also include my father walking around the stage in his own little world looking at the lights, wings, stage design, and standing downstage center counting the seats in the audience. ;-))

There is a lot to hear and see throughout the production, and I notice something new each time (why else do I love theater so much?!), and of course every time I rely less and less on the captions above the stage as my Hebrew and ISL improve, freeing me to take it all in deeper, as well as freeing my mind to consider the implications and messages that have been there each time. It is drastically different from anything I’ve seen in the states, and the different cultural takes on things left me pretty baffled the first time I saw it. I can hardly wait for my family to come visit in June. We are all involved with theater, and I look forward to “debriefing” with them. :)