The Adventures of a Canadian Celtic Warrior Poet

Esprit de l'Escalier

2011-02-23T18:39:00.000-08:00

What is "esprit de l'escalier"? According to wikipedia it is "usually translated as "staircase wit", [and] is the act of thinking of a clever comeback when it is too late to deliver it. The phrase can be used to describe a riposte to an insult or any witty remark that comes to mind too late to be useful, after one has left the scene of the encounter. The phenomenon is usually accompanied by a feeling of regret at not having thought of the retort when it was most needed or suitable."

I went to a very fun birthday last Saturday night - sincerely, a fun birthday party. There were many folks present I hadn't seen since before my year in Israel, and the birthday boy, celebrating his 60th, is one of my all-time favourite people as well as being boyfriend to one of my five BFFs. Here's the story leading to my having suffered from esprit de l'escalier:

One of the other party-goers, a dude in his late 50's or early 60's, clearly considered himself a ladies' man, a playah. So, he sat down on one of the couches with myself and my friend (also of the female persuasion) and opened his conversation thus: "So, do you girls dance?" An innocent question, to be sure. My pal answered: "Only when I'm drunk." I said, "Yeah, me too. I need a few in me to get on the dance floor. I guess we're not really into dancing, per se." He proceeded to tell us that women dancing, generally in a circle, was hardwired into our genetics as a bonding mechanism, that this was inherently a feminine activity. I said, "How interesting. Murray over there is a ballroom dancer and he's not a girl." This was where the conversation took a bizarre turn: said dude then asked us, "What do you girls do to bond? Do you kiss? Touch each other?"

Did someone just scratch the needle across the record and stop the music?

Inappropriate. And I said so. But, he wouldn't drop it. I was at a loss for words, for several reasons:
1: Location, location, location. We were essentially at a family-type party, not a bar. Quite a few generations were present, and within earshot. If this question were posed while I was bartending, I would have had a witty Carla-in-Cheers appropriate comeback - or, I would have had his ass removed from my bar.
2: This is a friend of the birthday boy.
3: Shock.
4: Plain old (feminine genetically hardwired?)(simply Canadian?) politeness and desire to salvage the situation without hurting his feelings. (That's right, I said it. I didn't want to hurt his feelings. This deserves another post unto itself.)

Here's what actually happened: I turned the conversation around. "We talk about fashion, decorating, books. We talk a lot about books. What are you reading these days?" I thought: phew! Saved a little face, had a not-bad convo about pulp fiction, and that's that, end of inappropriate questions from the playah. Nope. He asked the same questions not once but twice more that evening. And here's where the esprit de l'escalier comes in, because I thought: if I had shot him down right then and there, then maybe/hopefully I could have saved the other women at the party from him.

Of course, the biggest esprit de l'escalier that crossed my mind was to have punched him. "How's that for a gender-bending reaction, pal?" Or, I could have fed into his question: "Oh, my goodness! Is it so obvious that we are into heavy petting to prove our girl-love for each other? Gosh!" But, the most satisfying esprit de l'escalier involved variations of saying to him, "Are you for fucking real? Let's poll the women in the room to find out how they bond with their girlfriends, starting with the mother of the hostess." Somehow, I think that the answer that the mother of hostess would have provided would have been the best shut-down that man has ever experienced.

My analyses of why he thought this behaviour was/is suitable are taking up entirely too much space in my head since then. I don't believe that such behaviour is as harmless as some would have us believe - especially considering that such questions instantly wither a person, and how can being put on the defensive, as well as being reduced instantly to a sexual creature in a place of safety amongst friends be viewed as anything other than hostile? Did he feel threatened? Intimidated? (As a group, we're outspoken but friendly and welcoming.) Does my spending this time on my blog writing about him give him power? To this last question, I answer No. By airing this experience in a public forum and hearing the reaction, "Unbelievable," makes me hope that his inappropriate behaviour will never again occur, that it will become an extinct instinct. But, to be honest, rational and reasonable, a leopard such as he is will never change his spots, and I take great solace and strength knowing that there are so many men out there who are not like this, men who speak to women as intelligent equals.

And, I'm working on an esprit de l'escalier-free life. When you work in a bar, you have the opportunity to deliver those ripostes to the insults, and when you don't work in a bar, you surprisingly have fewer insults to which a witty riposte is necessary. Interesting, that.

Image discovered at www.figarospeech.com

Sans Pieds, Part IV

2011-02-02T06:21:00.001-08:00

The Alli's were the first pair I got when I started working for Fluevog. I love the two-tone chocolate and burgundy, the slightly turned up toes, the masculine brogue combined with the multiple feminine-ish buckles. Plus, they're the perfect showcase for funky socks and tights. Yum.

I'd Learn to Juggle...

2011-01-25T19:13:00.000-08:00

...to be on Troy and Abed in the Morning. I need to get me that mug.

Sans Pieds, Part III

2011-01-24T20:11:00.000-08:00

I'm learning how to be a heels-girl. These were a challenge. I admit to only having worn them once, so far, but I'm not giving up! I justified owning them for an evening at the theatre last October with my girls to see Love, Loss, and What I Wore - I wanted an outfit worthy of the outing, and the Lancianos (with a purple dress) definitely fit the bill.

Dear Freud:

2011-01-24T20:08:00.000-08:00

Craig T. Nelson has been in my dreams a lot lately. I think I'll blame the before-bed hot chocolate and watching too many episodes of Parenthood - but not at the same time.

Treasures!

2011-01-20T12:49:00.000-08:00

I was looking for photos for some posts that I'm planning and found this one:

Nadia, Adrienne, me, Debbie

This was taken at Qadosh in Jerusalem around Christmas in 2008. Nadia is a friend Adrienne had made during her anthropology research in Jerusalem, so I don't/didn't know her very well other than this dinner, and afterwards she decided that we should roadtrip to Ramallah. We made it as far as the wall, and that was far enough at 10:30pm. A and D were my two of my closest friends while at Hebrew U, and I miss them terribly - for me, Jerusalem = our friendship and that's what I remember as being the best part of my first semester there. Adrienne is still in Copenhagen and Debbie goes back and forth between Rotterdam and Tel Aviv/Jerusalem - as far as I know. Finding this photo is the push I need to re-establish a better connection with her...and for making a skype date with A. And for wearing that polka dot dress more often after I alter it. It's a little big these days.

Avec les Pieds

2011-01-20T10:03:00.000-08:00

Meet the orange Fiorenzas (from Fluevog, of course!) that were my birthday shoes, way back in May 2010. (The Fiorenzas are from the same shoe family as are the Malibrans that I posted about last week.) They're the first pair of heels I've ever purchased that I didn't need for a wedding or special occasion - I just bought them. Then, I fretted: wtf would I wear with orange shoes?

Wrap-around top/dress: a little shop on Jaffa Road in Jerusalem.
Cropped Jeans: Giant Tiger.

As it turns out, I wore/will wear them with a lot. I've worn them with an all black outfit, with a blue-and-white dress, with an off-white oversized sheath top and chocolate shorts, with several different green dresses, and with the above outfit I wore to our family's "160 party" ( = cousin's 40th birthday, my aunt and uncle's 40th wedding anniversary, and my grandmother's 80th birthday). For a girl whose greatest love is big black boots, my feet are leading me in my new adventures with colour in my clothing palette. Now that I'm in my 40's, I'm embracing an unapologetic adventurousness in my fashion choices, as though with my age has come a confidence to wear what I feel beautiful in and not necessarily what the industry/media/society deems it "fashionable" for me to wear.

And, now that I'm in my 40s, I ask myself this question often: what does "dressing for your age" really mean? As someone who has always looked 5-10 years younger than she actually is (this is not always a bonus - ever forgotten your I.D. when you went to the beer store? Convincing someone that you're in your late 30s and just need a case of 50 isn't as easy as it sounds. Besides, what minor chooses an age in their late 30s to con a case of beer?), I've never worried about this dressing-for-my-age idea. So much goes into personal clothing choices/options, that, to me, age is at the bottom of my list. At the top? In no particular order, rather a combo of factors that all go together, I ask myself the following questions:

1: Is the piece comfortable?
2: Does it fit me well, regardless of the number size on the tag?
3: Is it figure-flattering?
4: If it's not necessarily figure-flattering (I'm a fan of unstructured tops and dresses), does it look cool?
5: Is this a good colour on me - so, if the figure-flattering part is falling in a way that hides my curves, is the colour enough to amp the cool-cred?
6: Is this affordable? (hooray for Goodwill!)

And, well, working at Fluevog is great because I can do a little experimentation with my style that I couldn't while working in restaurants when a black, or mostly black, uniform was the way I rolled. (A friend recently commented that my style seems more mature, more funky, these days. I think I preened. This was a new feeling!) Anyway, now I can play with colour, and it's encouraged. Hooray for orange shoes!

Sans Pieds, Part II

2011-01-19T19:48:00.001-08:00

My other Christmas treat to me! These are the Bondgirls and I'm having a hard time giving my other shoes and boots wear-time. I feel tough and girly and mildly spy-ish dangerous when I wear them, and I don't worry about going ass over teakettle walking on the ice that's now covering the sidewalks after two days of rain that froze with the return of seasonably cold temperatures.

Seriously?

2011-01-07T08:04:00.000-08:00

This is an ad that was placed in bus shelters all over Toronto this past holiday season. The jeweller is a local, discount business. The moment I saw it, I was offended. (For a little background, I used to always say/think that it took a lot to offend me [still true], and that I had no pet peeves. Over the years, and especially after my 40th birthday, I've started compiling a list...just to remind myself that there is much out there that boils my blood.)

So, what's the big deal? Sure it sucks to be alone, if you're a social butterfly and enjoy the company of others. What offends me, though, is the automatic assumption implied by this ad that getting a diamond ring - therefore, getting married - is the antidote. Don't get me wrong: I think that entering into a committed relationship is a beautiful thing when entered for the right reasons, like, oh, love, trust, companionship, all those good things of which my list is not exhaustive. But, doing it just so you won't be alone? That's crazy. I ask myself: what about those of us out there who are/were in committed relationships, marriage even, who are still alone? To have an expectation of togetherness provided with the arrival of such a ring and then when the togetherness doesn't happen, well, that sucks more. I blame Disney, and the diamond industry, for corelating and intertwining these ideas of togetherness with expensive jewellery. (Insert mild sarcasm here.)

As a single woman in her early forties, the reaction to this ad could come across as bitterness. Not true. I just find the further meaning implied by this ad is that those of us who are single, regardless of our calendar ages, are lonely and sad. Again, not true - at least, not in my experience. I don't feel the need to defend or justify my singleness, only to state that being single is just as wonderful as being in a committed relationship.

When I see this ad, I think of a quote I read a long time ago, said by Queen Latifah. She was speaking about this huge fancy diamond ring she was wearing, and this is obviously not verbatim, but it went something like this: "When I meet the person who treats me as well as I treat myself, I'll take off my ring and wear theirs." I like it: the modern symbolic twist of a ring meaning commitment; the respectful treatment of oneself and others, especially in a romantic committed relationship; the unapologetic tribute to singleness; the unapologetic patience for a positive union with a life partner. Nothing sucks about that.

Sans Pieds, Part I

2011-01-04T18:52:00.000-08:00

For those of you who didn't know, I'm working now at Fluevog. After working for over 22 years in the restaurant industry, it's an understatement to tell you that this is a dream job. The best perk? The shoes! (duh!) These are the Malibrans, one of my Christmas treats to me. My thinking is that I'll put them up, sans mes pieds, and when I have photos of them avec pieds, I'll share them. Sweet and Christmasy, non?

Chewing Gum: The Crack Cocaine of the Canine World

2011-01-03T18:59:00.000-08:00

It looks so innocent in its wrapper, doesn't it? I indulge in it - we all love gum, don't we? So does my dog - when it's ABC. ABC? you ask. Yes, Already Been Chewed then spit out on sidewalks, in parks, on people's perfectly mown and weed-free lawns just begging for Annie to scoop it up and keep on chewin'. What's the big deal? you ask. The big deal is that I have to put my hand in her mouth and pull out that wad of corn syrup and germs. I've never been a germaphobe, but, ewww. That's right: for the past 11 months, almost daily, I pull someone else's chewed gum out of my dog's mouth because she just can't resist it, and she's not picky: HubbaBubba, minty, big wad or small. My baby's not alone. I hear all the time that other pet parents from all walks of life, single or coupled, struggle to prevent this addiction in their beloved pet, regardless of breed, and perform interventions as often as I do.

Until yesterday, that is. After telling her only three times to "Leave It," Annie dropped a white wad of some stranger's gum out on the sidewalk where she had found it. This wasn't a one-off, a fluke, either. On tonight's walk, she dropped another (the same?) piece of gum when I told her to. I'm cancelling that methadone order.

Adventures in the Mundane

2011-01-02T20:18:00.001-08:00

I've been thinking, and I've been missing blogging. It seems that in the past few years, everyone I know is, well, not so much "anti-resolution," but not putting pressure on themselves to proclaim a bunch of unrealistic goals that will fizzle in intensity come Valentine's Day. So, despite the time of year I've decided to do this, I'm making a more committed goal to blog more often. My thinking to explain to myself my irregular blogging schedule over the past year and a half was this: I'm not on the road, I'm not experiencing anything internationally exotic (compared to my daily life), so obviously I have nothing interesting to contribute. Then, I thought about some of the blogs that I like to follow, which are glimpses into the daily lives of people I've never met but who inspire me greatly. And, really, I live in the most multicultural city in the world (so we're told) so my sighing whine-whine about non-exotic experiences is a moot point, considering the plethora of interesting, international folk I meet on a daily basis and the internationally-influenced stuff that happens around me. Let's take last night: five friends and I (backgrounds = Italian Montrealer, Russian Jew, Scot, Liverpudlian ex-pat, and me) went to Lee Garden in Chinatown (Dear Diary Moment: we got a table right away at 5pm, when we've waited 45 minutes every year for the past ten for our annual New Year's Day traditional feast), then drove five minutes to College Street to an Italian gelatarie for ice-cream crepes and lattes. We heard so many languages in our time together, and do so anytime we're out and about, that it's become mundane. We're used to walking down the street and catching snatches of French, English, Mandarin, Hebrew, Spanish, Farsi conversations. I love my city.

Happy Digression!

Anyway, I present you with one of my New Year's Resolutions: to blog weekly, if not more often, and not make it a pressure-y thing. And, go!

AnnieBanannie

2010-10-11T19:17:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's been forever since I blogged. My digital camera finally gave up the ghost so I've been without it for about a year. Oh my gosh: Now that I've written it, I can't believe it's been that long! Anyway, it felt like I couldn't blog without it...so, I didn't. Erika generously gave me one of her cameras, and now I'm back in blogging business. It feels pretty good, even if the only person reading this is my mom.

Annie turned 10 months old on 30 September. I tell people that she's 80lbs of love and insanity, especially the kids it looks like she might traumatize when she tries to jump on them as they run past her in the park. So, now that I have a camera again (a camera that doesn't require me to take my film to Black's so they can put my photos on a disc), here she is:

Smiling nicely for the camera.

Sitting on her favourite forbidden spot.

Chewing a bone on the bed, which is better than chewing the bed. She has chewed bedclothes. This is a huge improvement.

The one thing the camera didn't capture is how green her eyes are. I'm working on it.

Don't Mess With Texas

2010-05-23T17:05:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday, I flew down to Texas. Destination: Seminole in Gaines County, West Texas.

I was heading down there to meet this town and its people who want me to teach them Biblical Hebrew. It's funny, because although my Dad is proud that I've dedicated (part of) my (academic) life to obtaining my "Masters Degree of the Obscure," I'm sure he's often wondered if those studies would ever lead to gainful employment. And, the common reaction I've received upon telling people my reason for heading to west Texas is: "Huh? Why?" And, really, it's a fair reaction: Biblical Hebrew is not the language or subject matter that automatically springs to mind when we think of special interest classes here in Toronto. We're more inclined to take a class on Sushi rolling or Spanish.

So, Mary - yes, of Jerusalem-roommate-fame - met me at the airport in Midland-Odessa. It's been a year and a half since we've seen each other and it felt like we'd left each other yesterday. My flight arrived late so we spent the night at the Howard Johnson's in Midland then drove the hour and a half north to Seminole the next morning. Here's the landscape:

That's right, Pump Jacks as far as the eye can see across this very flat expanse of the state. It was really cool when I was flying out of Midland-Odessa airport three days later to look down and see green squares of land stretched out below and in each square was a smaller sandy square amidst which was set a Pump Jack. Not one or two but hundreds.

Just before we slowed down to take this photo ("Hey Mary! I'll bet that burger is actual size - we are in Texas."), I saw my first State Trooper pulling a car over. My shutter-trigger-finger was too slow to get a shot of him, but how cool is that? He had on a big cowboy hat 'n' everything. Yes, I'm easily impressed by sighting lawmen that I thought only existed in movies.

This is the other sign I found heeelarious. This is on the way into Andrews, between Seminole and Midland-Odessa. Does anyone else want to belong, if they don't already, to a Complex (with a capital "C") Community? Or is that just me?

Driving into Seminole, TX, is like stepping back in time: there's no Starbucks, there's no mall. There is a McDonald's, a Subway and a Walmart, but otherwise there are none of the modern commercial conveniences to which we're accustomed. It was refreshing - but also necessitates owning a vehicle. The people, though! All of the people I met are warm, welcoming and eager to have me in their community and to share with them my knowledge of Biblical Hebrew - which I have to admit, is far from exhaustive but is something that I love. The other thing I have to admit to is really enjoying the company of these people and how grateful I was that they busted a lot of the stereotypes (and I truly love it when this happens in any situation) that we Northerners may have of Southerners. No one asked me if I were married, what my religious beliefs are, nor did they try to convert me to theirs. There were no snakes or talking in tongues or hellfire and brimstone at the Pentecostal church service that we went to, led by Bobby. In fact, and I hope he won't be offended by this, but I'd have to say that Bobby is a feminist: his sermon - which he warned "may offend some people, and for that I'm sorry" - was all about how if you don't understand women, you won't understand the Bible. He proceeded to outline how the menstrual cycle and gestation of a human baby line up with the holy-feast days of the Jewish calendar. It was interesting, to say the least, food for thought.

I was not in the middle of a Flannery O'Connell novel.

So, this next adventure isn't a sure thing yet, but we'll cross our fingers for it to be. Yes, I'll take Annie. And, yes, if I'm down there for any length of time I'm quite sure I'll pick up a wee twang in my voice. I already say 'y'all' and I can't seem to answer a yes-or-no question anymore without adding 'ma'am' or 'sir' at the end.

The Angel

2010-04-04T15:55:00.000-07:00

A week ago, I would have told you: Don't be fooled, she's a wee devil. This week, she lives up to her pose. She not only looks sweet but is sweet: she's well-behaved, funny, eating all her apples, and sleeping 8 hours straight. Thanks to her nose halty, she walks right beside me without attempts to dislocate my shoulder or chances of traumatizing toddlers. Two weeks ago, Annie, at 16 weeks old, weighed in at 37lbs. Yup, she's gonna be a big dawg.

Meet Annie

2010-02-12T19:43:00.001-08:00

Her full name is Colonel Anne, after one of my ancestors, Lady Anne MacIntosh, who rallied a bunch of troops from Clan MacIntosh in the 1700s during the Jacobite uprisings in Scotland. The king (deposed king? Scottish history is convoluted and I get easily confused by it - if it were the 1700s BCE, I'd have no problems with it...) - anyway, some king nicknamed her Colonel Anne. The really cool part? Lady Anne fought on the other side, not her husband's. At one point, her husband was arrested and put in her custody then when the political tides turned, she was arrested and put in her husband's custody. I think that's hysterical. I'm hoping to find an account of their personal lives together. That's probably some juicy reading.

My brother, Jason and his wife, Claudette, had decided to breed their golden Lab, Shiloh. She had eight puppies on the day I went in to have a cancerous mole removed. They were calling her Annie since she was three weeks old and it stuck. Annie was born 30 November and came home to me on 31 January. She is such an Annie: "Greek name: (meaning) gorgeous, kindhearted, rebellious, gentle towards others." (urbandictionary.com); or "a variant of Ann (Hebrew) and Hannah (Hebrew), and the meaning of Annie is 'favored grace'". (thinkbabynames.com)

I now get up at 6am. We have a fairly regulated eating schedule, which is new for me. She loves manhole covers and rocks. I call her My Little Geologist every time I pry open her mouth to remove the latest stone she's picked up. Even when she's sleeping, she's knows where I am and will wake up to follow me into the next room then flop down and pass out. Her favourite chewtoys = Curious George, froggies, beef tendons, and my hands. She likes cheese and hot dogs. I just found some recipes for homemade dog treats so will now bake for humans and dogs. She loves everyone she meets and will actually stop, sit and watch wistfully as every single person who has talked to her walks away. Funny and exasperating, all in one move. Her eyes are a stunning, clear green and I was told recently that they're very close in colour to my own.

The photo above is of her watching a big screen TV for the first time at Greg's, one my neighbours. She doesn't get to do that around here. We're more radio folk. Her current CBC boyfriend is Jim Curran. She likes traffic.

Girl's Day in Kensington Market

2009-09-14T04:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Mom, Claudette and Bridgette drove to the big city from the wilds 45 minutes north. Our mission was to have lunch and check out some scarves that Mom has her eye on, specifically in Kensington Market at a spot called The Blue Banana. Kensington Market is the name of a wee, funky, eclectic neighbourhood, not a "market" in the sense of "farmer's market" or "flea market" as we might recognize it since it's not housed in one large building on only one day or over a weekend. Most of the shops, especially along Kensington Avenue, are on the ground floor of beautiful, old, brick townhouses. There are vintage clothing shops, an army surplus store, grocery/produce shops, cafes, a coupla gorgeous cheese shops, bakeries, and more. You get the idea: This ain't a high-end, cookie-cutter-style-mall area. There's even an after-hours tucked away somewhere in a basement - at least, there was ten years ago. (I'm not so much into after-hours haunts anymore. I like to get out of bed at 6am now, not be crawling home at that time.) Unfortunately, my favourite shop, Courage My Love, was closed when we were there. We had so much fun poking around in the shops that were open, especially in a vintage clothing store with a huge Hallowe'en costume section in the back.

Bridgette tried on a whole bunch of wigs for us (what a good sport!), but would only pose for photos in the cool ones. She refused to have her picture taken wearing the curly pink clown number.

I've decided that I'm in love with these glasses. Even though I don't need specs in my life (yet), I'm now jonesin to own a pair like these. My Mom will shudder at this: she wore a pair of 'pickle stabbers' growing up and hated them. If you want to imagine her in them, picture me with blonde hair and blue eyes minus the goofyglam pucker: poof! a vision of my Mom!

We came across a table with cheap-o shades so Claudette treated us all to a new pair. In honour of TIFF festivities, we felt we owed it to our city to pose for the paparazzi. Well, ok, the paparazzi = Mom.

By the time we made it to The Blue Banana we were starving. It turns out that The Blue Banana is a huge very cool store, but its cafe is a coffee-counter with pastries and fun but not very suitable for lunch. Bridgette would have been happy eating cake (especially in the Marie Antoinette wig, not photographed) but we wanted something more substantial. We ended up here:

Wanda's had pizza, quiche, sandwiches and, well, pie. I had an avocado sandwich, Claudette and Bridgette shared a brie sandwich, Mom had the quiche and we also had a few little coleslaw-type salads. And the pies! Wow! Mom and I shared a slice of wild blueberry and Bridgette had a vegan chocolate cupcake, which we all had to try.

I love this big table where you can stretch out with your morning news and enjoy your coffee. I also love how you can stand at it, like a bar.

We almost forgot to tour The Blue Banana, and by the time we got there, the girls were getting a little tired so we didn't stay and poke around for as long as we would have liked. We decided to cut our losses and plan for another day in Kensington, walked back to University (amongst those walking for a breast cancer cure) and hopped the 5 Avenue Road bus home.

No Love From the Digi

2009-09-07T07:58:00.000-07:00

I had grand plans to give you a pictorial feast of all the cool stuff I've been doing in my spare time around the apartment: my sewing corner, my balcone, furniture painting projects, baking (with recipes), blahblahblah. But, for whatever reason, my little digi won't give up its photos via USB...I don't get it but that doesn't mean I won't. Eventually. This seems to be a recurring sentiment in my life lately. Instead, I'm going into my archives and showing you some cool shots from my last days b'Yerushalayim.

This is a shot of the front corner beside Qadosh's window looking out onto Shlomzion HaMalka. I love the old radio and the little lamp. It was the second thing I noticed the first time I went here with Adrienne on St. Sylvester's Day way back on December 31st. Our New Year's Eve is called St. Sylvester's Day in Israel, since they already have New Year = Rosh HaShanah.

The first thing I noticed - that anyone notices! - upon entering Qadosh is the bar/dessert cases. Um, I could wallow in their decadent baked-goods heaven forever. I would like to find a sweet (decadent, ambiance-filled, affordable) little cafe like this in Toronto, which I could both frequent and work in.

Down this little alley and to the left is Tmol Shilshom. This was also a favourite little spot with books, ambiance, and tastytasty food - like their all-you-can-eat gorgeous pre-Shabbat buffet brunch. I took one of their menus home with me one day (on the back of each is featured a different writer) and was very excited to have scooped one with Yehuda Amichai. One thing I really liked about Tmol's is that it is tucked away, like a great, happy secret that only the cool kids know.

You'll find this on Tmol Shilshom's home page: "There're places you never forget. There're landscapes and views you keep missing your whole life. Likewise there're coffee-shops you treasure and long to revisit." That's exactly how I feel about both Qadosh and Tmol Shilshom, which is why I'm returning to them again after already having mentioned them in this post from February. I think I'd really like to combine the vibe from both these places in the hopes of re-creating the wonderful times I shared there. We don't really have a cafe culture here, not like in Israel or in the European cities I've visited. It looks, though, that this is changing: I just found an article that Toronto Life magazine did back in February about the changing cafe culture in Toronto. I like standing corrected on such subjects. Hmm, I smell a series that I can bring you on a very regular basis. It smells like latte/kafe afouk/cafe con leche/cafe creme...and pastries. With Chocolate. And with photos, if the digi ever decides to love me again.

Batting Cage Match

2009-08-29T13:01:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the batting cages at Playdium in Mississauga with Deb, Sarah and Nina. Last summer was my third season playing softball with the Rebels. Last summer, before heading to Israel, my batting had improved dramatically and I was hitting well, compared with my previous stike-out queen status for the two seasons before this. As you can imagine, this was frustrating - letting both myself and my team down - and hitting well last summer was just so great. Well, now that I'm back on the diamond Tuesday nights I seem to have returned to this state of non-confidence in myself while at bat and am striking out more than I'm hitting - despite the fact that I'm fielding well in my position at First Base and can throw well to almost anyone other than Deb. And, I'm still striking out despite all the advice and support I constantly receive from the women on my ball team, women I look up to and who inspire me in more ways than they do on the field and in the dug-out.

So, last week Deb said calmly and matter-of-factly to Nina and I, who have not been hitting well, that we were going to the batting cages. For 10$ each, we rented one of the cages at Playdium for an hour. When we got there, there was a problem: there was a leak from all the heavy rain the night before and all the balls were wet which plays havoc with the automatic pitchers. The guys working there were furiously drying each ball by hand so they'd be ready for us, the only people to have booked a cage.

My second turn in the cage, I thought what the hell: I'm going to try batting left, when I usually bat right. It felt funny, but I started to hit the balls more regularly and further than I did when I was batting right. This might seems strange, to just switch things up like this, but when I was playing ball in a mixed league fifteen years ago, I was switch hitting. Playing on a mixed team can be a mixed blessing: on one hand, a lot of guys will treat you with kid gloves or won't give you the respect you deserve as a player just cuz you're a girl. On the other hand, a lot of other guys I played with challenged me to try things like switch hit. I was no hotdog then, I'm not now, but I sure did mess up the other team when I went up to bat and hit a little green regardless of which side of home I stood on - not bad, for a girl.

Batting left today, I hit more often and better than I did at right. I've changed my stance so that I stand straight instead of crouched. I hold the bat up high at a right angle to my shoulder. My stance has my legs closer together so that I can more easily take a step, and I swing with my body and not just my shoulders. It felt good, dinging all those balls, some of which had some air time before hitting the overhead nets. I'm hoping to maintain the confidence that I can translate from this practice to the play-offs which start next week.

I think that's a pretty big intro to what I'm about to tell you next, but to me it's pretty important. I take my baseball seriously - not in a professional, sport-is-life way, but I love to play, I am competitive, and I like the mix of competitiveness and playfulness that I enjoy with my awesome all-women team-mates. We have fun, but we have more fun when we win. So, here's the story, as told to me by Deb:

I got out of the cage after my second-to-last at-bat. Deb asked me if I'd seen the little girl standing with them. I said, no. It seems that a little girl, maybe 8 or 9 years old, was there with her dad and she told him that she wanted to play baseball, she wanted to get in the cage and hit some balls. Her dad, who was in his late thirties or early forties, said, "You can't do that. You're a girl." Deb heard him and turned to him and gave him a very dirty look. Right in front of him were three women waiting their turns to bat while giving encouragement to the fourth in the cage, me. (Who was, at that point, hitting every ball that was pitched to her, and hitting them well, while batting left.) Dad caught this look that Deb threw, and he suggested to his daughter that she move a little closer to our cage so she could watch better. While she watched, the little girl looked at my shoes (tri-colour-pink Chucks), looked at her shoes (pink sneakers), back and forth, until she finally grabbed her dad's hand with one of her own, and pointed at my shoes with the index finger of the other: "Look, Daddy, she's got pink shoes, too." (And she's belting balls while wearing them.)

My Dad bought me my first glove when I was around 8. He told me I threw like a girl. The glove he bought fit on my right hand. He assumed that I would throw left, since I write with my left and he was a southpaw pitcher in his day. I finally threw down the glove and whipped the ball to him with my right hand. Two of my four siblings and I are ambidextrous. Dad says we're just mixed up. Anyway, my father neither stopped nor discouraged me from playing sports just cuz I'm a girl. My athletic pursuits, and my sister's, were supported as equally as those taken up by my two brothers. Deb's father was the same. These two men, and many others like them, encouraged their daughters to play whatever sport(s) piqued their passion. These two men are a generation or two older than this father Deb told me about today. Maybe today changed him. But, what I really hope is that today changed his daughter: you can play ball and wear pink shoes. No one said you have to give up being a girl to play ball.

Has It Been So Long?

2009-07-27T13:05:00.000-07:00

I have a few good excuses:

1: Settling back into my apartment.
2: Being a tourist in my own city.
3: Catching up with folk I haven't seen in a year.

I had only meant to take a week off from working, two tops, and here it's been three and I haven't looked at any of my translations, nor have I written much creatively aside from editing and revisiting a few poems written in Israel. Today I get back into it all as well as updating y'all on the last three weeks. Heads up: four new photo albums have been added.

The non-stop flight from Tel Aviv to Toronto on the 5th was pretty uneventful except for the sweet 24-year-old dude from Montreal who insisted on switching seats to sit with me, kept me company on the flight, and refused to believe I was over 27. Sigh. Beware my big ego.

Julie was sprung from Ashbridges Bay for a few hours to come with Brandon to the airport to pick me up, with Timmy's doubledouble in hand. Welcome home, indeed! Mom popped by first, then the girls, then Dad, Laura, Seb, Em and I went to 7Numbers for dinner. I had sexy duck leg, of course, and experienced yet another inclusio to this year abroad: the night I flew out, all of us minus Seb (who was then in Barcelona) went to 7Numbers for my send-off.

My Mom threw me a fantastic "Welcome Home/40th Birthday Party" with her side of the family and some of my friends. The kids were a riot. Bridgette, my niece, and I have this thing where we go up to the cake (there's always a cake at our family gatherings) and take a fingerful of icing off the back. I've instructed her to lie if we get caught. So far, it works, even though she usually gives us away with stray icing on her face and I'm pretty sure our faux-innocence and giggling doesn't help our case. I went up to Mom's the night before and she must have really missed me because that night she gave me a particular pair of her boots that I've been coveting for 25 years. The party itself was great, complete with awesome gifts including Time and Life magazines which were published on the day I was born, a fancy lamp, and a drawing and a poem from Bridgette.

After Mom's party, we went to Dad's where they were throwing a "This is not a retirement party" party. Laura retired this year but is not a fan of a hullaballoo being raised about her. It was so much fun, too, and I had the honour (?) of naming a new shooter: it's made with espresso, vanilla vodka and something else...regular vodka? Anyway, Laura was handing them out saying, "Here! It's espresso!" while her pal Caroline was saying, "You have to name it!" I said, "Espresso, my ass," and a named shooter was born.

Adrienne and Johannes came to visit a couple of weeks ago. We didn't do anything majorly touristy since they were only here for two nights and we're leisurely morning types, but we did walk along Bloor in the Annex and we also went to Chinatown and Kensington. It was great, because it's been so long since I've been to these places that they felt rather new to me, too. So, um, when did Dooney's go? Does anyone else remember their big fight to stay in the 'hood when, I think, one of the big coffee chains was trying to take them over? I was pretty shocked that something new was in its place. The new place is nice but it's weird, to me, not to have Dooney's there. Do you ever get a sense of the guilts when something like this disappears in your city? Do you think: if only I'd gone there more often, maybe I could have saved them with my more-than-occasional coffee purchase? I do.

The girls and I went down to Harbourfront to their Mexican-fest - yum! - then Wednesday Daniele and I trekked back down for the free outdoor screening of "Desperately Seeking Susan," which I'd never seen. Fun! Afterwards, we were up at The Press Club on Dundas to listen to jazz and hang with my pal, Mikie, who owns the place.

Friday was Laura's birthday so she, Dad, Seb and I (minus a working Em) went to Frank at the Art Gallery of Ontario for lunch (on the phone, I thought Dad said "Rank" and I thought was a pretty lame name for a resto) then to wander in the new art gallery. It's great, and in my opinion is finally of a world-class calibre. I love being impressed with this gallery now that I've experienced others especially in London, Madrid, Barcelona, Paris and Jerusalem. Now, I can't wait to get me back to the ROM, especially now that the Dead Sea Scrolls are on exhibit.

Saturday saw me at a BBQ at Sonny and Jen's with folk I haven't seen in forever, and it was especially great to see Derek. Again, plenty of kids and plenty of fun. There's not much that's better in this world than hanging with folks whose company you truly enjoy, drinking a few Cinquantes, and eating BBQ...although, now that I think of it, I didn't have any hot dogs and that's just wrong. I will have to remedy that this coming weekend at Rahmer's belated birthday rooftop BBQ.

And now that you've had plenty of left to right, I'm heading off to translate a few verses of Judges 5. My shiny new BDB Biblical Hebrew-English lexicon arrived last Thursday and I'm dying to crack it open.

2009-06-28T00:27:00.000-07:00

Between Jason and I, we snapped over a thousand photos during our first four days together. I'll be putting together albums and posting them for you after I know (inside and out) the different ways of picking up on Aramaisms in the Psalms and also all about parallelism in biblical poetry. I love parallelism. So, these albums may not be posted until I'm home...

Oh! Remember when I told you that I often feel that I'm living in a dream here? I thought there was something very dreamlike about the quality of some of the following photos. Initially, I thought it was the quality of the light that day - it was so bright that we were literally pointing-and-shooting because we couldn't see the screens of our cameras, and when I transferred them to my Angus/computer I thought it was pretty cool that this light also transferred. The down-to-earth explanation is that I must have touched the lens of my digi with my sunscreened finger. I'm digging the effect, though.

Jason taking a wee rest on an overturned stone trough near the south stables in Megiddo.

Me, at the south stables.

The entrance to the bath-house at Caesarea.

I thought: ooh! wedding! No, it was a photo shoot, but there were wedding photo-ops going on in other areas of Caesarea. To the right of the photographer are Claire and Alain. I love their expressions.

Relaxing above the beach. Me, Alain, Jason hiding behind Bruno.

Too Much Left to Right

2009-06-28T00:05:00.000-07:00

That's Jason's way of saying I write too much. I've decided, therefore, to make the next few posts pictorial - for your waning attention spans and/or time constraints that don't let you currently sink your teeth into a meaty post. Instead, here's a feast for your eyes.

The following photos were all taken at the Fauzi Azar Inn in Nazareth, where we stayed for two nights.

This is at the top of the stone stairs.

The main room.

Here's Jason looking relaxed at around 7:30 or 8am on Sunday morning before we adventured to Megiddo and Caesarea. Notice his lack of reading material.

The door to our room, taken from the wee sitting area where you see Jason in the above photo.

A very flattering shot of pigeons.

Dear Diary:

2009-06-20T23:24:00.000-07:00

This has been a full week of Dear Diary Moments. Here's a list of the highlights:

The Shreddies that Richard and Tzippy brought me from home were devoured weeks ago, but I hadn't mentioned them earlier and thought I'd better: Yum! Thank You!

Last Saturday night, Jason stepped off his 11 hour flight from Toronto and into a rental car. Driving north on the 60 about an hour and a half later, we entered the tunnel before Nazareth and he did a spoken word version of The Band's "The Weight:" I pulled into Nazareth, was feeling 'bout half past dead.

The greatest wrong turn: last Sunday, we convoyed behind Alain, Bruno and Claire (The French). First, we went to Megiddo - wow! - perfect site to visit for my research. Then, to Caesarea on the coast: we should have turned right but Bruno turned left and we ended up at a yacht club south of the ruins. There was a little restaurant on the beach where we had burgers with fries and salad and went for a swim in the Mediterranean. The water was clear and warm, the shells were plentiful, there weren't many people. Jason didn't want to leave, and I can't say that I blame him.

On Monday, Jason told me that I embarrassed him at dinner the night before because I only had one beer: "What kind of Canadian are you?" I redeemed myself the next night by having a very large vodka with fresh-squeezed oj.

All driving is now compared to the insanity of navigating Nazareth's Old City streets. We now say things like, "What? Do you think you're in Nazareth or something?" when we see crazy vehicular antics.

Best dessert in the world: a custard base very much like crème brulée, in a shallow dish with what looks like pistachio soup floating on top. It's sweetened with honey and flavoured with I don't know what else. We had this in Nazareth at a gorgeous café/restaurant. I asked the waiter what it's called and he said Kushtarelleh. I asked him what was in it and he laughed at me and said it's a secret.

Pseudo-synchronized swimming in the Dead Sea: I was floating, minding my own business, when I looked at Jason lying on his back in the water with one leg in the air, "using my abs to stay balanced," and seeing how long he could stay like that without rolling over. Of course, I had to try. It's the best Dead Sea floaty-game ever.

Dinner on the rooftop patio of the wee apartment The French had rented in Montefiore overlooking Jerusalem's Old City walls: For dessert, Alain had bought what he thought was a cheesecake in the Shuk...it was not cheesecake. Cheesecake in Israel is very light and fluffy, not as rich or as sweet as it is elsewhere. We don't know what this was, but it was very heavy and rather bland with a rubbery texture. Bruno's reaction - very much like Tom Hanks in "Big" wiping his tongue with a napkin - kept us laughing.

Yesterday was Jason's last day b'Aretz. We went to the northern-most beach in Tel Aviv = Hof HaTsuk. It was hot, it was packed, it cost 16 shekelim to get in and another 30 for lounge chairs and an umbrella - and worth every agarot. Although crowded, the beach is clean and very inviting. I couldn't have stayed in the sun for the three hours we were there without that umbrella. We met Laryn and Adi from Hebron, who were our lounge chair neighbours. Jason swam but, as much as I love to swim, I have this thing (um, fear?) that prevents me from sharing soak-time with jellyfish. I have a good reason.

Bacon and cheese burgers at Moses on Rothschild in Tel Aviv: 200 oz. of sloppy, too-big-for-your-mouth, red meat goodness. I was rather unimpressed, though, with the waitress who failed to tell us just how much food we were ordering - we did not need the sides of fries and onion rings. But, back to the point: cheese AND bacon on a burger! I wouldn't eat it at home but it's such a treat here!

Finally, I had power-struggle issues with our GPS which we named Zivah - she made me doubt my savvy navigational skills. She was really great for inner city driving, or for getting us out of a place and back onto the highway which was where I took over. If, however, we didn't go exactly where she wanted us to go (read: where we had programmed - or thought we had programmed - her) she got really mad. Once, she took us right off the highway down a bunch of sidestreets in some little town when we were en route from Nazareth to the Galilee. But, she had a nice voice and I was really happy we had her for getting us in and out of Nazareth, Tiberias and Tel Aviv.

And now, after a week of road-trip, sightseeing fun, I have to get back to work! First on the list: translating Psalm 145:11-17. I'm so over the Psalms. But, classes end this week, we have exams next week, and then I'm home. True home. Like true north.

Just Another Day at Home

2009-06-13T04:29:00.000-07:00

Living with Kyle and Lily can be challenging, but it's a good-natured challenge. I say this because I'm not accustomed to a) living with a group of people, and b) being consulted about every topic under the sun from the weather to what time the gym closes on Shabbat. They look to me for advice, they assume I know the answers to everything and being a smartass sometimes is fun when I don't know the answer, give one that I know is wrong, then when they ask, "Really?" I always say, "No." For every question I do know the answer to, there are two or more I don't - "Ani lo' yoda'at" is the sentence I know best in Hebrew - but they still ask me. It's actually a lot of fun, sometimes exasperating, but I have to admit I like the feeling of being needed.

So, Kyle and I share a similar love of dressing like 80-year-old men around the house. Today's fantastic question from Kyle: "Do I look dorky in this?"
Kyle is cute as a button. What started me laughing was the black socks:

She's taking her inner-80-year-old-man out for a walk.

Inclusio

2009-06-13T02:09:00.000-07:00

Today at 4:45pm, a sherut is coming to fetch me. It will drop me off at Ben Gurion airport where I'll meet up with Jason whose flight from Toronto lands at 5:50. He has rented a car and I'll be happily reprising my role as Julie, the Cruise Director for the next week. I've already spoken with my profs and have received the green light for missing classes on monday and tuesday. I wasn't expecting to see Jason again until my return home and the last time I saw him was in Paris back in October (I feel very cool saying that!).

Our first stop = Nazareth. We're booked into the Fauzi Azar Inn for the first two nights, and the third will be spent in their sister guesthouse, the al-Mutran. Alain arrived last night with his two friends and are also staying at the Fauzi while we're there. I'm hoping to travel with them for part of our time there, at the very least enjoying their company in the evenings. It's really interesting: I asked Jason last weekend if he had some ideas of where he'd like to go and what he'd like to see because everyone who visits Israel has an agenda, whether it's religious or not. He only said that he'd like to see the historical sites and the architecture, and of course the Dead Sea. That's right, folks, I have free reign here! So, the goal is to visit Megiddo, Mount Tabor, Caesarea, and the Jesus-sites at the top of the Kinneret/Galilee (I haven't yet seen the "Jesus boat") while we're based out of Nazareth. And, of course, we'll see Nazareth, and on the way back to Jerusalem I'm thinking we'll stop in at Bet She'an, which I haven't seen, and hang out at Sachne. Mmm, Sachne! Back in Jerusalem, Jason will crash at my place and from here we'll go to the Dead Sea and tour around Jerusalem. He doesn't know this yet, but I'm dragging him along on a class fieldtrip to the Biblelands Museum on Friday morning, and I'm hoping that there will be enough time to have brunch at Tmol Shilshom that day. We'll see!

The coolest part of all this? Two of my three siblings have come to see me. I'm sad that Seb couldn't make it, but maybe someday I'll return with him. The other coolest part? Nazareth was the first place I visited, I've been wanting to return and it looks like my Israel adventure is about to be bookended by this city. I like it when things come full circle. It's like living in a novel or a really great short story.

The Alchemist

2009-06-12T10:51:00.000-07:00

When I arrived here 11 months ago (almost to the day), I went straight to the archaeological dig at Tel Hazor, as you already know. One of the women I met there, Jess, became an instant and fast friend. Jess is from the States, and is now living in Salt Lake City, Utah. She is, without doubt, one of the most amazing people I've ever met - and I've met many amazing people. What makes her so amazing? For one thing, she taught me that there are many aspects to archaeology that I'd never thought of before, specifically the restoration side, something Jess is intensely interested in. She aspires to eventually return to Israel and help rebuild structures like the temple/palace at Hazor. Another thing she taught me was about strength and limits: when I had arrived, she was under the weather with a stomach bug and when it got to be too much, she'd head back to the kibbutz to rest; the other times, though, when she didn't feel her best but she wanted to keep digging, she'd take a deep breath, reach into herself and say: "You will run and not be weary. You will walk and not be faint." This is taken from Isaiah 40:31, and as soon as she said it, you could see renewed strength flow through her. It was pretty cool. She called me a "get-along-bear," meaning I got along with everyone, and she gave me my favourite nickname yet: Canadia. The last facebook-message exchange we shared was started by her: "Is it uncool to say I deeply and profoundly miss you?" You'd have to have a more than solid, more than Grinch-like heart to not be instantly melted. The other amazing thing about Jess is her unbridled enthusiasm for almost everything, and she often would look at me and say, "You're living the dream!"

I have to be honest: until we had that recent facebook exchange, a part of me had forgotten that I am living the dream. I had forgotten that not only am I living my own dream being here, but I am also living the dreams of others. There are very few people who can truly say they are following their hearts (as I am), and doing so in a land that is very close to so many hearts. So, when Jess asked the questions, "Are you returning to the continent soon? Or shall you set up shop there permanently?" - I provided her with two immediate answers: "I'm home 5 July. I don't know if I could set up shop here permanently - but you've inspired a blog post."

This started me questioning myself: why not set up shop here? Israel is a beautiful country, the weather is stable for 8 months of the year, the healthcare is great, the universities and their libraries are enviable, the diversity of the people is interesting. The cultural palate is colourful and engaging - concerts, theatre, religious and historical and touristy attractions, the literary scene, hiking and nature. Plus, the sheer weight of history in each square metre and the stories held in each grain of sand would be more than enough to keep me here, as well as living in a city boasting not just hundreds but in some cases over a thousand years of architecture. The media-painted picture of Israel isn't entirely representative: I have met and enjoyed the company of both Israelis and Palestinians. I have encountered a desire and quest for peaceful co-existence expressed in the conversations with these people that isn't always presented by mainstream Western news sources. Bombs do not go off in every bus, on every street corner. I like the energy and smells and exotic atmospheres of both the Arab suk and Jewish shuq (but not on Fridays). I like the call to prayer - all five of them daily. I like saying things like, "That's Israel for ya," when something isn't as organized, as precisely advertised, as fast as what we 'organized' folk from across the pond are accustomed to.

So, why not? The biggest reason: As I said to Jess, "Living the dream is only as wonderful as the people you're living it with." Living the dream was more fulfilling when I was living it with Jess, Adrienne, Debbie and Mary. Living the dream would be more realistic if my closest friends from home and my family were here. It occurred to me today as I pondered that statement (that living the dream is only as wonderful as the people you're living it with) that this past year has been a break from my reality. I'll try to explain this as best as I know how, by first stating that I've never been very good with temporal perception. I'm an excellent time manager, but when it comes to perceiving and absorbing large spaces of time, I suck. This year has been a prime example of this: I didn't pack until the night before my flight because it didn't seem real. I looked at the calendar given me of important dates for religious holidays and university closures and never believed Shavu'ot, the last holiday listed, would arrive. Shavu'ot was two weeks ago. Emily came and went and it was a wonderful interlude and connection with her and home when I was feeling low after passing my 8 month anniversary abroad. Jason arrives tomorrow and it hasn't sunk in. What has just sunk in is that yes, I'm living the dream but a greater part of me feels that I'm living in a dream.

My academic reality revolves around texts that, in many ways, are dreamlike in quality. I'm reading and translating stories and myths which were written thousands of years ago so that we guess at their meaning, their intention, their cultural milieu, antecedents and allusions. My solid ground is based on this. Daily-life-perceived-negatives are really more funny than anything else, like the non-existence of lining up for anything, stereotypical Israeli aggressiveness, the expensive toiletries and packaged food (a bag of frozen peas is about 4$CND), the feeling like you're waiting for Godot when you're waiting for a bus. Some not-so-funny stuff? Obvious racial profiling directed specifically to any man who remotely resembles an Arab, the normalcy of walking through metal detectors before entering any public space, the normalcy of seeing people armed in the streets, the normalcy of checkpoints, not knowing whether those bangs are fireworks or gunfire, men hissing at you on the street because your hair is uncovered, feeling better about walking around when you're in a group in which at least one man is present.

What adds to the dreamlike quality of living in Jerusalem for me is the sense of exclusivity here. The city is divided into East and West, with the Security Wall marking areas of that division. The people are identifiable by their dress: for a non-exhaustive example,the Haredi men in their black hats, their wives in wigs; the Muslim women covered from head to toe; the Copts in their black frocks and flat-top hats; the orthodox Jewish girls and women in calf-length skirts and long-sleeved shirts, the men in kippas; the young Palestinian men in tight, bright tshirts and jeans with embroidered pockets; the tourists in large, tightly-knit groups. Secular folk stand out because they don't look like any of the above. Looking at all of this through my Canadian/North American eyes, my cultural background promotes inclusivity (melting pot/cultural mosaic, anyone?). I am an interesting outsider here: I am not Jewish nor Muslim nor do I consider myself Christian. This sense of exclusivity extends to the academic world, as well: I was told by professors on several occasions that a degree like the one I am pursuing would never be acceptable in the mainstream programs of HU. This is fodder for another post, or for my meeting with my mentors back home, and doesn't change the fact that the professors I'm currently studying with have taught me amazing things, turned me on to fantastic resources, have helped my thesis take shape in ways that I never could have imagined before my arrival here, and have been supportive in their own way. What this has provided me with, more than anything, is a strength of purpose and belief in what I'm doing, that I'm not a traditional academic and that it's ok. I can't imagine what my life would be without this thesis - it has taken on a life of its own and is an important part of mine.

So, long-winded as that was, I think my final answer would have to be, No, I shan't set up here. If I ever have another opportunity to visit, absolutely I'll return. I'm beyond grateful to be here. I'm beyond amazed that I'm here. Israel is an incredible, frightening, strange and wonderful place, and there's not much I would change about my experiences here - both personal and academic. But, even though this is where I am now, this is not where I belong and maybe I had to come here to realize where I do.

Latest Goal

2009-06-08T10:08:00.000-07:00

I'm getting a Tshirt made when I get home. Or, I'll probably make it myself.

"My Mom Thinks I'm Cool"

I think it'll be a big hit.

On Being Red

2009-06-07T02:33:00.000-07:00

Today when I logged on to Angus (my trusty laptop), I was greeted by this headline on my sympatico/msn homepage: "Should you go red like a read head?" Obviously, I was intrigued. What's a "read head"? Should one's hair colour match one's voracity as it relates to the written word? Was this, yet again, another rumour matching this hair colour to preconceived notions of the bearer's personality or personality traits? Yes, I was curious: being a natural redhead, I've dealt all my life with preconceived notions of who I am, made lickety-split-snap, by people I've just met. Whether I live up to these notions or not depends on who's doing the judging, and I don't know if I could be or would be who I am if I had any other hair colour. What I do know is that people often will believe what they want to believe, regardless of what I say or do. I'm just me, and being a proud member of 2% of the population naturally born with this colour suits me fine - it's just the way it is, y'know?

Anyway, I checked out the link provided which took me to Elle Canada's webpage. It's all a bunch of hype for the "new It colour for Spring 2009." Huh? Redheads are in fashion right now. I didn't know they'd gone out. In Israel, being a "gingi" is a big deal: when the last Israeli dude I met (at the Macy Gray concert) saw my hair colour his eyes went wide and he breathlessly said, "Oh, you're a gingi!" Yeah, it was a total ego-boost considering that I haven't put any helper-copper-dye in my hair for a year, but his behaviour then became entirely inappropriate. See? A preconceived notion had entered his thinking which I was powerless to change, and frankly, I didn't have the energy to do so, so I walked away from him. The point is, being a redhead - or, perhaps, a perception of redheads - is kind of exotic and always has been. Seeing it advertised as a New Spring Trend makes my (stereotypical) redhead red blood boil. But, what really made my blood boil was the obvious typo in the original headline: wtf does reading have to do with redheads? Add "grammar/spelling/punctuation perfectionist" - so that such a headline is, as a hook, not so glaringly and weirdly stupid (where's the editor?) - to the long list of what would be in this case an accurate automatic assumption made about this re(a)dhead's persona.

Last Weekend's Excitement

2009-06-05T02:28:00.000-07:00

The photos to accompany this post are here and you can also find them on the right.

Last Thursday and Friday (28-29 May) was Shavu'ot. As I had told you earlier, Richard and Tzippy are visiting here from Toronto. The Tuesday before Shavu'ot, they met me at Aroma near campus and I gave Richard a tour of campus then he sat in on two of my classes: Ugaritic, then Canaanite Literature and the Bible. (It's kinda funny: back home, my shofo "CanLit" meant "Canadian Literature." Here it's shofo for "Canaanite Literature." Happily, the two aren't being mixed up in my overworked brain.)

Richard and Tzippy invited me to spend the holyday at Tzippy's home kibbutz of Nir David. We drove up with Tzippy's sister, Nurit and her husband, Dudu. R and T met there in the early '70's: Tzippy was raised on this kibbutz and Richard had gone there to work. A kibbutznik love story! I stayed with Tzippy's aunt and uncle, Jael and Moshe (Moshe is very close in age to Tzippy, so she considers him to be more like a brother). So, Moshe is a photographer and Jael is a naturopath. Jael worked some of her magic natural healing on me and, although I wasn't cured, I did feel a thousand times better - I slept soundly through the night without coughing or nightmares plus it was wonderfully quiet there without late-night partying undergrads. (I sound older than I feel typing that.) (Update: the cold is pretty well gone. I only have a lingering, if expected, irritating cough. Brenda-Vaccaro-voice is gone.)

If there is a Gan Eden (Garden of Eden), I think it just might be at Nir David. The landscape is gorgeous, with Mount Gilboa rising in the south and the Asi river flowing through green lawns with beautiful trees and gardens at every wee house. Everyone was very welcoming and friendly, and everyone spoke at least some English but I found that when they spoke Hebrew I could follow the discussion. Richard put it well: I felt a little embarrassed speaking with my limited knowledge of the language, but we all got along well and our points were made. On Friday night there was the Shavu'ot festival, which was very much a harvest festival - Nir David is not religious. I couldn't help but think about how it was celebrated here: no rabbis, no priests, no prayers, no books, but rather a community expressing their gratitude for the goodness of the earth around them, goodness they had produced with the work of their own hands. I loved the interpretive dances and especially loved the parade of children: Parents with children from each age group, beginning with the recently born, parading their little ones for the whole kibbutz and each group was met with resounding applause. What a true testimony of fertility, hope for the future and pride in family.

On Saturday, Richard, Tzippy and I walked to Sachne and went swimming in the natural spring/river. Gorgeous and warm and lively and filled with Jews and Muslims having a lovely day at the park. This, to me, is a true example of peaceful co-existence in so contentious a geographic arena. After our swim, we visited the little museum and I was enthralled: housed here are artefacts from many eras, unearthed at nearby Bet She'an. There was also an exhibit of Etruscan artefacts, including the coolest warrior's helmet ever:
The whole weekend was wonderful: getting out of Jerusalem and being back in the Galilee area which I love so much, meeting new and amazing people, being looked after, spending time with Richard and Tzippy who have become great friends, hearing their stories and the stories of those I had met, finally seeing a festival from the Jewish calendar, feeling like a part of something greater than myself. I think my sense of thanksgiving matches the spirit in which it was presented at Nir David: pure, simple, not complicated with magic words interpreted from a book but so very evident in the connections among a community of people.

Distraction(s) du Jour

2009-06-04T11:24:00.000-07:00

This is my reading list for the weekend. In each of the following books are sections/chapters devoted specifically to Judges 4 and 5, Deborah and Jael:

Myth, Legend and Custom in the Old Testament. Theodor Gaster (1969).
Sisters at Sinai. Jill Hammer (2001).
Judges: A Commentary. Susan Niditch (2008). (I'm particularly excited about this one: it's brand new and her translations of Judges 5 are amazing, making me want to use her interpretation to inspire my own.)
The Sanctuary of Bethel and the Configuration of Israelite Identity. Jules Francis Gomes (2006).
Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Israel. Kenton L. Sparks (1998).
Story as Torah: Reading the Old Testament Ethically. Gordon J. Wenham (2000).
Divine Presence and Guidance in Israelite Traditions: The Typology of Exaltation. Thomas W. Mann (1977).

For fun, I'm also devouring The Oldest Stories in the World, by Theodor Gaster (1952): interpretations/retellings of the myths and legends from the Babylonian, Hittite and Canaanite cultures. My bedtime reading is Orlando Furioso, by Ludovico Ariosto. This parody of medieval romantic epic from the Italian Renaissance was finished in 1532; the prose translation is by Guido Waldman, published in 1983. I'm loving it: the storytelling has the best cliffhangers ever and the plots are a riot as are the characters, especially Orlando who can't seem to keep his sword in its sheath (no, this is not a euphemism), and Bradamant and Marfisa, the two very ladylike, chivalrous, warrior-women.

There are two things currently distracting me from all this fantastic reading. First, I found a pair of take-away chopsticks in our cutlery drawer. Lily thinks me very clever for the use I have found for them:

To the untrained eye, this is the same hairdo.

Second, I listened to/watched Henry Rollins Letter to Ann Coulter. I did this while experimenting with the chopsticks in my hair. (Yes, multi-tasking takes on a whole new meaning now that I have long hair again - and chopsticks.) Then, I decided to check out Henry Rollins and came across some of his quotes. Current favourites:

"I believe that one defines oneself by reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself. To cut yourself out of stone."

"Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength, move on."

"They say true love only comes around once and you have to hold out and be strong until then. I have been waiting. I have been searching. I am a man under the moon, walking the streets of earth until dawn. There's got to be someone for me. It's not too much to ask. Just someone to be with. Someone to love. Someone to give everything to. Someone."

This Makes Me Happy

2009-06-03T11:18:00.000-07:00

My orange tree is having babies.

On a Weirdly Prophetic Note...

2009-05-25T04:33:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday night I had a pleasant nocturnal dream episode. I remember it precisely because it was so pleasant. As I see it, some people suffer from migraines, I suffer from nightmares. Yes, even when I'm not stressed, when my life is going extremely well and my positive positiveness is cresting wonderfully, I have nightmares that wake me up, keep me up, and make any horror/thriller flick look like a Disney movie.

Anyway, back to my pleasant dream: the night before the Macy Gray concert (Tuesday), I dreamt that Radiohead made a surprise guest appearance at the Yom haStudentim festivities at Independance Park. Understandably, I lost it, I was so excited. That's it. That was the episode from this dream I chose to remember.

On Wednesday night in real life, halfway through her show, Macy was chatting to the crowd and I was trying to place the music playing in her background. It was not a Macy song. When I did place it just before she started singing it, well, let me tell ya: If I was sitting on a chair, I would've fallen off it (but would have done it in such a way so as not to cause bodily injury...). Macy covered Radiohead's 'Creep' and she did a fantastic job of it. I lost it, I was so excited. So, even though Radiohead themselves didn't make a guest appearance, one of their songs did. Yup. Weird.

Suckypants Sick Girl

2009-05-25T02:45:00.000-07:00

I feel like dirt. I have a cold. It's a really nasty, painful cold. It's entirely possible that I'm blowing this way out of proportion, but the amount of kleenex I've gone through in the last 48 hours says otherwise. And, it's also possible that I'm blowing this way out of proportion because I'm rarely ill. I do have cold medication here but I'm avoiding it - I'm gargling with salt water, drinking lots of different teas, and eating as many Vitamin C-rich foods as I can stomach. I'm hoping to build up my immunity and not have to deal with this again for a long time. In my current state of extreme self-pity, the question that has been voiced in a Brenda Vaccaro-esque whisper is: why, oh why, if I have to be sick, why can't I get one of those rapid weight-loss bugs that cleanses the system and when you're well again you're like 30lbs lighter? I know, I know: be careful what you wish for...but, really, come on. Feeling like dirt sucks, but a positive (if entirely shallow) light at the end of the tunnel just makes the suffering seem worth it. I know I'm being ridiculous and I don't even have meds to blame.

And, of course, I went through my activities for the past week trying to analyze HOW I caught the cold. Was it because I was out till 3:30am watching Macy Gray, dancing with 6000 other people at Independance Park? Was it because I drank some beer and sat in the grass? Was it the nightmares and late-night party-ers on other nights, keeping me up and my immune system didn't get enough rest so it's now rebelling? Is it the extra piece of Qadosh dessert? Or, well, maybe I just caught it - no reason, it just happened.

Now, I'm trying to rest which is difficult considering all the work I have to do. I'm trying to feel better because Richard and Tzippy are here and I don't want to pass this on to them, or to anyone else. This was why I stayed home from class today - it's bad enough hacking in public but the worry of infectious behaviour kept me in bed, hacking by my lonesome. Wahwahwah!

My Birthday

2009-05-14T01:09:00.000-07:00

Today is my fifth day of being 40. I'm feeling pretty good, peaceful with myself and with the world. It's very satisfying to say that, and I make sure that I'm not smug about it because, well, arrogance is anathema to feeling peaceful and I don't always feel peaceful. But! My classes are going well, I'm very pleased with my marks from last semester (including 2 As), and I'm coming across some more fantastic ideas and material for my thesis. I'm very excited about the future: the rest of my time in Israel will be balanced between classes and homework/essays, visiting and roadtripping with: Alain (my pal from Paris), Richard and Tzippy, hopefully Jason, and Annette Metzuyenet who returns to Jerusalem for the Ulpan on 22 June. And, of course, I'm looking forward to my homecoming in July. I've already started re-arranging my apartment in my head.

Tuesday evening before my birthday, Joseph made a four-course fantastic dinner as a kick-off for bday celebrations. In attendance: me, Pieter, Jacob, Staz and Stephen. On the menu: chicken matzaball-type soup; salad with avocadoes, roasted red peppers, romaine, blue cheese, bocconcini, and something else; bruschetta with fresh basil, tomatoes and garlic; ravioli stuffed with cheese; and multiple mushroom risotto. We had Israeli Pinot Noir and another lovely red whose grape/name escapes me.

Thursday morning at 11am I got a phone call from Richard's Florists saying they had a delivery for me. For me? From whom? How exciting! The roomies and I had been wracking our brains: Mom? Dad? My girls? Adrienne? A boy? (A huge whatever for 'the boy' guess!) At around 4pm, this huge, beautiful orange tree arrives for me! From Julie, Julie, Daniele and Erika! Yes, I cried and Lily was there to witness my ultimate girlish reaction. THEN I checked my mailbox: I got two things. First, the card from my Grandmother - just in time! (The cards from my parents had arrived a few weeks ago.) The second thing: a slip saying I had a package waiting for me at the post office. For me? From whom? How exciting! So, I raced down to the post office, there was no line (total shocker - usually you're in there for at least 45 minutes waiting) and it was from Daniele! I raced home, ripped it open, and promptly made myself a cup of Tim's! Thank you, Dan, for this fantastic anticipation of home!

Thursday evening, Lily, Kyle and I went for dinner at Qadosh, one of my favourite restaurants here. I promise to start taking photos there, especially of their desserts. I had my favourite dessert, Napoleon, and the girls gave me a gorgeous journal that Kyle had picked up for me at the Victoria and Albert Museum in Paris.

My birthday itself was relaxed and great fun.I was up early and Pieter and I walked down to the Rockefeller Archaeological Museum. It was fantastic! All of the artefacts were numbered, but there were no plaques or written guides in the North or South rooms telling you what the artefacts are. So, I went to the front desk and inquired and the guard gave me three notebooks, circa 1961, softcover and bound with string, which provided the details we were looking for:
One isn't supposed to take photos in the museum itself, but one is allowed to snap in the courtyard. Pieter and I, however, were naughty: I'd look casual, keeping my eyes peeled for the guard while he pulled out his camera-phone and took some stealth photos. Yup, I'm gettin' old: my naughtiness is relegated to an obscure realm, just as my studies are.

After the museum visit, Pieter and I went for birthday schwarma on Salah Ed-Din, a street in East Jerusalem just outside the Old City walls. Then we decided, spontaneously, to visit the Garden Tomb after walking through the Albright Institute. This was the only photo I got of Pieter smiling, and being silly/funny Pieter:
We then hopped an Arab sherut, got out just before we ended up in Beit Hanina, and I was back in time for mid-afternoon (in Israel) / early morning (in Barrie) birthday chats with my parents. I also spoke with Adrienne and that led up to birthday dinner.

Alex, Jessica (my HBO Rome pals), Joseph, Pieter, Gavin (my movie pal) and I went to the Armenian Tavern, just inside the Jaffa Gate. It was yummy food, and great conversation in an amazing atmosphere of old Jerusalem stone and Armenian artefacts everywhere. Afterwards, Gavin and I went for ice-cream on Jaffa Road, then down to Cinemateque to see "The Divine Weapon," a Korean film. Um, yeah, bad movie but it was fun. I loved how all the male characters punctuated each sentence with a masculine guffaw, and the female characters were either fueled by their tempers or were very demure. The fight scenes were cool but too short; the slow scenes were weapon-making montages in lush mountainous scenery set to a patriotic score.

Yes, I had a lovely birthday. This is my second birthday abroad - I celebrated 32 with my Mom in the Boyne Valley in Ireland. I feel very grown up but don't look so grown up; Adrienne and I joke that people think we're younger than we are because we're immature for our age. If a sincere joie de vivre is equal to immaturity, then I'll take immaturity any day. But, I don't think that's it. I'm still trying to figure out what 'it' is. I hope it takes a lifetime. As my Dad says, "Any age is a good age." As my Mom says, "You're a free spirit." A birthday is a good time to reflect on the journey so far, and the journey to come. Like I said, I'm figuring it out, and am happy that I have so many people to help me and travel with along the way.

Catholic AND Jewish Fun!

2009-05-13T22:50:00.000-07:00

Today's post is brought to you by helicopters, bullhorns amplifying a Hebrew voice, and by the smell of BBQ lighter fluid.

First, helicopters and bullhorns.
This is the view from my bedroom window this morning:

The scene was similar late morning/early afternoon on Monday. From my bedroom window, I have a view of the helipad across the street. On the other side of the helipad is the Hadassah hospital, situated between us here in the kfar and the Hebrew University. The helipad is very rarely used. This week, however, it got a lot of action: The Pope arrived in Jerusalem on the 11th, and just left, travelling by helicopter to and from this point. (As I type, the soldiers, police and secret service personnel are packing up and leaving.) Today was a little more sedate than on Monday. In the past few weeks, there was a greater military presence in our little suburb than during the Gaza flair-up in December/January. Leading up to the Pope's arrival, the helipad was decorated with Israel, Jerusalem and Vatican flags; banners of the same were hung from the streetlights. As well, there were more police and more military in that area, especially at night, with their irritating barking dogs. All last week we knew when midnight had arrived because the dogs started barking in a wild nocturnal chorus. Thoughts of yelling at them crossed my mind, but, well, dogs at the end of leashes held by dudes with big guns just seemed too risky a confrontation, even for me. Almost as creepy as seeing snipers on your village's rooftops:

On Monday, Kyle, Jacob, Anna and I (two Jews, one Catholic, and one pagan - all of us pretty excited) watched the arrival from our prime location in our apartment. The different types of security personnel were distinguishable by their attire: police in their navy uniforms; soldiers in their fatigues; and we're assuming the suit and tie guys, one of whom was wielding the bullhorn, formed some sort of secret service. Via bullhorn, in Hebrew, we were first instructed to close our bedroom windows. Then, the kfar was cleared of spectators and Kyle and Anna were made to close their bedroom window blinds, so we all ended up in my room. For whatever reason, I could keep my blinds open. A convoy of four helicopters arrived, the last of which delivered the Pope. We saw his hat. The cardinals were easily distinguishable in their black robes and red sashes: "Oh, there's a cardinal. And, there's a cardinal. And, there's another one." On the streets, traffic - both vehicular and pedestrian - was stopped until the Pope was safely en route to the Mount of Olives. Lily came home in a tizzy, having been one of the people made to wait in the noonday sun on the street: "All this fuss for one old man!"

Second, BBQ lighter fluid:
Monday evening/Tuesday was Lag B'Omer: In the Jewish calendar, there is a countdown between Pesach and Shavu'ot when tradition has it that Moses was given the Torah. Lag B'Omer celebrates several events, and is also called "The Fire Festival" (so Lily tells us) and is celebrated with bonfires and BBQs. In the kfar, many people were out BBQing, and the smell of their BBQ lighter fluid was overpowering - the wind carried it right into my room. I had been invited by Rabbi Yossi to attend this function: "Jewish Woodstock Celebration! Lag B'Omer in Meron, together with R. Shimon Bar Yochai, the author of the Zohar, and thousands of Kabbalah buffs from all over the world!" I did not attend the festival, mostly because it was an all night affair and I had class the next day. Rabbi Yossi suggested I just sleep in class - obviously he doesn't know that I'm much older than my peers and am, perhaps, a more serious student than he thinks. But, our new roomie, Katya, did go to Meron and she said she was disappointed because there was nowhere for the women to dance, only the men. Thousands of people and nowhere for the women. The thing I love the most is how this event was advertised: "Jewish Woodstock Celebration!" The Woodstock-inspired-free-love-drug-taking-hippies-dancing-and-running-around-naked mental images we have don't really go with the Orthodox Jewish, black-clad, modest, women-can't-dance-with-men, in fact women can't dance at all, celebration in Meron.

This advertising technique is not unique here (I will find some more examples for you) but my all time favourite is the food-lure. Everyone does it and I think it's hysterical: Free pizza (and the seven Noahide laws) ! Sushi (learn Torah the right way) ! Free four-course meal (a special message just for you from Jesus) ! Food and religion = the opiate of the people. And a few helicopters, for fun and excitement.

Coffee With the Pope

2009-04-21T09:51:00.000-07:00

The Pope is scheduled to visit Israel between, I think, 8-15 May this year.

For those of you who haven't been subjected to my countdown, every year I get mighty excited for my birthday on 9 May and, well, today it's only 18 days away. I thought: how cool would it be to spend part of my birthday with His Holiness? So, I sent off the following email to him:

"Dear Pope Benedict XVI,

I am a Canadian graduate student, affiliated with York University in Toronto but currently studying at Hebrew University in Jerusalem as a Visiting Graduate. My Master's Thesis focuses on Judges 4 and 5, and learning in the land where the biblical narrative occurred is what brings me to Israel for a year. It is with great excitement that I am sending you this email: your visit to Israel in the second week in May coincides with my birthday. I am aware that you will have a detailed, busy schedule during your time in the Holy Land, but would love to have coffee with you. Obviously, this would be a great honour for me, but I ask for this privilege not only as something special for myself (since turning 40 only happens once in a lifetime) but moreso for my Italian Catholic grandmother and the Roman Catholic members of my family and friends. Although not a Catholic myself, my ancestry as an Irish Canadian includes great-grandparents who were Catholic and this would also honour their memory.

I completely understand if you are unable to accept my invitation, but still wanted to extend it and do hope you consider it. I wish you a safe journey and thank you for your time and consideration in granting a humble birthday wish."

Obviously, I stretched things a bit...ok, a lot. I might be irreverent, but I am not insensitive. This is the reply that I received today:

"This is the mail system at host lists.vatican.va.

I'm sorry to have to inform you that your message could not be delivered to one or more recipients. For further assistance, please send mail to postmaster. If you do so, please include this problem report. You can delete your own text from the attached returned message.

The mail system

: host 212.77.0.211[212.77.0.211] said: 452 4.2.1
mailbox temporarily disabled: benedictxvi@vatican.va (in reply to RCPT TO command)"

"Temporarily disabled"? Does this mean that if I send a message later that it'll get through? Or, is this the Vatican's passive-aggressive way of saying: "Nice try, kid"? I sure am glad I didn't have any pressing, grandiose theological problem, or an exorcism I desperately needed help with. Although, from what I understand, Jewish tradition relies on legal contracts drawn up by a rabbi and served to a demon, like a subpoena. Anyway, I guess I'll try again, otherwise I'll have to see the Pope in the streets, like everyone else.

Short-listed

2009-04-16T10:55:00.001-07:00

Back in February, I had submitted a poem to a contest. The winner of this contest would win an all-expenses paid trip to the Summer Literary Seminar of their choice. When I submitted, the choices were: Italy in May, Lithuania in July, or Kenya in December. Almost 900 submissions by around 800 writers were sent to this unified fiction/poetry contest. The winners were announced on 1 April. I wasn't one of them. I thought, "Oh, well. At least I finally started sending my work out."

Then, on 9 April, I was checking my email at Adrienne's:

"Thank you for participating in the annual Summer Literary Seminars-2009 Unified Fiction and Poetry Contest. As indicated previously, we are offering some merit-based fellowships for our contestants whose work placed beyond the mean of contest submissions. Our judges were strongly impressed with your writing -- Exilic is a beautiful, haunting poem -- and we are pleased to offer you an SLS fellowship. This offer is being extended to the thirty contest finalists in each category.

SLS programs are renowned for the exceptionally high quality of their workshops, taught by some of the most innovative, interesting and talented of international writers and poets -- and in order to maintain that level of excellence, we need participants of high caliber of talent and dedication -- which is why we'd be happy if you could join us in Vilnius, Litnuania, this summer. We hope you will seriously consider this offer."

So, yeah, I've been short-listed. Holy shit. Excuse me while I mildly gush, but this is the first time I've ever been short-listed. As great as Lithuania looks - I did some research, and there was an article on Vilnius in a travel magazine in the Riga airport - realistically, I can't do it. I seriously considered their offer, but the timing of the workshop is not cool: I will have been back in Toronto for only two weeks, funds are tight, and I will have some serious catching up and re-bonding to do with family and friends after this year away.

I can, however, apply the fellowship to their workshops being held in Kenya in December. By that time, I will have saved for the flight, the workshops/seminars, etc, and for the safaris (!). More importantly, I will have a larger body of work available to workshop, specifically work that will be directly related to my thesis, on which I can receive a greater amount of feedback. Plus, it's KENYA!

I'm going to watch "Out of Africa" when I get home, with a big box of Shreddies to snack on.

You've Been Missed, Leavened Bread

2009-04-16T10:38:00.000-07:00

Pesach ended yesterday. During the past week, it has been against the law to sell leavened bread products. That's right: against the law. No cakes, cookies, pita, Cheerios, nothing with a leavening product. (By the way, the first thing I'm going to buy when I get home is a big box of Shreddies and eat the whole thing. I can't find Shreddies here and they are my cereal of choice. I will have gone a year without the diamond of breakfast foods. I know: wah.) From what I was reading (scroll down to "Twenty Ways You Know Passover Is Coming In Israel"), though, this law was overturned but good luck anyway buying any of these products in Jerusalem. So, today was very exciting at our local grocery store, Mr. (Lo) Zol's: all of the thick plastic sheets covering any products with leavening agents have been removed, and cereal is back in its regular aisle where matzo everything had replaced it on the shelves during the days leading up to Pesach. Being in Copenhagen for most of Pesach, I missed most of the bread-withdrawal that I've heard others had to deal with, so really my sob story is a minor one.

My Pesach Vacation, So Far

2009-04-14T03:11:00.000-07:00

The high point of coming to Israel, especially to Jerusalem and obviously especially for Jews, is being here for Pesach (Passover) to celebrate the Israelites' freedom from slavery in Egypt and their journey to the promised land as told in Exodus. For Christians, the high point this time of year is Easter to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. We students get two weeks off for these holy days. Since I don't belong to either a Jewish or a Christian community, these holy days for me - both in Israel and at home - are special times to be with family and friends. And, since I couldn't make it home to be with my family for Easter or Tammy's family for Pesach, and I really needed a vacation, I decided to head north to Denmark to be with Adrienne and her family for a week.

I arrived on 6 April, and from what I was told, my timing was perfect, seasonally speaking. The heavy gray clouds and fog and rain of a Danish winter had lifted and we had sunny days punctuated with fluffy white clouds in a blue sky. The temperature there had warmed to about 15degrees celcius, so very much like Ontario (although I heard it snowed at the beginning of April back home) but chillier than the 25-30degrees that are again the norm in Jerusalem. This was my first time flying with a stopover, which was in Riga, Latvia, and the logistics of it all were easy to deal with but my ears would strongly disagree. I was in a lot of pain on the way there during both take-off and landing. Argh, stupid ears. But, it was worth the discomfort:

Copenhagen is a lovely city, quiet but not sleepy. Being me, I was most impressed by how well-shod everyone is! The buildings aren't taller than 5 stories, so there is a cozy, old-world feeling in the architecture. There are more modern (often ugly as compared with the older) buildings but not highrises, so to speak. What struck me most upon my arrival was how quiet the streets are. Other than normal traffic noise from the cars themselves, the only sounds were the occasional bicycle bells signaling that a faster rider was coming up to a slower one and could they please move aside. This might not seem like a big deal, but Jerusalem's drivers are pretty funny and pretty vocal in several ways: they honk when the wind changes direction or if someone is too slow to accelerate when the light turns green or if they want to get someone's attention. Many of them blast their music. Plus, they drive really fast, so often you'll hear tires screeching along the road especially just outside the kfar. Copenhagen, in comparison, has much calmer drivers, it seems, and it is a bicycle culture. Everyone rides their bikes everywhere. Plus, the public transit/metro system is excellent and is set up like London's Underground using a zone plan where one pays for one's ticket depending on how many zones one is travelling through. And, like London's, Copenhagen's transit is expensive. Plus, it was really odd not hearing the Muslim call to prayer five times a day.

I met Adrienne at her office on campus, the building of which was originally an insane asylum. I stayed at her place in Hvidovre, a suburb just outside the city's limits. She has a comfortable, cozy house with a huge yard. Our morning coffees lasted the entire morning. Her kids, Emile and Ella were great fun to hang out with and talk with. One afternoon we went used-clothing shopping, another to the mall to grocery shop, and a huge highlight was driving up the coast to Elsinore and visiting Hamlet's Castle. On the way back, we stopped in Elsinore for fishcakes and chips and a beer and Adrienne pointed out Isak Dineson's house. Saturday we attended her nephew's 20th birthday brunch, and Sunday her father-in-law's 85th birthday celebration. The second party was back in Elsinore, about a half hour drive from Adrienne's, and I met most of the family: Adrienne's husband, Johs, (who is currently in Seattle for "The Marriage of Figaro") is the youngest of 8 or 9 kids so it was a pretty monumental undertaking to remember everyone's names, even for me who is really good at remembering names. Everyone was warm, welcoming and thankfully fluent in English. I now know maybe four words in Danish, three of which escape me right now. Adrienne's friends, Stefan (who is Danish) and Luli (who is Israeli) and their two kids came for Shabbat dinner. They live in Jerusalem but were visiting family in Denmark, so I now have new friends at home in Israel.

Wednesday night we attended the Pesach Seder with Adrienne's progressive congregation. There were around 50 people there, and it was so much fun. And funny. The meal was catered, and the ladies doing the catering didn't realize that matza-ball soup is supposed to be served hot and the gefilte fish is supposed to be served cold. Yup, we had chilled soup and warmed fish...horseradish was included with more bites than in just the haroseth sandwiches. Rachel, the woman who conducted the Seder, is British but now lives in Stockholm where she's a cell biologist looking into cures for cancer. She asked me if I would like to read a portion of the Haggadah and I was very tempted to read the Hebrew, which I can do now, but most people there knew only English and Danish so I thought I'd stick with English.

I have to go to develop the photos I took with my 35mm, but have already added the digital camera's photos to the blog. "Sing-along" fun has two little videos, one from Pesach and the other from our picnic in the King's Garden with a group of Asian Christians singing in a circle and our running commentary on it. I like Israel very much, but love Europe even more. Being in Copenhagen and with Adrienne was wonderful, relaxing, and is a place to which I anticipate returning. Aside from the architecture, the urban ambiance, the homey atmosphere, the yummy food, the best part of the trip was spending time with my new friend, whom I feel I've known forever, and being irreverent and serious and laughing and being one of the locals, sort of. I can't wait to introduce her to my 'old' friends. I've always had this thing (that's the technical term, of course!): if I can go into any situation and walk away from the experience with one great friend, I've done well.

I've done well.

The Apartment Hoopoe

2009-04-02T09:30:00.000-07:00

This is a Eurasian Hoopoe.

For millenia, Israel's location as a crossroads for three continents has meant that human activity in the form of armies, cultures, religions (mono- and polytheistic), and merchants have traversed its small square mileage. Because of this same geography, Israel plays host to bird migrations. The Eurasian Hoopoe is one of those migratory birds. I've always heard 'hoopoe' pronounced 'hoo-pee' but according to wikipedia, it's actually 'hu-pu.' Tomato/tomato, I say. (Digression: that reminds me of Tshirt I saw that said something like, "Tomato/Tomato. It's not the same in print.") The Eurasian Hoopoe, as you can see from the photos, is a beautiful bird. Why am I suddenly so taken with the hoopoe when I should be writing my paper on depictions of Deborah in kabbalistic literature? Is it because the hoopoe was declared Israel's national bird last May in celebration of this country's 60th anniversary? Is it because there's a character in Michener's "The Source" who was given this as a nickname, a character who was one of my favourites in the novel because his awkward physical appearance hid his cistern/well-building-engineering genius? No, I'm introducing you to the Eurasian Hoopoe because last night one of them came and hung out in our apartment for a few hours. I'm assuming he got tired and needed a rest from travelling between his winter home in Africa and his summer European digs.

I was taking a break from translating Exodus 15 (The Song of the Sea) and went to the kitchen to make my 50th cup of mint tisane. There was a bird in the living area, freaking out flying around and this freaked me out. I walked back to my room, put down my mug and went back to the kitchen. As it turns out, our latest flatmate, Anna, was also home and she joined me. We stood there watching this poor bird fly into the ceiling, then attempt to fly out the open window but aim too high and bounce off the wall above the open window, between it and the ceiling. He also kept aiming for the light so when he had finally settled on the kitchen counter, Anna ducked down and raced across the room to turn off the light. Our hope was that he would go toward the lights outside the apartment and make his way out. I went to my room to find my flashlight to point out the window, but it was broken. Back in the living area, Anna and I hung out in the dark for a while. No flapping-wing-bird-movement; we figured he was gone. We turned on the lights, looked around and no sign of our beautiful, tragic, mystery bird. I made my cup of tea and we returned to our rooms.

I went online and did some googlesupersleuthing and discovered our bird is the Eurasian Hoopoe. Lily and Kyle came home and we told them of the evening's excitement and the mystery. We all agreed that it was better Kyle wasn't here for the festivities: she has a bird phobia. While making my 51st cup of tea (btw, it's herbal decaf), out of the corner of my eye I saw the hoopoe.

As it turns out, he hadn't left the apartment as we had thought but had wedged himself into a tiny spot on the kitchen counter, hidden behind an empty plastic milk-bag jug and a huge egg carton on top of which were some prime organic dates. He would have gone completely unnoticed. Barely breathing and terrified, his neck was arched backward so that his chin was flush with the wall and his longlong beak in the corner along the tiles pointed at the ceiling. I told the girls: Kyle and Lily promptly started screaming like an axe murderer had just walked in the room, and Anna sauntered out of her room, "No way, really?" The next 20 minutes entailed Tanya speaking in (hopefully) calming tones to diffuse the potential hysteria, getting everyone to stay focussed ("No, Lily, the bird's not dead." "No, I'm not going to get the neighbours - just because they have a penis doesn't mean they can help." "Yes, I'm sure there's a number we can call but I still have homework to do and don't want to wait." "No, I don't think pipe cleaners will be effective in this situation. But thank you for the suggestion.") and trying to devise a plan. Eventually, we (Anna and I) took an empty box of Kyle's, slid it under and around the bird, used a towel to cover the top, then walked over to the window and released him. Thankfully, he was so scared and shocked he was docile and the trap-and-release was easy. Anna and I, however, were shaking. Kyle kindly overcame her fear of birds long enough to stop screaming and video-document the whole thing.

The Card That Started It All

2009-03-11T10:09:00.000-07:00

Here's the card. It's not exactly the way I had described it, but we all know that memory is a funny thing. I filched it from The River City Church blog, not a greeting-card-website, hence the penned addition of "Andrew" beneath "Brian" (way to take the fun out of it - Andrewtology does not have the same ring to it. I'm sorry, it just doesn't.). The Brian who received and posted it seems genuinely unimpressed by it; but, that could just be my interpretation of his words on the flat page/screen. Note to self: no proselytizing in Missoula.

The real life Brian, posed here with his awesome wife/my step-mom, Laura.

I've been thinking: I think the first commandment of (our) Briantology, though it could be placed anywhere along the hypothetical, eventual list, will be:
"Thou shalt embrace thy inner gnomeness with aspirations to being as gnome-y as The Brian."

The Nativity Story of (our) Briantology

2009-03-10T02:10:00.000-07:00

Google "Briantology." You'll see that we're not original in our name but it is dear to us, as will become apparent in this post. Of course, The Life of Brian is the first point of departure for most upon hearing this moniker for my paternal family's gaff-religion. But, the story itself and the 'religion' itself has taken on a life of its own.

It all started last year this time when I was looking for birthday cards for my brothers, Jason and Seb; their birthdays are in April. I came across this gem: on the front cover it said, "Not satisfied with the state of religion today, Brian decided to branch out on his own"(or something to that effect). Underneath this message was a simple cartoon drawing of a man wearing glasses standing behind a lemonade-type-stand which said on it "Church of Briantology" and a jar sat on the stand: Donations Accepted. Inside the card it said something like "May the force of Brian be with you." I'm pretty sure I wet myself in the Hallmark store and bought two.

What makes this so funny is that my Dad's name is Brian, and we've always had a running conversation that often turns into joking about religion in general and spirituality in particular; such conversations usually end with the general consensus that Dad is god-like in nature, and makes Emmer and I wonder what we would do without each other to discuss this (and, keeps us all in fine eye-rolling form). One of my favourite conversations with him about this opened with him telling me that he had just "come out of the closet": he did indeed have a faith but was still trying to figure out just what it is.

When I presented the cards to my brothers, my step-mom loved the card so much that rumour has it she went around to all the Hallmark stores in the Greater Barrie Area and bought them up. The modest spreading and proselytizing of Briantology had begun.

In the meantime, Briantology is now a fairly regular topic of skype conversations between my father and me. We have already decided that Sean Connery is our first saint. Briantology does not believe that candidates for canonization need to be dead already for X number of years before nomination. Sean's three miracles are as follows:
1: Greatest James Bond ever.
2: Wearing that outfit in Highlander without losing a shred of his masculinity.
3: Regardless of how shitty the movie is that he's in, he makes it respectable. Ok, if not respectable, then it's a downright cool flick just because he's in it.

Also, I have decided that I am the President of Briantology. Dad protested this decision, saying that he should be president, until I explained to him: I am the eldest child, therefore it is my prerogative to be president; he can't be the president because he is The Brian. That satisfied his vanity. And, we decided together Briantology's motto, if it ever has a motto, will have something involving capitalism with a socialist conscious. I'm even debating adding my idea for an NGO to the Briantology mandate/manifesto: Sustained Altruism Without Politics (SAWP).

Further, the topic of Briantology was raised at a December dinner in an Ethiopian restaurant here in Jerusalem. I told my gang the story of Briantology and Daan (one of The Dutch) asked if the position of Messiah was open. I told him, "No," because I'm reserving it for my kid, since if I ever get pregnant and become a mother, it'll be a miracle. Daan is instead our first prophet; what better place than Jerusalem to find our first prophet, or rather to have our first prophet find us? Daan is balanced enough, after being here for seven months already, that he shows no signs of Jerusalem Syndrome. I would be worried about the speaking-in-tongues thing, but Daan speaks something like 12 languages and about two-thirds of them are dead languages anyway so I'm not mother-henning this one.

So, there you have it. From his modest beginnings in a farmhouse in Flesherton, ON (pronounced fleshurt-un), to his childhood in Creemore, to his highrolling life in the thriving metropolis of Barrie, Brian's spreading his word of peace, love, and, um, European football. He's a bit of a cinephile, and we forgive him his transgressions of Louis L'Amour novels. The best of Briantology is yet to come, when we publish a songbook of all popular favs rewritten with improvisational irreverence; I think the first fifty copies will come with its own glow-in-the-dark SweetBabyJesus, just for fun.

Your Friendly Brian and Humble President:

Sunny Days Are Here Again

2009-03-07T09:44:00.000-08:00

So, today's post is dedicated to wrapping up some loose ends from previous posts.

First of all, the final package has arrived! My Christmas gift from my grandmother was on the road for 4.5 months, and I'm hoping that it at least stopped in Italy for gelato on its way. In it, I received some lovely noties, Lindor dark chocolate (yum!), more hand cream (yum!), and an exquisitely hand-made journal. The last in the list arrived at the perfect time since the current journal is nearly full. The almost-full journal makes eight since my arrival in the Holy Land, Gramma's will be nine. And, its arrival proves my point that often what we're waiting for arrives when we need it most and not a moment sooner. Our happy postal shrine has not been dismantled, but it is shrinking. The contributions from Gundula and Bea returned home with them: Gundula returned to Cologne in the middle of February and Bea flew home to Guadalajara, Spain, earlier today. Lily, Kyle and I are on pins and needles to meet our new roomies.

Regarding Shabbat Goy issues, Lily indeed stayed in the kfar a few weekends ago. Can I tell you how exciting it was to have first-hand experience as a Shabbat Goy? - a real, true, appreciated, intentional Shabbat Goy! I turned on kettles, turned light-switches off and on both in the apartment and in the stairwell. It was a beautifully sunny Shabbat, so Lily and I sat outside chatting and picking out which boys in tzitzim and kippa she should marry and when we returned to home on the elevator, I pushed "3" with such purpose! My only sadness on that weekend was not being able to cook for her, since I'm no kosher gal. But, we can't have everything.

The February vacation is nearly at an end; classes officially start tomorrow but I don't have my first class until Monday morning at 8:30. This semester, I will continue with Biblical Hebrew, and start Canaanite Literature and the Bible as well as Ugaritic. True to Hebrew University form, as we've experienced it at least, the course for Ugaritic has been approved but no one knows where or when it will take place. The other thing I have to do is talk the powers-that-be in the graduate office into letting me take a tutorial on Literary Translation.

I know that you've all been quite worried about my tan, and I can't say that I blame you. As it turns out, all disaster was diverted yesterday (+24) and today (+30). Yes, I got a little pink today at 8am sitting outside waiting for my laundry to wash. Yes, my exposed flesh is sunscreened. Yes, I know that you all think I can't get a tan, but my pal, Sofia (who is also Spanish) said that she knows people back home who would be envious of such a tan in March. I stick my tongue out in your general direction.

Oh! Speaking of Monty Python, the Cinemateque is screening The Life of Brian on Tuesday. I know - it's smackdab on Purim, and it's causing a real argument between my different brains. What to do? Dress up as a vampire (is it just me, or is dressing as a vampire a pretty standard costume regardless of dress-up holiday the world over?) OR go conduct research (free with my movie pass) for our family's budding religion? I am, after all, President of Briantology. (No, my father cannot be president of Briantology because he is The Brian.) (Yes, we've already discussed this.) Oh, dear, I have ended on a cliff-hanger after a dedication to the contrary...

Important Weather Bulletin

2009-02-27T06:10:00.000-08:00

I was just listening to CBC's Metro Morning. They said that the weather in Toronto was 9degrees celcius and raining. For all you schadenfreude-types out there, you'll be pleased to hear that it's 6degrees celcius, rainy and hailing in Jerusalem. At this moment, I feel my blood is justifiably thin despite the report that temperatures are predicted to drop to -16 (-24 with the windchill) by tonight in Southern Ontario. Jerusalem temperatures, on the other hand, will remain steady at 7degrees for the next few days before starting to climb steadily into the double digits again on Monday or Tuesday. I smell my tan fading.

My Highbrow Side

2009-02-27T00:13:00.000-08:00

Monday past, I went to the Tel Aviv Opera Company's production of The Cunning Little Vixen by Janacek. Adrienne's husband Johannes is the baritone playing/singing the part of the Forrester and he had set aside two tickets for me, so Pieter joined me. Oh.My.Gosh. Everything about the production was pure magic: the music, the voices, the acting, the costumes and sets. I've now been to four operas, three of which were post-twentieth century: Die Entfuhrung Aus Dem Serail (Mozart), The Handmaid's Tale (Ruders), Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk (Shostakovich), and The Cunning Little Vixen. As much as I love Mozart, I am drawn to the innovative sets and modern interpretations encompassing "opera." It's not just a stuffy, highbrow form of art; opera is more than this preconceived notion of a soprano or baritone or tenor walking on stage, singing an aria then walking off again.

Here's a little review of the Vixen, a la T. The music was gorgeous, and all the voices were wonderful but of course Johs and the Vixen really stood out. Dance and ballet were incorporated - the death scene of the mosquito was sooo sad, and the "dream vixen" was sensuous and made me long to dance topless in the forest (again). The sets and scenery were imaginative and inspired the imagination - the landscape upon which the opera played out was hilly terrain, piled with pillows in places to mark forest foliage and the front opened onto a 'room' that was used to mark either the inn or the Forrester's pen where he kept the Vixen; plus, large branches and the ornithological characters, like the knitting owl, were raised and lowered from the ceiling above the set. This production had beautifully choreographed expression and seasonal transition - the season of spring opened with 6 of the children who played different woodland animals holding umbrellas which they opened slowly into huge daisies. AND it was funny - the scene with the chickens was hysterical; the scene with the pastor lamenting his lost love and youth was wonderfully punctuated by the Vixen rolling around wide-eyed behind him, unbeknownst to him, almost taunting him with her young sexuality. I was amazed that the audience didn't warm up to the humour in Vixen until after the intermission. There were parts where I had to giggle to myself - heaven forbid I be shushed for enjoying the show! The goal is to see more opera, especially pre-twentieth century opera, so that I can balance the modern with the, um, old school.

Emily's a Winner, Baby, That's No Lie

2009-02-24T12:59:00.000-08:00

True to Murphy's Law, the weather cleared up the day after Em left. She had arrived here in Israel on the 15th, and I took her back to Ben Gurion late Sunday night, the 22nd. We had a fantastic time while she was here - some much needed sister-bonding - and the weather was mostly overcast, chilly and rainy. Saturday was full of thunderstorms and hail, and in a country that needs the rain, I'd like to think that Em's presence was the boost the clouds needed to open up and give. It's easy to be optimistic after the fact; in truth, I felt bad that she wasn't able to experience Israel in its heatfilled glory. I felt a little like when Mom and I went to Ireland in the middle of a heat wave in May - how can you truly experience that country unless you get caught in a downpour?

But, back to Israel: four of the seven days she was here were productive and filled with (fairly relaxed) sight-seeing. Monday we walked to the Old City, entered through the Lion's/St. Stephen's Gate, walked around the Tower of David Museum then out Jaffa Gate. We walked through the mall, then up Schlomzion Hamalkah to Kadosh for dinner. Em had gnocchi with a mushroom cream sauce and I had a grilled cheese with blue cheese and figs. For dessert we shared a Napoleon, my latest dessert of choice.

Tuesday we didn't do much of anything other than go to the post office, where I picked up two parcels from Mom, one of which was my Christmas Stocking - Hershey Kisses and yummy teas! (The roomies and I are having almost-daily tea parties.) I'm still waiting and hoping for my gift from Gramma. Fingers crossed. We also went down to Hertz with Bea and picked up the car...

Because on Wednesday we roadtripped to the Galilee! Bea, Emily and I were up and gone by 7:20, drove north and travelled along the eastern shore of the Kinneret. We stopped at a little spot that Bea knows so that she could fill a bottle with Jordan water - her mad driving skills warrant another post entirely - then we made the rounds. First stop: Tel Hazor! Then, down to Tagbha, the Church of the Multiplication of the loaves and fishes, then to Caphernaum, the Primacy of St. Peter, and the Mount of the Beatitudes. Since we didn't have enough time to make it to Mount Tabor, we decided to stop in Tiberias for a walk-about and some coffee. As we sat in a cafe, I realized that we had forgotten to pay for parking...yup, a 100 shekelim ticket was waiting on our windshield.

We were home by 8pm and up again the next morning by 4:30 to roadtrip to Masada and the Dead Sea; Tessa joined the three of us for this trip. The goal was to watch the sunrise from the top of Masada. Instead, the sun rose as we were still on the highway, it was still glorious and, as it turns out, the cablecar at Masada doesn't start operating until 8am in the winter. Ordinarily, it starts a half hour before sunrise. Climbing the Snake Path - an hour and a half hike - was vetoed by all but Tessa, since we were exhausted to begin with and didn't want to be completely knackered before the day had really begun. Masada was incredible, much bigger than I had imagined. By noon we were at the En Gedi spa for massages, exfoliating facials and a quick float in the Dead Sea. We managed to get the car back on time by 5pm, despite running into nasty traffic once we were back in Jerusalem.

Friday morning Emily and I dragged ourselves to Tmol Shilshom for brunch and came back to the kfar right afterwards. I was worn out but Emily was feverish. We rested and relaxed, gabbed and read, surfed the internet and chatted with each other and folks back home. By Saturday night we were both rested enough to brave the rain and hail; we went for a gorgeous dinner at Canela, beside Kadosh on Schlomzion Hamalkah. We shared seared whitefish on a bed of rice to start, then Em had chicken breast stuffed with mushrooms and I had the duck. MMM, duck.

Sunday saw us back at the Old City. First, we walked the ramparts then Emily visited the Kotel. Next, we went for an overpriced falafel lunch in the Arab Quarter, did a little shopping then we wandered in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Again, this was much bigger than I thought it was when I was there back in August. We then went up to Ben Yehuda to shop for some more souvenirs. Emily was packed and ready for the sherut which picked us up at 7:45pm.

So, there's a grocery list of our time together. There are new photo albums and some wee films for you to check out. Em and I were pretty addicted to the films and watched them over and over. To close with today, here's my own little academy-esque speech: Thanks, Dad and Laura. Thanks Em, for your divine spark. I believe that, often, what it is I sense I'm missing or needing arrives when I need it most - and Em's arrival and the time we spent together was amazing, well-timed and a much-needed connection not only with her but with home. I'm reminded that being away from home for so long affects us more profoundly than I could have imagined. And I can imagine a lot.

Inclement Weather

2009-02-12T03:19:00.000-08:00

Last week we enjoyed beautiful weather here in Jerusalem. I know what you're probably thinking: big deal. But, the temperatures did drop around Christmas-time, especially at night, and it's been chilly and rainy since then. My blood has thinned since my arrival, I guess, and I'm very grateful for the hat and mitts I had waited so patiently for from home. So, yes, last week the temperatures rose to between 17-25 degrees Celcius during the day, and on Monday it was very warm if overcast.

Then, Tuesday night we had a terrific thunderstorm. For several hours the storm was right on top of the city - incredible lightning was followed immediately by booming thunder during that time. Then the hail started and gave the landscape a coat of slushy snow. This aspect of Mother Nature seemed wilder than it would have at home: compared with a traditional Canadian winter when we live for snow days and pray that our pipes don't burst, this would have signalled the beginning of a season of storms. Even though it has been chilly for a couple of months, and Israel has received some of the rain it so desperately needs, for the most part it has been sunny and comfortably autumnal, from a Canadian perspective.

The view from the third floor:

The view from the safety of the awning at our building's main door:

Solid hail in the palm of Catherine's hand:

Yesterday it rained some more, was very chilly, and the walk to HU was a muddy mess. Today, I sat outside in a sweatshirt, yoga pants and flip-flops; there's a cool breeze but, when it's not whispering, the sun is warm. It feels like spring.

Oh, Oh, Oh Jericho

2009-02-11T12:27:00.000-08:00

There's a new photo album I've just uploaded - check the sidebar - to accompany this story. It only took me 7.5 months, but I've finally started the simultaneous photo/story thing here! - and, it hasn't taken me a month after the event to do it. I'm all growed up. For those of you waiting for the promised video "Around the Kfar" (or, rather, for my Mom who's waiting...), it's too big so I'll have to make some short ones, or just take photos. Sorry to have put your hopes up!

Anyway: Jericho. (I always sing Jimmy Buffet's "Mexico" when I think of Jericho...) Jericho is said to be the oldest continuously inhabited place in the world; its history dates back some 10 000 years. You can read an overview about Jericho's history here. The first place we went was King Hisham's Palace, where I took the majority of the photos you'll see in the album. It was amazing! We were the only ones there. So, the palace was built as a winter/spring get-away or hunting lodge during the Umayyad period in 743-44 C.E. and destroyed by an earthquake in 747. It was never lived in. What is interesting about the architecture is that it is Roman with a distinctive Islamic flavour. (Not that I know as much about Islamic architecture as I do Roman - and that knowledge is rusty - but the giant star that you see which was originally over the great entrance is definitely Islamic artistry.) The only sound we heard was the Palestinian police corps training not far away; they must have been going through drills because the shouting was very orderly like you'd hear in army movies. Otherwise, it was very serene and very warm. Since we were alone at the site and it was windy, I felt a little forlorn: Wuthering West Bank.

What I love most about being at these sites is that you can touch them: I love touching the walls, the stones, the carvings in the stones. We dug into the foot of dirt to unearth the mosaic floor and it was so amazing to see the tiles' colours as vibrant as the days they were laid only 1265 years ago. As much as I'm a museum junkie, I don't know if I can go back to not being able to touch these antiquities when I visit them. I've decided that this is a good way to be spoiled.

After wandering around the palace, and not wanting to leave but they were closing, we went to the cable car and ascended to the Mount of Temptation. This is where it's said that Jesus hung out fasting for 40 days and 40 nights in a cave being tempted by Satan (check out Matthew 4). A Greek Orthodox monastery was carved into the rock of the mountain during the 6th century, and monks still live in the caves not far away from the monastery proper. The view was incredible: Jericho, the Jordan Valley, Jordan the country, the northern tip of the Dead Sea off to the right.

So, that's it for now, darlings. Classes ended last week; I wrote my Biblical Hebrew exam today and am moving on to mad paper writing.

Shabbat Goy for Hire

2009-02-09T10:49:00.000-08:00

I had heard of this phenomenon, the "Shabbat Goy." The topic would come up at parties, after a coupla pints, and be discussed in hushed tones akin to urban legends. Everyone in Jerusalem knows what I mean when I say Shabbat Goy, but my friend back in Toronto who is Jewish, Tam, had never heard of it before. So, I'll fill y'all in: a Shabbat Goy is a non-Jew who, it is said, is kept on hand by Shomer Shabbat Jews in case they need something that technically they're not supposed to on Shabbat. For those of us who are new to all of this, on Shabbat the most important things to do are eat and pray; some of the forbidden activities for shomer (observant, keepers of) Shabbat are turning lights on or off, riding/driving vehicles, or riding in elevators is ok but pushing the buttons is not. Now, this is where the Shabbat Goy comes in handy, because this person can do all of these things for the shomer Shabbat Jew, but there is a special trick for the Jew in all of this, in that he/she cannot ask directly for what he/she wants.

So, let's say it's getting dark. A Jew cannot say, "Please, Shabbat Goy, turn on the light." Instead, the Jew might say, "I sure do wish it was brighter in here," in which case the Shabbat Goy could jump up and turn on a lamp. It's that easy.

Why am I telling you this? Well, it's been a funny (haha) topic of conversation around our apartment. Lily, one of my roomies, is Orthodox and goes home every weekend for Shabbat. We miss her when she's gone - she's a wonderful spark of liveliness and loveliness. I have offered to be her Shabbat Goy in the hopes that one of these weekends she'll stick around and hang with us even though we never do much more than study. But, the other reason I'm telling you this is that recently I had not just one but two opportunities to be an unwitting Shabbat Goy:

The first time was getting onto the elevator on Saturday/Shabbat two weeks ago. Myself and two young ladies entered the elevator. I pressed "3" and the other woman pressed "7." The third woman said, "Shmoneh, bvakashah." (Eight, please.) The two of us just stood there. She repeated herself: "Shmoneh, bvakashah." The other woman just glared at her, but I leaned forward and pressed "8." My first Shabbat Goy mitzvah/good deed!

The second time was in the stairwell this Saturday past. The lights in the stairwells are on timers: you flip the switch when you enter and the light stays on for about five minutes then turns off again until the next person uses the stairwell. Very energy efficient. So, I go into the stairwell on my way down to the laundry room and flip the switch. I hear two female voices shout down to me from where they had been struggling in the dark a few floors up: "Toda! Shabbat SHALOM!" (Thank you! Happy Sabbath!) My second Shabbat Goy mitzvah!

I didn't get up those Saturday mornings thinking, oooh, today's my big day as a Shabbat Goy. But, I do think about making myself a special super-hero type suit and speaking in a deeper voice: "that's right, ma'am, I am your Shabbat Goy today." Or, I think about turning it into a money making business: Shabbat Goy for Hire. Or, I think that this character might be an excellent addition to "Jerusalem, the Musical."

And, the final reason I'm telling you this is because in the little video I'm hoping uploads ok (see the sidebar, I'm calling it "Around the Kfar"), I begin to tell you these stories then I cut myself off in obvious excitement at showing you our toaster and kettle. I'm nothing without a script.

Keeping Hope Warm

2009-01-26T07:16:00.000-08:00

Last night I was skyping with my Mom and we were both lamenting about the packages she had sent back in October/November that still hadn't arrived. I was missing my new home-made hat and mitts that I hadn't yet met, and the journal my Grandmother got me for Christmas. And, I was more upset for my mother than I was for myself, since she had put so much thought into these care packages. Plus, it wasn't like I was being targeted by malicious postal goblins or anything - I had received two fantastic packages in the meantime from Daniele and Mary. To top all of this off, one of my roomies, Kyle, has also been waiting an abnormally long period of time for a package from her best friend in Chicago.

So, what to do? After chatting with my Mom, I ran into our common area and said to the girls, "We have enough gods among all of us to help us out here." We decided to divvy up: Kyle and Lily (being Jewish n'all) took HaShem; I picked Hermes, the messenger god; and Catherine took St. Anthony, patron saint of lost things. Plus, we talked about the importance of Mary (mother of Jesus, not Texan Mary, although I know she would help/approve!) since MM of J is Our Lady of the Lost and Found (thank you, Diane Schoemperlen). Then I sprang into action: I asked all of my roomies to bring out anything they felt was holy or special and we made a little shrine.

So, I'll give you a run-down of what we've got boosting our request to the 'verse (that's short for 'universe' - thank you, Firefly/Serenity). We have: a crucifix/holy earth from outside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, from Bea; the Bumble; a glow-in-the-dark sweetbabyJesus; a stone from Tmol Shilshom and one from Mount Tabor; a clip-on earring that belonged to my great-aunt Elsie (the other stone is in my purse); a ceramic necklace from China; a candle left me by Adrienne; a menorrah from Lily; two Hamsas; Catherine's grandmother's wedding ring; forget-me-nots hand-made by Kyle's best friend, Rachel; the Christmas bookmark/charm thing Daniele sent me; a rosary with the Virgin Mary; an olive-wood ball; a smiley gnome; and a creepy insect-thing specifically to scare away nasty postal goblins. The last thing, of great importance, are the little pink notes that Kyle and I placed amongst our shrine of happy things to represent what we're hoping for: the slips we find in our mailboxes telling us there are packages from back home that we need to go to pick up from the post office.

Ok, now you're thinking a few things, some of them being:
1: T's off her rocker again. (The last time I did something like this was in Spain in a hope for an end to the never-ending rain in San Sebastien. I did a 'spell' where my travelling pal, Anna, and I wrote our wish for better weather on a piece of paper then we burned it in our hostel room. We smoked out our room and the rain just poured harder.)
2: As if this is gonna work. The point was to put all our energy into hoping and sending out that hope, and hope that it would work. As Lily said, "If this works, it'll be a miracle."

Then we lit the candle, we went back to our homework, and we went to sleep. This morning, I got up at 6:30, and went to my 8:30 Biblical Hebrew class. I smiled at the shrine before I left, but didn't think much about it as I translated Deuteronomy 15:12-18 in the Archaeology Library, nor as I thought about what I want to write for my final paper for my Shekhinah class.

Then, I went to my mailbox.

There was a slip saying a package had arrived for me. Catherine and Kyle were mighty excited with me! I did some little dances; we didn't squeal or anything but it was close. I walked to the post office and, along the way, looked out in the direction of the Dead Sea and Jordan, hidden by a haze. I waited half an hour there and made faces at the little girl sitting in front of me with her mom. I got the package: it was sent from my Mom on 28 October. Three months almost to the day!

When I got home I ripped it open, tried on the hat and mitts and sniffed the handcreams. I added the orange and cantelope candle to our shrine, lit all three of the candles now there, and said, 'Thank you.' So, why do I keep hoping? Because that's what I know best how to do, and, well, it works.

Tel Hazor Revisited

2009-01-09T09:28:00.000-08:00

Here's the group photo of all the people who were on the dig at its conclusion. Yes, that's me in the pink bandana; we're all filthy and sweaty and squinting into the sun - and happy! Also, check out the promotional video under "2009 Season Information." The opening shot is great with the sun rising over the Golan.

Security Update

2009-01-09T05:41:00.001-08:00

The biggest problem I personally have right now is a broken tooth. That's right: it didn't crack, it didn't chip, the damn thing broke. What does this tell you? This tells you that I'm safe. This tells you that I'm being cautious, read: paying close attention to the news, absorbing any information about the situation that classmates are relaying, and heeding the security updates provided via SMS on our pelephones. For example:

27 December 2008: Due to the current security situation please exercise caution and avoid East Jerusalem/Old City.

1 January 2009: Tension will be heightened on midday Friday at the Old City. Please avoid its vicinity.

2 January 2009: Though there have been some demonstrations in Arab sections of the city including Isawiya, the HU [Hebrew University] security department reports that there is no threat or danger.

8 January 2009: Students are advised not to travel to the northern parts of Israel until further notice.

For a little clarification, Isawiya is about half a kilometre away from where I live. It was strange on the Saturday after the ceasefire ended to hear (for the first time) gunfire, and loud explosion-type noises, and helicopters overhead and it wasn't the neighbour's TV turned up loudly. This was real life; this was a reaction to the end of the ceasefire between Gaza and Israel. For the past six months, we, as temporary citizens, have been enjoying a peaceful environment and this whole idea of living in a war-torn country seemed surreal, not real, not the reality of our experience. And here we are, back to the regularly scheduled war. Having said that, I am not in any immediate danger. And this adds to the surreal quality of all this for me, who grew up without any experience of war: I know that Gaza is sending rockets into Israel. I know that Israel is bombing Gaza. I know that this is happening about a two- to three-hour car ride away; I know that if I had really wanted to see the protests in Isawiya up-close, I could have walked down the road. And I am obviously affected by it - how can I not be? - because of my proximity to it, but I am outside it. The violence in not directly in front of me.

So, I know this is happening and this is what I do: I go to class. I do my research. I go out for coffee and dinner with friends. I write. I decide every morning to conquer my fear of the gym. And, there's an immediacy to my decisions now. There's this non-existential awareness of my mortality, even though I am not in the middle of the violence, per se. I pay greater attention than I did before to what's going on, and recognize that I don't 'get it' - I realize that my head is in the clouds over the literary landscape shading the Ancient Near East of the 3rd and 2nd millenia BCE. But here, today, there are so many voices, so many perspectives and so many opinions: I don't understand it all so I listen.

Hag Sameah

2008-12-23T05:31:00.000-08:00

This entry's short and sweet, with typical promises for more to feast on in the near future. I came across this quote and decided to share it with you. It's appropriate any time of the year but seems to be an extra-special message during the holiday season:

"You can kiss your family and friends goodbye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you."
--Frederick Buechner, Telling the Truth

Some Good News

2008-11-21T03:37:00.000-08:00

This post is dedicated to Richard, who sent me a note in one of the comments that went something like this: "As you may know I am on strike, so I need some good news from you!" So, to all those on strike at York: represent! Thank you for standing up for the rights of all of us union folk, especially since this union folk is so far away and missing all the action. And, since I do aim to please, here is Some Good News, Richard, which I do hope cheers you. (is that even proper grammar? anyway - )

Academically, I am a very happy woman. Well, I'm happy anyway, but especially happy academically! I made a difficult decision two weeks ago, and am pleased with this decision. As I had outlined in an earlier post, the plan was to take five courses this semester. Unfortunately, there was a scheduling conflict with two of these classes: God, Man and History in the Ancient Near East (G,M&H) and Creative Writing(CW). What to do? I decided that as much as I love CW workshops, I'm writing creatively all the time and G,M&H is presenting me with new material that I know will prove to be inspirational fodder for my writing in general and my thesis in particular. I chose the latter, knowing that I will catch up with the CW prof next semester in her Literary Translation Workshop.

Here is my extremely delicious dilemna: how to choose which class is my favourite? I'm up every morning at 6, so excited to start my day. The classes are quite small: 6 in Shekhinah; 10 or 12 in G,M&H; 12 in Biblical Hebrew (which is large compared to our little group at York!); and around 20 in Modern Hebrew. In the course on the Shekhinah, we're reading Scholem and Tishby right now, all about the En-Sof, the Sefirot and the Shekhinah. Dr. Iris Felix is fantastic to listen to: her style of explaining these very esoteric and (often) confusing concepts is so down-to-earth, and it's all said in this fantastic NY accent. We sat and chatted during one of our cawfee breaks and she's just as interesting to speak with/listen to outside of class as she is while teaching.

I just had my first conversation with Wayne Horowitz (G,M&H) after class last wednesday. It was very funny, because the logo on his sweatshirt said "Batchawana Bay, Canada," so I asked him where that is. Being Canadian and all, I thought it was important to learn more about my country. It turns out it's near Sault Ste. Marie. (Yay, Ontario! Boo, T, for not knowing my country so well...but it's soooo big!) So, we started chatting and it turns out he knows all about Maidman's list of epigraphic sources concerning (and please correct me if I'm wrong or not-quite-right) the history of Israel and the ANE, as provided by ostraca, tablets, steles, etc, as discovered through archaeological excavations. (Epigraphy [Greek, ἐπιγραφή — "written upon"] is the study of inscriptions or epigraphs engraved into stone or other durable materials, or cast in metal, the science of classifying them as to cultural context and date, elucidating them and assessing what conclusions can be deduced from them. [...] Epigraphy is a primary tool of archaeology when dealing with literate cultures. answers.com) This collection of epigraphic sources is the primary text Maidman uses in his History of Israel Without the Bible course, a course that is offered by invitation only, a course that Richard has taken and Rob is taking now. So, Prof. Horowitz and I had a lovely chat about the family of the Mesopotamian pantheon and the (tentative) thought I had about the correlation of such a family and the Israelite family of the 12 tribes, about Maidman and how generous a person he has been to me and his very cool epigraphic collection, about historical novels set in Mesopotamia which I need to read, and Batchawana Bay. The material in this course is fascinating and, Richard, rest easy: you will be receiving the syllabus and bibliography shortly. It's early days, but I'm digging Jacobsen.

Biblical Hebrew is taught by Ohad Cohen. As it turns out, I must have done well on my placement exam because I'm in Intermediate, this year's upper-level class. In the first semester we're concentrating on prose, and next semester it will be poetry. So, the goal is to finally begin my translations of Judges 5, which Carl had told me is one of the most difficult (and oldest) texts in the Tanakh. Fun! (And I smell a more detailed paper cooking for Carl as a result of this...) I felt very clever in class earlier in the week while parsing a Lamed"yod verb where a vav was in place of the yod and Ohad asked us if we knew what was going on here. Although I couldn't remember the actual term/technical, grammatical explanation, I did know that when the vav stands in place of the yod in some verbal forms, it's a throwback to the origins of the Hebrew language. As it turns out, this is called The NorthWest Semitic Language Shift. I think this sounds very romantic:
In the Gardens of Babylon
I felt your NorthWest
Semitic language shift
(I've decided that I very much enjoy living life as An Associative Thinker.)
(I also know that my dad will call my little verse cheesy, then proceed to substitute this for the lyrics of some popular song and that the only people who will laugh and find this charming are my sister and me.)

On a (sort-of) non-academic note, Rob was here for ten days and we were able to hang out for a few of them. One day we road-tripped up to Mount Tabor, the geographic focus of my thesis. In Judges 4 and 5, Mount Tabor is the location from which Deborah's forces attack Sisera's chariots and the Israelites kick some serious Canaanite ass. It was spectacular - the weather was perfect, the traffic was mostly good, the scenery was amazing. We hiked around the summit's perimeter, I took photos and wrote of what I felt and saw. Looking North, you can see Tsfat to the left, the Jordan Valley Rift to the right, and in between in the distance is Hazor. I will return - I feel pulled there and want to spend at least a few more days absorbing and photographing and walking and just being there.

So, Richard, I hope this tides you over for a while and that a satisfactory agreement is reached soon at the bargaining table. Till soon, with the promise of more good news, more photos, and more geeky info from your favourite gingi, middle-east-side. Yo.

Bougival Teaser

2008-11-18T05:58:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I should be reading either from "The Cultural Atlas of Ancient Mesopotamia" or "The Wisdom of the Zohar." I should be writing more to you. I should be finishing translating Ruth 1:15-20. Hmmm, maybe I should memorize some Hebrew vocabulary...Instead, just to let you know that I'm still here and that I still loves ya, here are some photos to tide you over till I'm ready to be more verbose.

Self-portrait in one of the parks along the Seine in Bougival.

These are fancy little things to hold open window-shutters.

Being told you don't have priority sounds so much nicer en francais.

Rotten shot of the Virgin of the High Street. Three options could fix this: I need to grow; I need to carry a ladder with me just in case I am ever again faced with a too-high-for-me shot; I need one of those fancy lens-things so I can stand across the street and get a better angle...I'm very technical.

Tel Aviv and Yaffo, Erev Yom Kippur III

2008-10-27T09:25:00.001-07:00

Have I mentioned that I like doorways? This one was just down the street from the interesting lintel.

Look at that fish! And that bug! I love it!

Posing for the folks back home. This is an arch that has three biblical stories incorporated into its artwork: the fall of Jericho, Jacob's ladder and I think the third one is creation...but I'm not positive.

Killing myself laughing at something Joseph said...

Tel Aviv and Yaffo, Erev Yom Kippur II

2008-10-27T09:12:00.000-07:00

There is some story about this, the Spirit of the Wind or the Spirit of the Sea or something. I will be investigating this, or does anyone know anything about her? But, this poor statue needs a good bath.

Cool graffiti along the beach walk.

Interesting lintel in a sad state of disrepair.

This is the side of the building to which the interesting lintel belongs. WTF?

The top floor on the corner is the first place Joseph ever lived in Tel Aviv-Yaffo. This overlooks a huge shuk which was a ghost town when we were there.

Tel Aviv and Yaffo, Erev Yom Kippur

2008-10-27T09:00:00.000-07:00

In Yaffo, on a neat bridge. Each of the signs of the zodiac was carved like this along the railing of the bridge. In the background is the Mediterranean, breeding dangerous jellyfish...

The three nice Palestinian men who made sure we had more than enough to eat before beginning our fast - I'm becoming accustomed to the assumption that I am a secular Jew.

This is just a bizarre structure that Joseph and I laughed at. But, if you look in the top window between the first columns on the right, you can see the moon.

Sean Connery for the first Saint of Briantology!

Crazy graffiti down the street from the Maxim.

The Dead Sea and En Gedi, September

2008-10-27T08:41:00.001-07:00

In the Central Bus Station, hanging with the soldiers. (The first and last photos are courtesy of Adrienne's facebook page.)

Adrienne at the second pool.

Mary in the water.

In the background is the Dead Sea.

Me, with my classic look of hiker's concentration...I was getting ready to get in the water and see what all the excitement was about...it was Rabbi Crabbi!

Sweet Home Jerusalem

2008-10-25T07:33:00.000-07:00

It was very weird landing at Ben Gurion for the second time. Usually, after a vacation, I return home to my very pretty apartment in Toronto

and this time I was returning to my new home at kfar haStudentim.
The first person I met after getting my luggage was a taxi driver offering me a very good deal to Jerusalem, only 300 shekelim = about 100$ CDN. I kept walking, "No way. I'll take a sherut." "Oh," he says, "you'll be waiting for hours." I stopped and looked him in the eye: "No, I won't. I live here now and I know you're wrong." I waited ten minutes at the sherut stand and was home in the next hour or so for the low, low price of 50 shekelim = about 17$ CDN. Without traffic, it takes less time to go from the airport to the kfar than it does to drive from Yorkdale to Barrie, and here we're travelling a narrow width of the country. I think that's so cool.

Paris. Wow. I'm trying to figure out a way that I can live there after my Masters is earned. Alain, about whom I'll speak in a minute, told me that the Louvre has a school. I'm going to investigate their programs. I admit that I didn't spend the three days there that I had hoped, but did spend most of one day there, and saw the Mesha Stele, the Law Code of Hammurabai, her holiness the Mona Lisa, the apartments of Napoleon III, and the history of the Louvre itself. We saw quite a bit and didn't even get through 1% of the museum - first reason to return to Paris. It was great hanging out with Alain: his knowledge of French and Mesopotamian history is astounding; he's a native Parisian and has been going to the Louvre since he was a little boy; he was my personal tourguide and professor of all things French for three whole days. Both he and his friend, Christian, welcomed me with open arms, fed me, and sent me home with cool books and music.

For the first five days I was in Bougival with Jason, and the final five days I stayed in an apartment in Montmartre, one floor up from Alain. There is so much to tell you that I'll give an overview then when the photos are developed will post them with stories to fill in the blanks.

Bougival is just west of Paris, about an hour by bus to La Defense then on the Metro to, for example, the Left Bank/Latin Quarter or Montmartre. These were the two areas where I spent the most time. This little village is nestled along the Seine amidst mature oak and maple trees now turning gold and auburn, parks with bike- and walking paths, old old houses with glassed-in sunrooms and gables, and a high street boasting a beautiful Catholic church undergoing restoration at the top of its summit. Versailles is not far away. An ancient Roman wall runs behind the church. On one of the arches leading to an alley off the high street is a very faded painting of the Virgin; it's above eye level and you wouldn't ordinarily notice it while walking. The Tabac and Cafe down the street from the hotel became a favourite haunt for me: the proprietor is a young man, maybe late thirties or early forties, whose shiny, shaved bald head and t-shirt and jeans made him seem more suited to working in a head shop on Queen. After breakfast at the hotel I liked to walk and have a cafe creme and sit outside to write in my journal. The air is clean and the rolling hills not far away are thickly populated with forests, green, gold and red.

Getting to Montmartre was easy. I'm glad my back is better because I had to carry my suitcase up two flights of stairs upon my arrival at Blanche Metro Station on line 2. The Moulin Rouge is the first sight one sees upon exiting the station. The air smells like warm sugar. On my way to Alain's on Rue Constance I passed by the cafe made famous in Amelie. My heart skipped a beat. I had coffee there on Wednesday before heading home. The streets are narrow, winding, and easily shared by pedestrians, cyclists and motorized vehicles. If I ever live in Paris I would want a motorcycle. But, everyone walks everywhere; everyone uses the metro. I think one of the things that attracts me most to this city (aside from the fashion) is its combination of living/working environments in the neighbourhoods: shops and businesses are beneath apartments, people use public space, people use the parks on a daily basis (I'm in love with Parc de Monceau), people buy their baguettes in one of the patisseries and it's an opportunity to connect with those in the community while waiting in line, getting to work (if you don't work in your neighbourhood) is an easy commute. A take-away coffee is a rare thing: people sit at the sidewalk cafes, have their coffee, take a real break. Life is not experienced far away from where one sleeps. Home is not just your apartment or your cottage or your office in an area that closes at 5pm: home is your city. Life is lived, whether you're making plans or not.

Montmartre is a beautiful area, and it mixes tourism with daily living, combines culture with the profane. Parisians wait with people from all over the world to cross the street, on the platforms to take the subway, in the cafes taking their coffee. The Boulevard de Clechy is dominated by sex shops and theatres with live sex shows. Just behind this street is Sacre Coeur, holy and beautiful with its meringue-like architecture but you have to pass through swarms of Sengalese men selling you string bracelets at outrageous prices. Behind the Cathedral and the even older Celtic church is the area where the artists used to hang out and paint and some artists are still there but the square itself is a series of cafes. People own hundred year old (or older) houses with gardens or own apartments, some with balconies decorated with potted plants and flowers. Alain and I popped our heads into a bocci-ball club, an oasis amidst the noise of the city where foursomes played beneath gnarled trees in the walled area of their club lit by twinkling electric lights. Right outside the gate was the Witch's Stone which reminded me very much of the rocks and wee caves in the garden my mother and I chanced upon outside the walls of Blarney Castle 7 years ago. As Alain and I walked on Monday evening I silently thanked all the people who left their curtains open so I could see inside their homes. Yes, I'm a decorating voyeur: I love to see how other people live, how they make their space beautiful, what I can be inspired by to make my own little home a welcoming place for myself and others.

The apartment I stayed in was very tiny, on the top floor of a six storey building built in the 19th century. The living/sleeping area was a good size and the bed was very comfortable. The shower stall was very tiny as was the kitchen. But, the apartment boasts three balconies with only enough space for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder, with flower boxes blooming red mums and the view was incredible: directly in front I could see the tree tops of the cemetery where, amongst other famous folk, Jim Morrison is buried; to the right, the street where Van Gogh lived and worked; to the left, the Eiffel Tower. Sunsets were incredible, sunrises even more beautiful.

We walked so much! Ordinarily, I am very aware of my surroundings and am an excellent navigator, but with Alain I just let myself be swept along and enjoyed seeing and experiencing and learning what he had to teach. Every time a question formulated in my mind about what we were seeing, he was already answering it. He photocopied maps of where we walked and used a highlighter to mark our journeys; I have glued them into my new journal, purchased at one of the shops in the mall at the Louvre. Christian said it makes me look like a "vraie explorateure." Oh! and we went to a concert on saturday night to see Buika, a Spanish flamenco/infusion singer. What I saw of the concert was fantastic: I was exhausted and the theatre was too too hot so I nodded off a few times. My Dad is the only person I know who will relate to this: when I was maybe 12 or 13, we went as a family to see The Nutcracker. Again, the theatre was so hot that he and I slept through the second act. My stepmother was not impressed and ever since then we, as a family, seem to stick to musicals that will hold our attention and we never, ever, wear winter boots anymore to a performance.

Jason and I had a very fun time together. His colleagues whom I met were all interesting and fun. One of the Americans, Steve, brought his wife Patty along on this trip and she and I hung out quite often. I'm proud to say that I introduced her to creme brulee. On wednesday night Jason and I went with three of the French guys - Patrice, Gaulthier and David - to the Left Bank for drinks and dinner. They were hilarious: it was very refreshing to talk footwear, specifically boots, with straight men. And, they have this very funny theory: huge handbags are all the fashion right now. The guys believe that the bigger the handbag, the greater the sex drive of the woman carrying said handbag. They of course inspected mine, and since my grandmother reads this, I won't go into how it was judged. (I think it's enough that I'm including this story!) I did, however, ask if this is the same line of reasoning that explains how the 'size' of a man is inversely proportionate to the size of his pickup truck. They said it was. I laughed so hard. And drank more Hoegarden.

The best part of the trip? Walking by myself with impunity. Not worrying about my "distinctive Western feminine self," as Adrienne phrases it, attracting unwanted attention. Having said that, though, I'm happy to be home in Jerusalem.

Oui, Allo de Paris

2008-10-13T09:37:00.000-07:00

Super quick update, mes amis: Jason's internet isn't working and this public one is (ahem) expensive and the keyboard is an adventure unto itself...

The flight was pretty horrific but made worth it because, oh my gosh! I'm in Paris! We're staying in Bougival, a very pretty little town in the GPA. I asked today and it'll take about an hour by bus and Métro to get to my first stop = Shakespeare and Company, which is near Notre Dame. I haven't been homesick (wishing everyone were in Jerusalem with me is not homesick behaviour) until I started walking around Bougival and the Seine: the leaves golden and green and deep red crunching under my feet, that wonderful smell you only get in the autumn (and I'm pretty sure it's most concentrated in Creemore), the crisp air in the brilliant sunshine. Yeah, I love Jerusalem but it doesn't have these things representing my favourite time of year like Paris does. And, really, that's OK because Jerusalem has its own brand of charm that I'm sure I'll ache for just as I ache right now for pumpkin pie.

This is becoming a habit

2008-10-11T08:12:00.000-07:00

I should be packing, but true to form I am instead blogging - just like way back in July I should have been packing to come here but was instead giving a wee update to y'all. The plan was to blog earlier today, or yesterday, but I've done something to my lower back so the past two days have seen me in bed, in the most comfortable position I can find on said back. My convalescence has gone something like this: rub Ben-Gay onto my lower back, do about an hour of yoga stretches and breathing (see! the yoga mat was worth the schlep across the Atlantic!), then crawl back into bed with The Source, if any spasms occur then pray for the pain to stop, pop some ibuprofen and repeat from the Ben-Gay step. Now I'm at the computer, sitting as comfortably as I can and hoping that all the stretching (and Mary's generous back-rub last night) will buy me enough pain-free time to write this. Grrr.

It all started on Wed, as I was getting ready to head to Tel Aviv with Joseph for Yom Kippur. It felt achey, so I stretched and felt better. It got a little worse on the bus but nothing to write home about. We got to Tel Aviv and checked into Hotel Maxim on Hayarkon Street - two seconds down a set of stairs to the Mediterranean - and started walking south. It took an hour and a half to get to Yafo and I am so excited to see how the photos turn out. We had a bite to eat at an Arab restaurant and the neighbourhood itself is beautiful and old. It was a good thing that all the shops were already closed for the holiday; I saw so many amazingly beautiful things that I would have loved to pick up. Traffic was already thinning and by 4pm, the official shutdown time in the country, there were only sporadic vehicles still on the roads - the whole country shuts down at 4pm on Erev Yom Kippur and doesn't re-open until around 7 or 8pm the next day. This means no cars, no telephones/cellphones, no internet, no restaurants (everyone should be fasting, but some places, like our hotel, offered small breakfasts for non-Jews), nothing. You're not supposed to eat, drink, bathe or brush your teeth - it's the Day of Atonement and even secular Jews here honour this, from what Joseph was telling me. We walked back to the hotel through deserted streets.

At the hotel I had a small bite to eat - I'm not quite ready yet to fast (I'm taking baby steps in exploring Judaism), but didn't want to gorge. We then took our toast that we had brought from home and went down to the sea to break up and throw into the water. I don't quite understand it all yet, but Joseph said that with each piece of bread you think about what you'd like forgiveness for from any sin you've committed over the past year. I was a little worried that since this was my first time I'd have to ask for forgiveness for a lifetime of sins, but it doesn't seem to work like that. I liked this ritual very much, but would like some help deciphering it and its historical beginnings/legend.

Then, we started walking again: along Hayarkon to Allenby then along some sidestreets until we hit Dizengoff. Joseph took me past some of the apartments he'd lived in (he lived in Tel Aviv off and on for around five years, returning home to the States around ten years ago), and showed me where he was when the suicide bomber pushed past him and ran around the corner onto Dizengoff on Purim in 1996 and set off his horrible explosives. The sight on Yom Kippur while walking speaks to me of strength and life and community - Tel Aviv had been taken over by children on their bikes. Children of all ages, people of all ages, mostly in white (including me - a purely intuitive choice) had taken over the car-less streets and I was so excited and grateful to be a part of that crowd. One little boy, maybe 5, couldn't pick his bike up from where it had been dropped; there was no adult in sight who seemed to belong to him. He let out the saddest wail that was threatening to escalate into a sob when I walked over and picked up his bike for him. His mom wasn't far away - just that extra distance, y'know? - and she gave me a relieved 'toda.' It was so great to respond with a sincere 'bvakesha.' It was very exciting to be walking on the streets and Joseph and I made a compromise - he could talk as much as he wanted as long as I could stop and look at all the shoe stores. My back didn't like me very much and the spasms were getting pretty nasty when we stopped for a little bit and sat on a bench facing a designer's shopfront - the dress in the window was a strapless white wedding-dress with a big picture of Shimon Perez (ninth president of Israel) on the puffy skirt and a big 60 on the breasts. Only in Israel.

The next day we went to the beach. The great thing about being there on a holiday was that the concierge of the Maxim let us keep our room until five, instead of kicking us out at the regular checkout time at noon. I lay in the sun (fully covered in 30 sunscreen and had my bandana on my head) and read (guess!) The Source. I went swimming and it was amazing - the Mediterranean is much warmer and calmer than I remember it from Calella in Spain. My back didn't hurt much at all. But! I was stung for the first time by a jellyfish! The horror! So, I come back to our spot where Joseph is sleeping:
Me: Something just bit my leg. I'm bleeding.
Joseph: (not looking up nor opening his eyes) You probably got stung by a jellyfish.
Me: What? Aren't they poisonous?
Joseph: Yeah, if you're allergic.
Me: How do I know if I'm allergic?
Joseph: Keep an eye on it.
Me: But what does it look like? Will I see the poison going in a line up my leg, like when a spider bit my mom?
Joseph: Maybe. Here, let me see. Oh. That's a good bite.
Me: It bit me on my mole. Of course it looks bad.
Joseph: It happens all the time.

Basically, Joseph didn't change his tone, he stayed calm and even and half asleep through the whole exchange while I alternated between hysterical and relieved. And, nothing has happened to me because of the bite, although I was hoping for some bizarre unknown-till-now-inherent-jellyfish-medicinal-properties to manifest themselves and take away my back pain. No dice; back to yoga and ibuprofen.

We caught the bus back to Jerusalem at 8:05pm after a lovely picnic on the windy, chilly, almost deserted beach. Ok, a little sidenote: Tel Aviv's Central Bus Station is one of the creepiest places I've ever been. Seven stinky floors, a maze that the most intelligent rat would have a hard time navigating, some of the worst shopping ever, and uninspiring security. I much prefer Jerusalem's Central Bus Station: clean, secure, a great bookstore - really, what else does one need in a bus station if not a great bookstore?

Yesterday, Mary and her brother David came for dinner. I was very excited to cook for them but my back was not. Yes, I realize that the suckiness caused by my achey back is a whiney theme in this post. Anyway, Peter and Joseph did the honours and dinner was fantastic: spicy curry with rice, salad with blue cheese and a balsamic dressing, a bottle of Merlot and a bottle of Shiraz, and burekas and coffee for dessert. We had a great time, and after the festivities Mary rubbed eucalyptus linament into my back and I think that's what really helped on my road to recovery - plus, she said a very nice prayer to help speed the healing.

And now, dear readers, I do have to pack. I'm expecting Tam's skype call in 6 minutes and plan on calling my grandmother to wish her an early happy birthday. Then, I have to call a sherut and hope that they can come and get me around 3am this morning so that I can catch my 7am flight to PARIS. (If I can't get a sherut I'll have to suck it up and pay for the taxi.) I'm quite sure I'll be able to find a funky internet cafe in Paris to give you updates of my adventures there with Jason, who I'm pretty sure is either strapped in to his trans-Atlantic flight or nearing boarding. A bientot, mes cheris!

Links - A whole new world

2008-10-07T05:41:00.000-07:00

I figured out, all by myself, how to add links. Please check out Adrienne's blog - with its fantastic write-up on her evening in East Jerusalem last week - and also my friend Omar's blog. I'm in love with Omar's photography, and my next project is to figure out how he added a photo gallery to his blog. A photo gallery! I salivate at the thought that one day I, too, will have photo gallery to share with y'all.

I wrote the Biblical Hebrew placement exam this morning. The exam was made up of four passages, each about 4 verses long; the goal was to translate each then parse all the verbs in each passage. I admit it: my heart skipped a beat in excitement. I finished, sort of, two of the four passages comprising the exam. I say "sort of" because there were several words in both passages that I didn't recognize, but do take solace in the fact that there were many more I did. I did, however, nail 95% of the verbs I parsed - and nearly fell off my seat I was so happy to see Niphals and Hophals - represent! The exam was only two hours, and I definitely needed an hour per passage. I'm not upset that I didn't finish it but only look at this as part of the criteria by which my placement will be judged. Considering that I haven't done any Biblical Hebrew in the past six months, other than my own translations of Judges 4, and that I studied but not extensively, I think I did just fine.

Now I can read Michener's The Source guilt-free.

2008-10-04T23:20:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to figure out a way to include links/whole albums on the blog but without much success. I can only upload five photos at a time here so it's been a slow process and I've much more to show you: an entire roll of film dedicated to Montefiore, or Yemin Moshe, the first settlement built outside Jerusalem's old city walls in the early 1800's; an audio recording of my class saying "Shana Tova" to me, my end of year gift from Ma'ya, one of my teachers, who had picked my name for our class' Secret Santa/Hanukkah Harry/Fatima for our end-of-Ulpan party; links, etc. Yes, I can read quickly and can learn a language fairly quickly, but I can't figure out how to do these things on my wee blog. So, I spoke with my resident expert on all things computer related, Jacob, and he's going to help me set up a web page. oooh, I think I may be getting into the big time!

Instead, here's a sample. All of these photos are from our fieldtrip to, and picnic in, Montefiore.
A cool view of the Old City/Ha'Ir Ha'Atiqa:

So, this shot is very interesting. As our class sat down on these steps to hear more of the history of this settlement, in Hebrew, some men were delivering groceries to the house at the back of the photo. The door was opened and you could see this fantastic sculpture of a man seated with a lamb across his lap. How cool is that? As I was getting the camera ready to take a shot, the woman of the house came out and started shouting - and I mean shouting - at the delivery guys. I was impressed with myself for knowing what she was saying in Hebrew (you were supposed to be here at 1 and now it's after 4, what's your problem, etc, etc). The delivery guy just stood there and took it and when she was done he started bringing in her groceries. The best part: Ma'ya was telling us all about the 'conflicti' between the Ashkenazis and the Sephardis; 'conflicti' was the word on these steps. I, though, was terrified that this woman would catch me taking a shot, without permission, of her courtyard, so Debbie did the honours on this shot. I'm so Canadian.

My amazing teachers, Ma'ya and Ronit:

My very cool class, Alef Sheva, minus me, Sahmer and Ronit:

Mary took this shot of me and Ma'ya.

An Academic Update

2008-10-04T06:13:00.000-07:00

I just checked the Rothberg website and got my mark from the Ulpan. An A! I can quote you exactly the comment my mother will make about this: "I'm so proud of you, my smart, intelligent, beautiful daughter - just like her mom!" I'm not kidding. And I'm also not kidding that as she reads this she'll start laughing so hard she'll cry.

I also have my schedule set up for the upcoming semester. Modern Hebrew is two hours per day, four days per week. I don't yet know what level I'm in for Biblical Hebrew - the placement exam is finally being written this Tuesday - but, it's three hours of class per week, divided between two days. I just met another Texan, Debbie, who told me that the Biblical Hebrew classes are fantastic with a focus on using the lexicon and the concordance. I love lexicons and concordances. My big day will be Wednesdays: three classes between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m. Luckily, I'm off on Tuesdays (although, I don't know when the Creative Workshop will be held...) so have decided that this will be shuk-day. (And, I do have plans to tell you all about the shuk, with the express purpose of taunting you not with figs but with mangoes, persimmons, and coffee.)

So, I will be taking:

1: Modern Hebrew
2: Biblical Hebrew
3: Creative Writing (and the reason for this, Julie, is that having a constant source of feedback close by is never a bad thing.)
4: God, Man and History in the Ancient Near East
5: Shekhinah: The Image of the Divine Female in the Early Kabbalah

Let me tell ya about course #5:
Dr. Iris Felix
The Kabbalah is famous for enhancing traditional Judaism with myths and rituals surrounding the Shekhinah, a quasi-biblical term used by the sages of the Talmud to describe God's indwelling or presence on earth. This divine presence, grammatically feminine in both Hebrew and Aramaic, was typically depicted using feminine imagery. Theosophical-theurgical kabbalists developed the image of the Shekhinah as a full-fledged divine female potency functioning on two levels, the divine and the human. They viewed her as a mediator between the divine and the material worlds, hence her central position for these kabbalists in the performance of Jewish ritual. This course will examine some kabbalistic attitudes towards the Shekhinah, exploring her various names and roles in light of other Jewish modes of thought and traditional ritual behavior.

Although the Kabbalah is much, much later than the time period I'm interested in for my thesis, this course will be fantastic for a few reasons: exploring descriptions of the divine feminine; how the divine feminine is portrayed in later writings, at a time that could be viewed as a bridge between Judges 4 and 5 having occurred and/or when it was written and my time now for its re-vision; the potential for furthering my theory that the characters of Deborah and Ja'el functioned on two levels, divine and human, and to add to that, Deborah herself was a mediator between the divine and the human. And, the bottom line is that I'm here to to take courses that will enhance all aspects, all disciplines, that I'm concentrating on for my degree in my thesis. So, Creative Writing and Religious Studies are now covered, and this is the Women's Studies component that also crosses over into Religious Studies territory, and if I can be so bold (and I am!) also into Creative Writing territory.

On a non-academic note, I have decided to go to Paris for 10 days and postpone Cairo for later. After Jason leaves on the 18th, I'll be moving to an apartment in Montmartre for 5 days. I had contacted my friend Alain, one of Joseph's room-mates, to ask his advice on hotels/hostels - it seemed that every hotel and hostel review I read on-line described a place that is exactly what you pay for and what I can afford was described as either dirty or unsafe. Unfortunately, the apartment he rents out to guests is booked at this time. He did, however, graciously ask a friend if her rental apartment would be available during the time I need it, and it is. Yay! I will be buying a museum pass, since I anticipate spending at least three days at the Louvre, especially to see the Mesha Stele. Plus, I'm starting research now to see if there are, and I'm sure there are, artistic representations of Deborah and Ja'el and Judith in one of the museums.

And now, darlings, I must return to studying Biblical Hebrew. Wednesday sees me off to Tel Aviv for the night to check out Yom Kippur city-shutdown. We plan on walking the freeway after we walk the beach.

Shana Tova v'Mtuqa!

2008-10-02T23:59:00.000-07:00

Rosh Hashanah started Monday night (29 September) and ended Wednesday night (1 October). Tuesday morning Peter, Mary, Joseph and I went to the Great Synagogue on George HaMelekh to see the blowing of the shofar to welcome the new year. I admit to being rather nervous and not my usual adventurous self: would I be dressed appropriately? Would shiksa radar be on high alert? I had bizarre visions of well-dressed, older Jewish ladies in fantastic hats coming up to me and saying in thick Hebrew accents, "Y'aren't from around here, are ya?" I have to add to this that I have similar anxieties when entering any religious congregation. As usual, I had nothing to worry about.

We arrived and Mary and I left Peter and Joseph to ascend to the women's balcony. We found some good seats - it was only 9 a.m. and although there were many people already there and the service had already started, the synagogue was rather empty. The men sat below, the seats arranged around the bimah which was in the center of the room; the bimah is the raised area where most of the important rituals take place, including the reading of the Torah (thanks to Carl for the definition). The choir sat in another raised section between the bimah and the area housing the Torah scrolls (and I can't find/remember the name of this...help!) Above this area a beautiful stained glass window rose high to the ceiling. I couldn't follow what was going on, even though I looked over the shoulder of the woman in front of me to see what page she was on in the Machzor, the prayer book (thanks, Rob, for the heads-up on its name). I instead skimmed through the Machzor to see what words I recognized, and people watched. Yes, I turned into a bit of an anthropologist without a Dr. Livingston-esque persona in sight with whom to compare notes.

Any time I've ever been in a congregation there's a set start and end time, everyone sits quietly and does what they're supposed to do at the appropriate moments: stand up, sit down, sing, kneel, pray. Socializing would be done after the service. Being in synagogue was a very different experience: people coming and going and shaking hands hello; everyone chatting at some point(to my right were three women in their mid-fifties to -sixties gossiping away for most of the two hours we were there); people up and swaying and praying; and my favourite was watching a father below blowing a kiss to his 14-year-old daughter in the women's section above, then a mother holding up her 3-year-old daughter to the railing and blowing her daddy below a kiss.

The shofar is "a trumpet made of a ram's horn, blown by the ancient Hebrews during religious ceremonies and as a signal in battle, now sounded in the synagogue during Rosh Hashanah and at the end of Yom Kippur. [Hebrew šôpār, ram's horn, shofar; akin to Akkadian sappāru, šappāru, fallow deer, and sappartu, tip of an animal's horn, from Sumerian šegbar, fallow deer.]" (answers.com) It is a sound that sounds like a signal. You have this instant, sub-conscious acknowledgement in your brain and in your heart that something great and bigger than you are is about to commence. Unfortunately, our shofar blower had a few problems blowing and had to call in the back-up, who did a great job. Then the cantor and the choir began to sing. One of my other favourites was the choir director, a busy little man with precise yet wildly gesticulating hand movements.

Afterwards, as we four walked along George Hamelekh, Joseph said I looked like a secular gingi Jew. We laughed, and I like the moniker, but we both agreed that it sounds a lot like a new JellyBelly flavour. We took cabs to and from the synagogue, a big no-no, and both of our Palestinian cab drivers gave us what-for for doing so. I find it very interesting that if the guys had taken off their kippas no one would know we were going to/had come from synagogue; this one piece of clothing identifies a person. I am continually amazed here that clothing is such a political statement. At home, if I were to cover my head it would mean I'm having a bad hair day or looking for protection from the sun or the cold. A scarf is an accessory. Here, depending on how one wears the head covering, it is an identifiable marker of a woman's faith or marital status; for men, their clothing also identifies them as a member of their specific community. But, really, this happens everywhere, doesn't it? I am purposely throwing that question out there for feedback on this, to help with articulating just what it is I'm trying to convey about the political nature of clothing - here and everywhere. There is something extra-powerful about the statement made via clothing here, or perhaps I am simply more aware of it in Jerusalem than I was at home.

Naughty Blogger!

2008-10-02T03:55:00.000-07:00

Wow! It's already 2 October and I have left y'all hanging for two weeks! I am a naughty blogger, indeed, and starting today will remedy that.

The Ulpan ended last Thursday. When I had last written, I was embarking upon a supplementary program to complete the final 6 chapters of the textbook for Alef with the goal of writing the level exam. This did not happen. I did do the supplementary program, an extra 2 hours per day of Modern Hebrew instruction, and watched myself become stressed and anxious and trying to cram so much into my head that my head erected a wall and nothing more could be crammed. I spoke with the woman heading our level, Michal, to see about my options. As it turns out, I can write the level exam 30 October. This is what I'm doing. Shortly after speaking with her, I felt my brain resume its regular sponge status and I was able to walk into our final exam with confidence, the head holding that brain held high. I have all the materials I need to study for the exam, and have Joseph to study with. It's all good.

The day after the exam, Mary and I hosted Shabbat dinner. Peter, Joseph, Adrienne and one of my new neighbours, Joe, joined us. Adrienne is an opera singer; she's an American ex-pat now living in Copenhagen with her husband and children and is here studying as part of her anthropology degree. She sang the Kiddush (sp?) and it was truly beautiful. An added bittersweet ingredient in our little party was the fact that this was our last Shabbat with Mary. She left yesterday morning to do a month of volunteer work with the Israeli army in their Sar-el program. It was getting late at our dinner party, around 11:30 pm, when we noticed that it was raining. I have been here for almost three months now and this was the first rainfall in that time, a rainfall this country desperately needs. We all ran outside and like children ran as it fell upon us. Jerusalem is a little cooler during the days now, the blue skies are constantly populated with clouds, and the nights are downright cold. I laugh at my meteorological arrogance remembering the question I asked before coming here: How cold can it possiby get in Israel?

Adrienne, Mary and I decided to roadtrip. Originally we wanted to rent a car and head north to the Galilee but we had left our planning late - understandable, since we were all studying in preparation for the aforementioned exam - and there weren't any cars left whose rental fees we could afford. No big deal. Instead, we rented a room at the En Gedi Youth Hostel and hopped a bus down to the Dead Sea on Sunday. We got there around 2:30 - only an hour away - and high-tailed it to the spa. Unfortunately, we arrived late during their operating hours and I wasn't able to head to the Dead Sea proper to soak and mud-up. I did, however, soak in the mineral pool and went for a very heavenly one-hour massage, then paddled in the pool for a little while. I didn't get down about not going to the Sea - I'm here for while and know that I'll be back.

There were no restaurants in the area but the hostel provided us with a box meal. I was expecting a sandwich. We got bread, chicken schnitzel, fries, some sort of salad that was very yummy (a root vegetable in creamy dressing), chocolate wafer cookies, an apple, and of course hummus. Adrienne had brought along a bottle of shiraz from the Golan that was perfect, medium to full body and very smooth. We sat on the terrace of the hostel's common area, the Dead Sea before us, the mountains behind and around us. It was so warm and the wind so welcome - the leaves rustling in a near-by tree sounded like rain - and the smell of sulphur was distant and not unpleasant. One of the guys staying at the hostel (he looked like he was in his late twenties and a total surfer dude) poked his head out onto the terrace and said, "You live like queens." Yes, yes we do, and I did feel like a queen sitting with my royal friends. One of the highlights of the evening was Adrienne singing part of the love aria from The Marriage of Figaro. And! As it turns out, Adrienne's last role was the soprano in Die Entfuhrung Aus Dem Serail - the opera I had seen with Julie in New York in May!

The next morning we were up and hiking in the En Gedi National Park. Photos are pending development! There were pools at the bottom of waterfalls where you could swim; none of us wore our suits but we swam all the same in our clothes. I had to be coaxed in, I admit it. At the second pool, Mary waded in right away to her waist and a few minutes later excitedly called to Adrienne and me to join her. On a rock half in and out of the water was a freshwater crab. We called him Rabbi Crabby. It was just us three splashing and revelling in where we were until a huge group of Swedish students invaded. That was our cue to move on. We hiked until noon, up as far as the Shulammit Spring when we turned back (the last bus to Jerusalem was at 2:30). From this height the view of the Dead Sea and Wadi David was spectacular. We didn't make it as far as the Ein Gedi Spring, but like I said, I'll go back.

Sightings of note at En Gedi: Nubian ibex (wild goats), rock hyrax (conies; they look like groundhogs), eucalyptus and fig trees growing out of the rocks, my first Israeli hummingbird - all black with an iridiscent blue/purple head.

And now, I'm all on my own in my big five room apartment here at the Kfar Hastudentim. Joseph and a couple of other friends, Jacob and Paul, are having a male bonding weekend in the Negev riding horses and hanging with alpacas. I wanted to go, but need the time to study for the Biblical Hebrew placement exam that I don't want to postpone any longer. I'm looking forward to having this time alone, to getting some work done and to meeting my new roommates when they eventually arrive.

Short and Sweet

2008-09-13T10:37:00.000-07:00

I apologize for not posting sooner, with more exciting news than what I'm delivering today. Basically, I'm swamped in Modern Hebrew homework and trying to work ahead to hopefully finish level Alef before the end of September. I don't know if this will happen, but I will try. The plan, for our level, is to finish at chapter 22 in the text so I need to work ahead to finish the final 6 chapters; both exams are written on the same day. Plus, my placement exam for Biblical Hebrew was postponed to this Wednesday...it's a little crazy.

On a happy note, it looks like I'll be in Paris (yes, Paris, France!) this October to meet up with Jason who's there on business. So, instead of spending 2 weeks in Cairo, I'll do one week in each city. For the rest of October I'll be working on school stuff and touring around Jerusalem. I've decided to choose a site/museum to visit every day in lieu of classes, to both get to know intimately this city which is home till next July and to practice my Hebrew. Fun! You'll hear more from me then! You'll see more photos of me and my world then! And, a heads-up: I'm jonesin' for some Hawksley Workman...can anyone help me out?

This was taken at Montefiore on a class fieldtrip. Such a cool neighbourhood - the first built outside Jerusalem's old city walls. More to come...do stay tuned!

Jerusalem Street Festival

2008-09-06T05:11:00.000-07:00

Last Shabbat, 29 August, Joseph and I went down around 4pm to Ben Yehuda for the Street Festival. Throughout the month of August, Shabbat was welcomed with live music in the middle of one of the squares in this pedestrian thoroughfare. It was packed, it was hot, it was fantastic. We arrived and found a good place to see the action and hear the music with our backs to one of the stores and right around the corner from the beer vendor. Mmmm, beer and great, live music. I found out a few days later that we were listening to Mosh Ben Ari and I'm in love. The best part of his band was the trombone player, and I took many photos of him specifically for Julie. The music was melodic, heavy, popular - everyone knew the words but us, it seemed - and the crowd - including us - went crazy when they did a a heavy-guitar-and-horn cover of 'If I Were a Rich Man' from Fiddler on the Roof. After the concert, there was a DJ playing house music (ha-muzikah ha-bayit, as I called it in class on Sunday) and everyone continued the party. I danced and Joseph sorta danced, but he was filming the whole thing. When I can figure out how to do it, I'll get some of his footage on here for you. It all ended around 6:30 or 7pm and the place cleared out. Unfortunately, I didn't get a shot of Mosh performing, but Joseph did.

More from Nazareth

2008-09-06T04:53:00.000-07:00

This is just outside the White Mosque. Just after I snapped it, a man walked by and shook his head at us. I find the juxtaposition of the signs strange and fascinating.

This little boy ran up to me in the shuk and pointed at my camera - would I take his picture? I said of course and his beautiful face lit up. He signaled at me to wait a moment while he ran to ask his mother if it was OK. Less than a minute later he was posing.

As promised, the bust of Padre Pio for Nana. This was just inside the gates leading to the entrance of the Synagogue Church: the synagogue is said to be where Jesus preached; a church was later built right beside it. Padre Pio was a welcome face: Nana attributes the miracle of Dad being here to Padre Pio answering her prayers.

On Paulus VI.

To the left of the entrance to the Church of the Annunciation.

Flashback to Nazareth

2008-09-03T13:27:00.000-07:00

I just developed three rolls of film, so there are more photos on the way - photos of which I am very excited because, to me, they are so much better than those taken with my digital. This is why I love photography, and I am more inspired than I have been in over a year to take my Minolta everywhere. Over the weekend I'll be adding more. These next five photos were all taken in Nazareth.

Chamber Music at the YMCA

2008-09-03T08:06:00.000-07:00

Last night, Mary and I went to the 11th Jerusalem International Chamber Music Festival. Can you believe this is a Y?

The tower was closed when we arrived, so that a man could give a concert with bells from it. We were sad that we couldn't ascend to see what Mary raves is an amazing view, but really enjoyed the music as we dined on spinach quiche and salad. I'll go back and get more photos, both of the building and from the tower.

Me!

Mary!

The Concert:

Mozart-Grieg -- Piano Sonata No. 16 in C Major, k.545
Carter -- Gra for Solo Clarinet
Grieg -- Sting Quartet in G Minor, op. 27 (My personal favourite: the cellist was wonderfully expressive.)(and I don't care how high-falutin' that sounds, cuz it's true.)
Mozart -- Sonata for Bassoon and Cello in B Flat Major, k. 292
Mozart -- Piano Quartet No. 1 in G Minor, k. 478
Grieg -- Songs (arranged by the students of the Israel Academy of Arts and
Science)

Yes, Gramma, There is a Cafeteria

2008-08-25T09:56:00.000-07:00

This post is dedicated to my Gramma, who asks, "Is there a cafeteria on campus?" The biggest and most famous is the Frank Sinatra Cafeteria, which is advertised as being the only place on campus at which to get a hot meal. I have discovered, though, that the cafeteria in the Humanities Building, where our Hebrew immersion classes are held, also serves hot meals although I haven't eaten at either joint. I can tell you that at the cafe in the latter, the dudes who make my coffee every morning know me as "Americano im halav" (americano with a little hot milk, G) because that's my order. Today, however, I said they should call me "Canadiano." Also, scattered around campus are cafes, healthfood kiosks with smoothies and juices, and vending machines with regular junkfood (which take credit cards when the caf's don't) as well as microwavable meals, complete with microwave close by. I won't starve, but I'd rather save myself for Annette Metzuyenit's crepes - I will miss her and Michelle when they leave this Thursday.

I usually take food with me to campus: a granola bar, half a pita with hummus and/or eggplant salad, a plum or an apple (but not figs because they'd get crushed and that would just upset me and I wouldn't be able to concentrate thinking about crushed, inedible figs when I know that when I pack one that it's all I can think about till I eat it and the disappointment of not having it would be too much to bear)(yes, i thought about writing that in scripto continuum)(I have my figs for breakfast because they start the day off right).

Tomorrow Joseph and I are off to the shuk - the food shuk. It's said to be a foodies' paradise, at better prices than the grocery store. It's really obvious to say this, but I'm so excited. We planned it for tomorrow so that we wouldn't have to fight the Shabbat crowds. And, really, I have a bohan! tomorrow so I'd better get back to studying. A bohan! is a quiz; I like to put an exclamation mark after it to increase my excitement about being tested.

Looking Forward: Study Plans

2008-08-23T03:05:00.000-07:00

Speaking of study plans, Mark (one of my neighbours) has told me of a great website to help me review for the Biblical Hebrew placement exam. This is a relief since I really didn't know where to start. So, here's my language dilemna in looking forward to the coming academic year: as a Visiting Graduate, I'm not required to continue in Modern Hebrew, but can opt to. I'm arguing with myself: do I take Modern Hebrew which is 8 hours of classroom study per week, which means another 20 hours-ish of homework per week, or do I take that time and use it for my own research and to travel around the country? Arrgh! Because, essentially, one can get by in Israel without knowing Hebrew, but I'm wondering if I want to because it is so great to communicate with locals in their own language. Help! Advice will be most welcome, with the caveat that I'm leaning heavily toward continuing in Modern.

So! For those of you who don't know this, I'm required to take 3 courses per semester and can substitute one of these courses for a tutorial = a directed reading either one-on-one with a prof or in a small group setting. (Modern Hebrew is not included in the three, but in addition to them.) I will be signing up for the Creative Writing (Autumn Semester) and Literary Translation (Spring) Workshops; I was told, however, that neither of these are hugely popular but the prof would most likely be willing to work with me in a tuturial. Gasp! Be still, my creative, racing heart (said in a Texan accent)!!

Next is the Biblical Hebrew. I'm now down to one more course required per semester. Are you ready? Sitting down?

Autumn Semester: "God, Man and History in the Ancient Near East" with Prof. Wayne Horowitz.
"A graduate seminar examining Ancient Mesopotamian perceptions of the role of deities in the lives of nations and individuals in Ancient Sumer and Akkad, Babylonia and Assyria. Students will study ancient primary sources in translation and examine topics such as the role of the Sumerian-Akkadian pantheon in state formation in early Mesopotamia; the function of gods in defining ancient national identity; and the relationship between great gods, personal gods, and ordinary human beings. The course begins with an overview of the Ancient Near Eastern religious system and then includes a chronological investigation of the development of Ancient Near Eastern religious thought as expressed in major Sumerian and Akkadian texts. These will include the Law Code of Hammurabi, the Babylonian national creation myth Enuma Elish, the Babylonian Job (Ludlul-Bel-Nemeqi), and Sumerian parallels to the biblical book of Lamentations. Students will be encouraged to consider theological theories generated by the seminar in the context of neighbouring cultures including Biblical and post-Biblical Israel, Ancient Egypt, India, and China, and the classical civilizations of Greece and Rome. Students will be required to present their research findings to the seminar in the form of 'conference papers' in the final meetings of the course, and then to submit written formal research papers.

Spring Semester: "Canaanite Literature and the Bible" with Prof.
Ed Greenstein
"A survey of the Canaanite literature that constitutes the literary heritage of Biblical Israel, and especially the corpus of literary and religious texts from ancient Ugarit. A variety of textual genres, including myth, epic, prayer and ritual, will be compared with their biblical counterparts, in order to discern cultural continuity on the one hand and the biblical adaptations and transformations of Canaanite conventions (forms, images, motifs, expressions) on the other."

This is the course I'm soooooooooo excited about - it's exactly what I'm looking at for my thesis and was hoping for in a course here. Yay! I'm still hoping to find a class in feminist exegesis of the Bible, as well as the course on ancient Jewish magic and its roots in the Ancient Near East, but it looks like I had downloaded last year's calendar. It's ok: these courses are right up my alley and I'm very excited to take them.

Last week I received this email:

"Golem and Kafka in Prague: The German Disenchantment with the Enlightenment." This course is taught in Prague during a 6-day tour of the city. The course focuses on German social thought and uses narratives of the Golem and Faust as keys for deconstructing major texts or scholarly work. Each day is focused on a clear theme, and the whole week revolves around the issue of the German disenchantment with the Enlightenment. The group will convene in Prague on February 2009, and estimated cost is $1,100 including all expenses (including museums and theater) other than food. (The course does depend, though, on how many people are interested in it. I sent in my vote for the affirmative.)

Truthfully, I'm working out in my head HOW this course has anything to do with my thesis...construction of heroes? Mythic characters made "real" in folklore? I feel as though I must justify taking this course, when it doesn't pertain as obviously as do the others to my thesis. And then I think: it's in Prague! Prague! What a fantastic way to experience Prague for my first time there! And, I HAVE the opportunity (read: money, time and interest) to do this. I'll keep you updated.

And now, I have to study. I would love to write and hang out with you all day, but both Hebrews are calling me to play with them. Plus, I have a party to go to tonight: the French folk leave later this week and the guys upstairs (Alain, Laurent, Mark, Joseph and Clements) have invited our apartment and a few others to their place to eat, drink and be merry in four different languages: Hebrew, French, English and German. (And last night I had 4 different invites to Shabbat dinners - I'm a rather popular little Canadian.)

Lehitra'ot! Auf wiedersehn! A bientot! Till soon!

Highlights from Nazareth

2008-08-23T02:08:00.001-07:00

From the convent's guesthouse, we walked down narrow streets made of stone which were mostly stairs but also smooth, like ramps, because of the hill on which Nazareth is built. We followed the signs and ended up in the shuk as everything was closing, so just wandered around looking for an internet cafe and deciding on where to have dinner. Deciding on dinner was very important considering the less than appetizing fare we had been served at 'home' on the kibbutz. After asking directions four or five times, we finally found the internet cafe = connection-with-home heaven after only a week, at that point, of being here. Then, to Casa Palestina for dinner:

I admit it, not the greatest of shots, but the food was delicious and plentiful. Plentiful is a bit of an understatement: pita and hummus, eggplant and other yummy dips to start, and Joelle's meal was a whole chicken. Really, I can't remember what Sarah or I had (although I do remember them bringing Sarah the wrong thing), because everything was eclipsed by this whole chicken being put in front of tiny Joelle. I know she took pictures of it.

We walked back to the convent after dark, and the next morning were up bright and early to head back to the same area and very quickly got lost. The problem: on the map we had the wrong Greek Orthodox Church as our reference point. I kept asking myself, "who needs that many Greek Orthodox Churches in one area?" and remember that I come from a part of the world with a Tim Horton's every 30 meters. But, the morning was not a complete loss, since in one of these Greek Orthodox Churches we visited Mary's Well which was very cool and the church itself was lovely. This was the first place I encountered the practice of writing a note and putting it in a portion of a holy wall. (These photos are on the Minolta, so will be future postings.) We then went for monster falafel lunch, and when I was done eating I left Sarah and Joelle to go inside the restaurant and ask the man who had served us, who spoke great English, where exactly we were. He pointed me in the right direction and was really nice; so nice, in fact, that he gave us some free Turkish coffee and sabra fruit. (I'm not a fan of sabra, which is cactus fruit, because of the texture of the seeds, but the meat is delicious.)

With our new directions, we visited the White Mosque, where (heads, shoulders and arms covered with our shawls, and Joelle in a borrowed men's plaid shirt) we received a sermon about Islam from one of the men praying there. It was my fault: I had asked the man who let us in for some history on the mosque itself, like when it was built, by whom, etc. This other man happened to be close by and figured, as infidels, we needed a good talking to. He was very nice about it, and we were in his hood, but he didn't like that I didn't believe in Paradise. I wasn't going to lie, but I listened politely and played the parent when we had been there too long: "come along, girls."

Then to the Church of the Annunciation. I loved all the international artwork outside, and the openness of the architecture inside. We also went to the Synagogue Church where Jesus is said to have preached. In an alcove outside was a bust of Padre Pio. I took a photo of it for Nana, who prayed to him for the miracle of Dad's recovery after the accident. All of these buildings representative of the Religions of the Book are woven into the fabric of the shuk, or situated very close to it. At one little shop I purchased two pashminas which are lighter than the ones I already have, therefore more appropriate for the (understatement alert:) warm weather. We then took a cab, complete with argument in Hebrew between Joelle and the cabbie about the price, to Nazareth village. This a reconstruction, complete with folk in period costume, of Nazareth at the time of Jesus. We were late; it had just closed, so I'll go back another time. But we did meet an Israeli tour guide with his Japanese tourists who had been at Hazor a few days before. They honked at us in their car as we trudged up the hill back to the convent.

We took a cab to Tiberias since it was Shabbat and there were no buses. Put our feet in the Galilee/Kinneret, and I collected some rocks. I've decided to study geology after I turn 60. I like rocks.

The Back Courtyard at the Rosary Sisters' Guesthouse

2008-08-22T04:16:00.000-07:00

Our hostess here was Sister Emerance. She's Palestinian and so lovely. I felt a little like I was hanging out with Nana: she loved to pet your hair and hold your hand and when she listened to you, she would lean in and put her hand on your back - a very loving, warm hand full of positive energy. The guesthouse has six bedrooms; while we were there, there were also two men from the States, a German mom and her two little boys, a family of six adults and another family of three adults. Our room had three beds, one of the most beautiful bathrooms I've ever seen (very modern and clean - I will be blogging about restroom facilities in Israel in the future. Stay tuned.), and the breakfast was fantastic: olives, cream cheese, bread, coffee, date jam (yum!), tomatoes and cucumbers. The 'back yard' is very peaceful with a statue of Mary surrounded by a very green, very overgrown garden. I could have stayed in the shade for hours writing.

This is the biggest lavender bush I've ever seen in my life.

I don't know whose house this is, but it's within the convent's walls. I have daydreams about renting it and writing, and writing, and writing while seated to the right of the door, beneath the big tree. I may need to buy a Tilly hat and a long, ecru linen skirt and men's white button-down to complete the look. I would be barefoot.

Mary in the garden looking toward the guesthouse/convent. I get a kick out of the satellite dish on the Sisters' roof. I imagine them sitting down in their habits after a long day of charitable works, praying and looking after their guests to watch American Idol or Jeopardy.

Another view of Mary. I love how peaceful and smart and very at-home she seems to be in the midst of all the green.

A Little Backtracking

2008-08-22T03:50:00.000-07:00

The weekend of July 18 and 19th, I went to Nazareth with Sarah and Joelle. My photos are not so great: my digital is very cute, but I don't particularly like the shots I get with it. Thank you for suffering with me. I will be processing soon the, hopefully, better photos that were taken with the Minolta and putting them up here.

Two views of Nazareth, from the entrance courtyard to the Rosary Sisters Convent where we spent the night.

Sarah photographing a very cool door. I love doors. Get ready to see many photos of doors and windows in upcoming posts.

Festive balloons and graffiti on one of the winding, very hilly alleys/streets in Old Nazareth. The first shot is without flash, the second with.

2008-08-21T05:33:00.000-07:00

First of all, I am loving the comments/feedback. Carl, thanks for the info re: Yad Vashem. I had been asking around about where the name had come from, and, as per usual, you have the answer!

Cool tidbits:
Yesterday, there was, in our textbook, a passage from 2 Kings in which we had to pick out words which are still in use today: shulhan (table), mitah (bed), kisah (chair/throne), etc. I got so excited - I have been stressing about how to go about studying for my placement test, but I recognized everything that was in this short passage. I'll definitely be studying for it this weekend and over the next week and a half, but I think I'll be just fine.

In about an hour, Joseph (to whom you were previously introduced), Jacob from Minnesota, and Debbie from Holland (and maybe Mark from Washington State, if we can drag him away from his textbook) are heading to an international arts and crafts festival outside the Old City walls near the Jaffa Gate. (Mary's going on a tour of the caves in the Jerusalem area where Jews in the past took to hiding - will get more info and fill you in. This tour wasn't open to graduate students. Don't get me started.) I was there - at the festival - on Tuesday evening with Mary and Alex, another Texan. It was so great to walk around and just get out of the confines of our rooms and the student village. The place was packed after the sun went down and the people watching was fantastic. In the lower part of the park, a stage was set up for music at 9:30, as well as vendors' booths from Uzbekhistan (sp?), Peru, China, Tibet, Nepal, Thailand (very popular), Poland, and the list continues. Up the hill there's what looks to be a fantastic food area; we're eating dinner there tonight so will give you the lowdown in the next post. Just up past the food area are all of the Israeli artisans: jewellery, stuffed animals, clothing, homewares, photography. Really lovely things that make me wish for a home in Israel to decorate, only because getting this stuff home would be a nightmare. And, as much as I would like to blow my budget on handpainted coffee mugs and handcrafted wire toilet-paper-roll holders, I have to be practical...and a week-long course in Prague in February is where I'd like those practical savings to be spent. How's that for a teaser? I'll fill you in in the next post...

Settling In

2008-08-19T12:01:00.000-07:00

I've been in Jerusalem for 19 days. The steady routine now is:

6:30ish a.m. - up 'n' at 'em.
8:30 - 1:30 - Monday to Thursday, in the Ulpan learning Hebrew (and 9:30 - 2:30 on Sunday).
For the rest of the day, I'm studying, napping occasionally, catching up with family, studying some more, writing in my journal. Although I haven't been as steady at writing here, I have been writing extensively in my journal and am currently on my third one since arriving.

A few highlights:
Last Thursday, Peter and Daan from Holland, Joseph from Wisconsin and Mary from Texas (one of my room-mates) and I all went to Ben Yehuda and the Old City. Just up from Ben Yehuda Street, a huge pedestrian thoroughfare, Peter took us to a fantastic used book shop. It was mostly in the basement with all of these interconnected rooms with couches and chairs and ottomans stuffed where there weren't any books. There were so many authors I hadn't seen before, in Hebrew and English, as well as other languages, and I'm excited to read them (in my spare time...!) but it was seeing authors with whom I'm familiar that gave me a real thrill - books on the shelves by Italo Calvino, Margaret Atwood, Timothy Findley, Graham Greene. It was like seeing a dear old friend you haven't seen in a while, in a place you never expected to run into them.

Afterwards, we walked to the Old City as the sun was setting. We went first to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. I loved touching the stone walls, especially the Greek letters carved into a wall in the Greek room. (Imagine!) (It wasn't very busy, but others had left their empty plastic water bottles lying around so I played clean-up...I know that location shouldn't matter when doing one's best not to litter, but c'mon. If ya can carry it when it's full, then carry it a little longer while it's empty - and, well, this is a holy place.)

Anyway, I liked the Greek room. I lit a candle and placed it on the scaffolding around the cave that is said to be Jesus' tomb. I'm not Catholic but it's become a tradition for me while travelling to light a candle in all churches that I go to, like connecting my thoughts with those I love who aren't with me. What amazed me most about the Church was that from the outside it just looks like any other building in the Old City - a part of the architecture. But once you're inside the ceilings are high and there are many rooms that have been constructed around the central cave/tomb. Plus, what added to the mystery, the experience for me was that it was all very shadowy, most of the light coming from candles or dim electric bulbs.

Then we went to the Kotel - the Western Wall. Mary gave me a quick clinic on what to do. I wrote a note, and signed it, "Love, Tanya." Mary said she was pretty sure he (meaning G-d) would know it was me, but I wasn't taking any chances. It was a small piece of paper, and I tried to include everyone - I think at one point, the wording was something like, "send love to everyone" - because as soon as I think of one person, then I think of another and there are so many on my list that I didn't want to exclude anyone. There was one line I remember clearly, though: "Tell Grampa I say "hi" and that I hope for his strength to be mine, and his pride to be earned." Maybe I shouldn't be blogging about a note written to a deity, but my deity understands that this is how I pray, this is how I connect with the divine in me and those around me. Enough said. I was modestly dressed that day: jeans and a cardigan over my sleeveless top, and I covered my head with a scarf (which wasn't necessary). If you're not modestly dressed (knees and shoulders covered), there are women seated at the bottom of the stairs, after you go through the metal detector and have your bag searched at security, who will provide you with a scarf/shawl. We went to the women's area of the Wall. The women's area is smaller than the men's, and reminded me of the book shop's feminist section, which consisted of one shelf in that whole maze. So, we made our way up to the Wall where many women were praying; en route, there were chairs set up where some sat and prayed, or sat with their children. One little girl had a camcorder and taped her mother praying at the Wall. I went up, waited patiently for a break in the women, got it and placed my note in a crack, touched the Wall briefly before backing away some distance and then turned around to sit at where we were all to meet. There is a tradition that one should not turn one's back to the Wall because it's so holy. I kinda fretted about this one, in my head: how many steps backwards before it's ok to turn around? I ended up doing a pseudo-crabwalk, so that I could both follow tradition and not step on anyone.

Then Joseph and I went looking for a 'get to know you' evening for the grad students at a pub just off Ben Yehuda. We couldn't find it, but did find Dublin Bar. All the writing/advertising is in the style of Guinness, and the inside is Irish themed. You can smoke inside in Israel. So, we sat at the bar, had a few pints and then the music started. You're thinking: how quaint, Gaelic music at an Irish-themed pub in the middle of the Middle East. No. The DJ played Israeli disco at such a loud level that we could barely hear each other speak. So we drank some more beer before finally calling it a night and going back to the student village to drink Joseph's room-mate's vodka with mint lemonade and killing ourselves laughing at the absurdity of our surreal experience that was Dublin Bar.

Class itself is great - I'm learning a lot from my two teachers, Ronit and Mayah. There are twelve of us in Alef Sheva (Alef 7) from the States, Korea, Poland, and France. Again, I am the token Canadian, and am often standing up for our coolness, and correcting one of the teachers: lo', ani' lo' m'America. ani' miToronto beCanada. I'm very glad to be in the ultimate beginners' class - I'm learning the modern script, am improving my vocab, and am speaking the language (it's very satisfying to finally understand how to properly pronounce 'r', for example). And! My training in Biblical Hebrew is coming in very handy, specifically when it comes to nouns which are irregular in the plural, and the direct object marker 'et. There is no equivalent for 'et in English, or any other language (maybe Arabic? since it's Semitic?) so I feel mighty smart and special knowing these things. And! I've made some connections with the language that I can use in my thesis - I'm still working it all out and will let you know once it's written...Speaking of Biblical Hebrew, I'm booked for a placement exam on 2 September. At Hebrew U, they won't let you take Biblical Hebrew until you've reached Level Gimel in the modern; I'm in Alef, next is Bet, then Gimel. I'll be lucky to reach Gimel by the time I leave. So, since I've been studying it for the past two years, I take the exam and they place me appropriately so that I can continue. Preparations have begun.

I love my classmates, my teachers, my room-mates from the States and France. I'm the youngest in my apartment, eat crepes on a regular basis, and am practicing my French as well as getting help with the Hebrew. The only sad part about the current living arrangement is this: the ladies from France leave at the end of August, Karen leaves in mid-September and Mary leaves at the end of that month. Wah! Whose gonna make me crepes? and buy me roses for Shabbat? and wash the floors (Annette gets up at 5:30 a.m. and cleans the floors. Yes, I love my room-mates.) Will my new roomies like "You Are So Dirty Rice," and "Special Colourful Pasta" as much as these roomies do? I will worry about it in October, and will probably have nothing to worry about. Fingers crossed, please, that T's run of good-roomie-luck continues! I do feel like I should be getting out more, but I am also very concerned about learning the language and doing well. It's very interesting to be one in a crowd of high-achieving perfectionists, regardless of our level in Hebrew. Now that I know we can go into the Old City on Shabbat, I'll be making more weekend excursions to poke around and get to know the place better.

More Hazor

2008-08-16T04:26:00.000-07:00

As a heads-up, folks, you can click on the photos to enlarge them - I'm putting them up in the smallest of the sizes available for uploading, with the knowledge that you can do this clicking-magic and see them in greater detail.

On our way to the end-of-season feast. Usually, we would arrive at the tel in the dark of the early morning, and arriving as the light was fading felt magical.

Approaching the storehouse, lit with many-coloured electric lights for the festivities.

Finding a spot.

I turned around from my seat at the table to take this photo. On either side, stone slabs that are around 3000 years old, in the near distance are cows and horses grazing, in the far distance are the Naphtali hills. Can you tell I'm fascinated by the Naphtali hills? I think it's the word, 'Naphtali.'

My superamazing roomie at the kibbutz, Sonja, showing off the juglette she had found on her first day of excavating. Originally from Denmark, she has called Sydney, Australia home for the past 30 years, and to add to her coolness, she shares the same birthday as my Mom, her son is also a Jason, and her daughter's first name is Jane, although she doesn't go by this.

2008-08-16T03:36:00.000-07:00

Sarah Novah, as I called her, who knows herself well enough to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground.

Jess, looking south.

The 9th century BCE storehouse. This, and the house beside it from the 8th century (I could very well be mixing up my centuries regarding these two structures), were moved rock by rock from where they were originally discovered near the temple/palace to where they are now. The end-of-season feast was held in this building.

Part of Area A3. The line of rocks about halfway down the wall is where excavations in this area began at the beginning of the six week season. I came along half-way through this, and worked mostly to the left of where this photo shows our area.

Again, from atop the roof, looking west to the hills of Naphtali. At night, and in the early mornings, the hills twinkled with electric lights. It was very pretty. During the day, every day, it was hot, humid and combined with the work we were dirty and sweaty. It was amazing.

Tel Hazor II

2008-08-16T03:17:00.001-07:00

Getting here: I love that the majority of signs in Israel are in Arabic, Hebrew and English.

The roof that was constructed to cover the palace/temple at Tel Hazor.

The view of our site, A3, from atop this roof! To get the dirt we had dug out of the area, we formed a bucket chain - swinging each full bucket from hand to hand - and piled all the buckets at the base of the ladder. Then, each bucket would be hoisted up the ladder, along another chain to where we would dump the buckets full of dirt into two wheelbarrows. From here, the barrows were wheeled to a huge pile where the dirt was dumped. This would be done between four and eight, sometimes ten, times a day. I'm pretty sure bucket chains were my favourite part of the dig - we joked and laughed, played music and sang, helped each other and coached each other. Bucket chains were definitely a huge part of 'the fantastic-ness that is Area A,' as Cat put it. The man in the white t-shirt is Ron, our area supervisor.

Cat, Joelle and Sarah. Looking east; I'm pretty sure that's the Golan in the distance, or at least the southern part of the Golan.

Ryan and Dan. Looking west; those are the Naphtali hills in the distance.

Tel Hazor

2008-08-16T02:19:00.000-07:00

The Cistern - amazing from two perspectives: ancient technology and archaeological excavation.

Joelle and I at the Cistern. This was during Cookie Break at 7a.m.

During Cookie Break, in a small grove of trees not far from our dig site and even closer to the 9th century BCE store house. The shade was necessary, even at 7a.m.

Looking east, at around 6a.m. one morning. Normally, there were never any clouds or very few. I like to think of the sun shining like this as my grandparents stopping by to say, 'hi!' while I'm here.

The sentry/lookout tower on the westernmost point of Hazor. From what I remember, this is the 'youngest' area on the tel, but I can't remember the exact time period and haven't written it in my journals. (if I'm wrong, please correct me!) I took this photo from the road - this is what we saw, although in shadow, every morning at 5a.m. on our way to dig.

Tisha B'Av

2008-08-13T06:25:00.000-07:00

Sunday 10 August was Tisha B'Av. "The ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av has been set aside as a day of national mourning for all the tragedies that have befallen the Jewish people throughout their history." Originally a day marking the destruction of both the First and Second Temples, Tisha B'Av now is also a day to remember those murdered during the Holocaust. Two busloads of students from the student village went to Yad Vashem (The Hand of God), the Holocaust Museum, where we toured at our own pace the New Museum. The place was packed with people of all walks of life to envision what had transpired during this terrible time in history. The short documentary films, personal video-taped accounts, artefacts, photographs, and historical detailing of the circumstances of those persecuted throughout Europe and Northern Africa, made for an incredibly somber and powerful experience. I walked with tissue ready, amazed at the endurance of the survivors, the capability for cruelty, and the necessity for remembering such an atrocity so as never to repeat it.

Outside the New Museum is the Avenue of the Righteous. For every group or individual who helped the Jews escape from the Nazis, a tree has been planted. There are certain requirements for being considered Righteous: from the website: "Trees, symbolic of the renewal of life, have been planted in and around the Yad Vashem site, in honor of those non-Jews who acted according to the most noble principles of humanity by risking their lives to save Jews during the Holocaust. Plaques adjacent to each tree record the names of those being honored along with their country of residence during the war. More plaques appear on walls of honor in the Garden of the Righteous Among the Nations."

Early in my visit to the museum, I saw this quote which struck me: "A country is not just what it does - it is what it tolerates." -- Kurt Tucholsky. I think is the same for people: it is not just what we do, but also who we tolerate. I think back to a conversation I had with my father, where he was telling me about discussing intolerance with my stepmother. It went something like, "We consider ourselves intolerant of intolerance, but where does that place us on the scale of intolerance? As intolerant as those who are intolerant of others? Are we better than intolerant people, for having recognized that we will not tolerate intolerance?...?" - and we are left with ellipses. Better to be left with the ellipses, and the knowledge that we will tolerate in others what is different from ourselves. Better to be left with ellipses than the alternative - an alternative, potentially, as tragic as the Holocaust. Perhaps that is part of my T-ness, that I try to spread wherever I go - tolerance, acceptance, remembrance. Everywhere I go is the opportunity not only to practice tolerance, but to be tolerant.

Thoughts? Insights? Essentially, I'm struggling with the right words to convey how powerful it was for me being at Yad Vashem, but wanted to let you know I was there during an extremely special time in the Hebrew calendar.

Cookie Break - The Best Meal of the Day

2008-08-06T12:39:00.000-07:00

As promised, an entry dedicated to the nasty food served via a catering company at Kibbutz Mahanayim. The two (kosher) meals for which the caterers were responsible was lunch (meat), served at 2:30 when we returned from the dig, and dinner (dairy) at 7:30. If this were one's only judge of kosher fare, one would remain confused about the definitions and further believe that kosher = nasty. Let's just say that the words of my room-mate, Sonja, summed up the experience very well: how is it possible that these people ruin perfectly good food? And, having eaten fantastic kosher food before, I knew that this was a non-issue regarding flavour. (I'll have to wait till I get home for Inna's brisket, but will never give up hope that one day it will show up in my mailbox here.)

So, some examples of what they fed us: eggs, my favourite food, ruined in a tomato sauce (another fav) because it wasn't hot, nor was any spice of any sort used; grayish mystery meat in a gravy-like sauce; peas and rice (yet again, a fav) but cold and flavourless - you get the idea. Whatever hot food they served was generally cold, as though placed on the tables when we'd left that morning, and spiced with humidity found for free in the air it sat in. When I tell you that hummus was the ketchup on the kibbutz, I'm not joking. Occasionally we'd get meat in a hot dog-like form and there would be red sauce available - but it was sweeter than ketchup. I personally did not try this and stuck with tried and true hummus - I ate it with tomato and cucumber salad, potatoes, rice, beets, soggy lukewarm vegetables, chicken and meat.

On the bright side of the gastronomic offerings, the watermelon, peaches, apples and plums were amazing and twice there was this beef stew that was so yummy. It was no Kickass Guinness Irish Stew, nor was it my Gramma's, but it was tasty. Suffice it to say, I lived for cookie break every morning at 7 on the tel. Chocolate and vanilla and tiramisu and lemon wafers; jammie dodgers; these firm little log-shaped biscuits filled with chocolate or halva; Pims. Cookies became a food group unto themselves for three weeks. Thank goodness the sugar in them was needed to fuel our digging, else I would've ballooned. As it is, I've gone down a clothing size.

On the tel, breakfast was at 9:30. This meal was consistently very tasty (see itinerary in last entry) but I had to modify what I ate. The dairy was not a good idea in the heat combined with a fairly steady stance of being bent over at the waist and doing manual labour... with a pickaxe, sometimes (I love saying that), or hunched over brushing dirt. By the end of the first week, the most I could really stomach at this meal was bread with jam.

And, not all the food is nasty here, just that which was served at the kibbutz. Truly, for the first few days I didn't think it was all that bad, then they served the egg-tomato scary surprise and I was a disillusioned little digger. Thankfully, within a five minute walk of the kibbutz was Mahanayim Junction. There they have restaurants for falafel, tasty pizza, and the best ice cream I've had in a long time. On several evenings, Sonja, Steve, Marion and I - and occasionally some of the others, but always we four - would head for ice cream. Are you ready for the flavours? Are you sitting down? I tried: coconut, chocolate with chocolate crispy bits, date, caramel, kinder egg, oreo cookie, chocolate/vanilla swirl. Total yum. If I could've lived on that, I would've. That and the falafel. Falafel is a thousand times better here - as are the figs. The figs are four times as big as the tiny ones we're sold in Toronto. I don't think I will ever get tired of figs and would seriously consider moving here permanently just for them. Maybe I should marry a fig farmer. Or be a fig farmer. I'd keep all my friends in figs, and you would love me more than you already do, that's how big and beautiful the figs are in Israel.

Speaking of fantastic food, on my first Sunday here, I roadtripped with Jess, Sarah and Joelle to Tsfat. It's a very lovely little town with many artisans, and it was here that I went into my first synagogues. On the way home, we decided to go to Rosh Pinna for dinner to a chocolate restaurant. Restaurants here are either dairy or meat - you can't, for example, get a cheeseburger. So, the choco-resto was dairy. I had eggplant rolled and stuffed with goat's cheese and sundried tomatoes, in a tomato sauce, with more cheeses melted on top and sprinkled with pine nuts - to die for. Flavour! Spice! A treat for your tongue AND your tummy! For dessert, we all shared a chocolate fondue with marshmallows, chocolate croutons and fruit for dipping - apples, watermelon, pears, bananas, and some others whose names I don't know but were soooo delicious. We were going to return with more chocolate desserts, but were very full and had already purchased some chocolate halva in Tsfat. Halva is an extremely rich dessert made from sesame seeds, and though not to everyone's taste, I thought it wonderful in small doses. Sonja and I had it for breakfast the next morning. The fun of being an adult!

After a particularly bad meal, Jess and I discussed returning to Tel Hazor as the cooks for hungry diggers. Then, after this discussion, if I was lying in bed and even remotely wired at 9 pm, instead of counting sheep I'd make meal plans for large groups. They wouldn't have to pay me - just look after expenses and pay someone else to do the cleaning-up. I had just-before-sleeping daydreams of the gratitude of future volunteers and archaeologists; of the latter including me in their list of acknowledgments in publications of their research or of the former telling all their friends that they HAD to come dig at Hazor because the meals made every digging day complete. How much rice would I need to serve You Are So Dirty Rice to 50 people?

And then I think of Deborah. Did she worry about feeding people as she sat beneath her Palm tree, or while she marched in the general direction toward where I spent the better part of the past three weeks? How would she have solved this dilemna - with a glass of milk and a few cookies? (Which is pretty much what we did.) The cookie break was important for me, not only for all that sugar, but also because I sat with her while I ate wafers and drank strong, sweet coffee. I looked at the hills of Naphtali daily which, according to the biblical narrative, was the area belonging to one of the tribes who fought in her war against the Canaanite oppressors who lived in the city I was helping to unearth. How can you top that? That's right: by eating more chocolate wafers with chocolate bits, that's how. Cookies at Hazor go hand in heavy-duty-work-glove.

Live from Jerusalem

2008-08-02T05:23:00.000-07:00

That's right, folks, I made it to the city as described in the Talmud: "Of the ten measures of beauty allotted to the world, nine were given to Jerusalem." This blog post is dedicated to the beauty of the people I have thus far encountered in Israel, beginning with the space from which I am presently writing, and ending with my first adventure in Tel Aviv. Then, in the next few days I will fill in events between Tel Aviv on 12 July and now, as well as add some photos. As a preface, before leaving I told some people that I had this strange impression in my head of coming to Israel and being in a bubble during these travels, of being completely on my own. It was as though I was observing myself in my imaginings, as though I were a spectator projecting myself as a third-person narrator in this adventure. This preface is, therefore, an official bursting of that bubble because, as you shall see, I have been anything but alone.

Today, I write to you from Ortal's room in her apartment at Hebrew University's (HU) Student Village. Ortal is an archaeology student at HU, and worked at the dig at Tel Hazor. Two Thursdays ago, I asked her advice for finding a place to stay for a couple of nights close to campus and she offered me her room. She contacted her roomies, and they were cool with having me here, so here I am. The buildings and the apartments in them are modern, well-conceived, and clean; this one is a five bedroom, whereas others are two- and three-bedrooms. Ortal is at her parents' for the weekend, but her roomies, Sharon (from Haifa) and Ollie (from Berlin) have welcomed me with open arms. Already, they have taken me to the supermarket (yesterday) and today made me egg and hashbrown lunch with toast and pineapple juice and coffee. So yummy and helpful in the fight to forget the food at the kibbutz...don't worry, that post is in the near future!

From where I sit typing, I can look over my right shoulder out the bedroom window and see the Dome of the Rock in the Old City. If I stand up and look out the same window to the left, I can see HU, the hospital and its helicopter pad, and a cemetery. I wonder if this is the same cemetery that I saw in a documentary a few years ago about a group of older Jewish friends who met there every week for picnics. The temperature today is pleasant and the breeze is refreshing. A haze does, however, stand around the city's perimeter. Beyond the university's campus, the hills are sand-coloured and treeless; beyond the Old City the hills are greener. Jerusalem's green is a deep green of fir trees.

So, 3 weeks ago I left the Olimpia Hotel and grabbed a cab to the bus station. There are four bus stations in Tel Aviv, and I went to the one that the MofT guy had written at the top of a downloaded schedule for buses from Tel Aviv to Mahanayim Junction. The cabbie started to get out of the car when I heard a sickening crunch. I looked up from my purse, where I was pulling out shekels for him, and a huge truck had clipped his driver's side mirror and narrowly missed him. No one stopped to exchange insurance info, life continued: the truck moved on and the driver moved to the trunk to get my suitcases and knapsack.

Then, he vaguely motioned me in 'that direction' to the buses, got in his cab and left. It's noon, it's hot and superhumid, I'm not wearing a hat, I'm thanking god or whoever for my full waterbottle, and I'm looking at my luggage. It's very heavy. I put the small suitcase on top of the large one and strapped them together. I put the knapsack on my back. I began the trek to the little building resembling an old-school Dairy Queen or chip wagon that said 'Information.'

I get to this info-stand, and one of the women inside looked at me in disgust and got up and left. The other woman said this was for Dan Bus Lines, and I wanted Egged; she vaguely waved me in the direction of the Egged office. (ok, for clarification, I'm not including these women for their 'kindness,' and the same for the cabbie, but they are a part of the story.) I grabbed my stuff, crossed a parking lot meant for buses with some platforms to the left, got to the Egged office and it was closed. I'm not panicking about this (this is sincere and not sarcastic), after all, it can't stay closed forever. As I'm standing there, two young guys come along and they're speaking English so I asked for their help: 'Do you know where the platform is for the bus to Mahanayim?' They told me to stay where I was and they'd find out, and they came back shortly to tell me that it was on the other side of yet another parking lot, and added, 'you're heading to the Golan. That'll be one helluva ride.' Then they eyed up my heavy bags and were gone.

Now, most parking lots take what, 5 minutes to cross? Maybe 7-10 minutes if they're really big parking lots? Half an hour. It took me half an hour to cross this parking lot with all my stuff, stopping and drinking water and rearranging the smaller suitcase as it slipped off the larger. My face was dripping and sweat rolled down my back so that my shirt stuck to me and to the knapsack. (Um, ew.) Then, as I reached the street where the platform I needed was said to be, I thought a few things to myself:

1: The platform is probably the last one.
2: I wish someone would help me with these bags.
3: Did I really need all the stuff I brought? (yes, yoga mat, yes)
4: Big deal. You just need to get there, to the platform. You'll make it. Of course you'll make it - this will be over soon and you'll get through it just fine.

All this was thought in the last 30-40 seconds of that half hour of hell. As soon as I had finished thinking it, another young man (younger than me, older than the first two) approached me and asked if he could help. I looked at him, hesitated briefly, and said, 'Thank you.' He took the big bag, and we wheeled together down the sidewalk. I would like to take this opportunity to kiss the feet of whoever invented wheeled luggage.

As we approached (you guessed it) the final platform in a long line of platforms, an older man approached us offering sherut services to Tiberias. (For those of you who don't know, or if I haven't mentioned it yet, a sherut is a shared transport service taking usually ten people from point A to B and it's a little more than a bus but less than a private taxi as we know them.) I told the man where I was going, and he apologized that they don't go that far. I thanked the luggage-dude for helping me, and the bus pulled up. I watched all these people, including soldiers with their guns over their shoulders, throwing their knapsacks and bags into the bus' hold, and knew that taking a bus would be a bad idea for two reasons: a) loading and unloading would be, to put it mildly, a bitch; b) once I reached Mahanayim, I knew that I would have to walk about 800 meters, and if I could barely make it across two parking lots, what would 800 meters be like?

Quick thinking took over, a trait I'm not known for. Usually I have to ponder decisions for days. Not this day. I waved over sherut-dude, and asked him: if he gets me as far as Tiberias, what do I have to do to get to Mahanayim? (As I'm asking him this, I'm praying that Tiberias is where I remember it being on the map - just south of where I need to go.) He said no problem, he'd call his friend who would drive me from Tiberias to the kibbutz. We agreed on prices, I lit a smoke and finally stood in the shade. In Tiberias two hours later my stuff was transferred clickety-click from sherut to taxi, and in another half an hour/forty minutes I was at Kibbutz Mahanayim.

Till next time, darlings - let's say later this evening or tomorrow afternoon. Mwah.

I Share One Computer with an Entire Village

2008-07-18T08:19:00.001-07:00

That's right, there's technology in Israel but not at Kibbutz Mehanayim. One computer amongst fifty or so of us, and the internet is rarely functional. And that's ok - rather refreshing - but it does put a damper on blog upkeep. So, I'll make you a deal: today, blogging live from the internet cafe behind the Greek Orthodox church in Nazareth, I'll give you a quick update, then when I get to Jerusalem in two weeks I'll start telling the stories of all that has been happening. Don't worry: I won't leave anything out.

First, Rahmer: shuttle bus/public transit buses the world over, it seems, use the same upholstery supplier. I'm not joking. Every morning at 5 a.m. I get on the bus that takes us from the kibbutz to the dig and think of sitting on that bus from Newark and laughing our asses off because the upholstery was exactly as you had predicted it.

My day =
4:15 a.m. wake up
5 bus to the dig site, we're in A3, near the temple/palace at Tel Hazor, and it's the smaller of the two sites; I very much like the 9 other people I dig with.
5:15 - 7 dig dirt, do bucket chains (yes, we haul the dirt ourselves), listen to the Beatles.
7 tea, coffee, cookies - the cookies are fantastic, and since we're such a small group we get as many cookies as we want - area M only get 2 each...wah.
9:30 breakfast = hardboiled eggs, cucumber and tomato salad, olives, pickles, cheeses, yogurt, pudding, sometimes a tuna salad.
10ish back to work.
1 p.m. stop digging, pack up our stuff, head down to wash the pottery that had been found that day.
2:30 back to the kibbutz for lunch (kibbutz food needs an entry unto itself.)

After lunch I shower, wash my dusty dig clothes by hand and hang them to dry in the sun, then write in my journal for a while. (Yesterday I napped, which was weird, but I was low on sodium so exhausted. I now pour salt into my palm and lick it while on site - sounds nasty, but it really helps.) Then:

5:30 p.m. Pottery reading, when we go through the previous day's finds and try to determine what we have based on the sherds. I'm still learning but I can tell a bowl from a cooking pot from a storage jar. There's still more work until I can recognize the era in which they were made, e.g. Iron or Bronze Ages, etc.

7:30 Dinner (see above, re: future kibbutz food entry).
9ish in bed.

And I love it. I'm working in the hills of Naphtali, I'm thinking and working and sweating and eating some pretty shitty food, and meeting some very incredible people. Today, Sarah from Britain and Joelle from Belgium and I are in Nazareth and tomorrow we head to Mount Tabor in the morning so I can research the area for my thesis.

And my time in the cafe is up. We're going to hunt down some real food.

Good Morning, Starshine

2008-07-13T00:35:00.000-07:00

As a quick follow-up to yesterday's post, the reason that The Other Boleyn Girl was mentioned was because I had rented it on Thursday and Julie and Brandon had come over to watch it with me (when I should have been packing, but that is now a mute [moot? boot?] point). When we had finished watching and making fun of it, I said, "watch this be the movie on the plane," not realizing that entertainment technology on international flights has advanced since I'd last travelled over the Atlantic about 6 years ago.

Mundane daily stuff: Daniele, last night I used the cloth awesome bag you gave me. I now have to learn how to say in Hebrew, "no thanks, I don't need plastic." I couldn't find my soap this morning so used the hotel's liquid stuff, kept in a dispenser in the shower a la public washrooms ("shampoo and body gel"). I can't imagine using it in my hair and am angry with myself for not hunting for my soap - I smell like hyper-masculine industrial man. The breakfast buffet at the Olimpia was more like a salad bar - but they had warm hard-boiled eggs and the coffee was pretty good. There wasn't any cream so I used the milk that was meant for cereal and it came from this huge, clear plastic urn with a nozzlething at the bottom like you would see on a coffee urn at the Legion. Overall, a restful sleep in my supercold airconditioned room until an overwhelming, all-consuming hum from construction trucks woke me up at 7:45. I can't (won't) complain, it was a great alarm.

One thing I wanted to talk about was Tel Aviv itself and what I've seen so far. On the drive in from the airport, there are all of these beautiful buildings that are empty with broken windows. I thought of Montreal and the approach into the city on the train, with all the warehouses; it feels very strange to say that these buildings are empty because they had witnessed violence, been bombed. I say 'strange' because it's not a statement I've ever made before; it's a statement that's not a part of my background or experience and being the polite Canadienne that I am, I fear insulting the building (like pouring lemon juice on a paper cut) by assuming automatically that it has suffered an horrific experience. And, I've never seen a bombed building in real life before, and don't watch the news so, adding to the naivete, is the fact that I'm no expert.

It's sad and empty, mostly, and on the approach to the hotel, where all the tourists are, the buildings exhibit more evidence of life: laundry or palm trees or patio umbrellas on the balconies of the apartment buildings. Very few of the apt buildings I've seen here are more than maybe 6 stories high; the hotels dominate the skyline in this area. It seems like the buildings are trying very hard to be clean and they keep scrubbing but there's this haze hanging over them, like no matter how many times you take a cold shower in the summer's heat you'll still be hot and sticky and sweaty and humid. The air is thick and kinda stinky, but the wind from the ocean is clean and cool and rare.

And now, I will contact my friendly cabbie to take me to the bus station so I can get to Hazor. I re-packed all my bags and am down to the two monster suitcases, one monster backpack and my purse. Oh! The first panic moment of the trip: I had put the last lock on the suitcases - *click* - and realized I had locked all the keys in that bag. Insert expletives here. (see - I can navigate without saying 'fuck' all the time!) I stormed around the room - How could you be so stupid? - when I remembered the extra keys in the knapsack. Stupid turned to clever very quickly...

I am dreading the bus trip, but it will be over soon enough. Another thing to deal with, get through and land on the other side of. I need more coffee.

Just as Hot, Twice as Humid

2008-07-12T11:25:00.000-07:00

The calm I had last night before getting on the plane for Tel Aviv is still here. I'm in an internet cafe at Mapu and Ben Gurion Streets, about a ten minute walk from the Olimpia Hotel, my home for the next 18 hours.

I wasn't bumped to business class, but did have two seats to myself - very sweet - and a very quiet flight...because everyone was sleeping. I didn't have any pharmaceuticals to help my sleep, but I did snooze a little and all in all, the time passed quickly. With those little screens on the seat in front of you, you can CHOOSE what movie you want to watch. The Other Boleyn Girl was included in that list...I caved and watched "Definitely, Maybe" - pure shit, don't waste your time. But! On a very cool note, in the genre 'Canadiana' the first of your choices is...wait for it..."Maple Flavour Films"! Mazel tov, Michael, you've made the big time! Who needs a distributor when you're a featured flick on international flights with aircanada? I didn't have any problems with my ears, as I have had in the past. Maybe I'm growing out of it, or it seems to me that I'm always in the most pain upon landing if the flights are too close together, e.g. going to NYC for a weekend. At any rate, I drank lotsa water and chewed my gum and it worked so I'm happy.

The flight was on time, and I was in my hotel room by 7:30 pm in this time zone. (note to self: find out what timezone this is...any ideas out there?) While at the airport, the Ministry of Tourism desk is right beside the carousels so I got my superheavy bags from hell (did i really need to bring the yoga mat? yes! yes, i did!) and then the man at the desk hooked me up with Olimpia. (it's killing me to spell it with an 'i' not a 'y'.) It was kinda funny, I go up to MofT dude and start my usual pleasantries, "Hi, how are you?" and he just looked at me - not unfriendly, but with this, "you approached me so what do you want?" look. I got to the point, he helped me and here I am.

The hotel clerk, Michael, pointed me in the direction of the cafe and to a little supermarket. I picked up kiwi yogurt, hummus and flatbread, nectarines, apples, pomegranete (sp?) juice and water. I spent 75NIS = 25$Cdn. So far, comparable. It was so much fun trying to navigate the labels in Hebrew, and seeing all the different foods.

Ok, speaking of different foods, I'm now starving. I will hopefully be online at the kibbutz. A big shout out to Dan - wouldn't you know it, they're playing James Taylor here, now. And, while I'm shoutin' - thanks to the fam, and to Julie, Daniele and Brandon for coming to see me off. And thanks to everyone else who couldn't make it to Pearson but were there in spirit.

The Big Day

2008-07-11T07:08:00.000-07:00

Today I fly. Last night, at around 12:30 a.m., I was looking at my empty suitcases and backpacks on the couch and at all my stuff in piles around the living room and thought, 'no problem - tons of room.' At 3 a.m. I gave up and went to bed. I'm trying to be hyper-organized and arrange everything according to dig/school stuff. Not happening. I'm just going to shove it all in wherever it fits and deal with it there. I like it.

I just spoke with my mother and told her I was blogging when I should be packing. We had a lovely conversation; I'm pretty sure she hung up relatively quickly so she could have a good cry. I've promised not to tease her when she gets weepy...

My thesis statement, for those who want to know the theoretical essence of my work:

Deborah and Jael in the biblical narrative found in Judges 4 and 5 are two characters who have received very little attention in recent biblical, mythic revisionist literature. As women depicted positively as a leader and saviour of their people, they are anomalous characters in the patriarchal narrative of the Hebrew Bible, if their story is indeed a recounting of actual historical figures. If, however, the narrative is based on the older mythology of the surrounding Canaanite culture, Deborah and Jael as mortal archetypal characters can be interpreted as a usurping and grounding of the violent, divine feminine aspect of this culture’s war and fertility goddesses to promote and legitimate the biblical authors’ monotheistic worldview. In a work of feminist fictional mythic revision, comprised of a series of interconnected short stories and poetry, is the opportunity to provide the ancient voices of these narratives an updated interpretation, and a further opportunity to explore the power and relevance such voices still hold for a modern audience.

And now, back to my packing. The next time you hear from me, I'll be writing in the Holy Land. Have I mentioned how much I love saying that?

2008-07-08T21:59:00.000-07:00

I've been told recently that I should have started blogging about this when the process began. Here's the Coles Notes version.

In September 2007, I began my Master's programme in Interdisciplinary Studies at York University. It had been decided during the initial meeting I'd had with my committee the previous May that a year of study at Hebrew University in Jerusalem would be fantastic both for my thesis research and for my overall education. So, in January 2008 - the winter/second term of my studies - I began the application process both for the academic program and for the scholarship package provided by the Canadian Friends of Hebrew U. I was accepted as a Visiting Graduate to the Rothberg International School of Hebrew U in Jerusalem, with a full scholarship.

Then the nitty-gritty of it all set in: a student visa; a new home for the very lovable Shadow; renting my apartment for a year; obtaining permission from my home university for a year's leave of absence, and subsequent re-instatement upon my return with the original entrance scholarship there intact; graduate student housing in Jerusalem; finding the funding to participate in at least half of the six week archaeological dig at Tel Hazor. It's all done. The last spectres hanging over me are a paper due for the previously mentioned prof - that is fodder for another post, since I seem to be having many more problems finishing it than I had anticipated (and the guilt about this is killing me - but, on the other hand, it's not like I've been idle. But the perfectionist in me beats myself up for it...grrr - bad graduate student. Bad.) Plus, in the next two to three days, I have some loose ends to tidy up for the rest of my committee, get my shit together re: packing, and see a few more people to say b-bye. Yikes.

Now, I've been told by the incredible Rahmer that I must post what I'll be doing while in Israel. She's been suffering, you see, from not knowing exactly what I'll be up to while there, and this is bothering her because she feels lost when others ask her what the scoop with me is. She confided in me that her usual response is, "Well, she's doing something really cool but I don't know what it is." Don't worry, sweetie, you're not alone! Others have expressed just such a dilemna to me recently. So, I will outline below what I will be doing, as far as I know it now, until the end of October. This will be the physical aspect of the plans; the outline of my work regarding my thesis will be included in a very-near-future post.

July 11: fly to Tel Aviv; land on 12 July.
July 13: arrive at the kibbutz guest house near Tel Hazor after 2p.m. to begin a three week adventure weilding pick-axes and hauling rocks at the largest archaeological dig site in Israel. http://hazor.huji.ac.il.
August 1: dig ends.
August 3: arrive at the Mount Scopus campus of Hebrew University; move in to graduate students' residence.
August 6: Ulpan (Modern Hebrew Language Immersion Program) begins.
September 25ish: Ulpan ends.
October: no classes because of high holy days recess; head to Egypt for two weeks.
October 25: classes begin.

We'll leave it there for now. It hasn't yet set in that I'm going to be in another world in another four days. I know that my world, personally, is going to change and I'm so excited to see how.

Earth Hour 2008

2008-03-30T12:40:00.000-07:00

So, last night we all went to Julie's to celebrate Earth Hour with fondue. There were nine of us stuffing our faces with scallops, shrimp and black cod cooked in bouillabaise (i hope i spelled that right) and prosciutto and whole grain french loaf dipped in the cheese. There was spicy sausage, '8 dollah torteeyahs' with artichoke dip and the finale: fruit and poundcake for the chocolate fondue. This was my first time making one of the fondues - i did the cheese - and it tasted fantastic, although the consistency was superthick; Gruyere and Emmenthal in Pinot Grigio with a bit of nutmeg and porcini mushrooms and garlic. As we sat/stood by candlelight, eating, drinking red wine and getting increasingly louder, there were several houses along the street with their lights still on. We saluted them with flipped birds and fuck you's. And kept the lights out after nine pm, unless doing the dishes. Just doin' our part.

The best part for me (although it meant most of the next day - today - is shot because I slept so late) was spending so much time with my oldest friends. We drank till 6 am, we laughed our asses off, we sang - thank you to Sloan and The Low for representin'. These are the people I am my most honest with. With so many empowering events and mindsets that I am proud to be a part of - scholarships, uni, travel, therapy, feministing, my fam, books! - these women are at the heart of where my most honest self rests and is joyful. Schmarmy but true.

So, hooray! for Earth Hour. If it means reconnecting with my girls and/while doing something good for our planet, I want more Earth Hours.

Archival, Sort of

2008-02-17T10:10:00.000-08:00

From myspace, which I'm dismantling, and want to preserve this short note that I had written there last year.

My sister is way too cool (monday 5 february 2007)

can i tell you how happy i am that my younger sister no longer views 'feminist' as a dirty word? the first person who ever came out to me as a feminist was my brother, J, over 15 years ago, and my feeling of being impressed has now extended to our sister. she's 19 years younger than i am, in her first year of uni. i never looked at myself as that older, wiser influence on her: she teaches me as much about life and family dynamics as i do her. i love that she is outspoken and clever, that she doesn't view casual sex as a social experiment in gaining 'life experience,' that when i told her i'd just discovered Regina Spektor and that my favourite song of hers, so far, is 'Better,' she screamed, "me, too!" when em was little we used to dance to Sarah MacLachlin's 'Ice Cream' (or is it 'Chocolate'?); em would have been around 8 - little enough that i could still pick her up - and we would sing to each other: your love is better than ice cream/better than anything else that i've tried... as we twirled around the living room. she makes me laugh, and makes me think, and gives me hope.

Non Sequitorial Currents

2008-02-17T08:15:00.000-08:00

Last night I went out for Tammy's 30th birthday party. There was a group of about 15 of us, first for dinner at Southern Accent (the panko encrusted cod was fantastic) then to the Biermarket on the Esplanade to dance and drink. It was so much fun to hang out with Tam and her friends from university; to see her boyfriend, Doug, and chat with him, since he and I rarely see each other; to get caught up with her brother, Michael, and make a new friend in his girlfriend, Andrea. I haven't been out to anything resembling a club in forever. And, as much as I love people watching, it didn't take long until I realized why I don't go to establishments like this anymore.

Soon after getting there, Tam and I went to the Ladies. After doin' our thang, we had to cross the packed dance floor to get back to our gang. A man was in the way of our progress, so he politely moved and I said, 'Thank you,' and he said, 'I'm married.' I actually stopped. 'What...?' He backed up another small step. 'I'm married.' I know I furrowed my brow. Did I accidently say, 'Fuck me,' when I was pretty sure I'd said, 'Thank you'? Is this his way, maybe, of starting a conversation? - because we all know that single women see married men as a challenge, as having a proven track record in commitment and this makes them sooo attractive to us lonely gals. Maybe I should have said, 'congratulations.' Instead, I stressed, 'I said thank you,' with what I hope was a confused and irritated enough tone to get across the point that good manners have nothing to do with marital status. But, maybe he's just covering his ass in an atmosphere where the unwritten rule is that if you do talk with someone of the opposite sex, it's only for one reason - apathetic unfriendliness equals safety from unwanted attention.

Yeah, in these environments I just end up feeling super-self-conscious, hyper-aware of my mistrust of men and their intentions, extra-sensitive about my age (although I look younger than quite a few of the women there). But, it never crossed my mind to say something like, 'I'm 38,' or, 'I don't give head till the fourth date,' if a guy were to say, 'excuse me,' as he passed. Or, maybe I should. Now, there's a social(izing) experiment.

Vocal Re-Wiring

2008-02-14T08:03:00.000-08:00

Two years ago when I lived downstairs I spent a summer without light in the kitchen. The bulb had blown; I had changed it; there still wasn't any light. I was busy that summer -- camping, serving at the pub, playing ball -- so I wasn't home enough to really worry about it. There came a point, as there always does, that it had to be fixed. I called my pal, an electrician, to have a look at what the deal was with my kitchen lighting fixtures. He showed me, alright: the insulation around the wires themselves was so old it was crumbling and flaking; the switch inside the panel was porcelain, and I'm pretty sure he said such things hadn't been used since the 1950's.

I called Luke. I said something about 'fire hazard' and the work was done amazingly quickly.

Fast forward to February 2008. I had called Luke about my uplifting toilet, and also brought the lighting fixture in the dining room to his attention. You see, two of the four light bulbs had burnt out, and when I unscrewed said bulbs there was a little 'pop' and the sockets smoked. He changed the light bulbs for me; gracious, I know, since I've traditionally been incapable of such domestic tasks (read sarcasm, please). And I was told, basically, not to worry too much about it.

Last night I got home around 11:30 pm, and my friend noticed that one of the bulbs in my dining room was out (one of the original four). He got on a chair to unscrew it (maybe I should start employing official home-bulb-changers...) and as I was telling him about the 'pops' the socket 'popped' and all the lights went out in the kitchen, dining room and living room. I lost it. (Although, it seems, my 'losing it' is very restrained and polite and articulate.)

I called Luke. Probably not a nice thing to do at 11:30ish on a Wednesday night, but I was angry. And I wonder: are my initial concerns about averting potential disaster (like, oh, an electrical fire, say) not taken seriously because I'm a woman? (I had this thought, actually, while Luke was telling me that it was the toilet seat, not the toilet, that was broken. See post below.) I'm no expert, but aren't all of the above problems not normal? Does it matter what gender I am when expressing concern? 'Concern' seems too mild a word. And here's the thing: if I speak in my 'normal,' undeniably feminine voice then I am not taken seriously. As I had written earlier, it is necessary that I lower this voice. I think I've found one element of adulthood: expressing righteous anger in a righteous voice.

It's all in the voice. A couple of days ago, I was speaking with one of my profs who was telling me about her dealings with internet/phone providers. As she put it, she "pulled her doctor card" out and lost it on them, in what I imagine as her 'normal,' (though angered) woman's voice. I realized that I don't have that card yet to play and so must rely on this deeper, more serious voice to get things done. I rather like this deeper voice of mine, although using it begs the question: do we women need 'a card' to play to get shit done? Domestic shit doesn't seem like a big deal, but it is: one of the things I have dreamt of and worked hard for is this sanctuary, this special place where I can be myself, by myself, from which to share myself with the world. (This is hard work, and fodder for another blog.) And, not being an expert, I rely on those who are to fix things -- don't we all? Isn't that the point of different people training to do different things? Anyway, I just wonder when or if, really, 'a card' is necessary for stressing one's righteous anger as a woman to facilitate action, regardless of the issue that needs to be addressed.

Righteous voice, righteous anger. Light.

Dear Diary Moment

2008-02-11T14:50:00.000-08:00

In the spirit of trying to be a better blogger (and avoid avoidance-of-blog guilt), I'm sharing a very special moment.

A year and a half ago I decided to study biblical Hebrew with one of my favourite profs. As it turns out, it's good that I started when I did: now that I'm halfway through my first year of my Master's, I'm at the stage in learning the language where I can begin my own translations of Judges 4, the chapter which is the focus of my thesis. The class had been using Lambdin's "Introduction to Biblical Hebrew" as its text; we're almost through the whole thing, but I was soooo over it. I wanted to get to the Bible, learn the nuances of the text itself, do the cool translating of this fantastic literature. I felt a little like Luke Skywalker telling Yoda he'd had enough training as a Jedi and was ready to kick some Dark Side ass when, after the Christmas break we resumed our class. I staged a coup, and won: we're now translating selected chapters directly from the Tanakh.

So, two weeks ago we were a third of the way through Genesis 38. I didn't expect us to finish the chapter that day, and had only completed 20 of 30 verses. As it turns out, we finished - and I was unprepared. I hate that. But, I took two of the remaining nine verses, read them, and with some help, translated them on the spot without a dictionary. It forced me to slow down, focus, not worry about making a mistake in front of my classmates/colleagues (and said favourite prof) and just concentrate on the text. I have a long way to go, but wow it felt very satisfying and empowering to know - truly know - that I can do this.

The New Loo

2008-02-10T11:15:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's been far too long since I've spent time here...nothing like a few pervs to scare you away from your blog. Well, fuck ya, pervs, I'm back at my post. Posting.

So, I moved upstairs a few months ago - exact same apt, one floor up AND with a very cool balcone. Shadow and I like to watch the grey squirrel rip the shit out of the cardboard boxes of Cinquante, left on said balcone, for his nest. I like to think that Labatt is keeping him and his family of the next generation of grey squirrels warm -- and, it was very interesting, I thought, that this squirrel started this activity just before the huge snowstorm hit four days ago. I guess the last few storms destroyed his other layers of insulation.

Yes, I have a new loo.

You see, you had to be careful when standing up from doing your thang on the old loo, because it was missing the front two screws and would actually lift off the floor. Imagine: the whole toilet acting like it was the toilet seat. There wasn't any flooding, but an unpleasant odor would escape and it was worrisome: what if the whole thing unhinged itself? Would I be left with a gaping hole in the floor? Would I be left with a third world potty in my 1920's walk-up in modern Toronto? What are the positives of such a scenario? 1: no more cat box (but what if he fell in?). 2: my legs would become quite muscular from all those squats (but what if I fell in, or a guest, or oh, my god, what if I were hammered?). 3: I could start making home-make pot pourri...because I have time for that.

So, I called Luke the Superintendant. While on his knees in a pose reminiscent of worshipping the porcelain god he proceeded to wiggle the toilet seat. "This must be what you think is the problem," he said. "It's not the toilet but the toilet seat that's loose."

I lowered my voice and pointedly spoke slowly and evenly. "No, it's the whole toilet, Luke." (Hear: don't tell me I'm making this up. I sit on it all the time and the fucking thing isn't screwed in properly.)

He moved the toilet. "Oh, it's not screwed in right."

Two weeks later, I proudly sit on a shiny white loo that is more water efficient than the old one. I don't have to babysit my toilet after it has been flushed to ensure there is no run-on; I don't have to worry that if I stand up with authority that the whole apparatus will pull away from its moorings.

Peace of mind has been easy to achieve in this one department of my life.

Comments

2007-01-27T10:36:00.000-08:00

How interesting that one of the comments I received for entries to my blog ('An Ode to Time and Faces') was positive, from my friend in England. How equally interesting that the latest comment, regarding the opening photo (a self-portrait), was from a series of sex sites, appropriately sent from 'Anonymous.' I realize that when one puts oneself up on the net, one opens oneself to all the world; we cannot stop who looks at us if we present ourselves to a greater, anonymous world full of people whose reactions and actions we cannot control. However, I find it rather distressing that this 'anonymous' commenter focused solely on one aspect of my blog - my physical appearance - and completely ignored any other aspects to the presentation displayed further in the blog. I find such a series of anonymously sent portals akin to the car full of guys honking as they pass the woman walking on the sidewalk, that my reaction should be: thank you! oh, I've been wondering when a sexist will notice how attractive I am and hopefully exploit me! thank you, thank you! Or, perhaps, Anonymous is working under the assumption that I didn't know all the wonderful, sexually shallow worlds that would open up for me once I finally received, and accessed, the list of websites so thoughtfully sent as a comment to my photo. The saying "all roads lead to Rome" becomes an apt metaphor for the internet: "all googling leads to porn." I don't need your "help," Anonymous, to search out what I would like to find while surfing the internet, sexual or otherwise. There's not much I can do if I have become your masturbatory fodder, which is strange considering how many more qualified candidates are available and advertise themselves as such. But, stay Anonymous; I choose to not be a part of that subversive, abrasive world where the soul is forgotten and the mind is useless. If you want to leave a comment then read the whole blog, don't focus on one aspect. I believe in 'live and let live'; but don't think that your 'anonymous' comment was greeted with joy or the welcome you perceived it would meet. The final word on the comment is "Enjoy:" enjoy what? Enjoy my life? Enjoy your links? If you had read "Breathe In and Gone," you may have noticed that I'm not simply interested in the 'shell' nor in the fact that others have only enjoyed my 'shell.' Just as I know that the people behind the masks of porn sites the world over are more than their shells, I'm responding to your comment with the proof that I am, indeed, more than mine.

An Ode to Time and Faces

2006-08-26T09:11:00.000-07:00

A gray hair, a wrinkle, no lipstick,
I speak with the accents of my grandmothers
crossing an ocean to replace their church,
to replace their rain for snow,
green for white.
Nothing can be as barren as hopelessness.
I wore the mantle of youth's
arrogance telling me I can do it all.
I did nothing.
The weight of the bottle's liquid
changes my hair to remembered red:
my age no longer holds its copper.
Don't cluck your tongue
and tilt your chin down
for my years often are a burden;
my mortality whispering
like the clocks I want to turn
ten minutes back.

Julie, your practicality a halo,
your momentary rages are inspired reminders
that sometimes everything won't be OK
and it's OK to leave
the umbrellas down as the storm passes.
Our boots soaking, the lilacs
withering in our hands,
the wine on the table nurtures our words
and this is how I pictured my life to be
from across the hall in my pyjamas.

Adam, your stability a shield
against this sadness and I let you go
in this hopelessness I never thought
I'd feel. Our memories
wrapped up in hand knit afghans
in a room in a cottage by the Atlantic,
Irish tea and biscuits and your laughter.
If we could have stayed frozen in
that moment, we would have been happy forever.

Matt, your words a buoy
pushing me to experiment with the
language we share when I want
to be lazy and trust the world will open
and I'll float without effort,
without Jamie coaxing out the accents
of my grandmothers
who speak to us from centuries across oceans.

And Sam, your presence a pillar
you won't humbly acknowledge and
I trust you all the more for your humility
and knowing you would laugh if I told you
your heritage intimidates me gloriously, that
your association with tradition and rebellion,
your lack of walls,
edits my fears and inspires my instincts.

How do I think age a burden? I am
compelled to push you all away and draw
a line between stanzas to keep it all separate,
to not recognize the seasons binding us.
I call in accents, foreign, to
my grandfather's steady presence in my
night time, a beacon in his old age that
grows in the blood. My grandmothers
whisper my story that birthed them. And you
can hope to hear their voices on the morning tide,
the sunshine far and rolling.

The Crusader Has Come Home

2006-08-26T09:05:00.000-07:00

Armoured on this chilly starfilled rooftop
the traffic below the walls dodges hoped for
plans and final details of a love stopped;
signs in the darkness too plain to ignore.

Knowing he sleeps twenty minutes away
peaceful as a child in his own warmth, I
miss his steady snoring beside me; stay
wrapped in orange surrounded by moonlight.

I heard everything but became mute;
lost my voice in all directions awry.
Heat from silent constellations reroutes
the fear of being alone in these skies.

Removing the metal, waiting and brave;
the arrow aims north with myself to save.