Wednesday, October 27, 2010

You know you're living in Bat Yam when...

Hello readers! It's about 9 PM here in Israel; I've just gotten back from my Business Ethics class, and before I resume Hebrew flashcards and preparations for tomorrow (we're going to Jerusalem for the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer walk) I wanted to update all of you (see, I'm trying to be better about this!)

Monday of this week was completely hectic. After turning in my Zionism paper and having a morning of classes, we all boarded buses for Jerusalem. Our first stop was the AACI (Association of Americans and Canadians in Israel) memorial service for fallen members of the IDF and victims of terror who were originally American or Canadian citizens. After this year's ceremony, the memorial wall dedicated by AACI just outside of Jerusalem now lists over 300 names, a staggering number. As Americans living in Israel, this was both depressing and humbling. So many people have moved themselves, their families and their lives to Israel, risking everything, and some have clearly made the ultimate sacrifice.

Once the ceremony was over, we took a trip to Mini Israel, which is, exactly as it's named, a smaller scale version of all major sites, cities and attractions in Israel. Being as tall as the Azrieli Tower (the second tallest building in Israel, tallest in Tel Aviv) was quite cool (in real life, Azrieli is almost 50 stories. I barely clear 5 feet). The main event, however, came after Mini Israel: all of Year Course (about 340 students, plus staff) attended the Masa opening event in Jerusalem, featuring a concert by Idan Raichel. First, let me explain Masa. Masa is an organization which promotes and gives funding to study abroad and exchange programs in Israel for high school and college-age students. Not only does Masa partner with Year Course, but they aid similar programs as well. They hosted the event (about 4,000 people were in attendance) and the featured guest was Idan Raichel, the musical genius behind the Idan Raichel Project. Idan Raichel's music is influenced by the global community; his band members (there are 10) are each from a different part of the world; they perform music in many languages and take musical inspiration from a variety of styles and cultures. His concert was awesome, and so are his dreadlocks. To find out more about Idan Raichel and his music, visit: .

Tuesday was an early morning of volunteering. It's been about a month, and some of my students, despite their efforts, continue to try to teach me profanity in Hebrew, thinking I won't know the difference. Unfortunately for them, I am becoming less of a "stupid American," and I recognize their shenanigans. Two of them (who shall remain nameless) think it's hysterical to teach me a sentence with curse words, tell me it means "You have nice eyes" or "I like your shirt" and then they instruct me to say it to their teacher, knowing full well it has nothing to do with pretty eyes or an outfit choice. I, however, do not fall for their tricks; generally, one of their classmates begins to giggle immediately, which is a tip-off, or someone (usually Bar or Sapir, my buddies) tells me not to repeat whatever the little clowns have "taught" me. Always good for a laugh, though. Crazy kids.

Tuesday afternoon was an adventure to Tel Aviv; we've realized that we have about a month left in Bat Yam, which means a month to visit Tel Aviv whenever we choose, a month to explore, a month to enjoy the city and beaches around us before we move to the desert. Because we cannot completely disregard being American (it's one of those things we just can't shake, unlike our initial jetlag and, after some Ulpan classes, the language barrier) we have decided to celebrate Halloween while in Israel. So, my roommate and I got costumes, had some delicious dinner and, like true pioneers, took a new bus route home (125 instead of 18...). A very successful evening, I must say.

The best part about my day today was the evening class from which I just returned. It's called Jewish Business Ethics and is taught by my Zionism teacher, Benjy. Every week, our topic changes; all are related to issues in business and global economies, and what Jewish law has to say about these modern issues. Tonight, our topic was advertising, its positive affects on consumers and ramifications of "false advertising." Interestingly, the Talmud and Halacha (Jewish law) have very specific prohibitions against misleading people when it comes to making a purchase or a decision. The example is given: A storeowner should never sprinkle expensive, delicious-smelling wine throughout his shop if the wine in the store is not of the same caliber as the wine he uses to lure in customers. His customers then believe that the wine they purchase will smell just as delicious as his shop, but when they open it, realize their wine is nothing like the product that urged them to make their purchase. The lesson here, therefore, is that advertising falsely and similar methods of simply "making a sale" or "doing business" are prohibited by Halacha. According to Jewish law, consumers have recourse if they are not satisfied with their product after buying it based on certain information (i.e. an advertisement). So, where does that leave us as consumers, as businessmen and women, and for me, as a Jewish person? I will tell you one thing: the advertisements on the sides of buses and all over billboards for chocolate in this country are very hard to ignore. They're everywhere. And I can tell you from some experience that they are not misleading (so, ads for chocolate are okay by the Halacha. That figures).

Now that my adventure in Bat Yam is two-thirds over, I have made a list of things that are unique to and great about living here. As I compiled this list, I found myself thinking, "No wonder Bat Yam has such a bad reputation." But in reality, it's been an amazing first two months, and I wouldn't have wanted to spend them any other place:

1. You see more cats than people. If I could somehow calculate the ratio of cats to people in Bat Yam, I think the kitties would win. They are everywhere. In the street. On my front steps. Behind the market. They're smart though; when they see me coming, they steer clear.
2. Your boyfriend thinks pepperspray constitutes a gift. A few weeks ago, my roommate's boyfriend gave her pepperspray after visiting our apartment for dinner. His best friend is my boyfriend, and after hearing that my roommate received pepperspray, he thought I would need some, too. After much convincing, I told him no, pepperspray was not necessary. I never walk alone at night and I know my way around. Like any city, you just need to keep your wits about you. At first, I'll be honest, walking around Bat Yam scared the living daylight out of me, but now, it's become my neighborhood and I feel comfortable going from place to place, pepperspray-free.
3. You can walk to the beach with your eyes closed (since you now know the bus system and the fact that certain lines stop running after certain hours. This only took three weeks to figure out) The beach is a 25 minute walk from my apartment, down one major road, that dead-ends at the ocean. Generally, a bus line runs straight to the beach, but the stops change, and after 9 PM, the route changes completely. Learning this was not as straightforward as it sounds, more like trial and error for a few weeks.
4. You are a Super Douche connoisseur. I have become a Super Douche maniac. I can drive my shopping cart, be on my cell phone and order chicken breast all at once like a champion. Screaming out "Slicha!" (Excuse me!) has become automatic; I'm not even afraid of bumping into people anymore because clearly, that is how the Douche is navigated: by shopping cart assault and screaming. Really, it's an acquired talent, but once you've got it down, anything is possible.
5. You have a small Russian vocabulary without even trying to learn Russian. Everything in Bat Yam is labeled in Russian (usually instead of translation from Hebrew to English, it's Hebrew to Russian. Or there's no Hebrew at all). The kids at school speak Russian to one another occasionally, and I'm starting to pick up a few words (Hello, Goodbye, Yes and No). The best place to learn some great Russian words? Super Douche. See #4 above.
6. You walk outside your apartment in mid-October and immediately begin to sweat. Granted, Israel is hot. It's the desert. But 98 degrees in October? I think that's a bit excessive. I'd really like to start wearing jeans and long-sleeve shirts, but that will not happen in the foreseeable future.
7. The woman at the post office hates you for no reason other than the fact your mother sends packages often. I am beginning to believe that the Israeli post system is worse than that in America. Arriving at the post office with a package slip usually means you will get yelled at for "being here AGAIN?!" and of course, for not understanding the mix of Russian and Hebrew the woman behind the counter is speaking. Getting the correct package and escaping unharmed is a major victory.
8. Toothpaste is a free giveaway at Super Pharm. Super Pharm is the CVS of Israel; it's everywhere and they sell everything from shampoo to paper towels. The other day, I went in to replace my shampoo and conditioner. At home, my shampoo has some clever name with "No frizz" in the title. Well, as I looked for it in Super Pharm, I saw the tall orange bottle and written on the front "Infrizzable Woman." Clearly, I thought that was hysterical (translations on labels are generally funny) so now, I am the Infrizzable Woman (I bought a few bottles) along with some conditioner, soap and other necessities. Well, as it turns out, spending 200 shekels or more at Super Pharm gets you a free gift! I was picturing a pack of Must gum or something. But no. Toothpaste. Colgate toothpaste. When the woman at the cash register saw my face, she said "Doesn't sell very much. We give away as present." Toothpaste is not a big item around here - so it becomes a gift. Priceless.
9. A bus door has closed on your face at least twice, leaving you stranded on the sidewalk as you watch your friends go to Tel Aviv without you. Bus drivers in Israel are a particularly scary breed. They do not wait for you to be fully on the bus before shutting the bus doors and driving away. This sometimes results in leaving people behind, caught limbs and profanity. Or all of the above. However, now that my Hebrew is improving, I can tell the driver to wait, please. This is not always successful, but the rate of bus doors closing in our faces and driving off has sharply declined since our arrival.
10. Despite all the problems and setbacks, strange neighbors and the relentless heat, you don't want to live anywhere else.
I really do love living in Bat Yam. It's going to be sad to leave in a month, but I know my time here has given me some of the best (and funniest) experiences!

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Finally, time to breathe (and blog!)

Once again, I find myself apologizing for my lack of recent entries. It's been way too long! Here's the (not so) latest, but of course, the greatest, from Israel:

Last weekend, as I mentioned at the end of my last post, my entire Year Course section went to Haifa in the North. On Thursday, we drove to a Druze village and visited the shouk; the Druze are a minority in Israel, but serve in the military. Their religion, however, is a mystery; only a select few elders in the Druze community know and understand the inner workings of their beliefs, and cannot share their knowledge with others. After the Druze village (which resulted in some of the most delicious schwarma I have ever eaten) we drove to the top of Mt. Carmel, the highest elevation in Israel. Mt. Carmel used to have a waterfall flowing down one side, and now that the falls have dried, where the water used to be is a rocky trail called a "wadi." We started at the top of the mountain, climbed down the wadi (about three hours downhill) and then, in order to get back to meet our buses, we had to climb up a second mountain (it was straight up) and then back down the side of the second mountain. In the ancient world, it was the Carmel that kept invaders from entering Palestine from the North, which I now completely understand. No army (or person) could endure that schlep with horses, weapons, and God only knows what else. I barely made it to the end with my Northface backpack and water. However, I must admit a feeling of accomplishment when I reached the end of the trail (four hours later). That, and being completely sore from head to toe. Not to mention the dirt in which I was covered.

We spent the night in Haifa, and waking up the next morning was a challenge to say the least. My legs were throbbing, and I was sore in places in my arms and shoulders I didn't know I had muscles that could even feel sore. Once everyone was awake, packed, and had swallowed a sufficient amount of ibuprofen, we visited the Rothschild Gardens. Baron de Rothschild was a very wealthy guy; he gave very generously to building Israel's first settler communities. The most noteworthy part about the Rothschild Gardens is the "Blind Garden," which features plants with distinctive smells for those visitors who cannot see. We walked through the Blind Garden with our eyes closed, trying to identify the herbs and flowers planted there by scent alone. Some were easy to identify, but others were quite challenging!

After Rothschild, we went to Zikhron Yaakov, a small community outside of Haifa known for its pedestrian mall (yet, amazingly, people drive there anyway. Crazy Israeli drivers.) We visited the Ahronson House, where a spy ring operated in the early 1900s, passing intelligence about Egypt to the British. Later, we found a small cafe to enjoy lunch before returning to Bat Yam.

Once the week began again, time flew (as it tends to around here). The days truly get away from me; whether it be volunteering at Ben Gurion School (where I now have several fifth graders thinking I know Eminem because I'm American) or spending hours working on my midterm assessments for school (a research paper for Zionism and a project for Business Ethics) I always tell myself to blog, to catch up on silly things like my TV shows I download from iTunes, to email my family and friends. Let me take this time to apologize for not always getting around to it! I promise, I do think about all of you and miss you very much...

This week was especially busy because on Tuesday, all of Israel held memorial services for Yithak Rabin, who was assassinated in November of 1995. Every city holds a memorial, and I was asked to give a speech (there is always one presentation in English, and I was the speaker this year for Bat Yam) on behalf of Young Judaea at Bat Yam's service this year. The theme on which I was asked to speak was change: the meaning of change, the power of change, the methods in which we effect change. The original text of my speech is printed below (some of it was translated into Hebrew, and parts were taken out for the sake of time). It was truly an honor to present alongside the mayor of Bat Yam and a former Knesset member who was a friend of Rabin.

Thursday of this week was also a special day because a group of us took part in a tiyul (a trip) to Dialog in the Dark, Israel's blind museum. The museum was created for sighted people to experience the difficulties with which the blind community lives. Upon entering the museum, I held my hand to my nose and couldn't make out the outline of my fingers. It is truly blackness; my eyes never adjusted to the dark and I continued to stumble around, trip and call out to my friends. All of the guides in the museum are blind or visually impaired. The experience's affect on me was twofold: first, it forced my other senses to be heightened, especially hearing and touch. Secondly, I left with a new appreciation for my sense of sight. Over Shabbat, I found myself admiring the gorgeous moon and stars over Tel Aviv, taking in even small details like watching the traffic lights change and knowing what number bus to take. It's really true that you don't know what you've got till it's gone; after two hours without my sight, I want to take extra time to appreciate everything I am fortunate enough to see.

Tomorrow is yet another week; this coming Friday marks two months of me being in Israel! How crazy is that?! I'm looking forward to (finally) turning in my assignments, teaching on Tuesday (I'm hoping that Bar and Sapir did their homework correctly so I can give them stickers. It's amazing what some colorful, sticky-back pictures can do, incentive-wise) and an Idan Raichel concert Monday night (all of Year Course - 300 people - will be in attendance) and the Susan G. Komen walk for breast cancer awareness on Thursday (it's an all-day event in Jerusalem).

That's been the week(s) past, and a look forward. I hope my update finds you all well, and enjoying the beginnings of cold weather (I'm jealous. It's still 98 degrees here. In October).

I will post pictures soon (when I have both time and adequate internet connection).

Love always,
Elana


The Power of Change – Yitzhak Rabin Memorial
Bat Yam, 2010


Hello, my name is Elana Stern, and I am representing Young Judaea Year Course.

I like to think we made an active change in ourselves by deciding to spend nine months in Israel. Change is a frightening thing, both in theory and in practice. Making the decision to change is only half the battle; effecting that change and handling its potential setbacks and consequences is another challenge entirely. Instead of going directly (and predictably) from high school to college, we decided to take a risk, to make a change in the course of our lives. We have elected to jump over new hurdles, to explore the uncharted, to experience the road less traveled. In doing so, we effect change within ourselves and among those around us. Every day, we volunteer in the community of Bat Yam, aiming to improve the lives of others. We attend classes, we get involved in issues about which we care, we are handed opportunities that we can take or turn away. Our time here, and the decisions we make, have the power to effect change. Change is not often drastic, and it is not always welcome, but it is the only constant we experience.

Yitzhak Rabin was a man, and a leader, who understood the importance and the prominence of change. Long time politician, Knesset member and two-time Prime Minister of Israel until his untimely death in November of 1995, Rabin embodied the power of an individual’s potential to effect change for a better world. Faced with such problems as rehabilitating the IDF, socioeconomic issues and lack of public confidence in the Israeli government, Rabin’s political career was marked by achievements in diplomacy and his utmost involvement in engineering peace. In December 1994, Rabin was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, and in his acceptance speech, he noted:

“ I stand here mainly for the generations to come, so that we may all be deemed worthy of the medal which you have bestowed on me and my colleagues today.
I stand here as the emissary today -- if they will allow me -- of our neighbors who were our enemies. I stand here as the emissary of the soaring hopes of a people which has endured the worst that history has to offer and nevertheless made its mark -- not just on the chronicles of the Jewish people but on all mankind.”

His message is not revolutionary, it is not altogether new or groundbreaking, but it is, at its core, a plea for change. Rabin wanted peace, a peace that would take hold and eventually become permanent. He wanted a change for the future of Israel, and for the future of the world. He recognized the differences between his neighbors and his enemies, and sought to resolve them, to break the vicious circle of inconclusive politics and violence. He saw the possibility for change, for improvement, and committed his life to achieving goals driven by change he would never live to see.

Rabin, I believe it is safe to say, would not wait on the world to change. He would drive the change himself, speak out, loudly and fervently, on behalf of whatever the cause or purpose. Change is not simply making the decision to do something differently; it is actualizing our choices, it is taking active steps toward an end result, it is finding new answers to old questions. Change requires us to take risks, to stand at the forefront, and often, the desire for change necessitates defending our own beliefs in the face of adversity and stagnation. Change is progressive. Change is scary. Change is what we make it.

If you search for “change” in a thesaurus, you will find over one hundred different entries. Change can be a verb, a noun, or an adjective; defined as innovation, as something done differently, or smaller currency in exchange for that which is larger. Change is something we do, it is something we see, and something we experience. For Rabin, it meant new and improved politics, a dedication to achieving peace and lifetime spent, quite simply, doing things differently. For us, it means taking advantage of every new opportunity we are given. It means volunteering in new places and meeting new people. It means devoting ourselves to a cause, to a purpose, and watching our aspirations for change become realities. Change does not happen, it is made, change is not a possibility, it is a fact, and change will not always be easy or pleasant, but it will always be necessary. When we simplify it from complex ideas to everyday human action, change is the impact we have on ourselves and those around us; it is the differences we make in the world, no matter how small, which amassed among us, create a world better than the one with which we started.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Going Postal

Hello readers and welcome to week 7 of my adventure! Here's what's been happening since my last post:

On Thursday, my entire section of Year Course (there are about 100 of us) participated in Sports Day. Everyone who wanted to play soccer, volleyball or basketball signed up for their respective choice and was assigned to a team. To make the competition official, we all got t-shirts in a color specific to our team (mine was red). However, instead of printing "Section 2 Sports Day" on the back of the shirt, I now own a piece of clothing with "Section 2 Ball Tournament" written across my shoulders. In very large letters. Something was clearly lost in translation when making up the shirts, but regardless, we could have made laughing about "Ball Tournament" an activity in and of itself.

After Sports Day came to a close (my team, unfortunately, did not win in the end. Bummer) it was time for my second meeting with the Social Action Rwanda track. Before we leave for Rwanda at the end of January, we have several meetings and orientations to prepare for our trip. This past week, a survivor of the genocide, Martin, came to share his story with us. He moved to Israel 3 years ago, with his wife, and is now a student at Tel Aviv University where he studies, of all subjects, conflict resolution. During the genocide, his family, who he told us is Hutu, helped protect their Tutsi friends and neighbors, hiding them from persecution. Unfortunately, not all of those they protected survived. His family, however, which includes seven brothers and sisters and his parents, are all still living in Rwanda; the likelihood of entire families surviving was slim to none, so his story is truly remarkable. What was most interesting was his mention of the division between Hutus and Tutsis. He said his family is "considered" Hutu; when he was growing up, no one knew who belonged to what group. It wasn't until the government forced everyone to carry identification cards that the two ethnic groups became so defined; thus began the genocide. At the end of his story, Martin told us plans to return to Rwanda in November to see his family and their village.

Friday began a weekend of girls-only shabbat; it started off with a rain storm! On the bus to Tel Aviv, torrential downpour stopped traffic, pedestrians were caught completely off guard, and Allenby and King George Streets began to flood. It was truly a sight! After puddle-jumping our way off the bus, we explored the food stands at Dizengoff Center, where, every Friday, the spiraling hallways of the shopping mall are lined with cuisine from every corner of the earth. For lunch, we had bowls of Indian food (curried chicken, rice, and vegetables) and for dinner, we went to the homemade pasta stand for several types of penne, ravioli, gnocchi and sauces. We did, however, spend some time debating among the Chinese food, sushi rolls, Middle Eastern specialities and, of course, crepes. Very serious consideration and deliberation took place.

Saturday was spent at the beach; it's finally cooling down here (i.e. rain in October) so by late afternoon, it was time to pack up our towels and begin getting ready for the Israel vs. Croatia soccer game. Brinley, our friend Kayleigh and I bought face paint (and glitter, naturally) at Dizengoff (after deciding what food to buy, since that always takes precedence) to show our Israel team spirit! Too bad no amount of face paint or glitter in the world could help this team. First of all, it was a 9 PM start, and we didn't arrive at the Ramat Gan stadium until almost 8:45. At this point, every drunken soccer fan in the country (i.e the majority of the population) had already entered the stadium, painted their chest and was screaming for a hot dog, a goal, or more beer. It really did all sound the same from me. Now, let me explain something. The stadium seats approximately 80,000 people. They had clearly oversold tickets, because not only was there nowhere to sit, there was barely room to stand. Or breathe. This made going to Livingston Bagel Deli on a Sunday morning seem like a calm, civilized experience (for those of you who have never been to Livingston Bagel on a Sunday morning, just imagine a zoo of people, fighting over baked goods, complaining that their order is wrong, that they've been waiting for three hours, etc. etc. Now put all of that into Hebrew, magnify by about thirty decibels, and add cigarette smoke. You then begin to approach this stadium on a Saturday night). In any case, once the game started, we decided, in the true spirit of attending a sporting event, to check out the concession stand. Bad, bad idea. They were making Hebrew National hot dogs as fast as they could (not fast enough) and literally throwing cups of Coke and bags of sunflower seeds everywhere. Mind you, the concept of waiting in lines and being patient is completely foreign in Israel, so Brinley and I (both of us are barely 5 feet, and clearly American) managed to escape the throngs of people, I believe, by the threat of having blue face paint smeared all over their white soccer jerseys should they smack into us. We escaped with hot dogs (and even some mustard!) a bag of sunflower seeds and a Coke between the two of us.

The game, unfortunately, was uneventful for the most part. Croatia scored twice in the first half (I'm pretty sure the entire country of Croatia was at the game. They fit into one section, and looked like one large, confused picnic blanket. Their team is red and white checkered print shirts, so put them all together and they begin to resemble barbecue decor). Israel didn't make an attempt at a comeback until after halftime, with about five minutes left. I guess their coach threatened them with no falafel or some such punishment, because they were making a serious effort. In their defense, the refereeing was clearly stacked against them; I'm not exactly a soccer buff, but I know unfair calls when I see them. Eyal Whathisname did not deserve a yellow card. The guy from Croatia tripped over his own two left feet. To make things interesting, a very drunk, frustrated fan jumped onto the field with about two minutes left and began running across. It took four security guards to stop him, tackle him and escort him off the field. When that is a high point of a game, you're in trouble. It ended 2-1, but I got an Israel scarf (it's actually quite cool. It's reversible) and Brinley bought an Israeli flag to hang in our room. So really, it was an excellent evening.

Sunday was supposed to be a relaxing day. I had received an email from a member of the Year Course staff telling me I had a package slip in the office and that I should pick it up sometime Sunday so I could go to the post office. I figured I could get some sleep, get my package slip and wander to the post office later in the day. Too bad I got a phone call around 7 AM. An angry Israeli voice greeted me on the other end: "This is Elana Stern? Your package, it is in the office of your Year Course. Don't come to post office for it." What a wake up call. I didn't even get a "boker tov." I swear, for an intelligent and modern country, their postal service is awful. But, I guess if that's my biggest complaint, things are going well overall. Better than well. Things are great. Fabulous, even. Just not the post office. They're less than fabulous.


That's the latest and greatest from here. It's another full week of volunteering, classes and all-around shenanigans. Thursday we're taking a group trip up North to Haifa - I'm so excited! I will do my best to update you all again between now and when we leave.

All my love,
Elana

PS: If Gad ever shows up to fix our router, I might be able to upload pictures!

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Oh, to the left!

First, let me start by apologizing for my lack of recent entries. It's been way too long since my last post, but let me explain why:

On Friday morning, the tsofim (Israeli scouts) took a group of us to the Kinneret for a tiyul (a trip). We arrived midday on Friday, set up our "camp site" (no tents, dirt and sleeping bags only) and swam in the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee). Later, we had a barbecue and, naturally, a dance party (no camping trip is complete without the right amount of techno and obnoxious autotune). After roughing it for a night we traveled to our water hike! In some parts, the water was ankle-deep, in others, it hit my shoulders, but throughout, it was very rocky and slippery. I emerged muddy, tired and black and blue (unfortunately, there is no photographic evidence of this because I didn't want to risk ruining my camera. The trek was dangerous enough without begin responsible for any form of technology). Since you are all familiar, I'm sure, with my deep love for nature and the great outdoors (bahaha) you can imagine my attitude toward my post-camping, post-hike state: I needed a shower. Badly.

We returned to Bat Yam on Saturday night; I smelled like what I'm sure is a cross between unclean feet and horse manure (it was that bad, let me tell you). On Sunday, after a brief meeting to discuss my volunteering program, I went to Tel Aviv to take another dance class; this time, I tried jazz. I hopped into a cab, and, just my luck, I got the most talkative driver in Israel. He wanted to know if I liked the music he was playing. Where I was from. Why was I staying in Bat Yam? (An excellent question, I might add. I get that quite a lot). Eventually, the Spanish Inquisition ended, he dropped me off, and asked what time I needed to be picked up later that night. I told him I didn't. I could not have handled another half hour of that for the life of me.

I arrived in plenty of time, found a spot to stretch before class began, and waited for the teacher to take command of the class with what is usually a high-pitched "Yala!" ("Let's go!") As soon as Roy (I was expecting Roy to be 6 foot and dark and handsome. This Roy is a girl, she is maybe 5'2'' and not more than 100 pounds) started barking at us, I stood up and moved toward the front of the class. "Smoll!" she screamed. "Yes, I'm short," I thought to myself, "I'll move up more so the taller, lankier girls (i.e. everyone in the room) can have more space." As it turns out, she wasn't yelling at me to move up because I'm a dwarf. "Smoll" means "left." She wanted me to move over. Ooops. But, now I understand "smoll" and "yemeen" (right). So, later in the class, when she began ordering "Veh, step, smoll, yemeen, smoll, veh turn veh jump veh yemeen!" I understood. I was very proud of myself for figuring that much out and keeping up in the class when the music stopped and Roy came up to me and motioned for me to repeat a piece of the combination we had just learned. I really thought I was in trouble. Then she started explaining something in rapid fire Hebrew and asked me if I could please... All I could think to myself was "No, I cannot because I only understood that last part because my Hebrew is about as good as your Swahili, so I have no idea what you want me to do." Well, I smiled, said "Slicha" (which means "excuse me," or "sorry." Always a good word to throw in when things get awkward. Which for me is all the time) and explained, in English, that I'm from America, I'm living here for a while, I've been dancing for my whole life and wanted to continue while in Israel. Everyone in the class found this intriguing; they wanted to know if I've been to New York, if I know Beyonce, if I understood a word that had been said during the past hour. My answers went something like: Yes, I love New York, it's 30 minutes from my house, but no, I don't know Beyonce, and no, I don't understand anything you've said in the last hour, but I'm glad I fooled you all! As it turned out, Roy wanted me to demonstrate a piece of the choreography we had learned, which flattered me, and she was more impressed when she found out that my Hebrew is so limited. After telling me she wants to see me next week in her class, she ordered me to get my leg higher. Too bad it was at my face already. Her response? "It can always go higher!" How Israeli are we? Answer: very.

Monday was a full day of classes; I'm learning prepositions and verbs. Watch out, world, Elana can make Hebrew sentences! Today (Tuesday) I began full-time volunteering at the Ben Gurion school. For the first hour, I work in a sixth grade English class of 25 students. Of the 25, maybe 10 actually sat for the entire class doing their assigned worksheets and exercises; the rest ran around outside, screamed at one another, and wreaked general havoc. It was madness. One of the particularly engaged students, Daria, held a complete conversation with me in English; she wanted to know where I'm from, what America is like, and if I know Justin Bieber. I told her not personally, but I know of him. The fact that she laughed led me to believe that her English is nearly fluent; she later told me that her parents enrolled her in an after school program to supplement her English skills, and they practice with her at home. Unfortunately, many students do not share her enthusiasm. For example, her classmate Mordecai told me he never needs to learn English because everyone he knows speaks Hebrew. I asked him, "What about me? How can we talk and be friends if you don't help me with my Hebrew and I don't help you with English?" At this, he opened his notebook and began his grammar exercises. It was a small victory, granted, but one more sixth grader practicing his sentence formation instead of raising hell in the schoolyard.

After a short break, we went into a fifth grade class (except there were 35 of them; the extra 10 does make a huge difference) to do more of the same: encourage an unruly group of ten and eleven year-olds to open their workbooks instead of run around outside. Upon introducing myself, a group of girls, Bar, Sapir and Maziel, surrounded me, asking for help with their worksheets and their overwhelming vocabulary lists. I sat them each down, and began explaining the exercises in the simplest terms I could; they corrected my Hebrew mistakes and I made sure to make little notes in colored marker where their English grammar was incorrect. At the end of the day, Bar pulled out a sticker book from her backpack and peeled off the biggest heart-shaped one she could find. "For you," she told me, "for teaching me all the best English!" She hugged me and ran down the hallway. As I was leaving, she and her friends came to find me and practiced, as I had taught them, "See you soon!" The sticker Bar gave me is currently on my water bottle; I'm hoping to have a complete heart and rainbow collection papering my Nalgene by the time I finish teaching at their school.

That's been the last week (almost) and now I'm looking forward to the Israel vs. Croatia soccer game on Saturday night (a bunch of us decided to go!). I am that desperate to watch professional sports. But, in any case, it should be a great time; I just need to learn how to say "run faster," "score a goal," and "trip him" in Hebrew. Shouldn't take long.

Love from the Holy Land,
Elana