Easter Food for Thought

Fulfilling his twice-yearly duty, James went to church with me this morning. There were about forty people there from Jerusalem, Tiberias, Bethlehem, Texas, California, Nevada, Germany, Yorkshire, Scotland, Ghana, Korea and of course there was a good looking couple from Canada.

I got my Easter egg of the year. It was yellow.

Taking to George the Rev after, we discovered that there was a bit of a kerfufle with the communion bread this morning. Seeing as it is still Passover, there is no bread to be purchased at the grocery store and even the cracker aisle is covered up in plastic. Luckily, the Scottish Guest house attached to the church came to George's rescue. They get their bread from a bakery in the nearby Arab-Muslim and Arab-Christian Bethlehem (which ironically means House of Bread). They donated a loaf to our cause.

But this brings up a bit of a conundrum. Wasn't Jesus in town for Passover when he got crucified? What was he doing eating bread at the last supper?!? Maybe we should be breaking Matzo!

You know, I only had to ask James once if he wanted to go to church with me this morning, even though we can solidly put him in the non-religious category.

Holidays are really distilled here. No Easter egg hunt, no big dinner with family, etc. And I think going to church every once in a while on holidays, even for a non-religious person, becomes a life-line to the culture you left behind and a life-line to your identity. And perhaps that is why James happily went to church.

I realize that probably makes some of you uncomfortable: church being part of your identity. If you are asked by someone here your religion and you answer "I'm an atheist," people will not be satisfied with that answer since that concept in not understood in the same way here. You are an atheist, but you are still culturally a Christian, a Jew, a Muslim, a Buddhist (in fact, they won't buy the Buddhist thing unless you look Asian, either). If you come here, even for someone who loathes organized religion, you have to get used to stating you are a Christian.

Even I, a practicing Christian, felt uncomfortable with this when I first got here. Now, I readily and easily state my religion and culture without a second thought in a way that I would never do at home.

Happy Easter to Believers and Non-Believers, because, like it or not, we are all in this together.

Good Friday in the Old City

Katrine and I went to the mid-day procession on the Via Delorosa for Good Friday. And we got a front row seat to all sorts of craziness.

We hung out, squished against the display of an Arab clothing shop somewhere near station number four. For over 35 minutes, thousands of people filed past us. We saw crucifixes ranging in size from twelve feet of metal and carried by several monks to hundreds of little wooden ones each clutched in the hands of believers. Some were silent, some were praying, some were singing, some were crying, some were smiling, some were talking on their cell phones.

And yep, there was even the guy doin' the Mel Gibson, with the crown of thorns covered in blood, towing a big honkin' wooden cross. We are still debating whether the blood was fake or not. In his wake was a big loud speaker with a woman plaintively crying "Help him! Help Jesus!"

The crowd was very pushy as they passed us. I got felt up by so many nuns it isn't even funny.

Despite being in the Holy city on one of the the holiest days of the year, Katrine and I didn't feel holy, we just felt squished.

Chametz Purchasing Office

So what happens to all of those wheat and leavened products over Pesach? Some people clean house and have none leftover. Our ulpan buddy, Helen, tells us this makes for some really odd meals at her house in the days leading up to Pesach as they try to use it all up. Pasta and red beans, anyone?

Another option is to seal all the chametz up, lock it away, and sell it symbolically to a non-Jew for the week. All the big grocery chains each have a trusty non-Jew who does this for them every year. The chametz never moves from the warehouse, but the sale and the contract is real and so the position of non-Jewish chametz buyer is not a toy position.

Adiel tells me that individuals can also find someone to buy their remaining household chametz so they don't have to throw it out. And thus, since it is almost Pesach, I decided to put up a little sign on my office door today. I am glad I can provide a service! Each time someone noticed it, there was a round of giggles.

Morning Call to Prayer

We are having a warm spell and we have opened up all of the windows like we do in the summer. When our bedroom windows are open, I sometimes wake up in the dawning light to the call to prayer. It echos softly and eerily across the large valley below- early enough that the birds do not even accompany it.

In some ways it reminds me of home and the predawn calls of O-Oh Canada, Canada, Canada by the white throated sparrow. He sings his heart out in the dark as if the sun only rises because of his welcoming cries.

If I wake up, I listen to the call to prayer for a few moments and then roll over and go back to sleep for a few hours until morning starts in earnest.

Have you ever wondered what those men are singing in Arabic?
I have been told that one of the phases means "prayer is better than sleep."

Knowing that, I can confidently tell you that there is no chance I will be converting to Islam any time soon.

I am going back to bed now.

Getting my head and hat on straight

A few weeks ago in Hebrew class we watched- as a treat- an Israeli movie called Bonjour Monsieur Shlomi. It was about a teenage boy who has a crazy family and everyone thinks he is an idiot but he is actually a dyslexic math genius. It is a odd little coming of age story. I give it a solid B grade. There is a little swearing and some funny crude comments by his crass older brother, and yes, there is some depiction of teenage sexuality complete with nipples.

A very sweet lady in our ulpan from Missouri was about to get up and leave after the first set of comments about the brother's "attributes." With an embarrassed laugh she said "OK that is enough for me" and grabbed her books. Our teacher, assured her that the bad stuff was over. But it wasn't, and before long, this nice lady, who works for the baptist interfaith centre, got up and left. Everyone has their own limits to what is acceptable in movies and this clearly was well past her limit of sexuality, especially teenage, unmarried sexuality. I felt bad that she was told that the bad stuff was over and it wasn't. I chalk it up to our teacher not really understanding what was so offensive about the movie to an evangelical christian.

This story probably doesn't seem all that surprising to you. But the shocker for me was who didn't leave. Of all the students in the class, she was the only one offended by the content of the movie. This included a scarf wearing muslim, and a black-kippa white-shirt wearing Jew.

So now that I have had a little kick in my ignorant pants, I can say that people need not be so afraid of others who wear their religion openly in their clothes. I think people sometimes fear religious clothing as representation of a movement of religious fundamentalization, a loss of rights and freedom of speech. From this anecdote, it seems the prevailing sentiments against Muslims in the world and orthodox Jews within Israel has it wrong. The anecdote seems to say that the people we most need to worry about would be western Christians wearing jeans and a tee-shirt.

I am not saying that scary fundamentalist movements in Islam, Judaism or in Christianity don't exist, but I am saying that if we are taught to not judge a book by its cover, we should not judge a person by their head covering.

The Poop Post

Yep it's true. This post is about where the poop is and where it is not.
The poop on the scoop.

You see, until this blessed rainy weekend of new years and fresh starts, it hadn't rained here since early April and as an unfortunate consequence of the dry times, things were getting pretty smelly. The park near our house is a haven for street cats most of the year, but the overwhelming smell of litter box in the park has driven even the hardiest of the mangy beasts elsewhere.

Especially annoying are the small handful of irresponsible dog owners who have left enormous piles of desiccated dog poop all over the streets and besides the walkways. It doesn't wash away; it doesn't rot into the ground; it just lies there making the walk to work into a obstacle course of fecal booby traps. It is truly disgusting.

Now that it has rained, I can hope that things will start to decompose around here and the park will start to smell like flowers again rather than urea.

I have been informed by a lady in my Hebrew class that there is absolutely no dog poop in her neighborhood, simply because there are no dogs. East Jerusalem is a heavily Muslim area of the city and dogs are considered unclean and filthy animals in Islam. Which makes sense considering this is a species that identifies individuals by putting their noses in each other's crotches.

When it is all said and done I am of the opinion there is nothing wrong with he dogs themselves, it is their owners who are filthy and unclean. Poop and scoop people! Poop and Scoop!

Ethiopian Church

Last Friday after completely botching a planned trip to a nearby town, the Chicken and I ventured into an unexplored neighborhood as a second choice. With my new walking tour guide book in hand, we visited a famous Rabbi's house, saw my first Yeshiva (Torah school), saw where Ben Yehuda brought Hebrew back from being a dead language, and other key sites. But the best part was the church we came across behind a wall with narrow green painted doors open to our curious eyes. To get into the courtyard we had to literally step through the threshold, up and over the door step.

For the first time ever, I stepped foot in a Ethiopian Church. And by stepping foot, I mean with my bare feet since shoes were not allowed. Some worshipers forwent the going inside and just came to the doors and prayed and kissed the footstep.

The church is completely round, but inside at the centre was a square curtained room with an altar inside. FYI. Nothing ticks me off more than chatty people or camera clicking people in a church when people are praying. I shot these pics when no one was around.

If you have ever thought that some old catholic churches tend towards tacky, they have nothing on the Ethiopians. Bright pink walls, Mediterranean blue domed ceiling, heavy mismatched curtains, rich rugs and lively paintings of saints. I imagine with decor like that, I can only imagine that services must be joyous.

I was a big fan of the paintings for two reasons: The Madonna and child were a realistic skin colour. After a few months here with people oohing and ahhing over my exotic look, I can let you in on a secret: fat chance Jesus was blonde. Although I have to say, the baby Jesus in this painting looks like he is sprouting a five o'clock shadow. Even for middle easterners who can grow the most spectacular facial hair, beards in infancy might be pushing it.

My favorite feature was the paintings of the Saints. They didn't seem to kill their beasts, instead they tamed their lions and serpents and rode them through the desert like trusty companions. I like the idea of taking a hold of your failings by the mane and riding off into the sunset. It seems so much more possible than getting rid of your faults all together.

Vision

Here are some curious aspects about Israel:

1) Non religious funerals and burials have only been legal for about ten years and have only been offered in the last few.
2) A bill was tabled in the Knesset this month to allow secular marriages. It was voted down after the first reading. (This one really bothers me for some reason, and I had a religious wedding myself!)
3) In the last few Saturdays in Jerusalem, there have been nasty protests involving rocks, dirty diapers and water cannons. The issue: whether a parking lot near the old city can be open on Shabbat.

It appears to me that Israel is a deeply divided country especially amongst the Jewish majority within. There is an ongoing debate between moral responsibility, religious values and pragmatism that is polarizing the Jewish citizens into separate camps that seem to not be able to find middle ground. One on the things I have taken for granted is the separation of church and state as being something desirable. But here, the exact role of religion in politics has yet to be decided.

Fundamentally, the vision of what Israel should be is very diverse amongst its people. Should this be a religious Jewish state? Or should this be a western style democracy protecting all of the minorities? Is Israel more morally responsible for the people they occupy, or to keeping its citizens safe? Should government be religious? Secular? By becoming more secular would Israel just be giving in to the pressures of America? Why should Israel aim to be secular when many of the countries around it don't even pretend? And probably most importantly: did God give us this land or the UN?

I brought up these issues of secular marriage and funerals and parting lots because they matter to people. These issues get argued over and over seemingly without resolution because, silly as they seem, they define the vision and direction of the nation.

Especially in Jerusalem, the population is growing more and more black-hat-wearing due to increased birth rates and immigration. The battle between secular and religious populations is becoming more and more heated.

So when you hear about conflict between soldiers who need body guards from the settlers, or Haredi black-hats throwing diapers and rocks at police over a parking lot being open on Shabbat, the issue isn't the parking lot or that specific group of houses in the desert. The conflict results from lack of a overriding vision of what Israel should be. These minor issues, because they represent the bigger picture of religious vs secular and super-zionism vs pragmatism, are not only fought with media friendly violence, but with political economic and even reproductive enthusiasm.

I had this whole second half to this verbose post relating these ideas to Canada, but The Chicken poo-pooed it. He says people can draw their own conclusions. In a way, I agree. At the same time, his poo-pooing is full of poo, because I don't trust people to think like me and we all know I have never been normal. What is the point of a blog if I can't draw conclusions and ask people to read them? My big point was this: Canada looks completely put- together and refined compared to this pot of political craziness, but there are still issues in Canada's past, present and future that will continually shape what "Canada" is. In some ways we are no different than Israelis, just with less diaper throwing.

Happy Canada Day everyone.

Stick in the mud

OK. So there was this article in the Jerusalem Post the other day about the declining Christian population in Jerusalem. This is part because this is not the easiest part of the world to live in for minorities and many Christians who can are emigrating. Nearby Bethlehem used have a healthy majority of Christian citizens, but the economy has tanked since the big wall went up and the Natzrim (Christian in Hebrew) are leaving in a steady stream. As well, the birth rate amoungst Christians in Jerusalem is low (makes sense with all those monks and nuns and priests running around, whom I would hope aren't reproducing).
The Christian Community is described justly as "divisive" but the article also had this to say:

" 'The main fear of the church leadership is that local Christian communities will disappear, and that the holy sites will be turned into museums with no supporting communities,' said Dr. Amnon Ramon, an expert on the Christian community with the [Jerusalem Institute for Israeli Studies]."

Really? The churches are worried about losing the local communities? I find that hard to believe.

My skepticism is not because the Jerusalem congregations are large. The last time I went to the St. Andrews Memorial Church, the congregation could have been out numbered by the one in Dorset, my hometown and great metropolis of 500 people.

Check out this website for all of the church services in J-town. I linked to the protestant ones but the Catholic and Orthodox ones tell a similar story.

How many Sunday services are in the evening? Blessed few.

The local Christian community has jobs and Sunday is a regular workday in Israel. Very few Jerusalem churches actually choose to accommodate the needs of the local christian community. They seem to be ignoring the fact that for the last sixty years, they have been in the middle of a Jewish state. And no surprise here, the few evening services listed are with relatively new evangelical sects that are not locked in by their own stodgy unaccommodating self importance and traditions. Not only is it difficult culturally to be a Natzrim in country dominated by Jews and Muslims, but the churches themselves make it difficult to even practice the faith.

All over the world, the traditional Christian sects have declining numbers of congregates. They are attempting all sorts of ploys to draw people in and, more importantly, making changes in how they worship (not what they believe) to make themselves relevant to the modern world.

After a few months here and seeing what goes on, it shouldn't really surprise me in the old world, where showing no weakness and bluffing reigns supreme, the churches are as flexible as a wooden post. I guess if there is any place to leave christian traditions unchanged, it would be here. Regardless, it still seems like a shame that in J-town, 'crucifix' is nearly synonymous with 'stick-in-the-mud'.

Clothing

When I was moving to Israel my brother's friend Avi, who had just returned from a stint in the Israeli Army, told me that Israelis are more conservative dressers than Canadians. I always considered myself a rather conservative dresser anyways so I wasn't worried. But it is TRUE! Israelis LOVE bland colours (white, navy, brown and black are the staples). Although I have seen some horrifically tight/animal print outfits on fashionistas downtown, they are not very common and in general the populous doesn't show as much skin as Canadians, and they like to wear far more clothing than the temperature calls for. I swear we saw a fur coat at 15 Celsius one day.

To wear my favorite pink shirt is a statement about my identity. "I AM BOLD! I AM NOT RELIGIOUS! I AM WESTERN! HEAR ME ROAR!" It cries out with enthusiasm.

I could blather on for hours about how clothing defines class and religious beliefs far more than any place I have ever heard of. A day in the old city is a great game of "Guess that Christian!" Armenian Monk? Catholic Nun? Coptic Priest? A walk on Shabbat is a display of all sorts of cool hats. Askanazi? Haredi? Reform? Secular? Hockey Fan? (I'll explain that in a later post). The Arab Quarter is a lesson in femininity. Women, completely covered except for their hands and faces are the most elegant looking people I have ever seen in their long tailored coats and fitted head coverings.

When traveling Israel, it is not worth putting anything in your suitcase that is above the knee. Sure there are lots of places you can wear those soccer shorts, but it is a pain when touriting far a day and find out you can't go in somewhere because you look like a tart for wearing a tank top. You may as well save the suitcase space and bring a pair of capris and a longish flowing skirt, some t-shirts and a light cardigan.

But this is the kicker. Where do you think I found the clothing issues are most restrictive when traveling? Look at the sign. Where do you think I took this picture?



a) At a kosher restaurant specializing in Ashkenazi food.
b) Recommended clothing posted outside a tour-guide place for seeing the Arab city of Acco.
c) In the door of an Orthodox church in the "new" part of Jerusalem.

To make you guess, I have posted the answer to the question in the comments section (click on the orange word "comments" below).

Shavuot

Israelis have been known to have cactus-like exteriors but I think the stabs you get are less prickles and more elbows in the ribs at the market. Outside of shopping and lining up in the airport when the elbows are in full force, the truth is, the Israelis we have met have been exceedingly kind and generous people. To prove my point, a labmate and his wife kindly invited us to a family holiday dinner at his mom's house in Ashdod.

Starting last night and into today is Shavuot. According to Wiki, this holiday hearkens all the way back to Noah and is a celebration of the harvesting of the first fruits of the year. Then it was forgotten, but Moses brought the holiday back. Now the holiday also celebrates the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai.

I was a little confused. I though the burning bush was at the same time as the ten commandments, but my friends here, who studied all this stuff in school, got me straightened out. The flaming shrub told Moses to get the people out of Egypt. Mt. Sinai was later. (I blame the VHS bible stories we had as kids that someone taped off the TV. I think someone forgot to press record after one of the commercial sets and we were missing a bit of the story. Hence the confusion. I am lucky I don't think Noah survived a flood of locusts)

To add to the symbolic confusion, for some odd reason dairy products are eaten this day, so we pigged out on cheese, quiche, rice pudding, pizza, creme caramel, cheesy pasties and these awesome things called blintzes which are like crepes with a sweet cheese in them. (Blintz are a 10 out of 10 on the awesome cultural food scale; the passover fish blobs rate a 2.) To the Christians, this is also the beginning of Pentecost (who knew?) which in my apple pie experience is not a big holiday. I am all for bringing this tradition home. Just like Pancake Tuesday, I am going to start Cheesy Thursday!

There is one part of the holiday that I cannot see myself transferring back to Canada. Last night the religious folks in the city spent an all-nighter studying the Torah. Indeed, as we were driving back into the city we saw flocks of people filing into a synagogue at 11 pm. Then this morning they walked to the western wall before dawn. Although walking to the western wall for sunrise would have been cool, I am not into all nighters. No thanks. I survived all of undergrad without a single one.

Anyway, back to the party.

Our Hostess has an amazing apartment with a view out over the Mediterranean and the sunset was spectacular. Each of her children brought some friends so there was a lively crowd chatting about. Since the family has spent a lot of time in Africa, they had some items made out of an animal that rates high one the don't-kill-me-cause-I'm-cute scale. I asked how they got the items in the country and I mentioned my seal skin slippers that I wisely left in Canada. This dead-seal slippers comment got silence with couple of shocked gasps from the crowd. Oops. Clearly, not a good way to make friends. It turns out our Governor General's recent seal heart snack even hit Israeli media. So now they probably think that all Canadians are seal killers.

Ashdod is a new city, the most of which is only forty years old or so. It has a HUGE port, and James is dying to see it. Our hostess has invited us back so we can go see the port and go for a swim in the Mediterranean.

One more thing. After royally screwing up the "touching taboo" I got one right last night. I wore a skirt and a white T-shirt. Apparently white is the festive color in Israel. And that was all by accident.

Hugs and High Fives

Sometimes I feel like I am in a cultural minefield. With every step, I may or may not make a mistake. Today I made a new one.

Back in Alberta, my labmates gave high-fives so hard that my arm ached at night. High fives were for celebration and greeting and were occasionally a supreme act of athleticism as the slap of the palms was combined with a run, jump and a 360 degree turn.

One of my labmates here had a great result while I was gone and when I held my hand up for a celebratory high five...

I was shafted.

Utterly.

Normally, I would feel hurt, but the shafter was the kind of person who would never be rude intentionally. So I just went on with my work. Later he came to me and shyly said "I hope you weren't offended, but there is a rule for religious Jews that we cannot touch a woman that is not our wife." I replied that I was in no way offended. (In fact, I was a little pleased that one of my labmates realized I was female under the very stylish lab coat and glasses.)

Five minutes later, after thinking about how often I give high fives, hugs and even handshakes to members of the opposite sex, I had to ask him for a clarification. Can he hug his mom? Apparently, moms are the exception. Sisters are officially OK too but still a bit taboo.

He asked me if my religion had such rules and I initially answered no. But now I realize that is not exactly true. All sexual harassment issues aside, we do have cultural taboos about how we touch the opposite sex. Many Canadian men are the kings of the weak two pat hug. And taboo and religion are almost one in the same, aren't they?

Weekend Warriors go to Haifa and Acco!

On Friday morning The Chicken had the dangerous job of waking me up at the god-forsaken hour 4:45 am. After I grunted a few times and my feet reluctantly made contact with the floor, we quickly packed and caught the first bus to Haifa for another Warrior Weekend.

Haifa is a beautiful deep-port city on the Mediterranean which only in modern times has surpassed the importance of the ancient natural port of Acco across the bay. It is through Haifa that the long lost package from my mom that accidentally came by sea snail entered Israel (Thanks mom for the chili powder and the cofffee!). Haifa is built on the side of a steep hill that only the poorest of backpackers walk up as there is a five-stop subway that tracks up and down the hill.

In the last hundred years or so, Haifa has become a major religious site for the Baha'is: a widespread six-million-strong religious group that believes all of the major religious figures of history are messengers of the same god within their own historical and cultural contexts. The latest two prophets lived both in the 19th century. The Bab and Baha'u'llah, both have ties to the area around Haifa. In a wide swath down the hill is the shrine to the Bab (his bones are interred there) and all the administrative buildings for the religion. To glorify the site, believers have made 18 terraces down the hill with impressive and heavily manicured gardens that in 2001 were finally finished. But if I know gardeners, I am sure there are still more plans in the works.

I have decided that if God decides that I should be his latest megaphone, my apartment in Jerusalem should become a shrine to the new Religion of Janet. I think Israel needs to be the home of one more major religion just to make sure the bickering never ends.

On Friday evening, I gave into my favorite food vice. I discovered that the ice cream at McDonalds is only three shekels. So for the low price of one loonie, I supported an international conglomerate and had a very blissful 10 minute respite from the heat of the sun. And then a few hours later, I bought another for desert.

Friday was spent visiting the gardens and walking the three kilometers up to the cave of Elija where I discovered that I can no longer speak French. I only speak Fre-brew now. I asked the french speaking caretaker to refill my water bottle with this classic phase of Fre-brew: "Je voudrais mayim shell robinet."

Visiting Haifa was a lot of walking let me tell you and the next day seemed like even more.

Saturday was spent exploring the old city of nearby arab Acco which is not just old, it is old old. Unlike the old city of J-town which in places is a pit of tourist despair, the old city Acco city is pregnant with he comings and goings of real life. No selling tacky pictures of the Virgin Mary here; instead they are selling tacky flip-flops from cardboard boxes, clothing, food and giant chest high water pipes in the market. The tourist sites were the best organized of any place I have seen in Israel and there was much to see. This was once the seat of crusader power so there is a giant crusader fortress and tunnel. There is the old arab bath house with a hilarious movie to go with it. We saw the spot where 250 Jewish resistance prisoners escaped from jail, and the sites were Napoleon unsuccessfully sieged the place for two months. This little fortified city busted Napoleon's dream of conquering all the way to India. I took my shoes off and visited my first mosque and watched kids jumping off the ancient sea wall into the Mediterranean to the delight of the music-pumping tour boats and jerks on sea-doos (yep, Israel too has jerks on Sea-doos).

When we finally got home late Saturday evening, I barely managed to make it though the door and grunt a few times. My feet happily relinquished contact with the floor for the next eight hours until The Chicken had the hazardous job of waking me up for work.

I saw Jesus yesterday

I saw Jesus yesterday in the old city. He was drinking an energy drink, because the Messiah needs a bit of a pick me up after returning to save mankind. Seeing as I had accidentally picked up someone else’s grocery bag on Friday and had been enjoying ill-gotten pastries, I really didn’t want to talk to Jesus. So I shot this pic from the hip.

Jerusalem syndrome is the real deal, and if the Israelis catch you strutting around proclaiming to be King David or the Second Coming, you end up in the nut house on a good dose of antipsychotics and get a free a plane ticket home. Apparently most of the people who get this are protestant Christians and have come from very conservative, literal-interpretation-of-the-bible upbringings. I will admit that my upbringing was a little more apple pie than most, but thank goodness my parents are evolutionists.

What I want to know is, who sold that guy his outfit? REALLY? Come on!

On another note, Thursday was Einat’s going away party. She has finished her masters and is going to Cambridge for a PhD. We were discussing the posh English accent she is going to get to supplement her Hebrew one. James suggested to the group that talking with an English accent requires not moving your upper lip, i.e., having a stiff upper lip, and proceeded to demonstrate. Amit, in a vain attempt to gain a posh British accent, was holding down his upper lip with his finger and asking everyone “Do I sound Eengleesh?” in his thick Hebrew accent. Assi, our local cynic, replied acerbically “You sound like a sixty year-old woman.” I got a horrible fit of the giggles. Despite the tears of laughter rolling down my face, I couldn’t help but watch Amit’s attempts at a stiff upper lip. It was like watching a train wreck. I have been giggling about this all weekend.

Heck, I can do this!

Today, I was very productive. I got up, had a shower, ate breaky and headed for the lab. When my boss told me that his students work Friday mornings, what he really meant was that he wished his students worked Friday mornings. The place was dead. So I went to the mall.
This may seem like a minor achievement, but finding the right bus and making it there with no hassle or mistakes with no help was a big deal for me. I managed to buy a cell phone (at the office depot), buy a SIM card (at the Orange cell phone provider) and buy a prepaid card (at a booth). Of course, this was complicated because I wanted the cheapest possible deal. Frugalness is part of my genome. Plus, really, what do I need a contract and a big plan for? Who am I going to call?

I also found these awesome stickers for my keyboard which have the Hebrew letters on them. I have spent the afternoon working on memorizing my numbers.
One, Two, Three
E-had, Shnime, Shlo-sha
אהד שנימ שלושה
Handy trick, eh? Although, I haven’t yet figured out where the comma goes when I change to the Hebrew keyboard. Baby steps. Baby steps.

My favorite number is five, ha-mi-sha. The “ha” is super throaty and it is really fun to say. Ha-mi-sha may be second only to shi-sha, six. Can’t you just see six old Arab men sitting around with those big colorful pipes smoking shi-sha?

Today, I also managed to avoid being scammed by a cabbie. My butt, his meter was broken. 40 shekles to Rehavia from the mall? You must be kidding! You think I am a sucker 'cause I am German? (They all think I am German for some reason. I thought the freckles were more telling.) I got back out of the cab and got in another, who’s driver asked me why I switched. When I said “lo mon-eh” (no meter), Mohammed, my new driver, drove up and gave the guy a piece of his mind. It turns out it is illegal for taxi drivers to not use their meters and the ones who play by the book apparently really hate the ones who don’t. There was a lot of honking and yelling in a mixture of Hebrew and Arabic involved.
Just so you know, it turns out it was just over 30 shekles to Rehavia.

It is dusk on Friday night, so Shabbat has started. The boss has just called to invite me to dinner and tomorrow I am going to a labmate’s house for lunch. Besides getting to know people, I am looking forward to eating something besides the lonely stale pita and hummus I have in my hotel room fridge.

Shabbat Shalom!

A Business Proposal

Today was dreary and rainy. I had to take the bus to the other campus in order to be told about an inordinate amount of paper work I need to do. This is my favorite part. I need to get my visa extended. This will involve making an appointment (over a perpetually busy phone line) with the Ministry of the Interior. When I go, I will have to bring lots of letters and papers including evidence that I have an apartment. As well, I need to fill out scads of paperwork in order to get paid, for which I need a bank account. I shouldn’t get a bank account until I know what neighborhood I am living in. But wait, let’s think about this for a second. How am I going to pay for my still hypothetical apartment if I don’t have cheques? I’ll need a bank account for that. Beyond the circular argument problem, I still haven’t found a place that is not a hovel and is within my budget.

But this is besides the point of this post. As I was busing it though the streets of J-town on a drizzly day, I noticed a lot of plastic bags, shower caps and produce bags on a lot of big black hats. As you know, I am one for economy, but I think the orthodox population might jump on the chance to step up their rainy-day fashion statements.

Someone should find the supplier of those nicely fitting, very spiffy rain covers that the Mounties wear on their hats. Buy a few cases in Canuckistan, throw them in a suitcase and sell them here. I didn’t see a single well fitted hat cover today. You could make a killing! Buy them for 3 bucks a piece sell them for 15 shek (“made to withstand even Canadian weather!”) and make a 6 shekel profit. Multiply that by 7.28 million people, times 25% (Orthodox and Haredi folks) and divide by two (men only) that gives 5.5 million shekels (1.8 million CAD)! Perhaps I will supplement my apartment budget this way.

The Viennese waltz, box springs and TV remotes

Just so you know, the old city of Jerusalem is everything you would expect it to be. Except smaller. Three major religions have their most holy sites all with one square kilometer. Besides the many religious sites, it is comprised of narrow, windy and confusing streets providing a sensual onslaught of all things for sale: spices, meat, clothing, candy, veggies, giant trays of baklava, shoes, tacky religious icons, and a surprising number of TV remotes. But outside the gates is another story; it is a busy modern city perched on a series of hills. Busses are zooming by, cars honking, everyone is on their way to work in the cement jungle. And now, I need to find an apartment in said jungle.

Sadly, many of the apartments in the areas around the campus have been bought by rich Americans, fixed up, and are being rented out as short term “luxury apartments” to religious tourists and are way out of my price range. However, there seemed to be a few half decent places on the internet within our meager budget.

Today, assisted greatly by my labmate and car owner, Itzik, I went to see three apartments. I have one word to describe them: slummy. As an example: one promising place was described as large, two bedrooms and furnished. When we saw it, it was old, dirty and the furniture dusty and 40 years out of date. A room was still full of the previous tenant’s stuff. The bed is just a mattress on the floor, described the slimy rental agent as we came into the bedroom. I asked “where is the mattress?” He responded “This is the mattress.” I said “that is not a mattress,” and he insisted that it was.

It was an old box spring. Lying on the floor.

And for the privilege of sleeping on it, I would need to pay 4000 Shekels, or about $1300 CAD. Not to mention the $350- 400 of municipal taxes and utilities I would need to tack on. These apartments make my hovel in Edmonton look like a castle.

I did learn a useful tidbit today. James and I are ideal tenants because we are likely to pay all of our rent and we will leave after two years for sure. Apparently it is really hard to evict a tenant here. I will have to exploit this point.

Itzik was horrified by these places. He says we will keep trying tomorrow. Maxie has found a good place so I will stolidly remain optimistic.

On a good note, my labmates seem friendly, the lab well equipped and I am SOOOOO ready to get going on my project. Today, I learned some exciting (but secret) things about the preliminary work already done by a PhD student that I will be working with. My fingers are itching to set up some reactions.

It is my last night in the Austrian hospice and there is a concert upstairs for all of the Austrian ex-pats. I am listening to live big band music in the old city of Jerusalem. Weird.

Welcome to the Maple Shekel

Hello all to my crazy adventure of a little Dorset girl in the holy city: Jerusalem. I arrived a few days ago on a plane that was so old I was gripping the ashtrays in the arm rests. I made my way through the night to the Austrian Hospice (truly an oasis in the chaos of the old city) and only got slightly scammed by my taxi driver (I was haggling for the first time ever, how good could I be?). I had a life-reviving shower and blissfully crawled into my domatory bed. Is seemed like only seconds after I layed my weary head that I was woken up by an Arab man loudly singing though a speaker pointed directly at my window. The pre-dawn call to prayer was the most beautiful and haunting thing I had ever heard, and I was enchanted by the voice in the dark - well, for the first five minutes. After twenty minutes, I decided not to look for an apartment in the Muslim quarter.

Well there is entry one of several crazy adventures. Get ready for posts on, forging for food in the old city, the Holy Church of the Boogers, om-pa-pa music, slimy rental agents, and other great adventures yet to be had.

Your pal near the centre of the universe,
Janet