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!