Pesach: let's clean!

Preparations for Pesach are taking the country by storm. From shmura matzoh bakeries in Orthodox enclaves to pop up classes on how to make a seder relevant,
there are plenty of normal, Pesach-oriented activities to engage in. It's the quirky, little things that make me unbelievably happy. Today, while walking to the grocery store, I listened to an accordion band rocking out "Dayeinu" with a group of senior citizens in a community space over a convenience store that has more varieties of laundry soap than kinds of candy. I watched a woman in niqab hauling twenty kilos of matzoh in her grocery carrier down the street. I was politely told to get out of the way while the shop employees hauled in new shelving units to put kosher for Pesach foodstuffs out. I asked the woman at the counter, who always has a bedazzled hijab on, what was going on: "Pesach!" she replied, "No chametz in the store. It's good."

In other news, during Pesach, we'll be taking an "Armageddon Bike Tour" through the Jezreel Valley. Tel Meggido, here we come!

I rock at kindergarten

So, I should probably be a little better at the supervisory aspect of kindergarten than I am. Don't get me wrong, I managed to help keep them from shredding their tiny fingers during the Great Latke Making *&^%^&&^%^%$ of 2010, and I am faster than Usain Bolt when it comes to keeping them away from scissors. It's just that I cannot manage to stay focused when there are art projects around. Be it coloring, smearing clay onto paper, taping things together, stapling crowns, or smearing glue, I am sort of addicted.

There's a new section on one of the cork boards at the high school I work at: a display of my crafts from kindergarten. My high schoolers think I've officially gone off the deep end. This is actually a possibility at this point in the year.

Who needs a Master's degree, a B.A. and a B.S? WHO? I've got crayons, and I am set.

No, dear kindergartener, I do not understand you: cross cultural communication trainwrecks

From a few months ago:

Small child: "I want the marker!"
Katie: "I'm sorry, you want the crayon?"
Small child: "I want the marker!"
Katie: "Okay, you mean you want a different color of paper. Cool."
Small child: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGGGGH (temper tantrum ensues).

My Hebrew has since improved enough that the kids now understand what I'm saying most of the time, but they spend a significant amount of time correcting my grammar and trying to make my vocabulary less shameful. After attempts at French and German, I'm now completely convinced that language acquisition requires one primary thing: immersion. Our program is made up entirely of English speakers, leaving us stranded in an English language bubble.

Breaking out of the language safety net that is our program is made even more difficult by the fact that most Israelis know (or think they know) English. Five words into most conversations, my accent lets whoever I'm speaking with know that I am, in fact, not from these parts. English is switched to for the rest of the transaction and I'm left with no opportunity to use my Hebrew.

Although I spent the better part of this morning having my accent mocked by an angry five year old, I'm occasionally reminded that I can in fact make myself understood.

Today:

Me: "Omer, can you please sit down?"
Omer: (giggles) "No, Kay-tee, you sit down!"
Me: "Omer, you're a silly girl. Now sit down."
Omer: (hugs me around the knees and doesn't sit down) "Okay."

Cats in your trash: Trash Cats

I truly loathe the travel blog where someone abandons the blog for, oh, say, five or six months, then apologizes profusely for their absence and then launches into a brief description of what's going on in their lives.

If you think you're getting a trite apology, then screw off, dear readers.

The primary seasons here are "winter" and Summer. "Winter" is a weak Mediterranean impression of the last two weeks of September in Chicago. Summer is a broiling, steamy inferno that lasts from March until September, making you want to curl up inside your freezer. Spring and fall make brief appearances that barely qualify as seasonal change. Granted, there are some pretty spectacular sandstorms that turn everything brown (including your snot) and we've gotten some intense thunderstorms, but in general, this weather doesn't match up to the constant intensity of the Midwest. Spring? It's gorgeous. Summer? It's hot, there are tornadoes and there is plenty of humidity to go around. Fall? Let's talk about cold rain for three months. Winter? You had better have laid in a supply of canned goods and parkas, otherwise you will freeze to death while taking out your trash.

Trash is really a fascinating aspect of living here. It's everywhere in one way, shape or form. In our neighborhood, trash can be found in nearly every nook and cranny. Farther north, trash pick up becomes slightly more regular as the socio-economic status increases, but dog excrement coats the sidewalks. In one special place, Israel really puts the states to shame: rats. They just don't exist here like they do in New York or Chicago. Dear reader, can you guess why? It's because we have mid-sized carnivores who live in the garbage containers, ready to completely mess up any rat silly enough to think it has space in the food web here. That's right: trash cats. Forget the Palestinian-Israeli Conflict, because geopolitics are really so 2010. Today, let's focus on the trash cat.

Entire herds of cats have been witnessed trawling up and down our street, looking to terrorize anything smaller than them. Sized approximately at 1/8 of a standard issue jaguar, the tom cats are actually awe inspiring. My favorite, dubbed The Destroyer, is a 20 pound tom cat without an ounce of fat on him. One eyed, colored like a tabby cat crossed with an ocelot, with testicles the size of ping pong balls, The Destroyer owns this block of Jaffa. Every now and then, he is sighted perched on top of the dumpster across the street, with ten tom cats surrounding the dumpster, considering whether or not to take him on. A few screams and hisses later, The Destroyer is merrily consuming some leftovers from a chicken dinner, while the other tom cats have retreated down the street for easier pickings.

The love lives of our neighborhood trash cats are exceptionally public. Any time of the day is time for copulating, and there is nothing quite like the sweet sound of The Destroyer getting it on with his newest lady friend. Kittens are everywhere, ranging from the saddest, mangiest little things that are clearly not cut from the same genetic cloth as The Destroyer, to the sleek, well fed, unbelievably fast tabby kittens that are clearly his progeny.

From toilet paper to chicken guts, anything is game for the non-discerning trash cat. The Destroyer was sighted last night holding down a treasure trove of chicken guts from the halal meat shop around the corner. The other trash cats waited meekly while The Destroyer shoveled down mouthfuls of raw chicken.

The natural nesting habitat of the Jaffa trash cat is, of course, the municipal dumpster. While I generally regard trash cats as being like squirrels in Chicago, they manage to really ratchet up the pest factor by bursting out of trash cans and dumpsters when you are trying to put out the garbage. An explosion of kittens bursting out of a dark dumpster at eleven o'clock is really just what you need before going to bed, listening to the sweet sounds of trash cat love. The life cycle continues.

Volunteering-palooza: the Raison d'Etre of This Year

Considering that we're here on a program focused on volunteering in Yafo, I think it's high time that some mention was made of what we're actually doing with our time. When we're not being treated to homemade pastries and turkish coffee by Essam, the wonderful man we buy our vegetables from, or having lots of guests for Shabbat, we're actually spending time being reasonably productive. While my Hebrew prevents me from being a truly productive and/or functioning member of society, my English and teaching experience are actually making me feel like I'm contributing something to my adopted community. Thanks, mother tongue. You're pretty great. During the first month of the program, we were able to shop around at various community organizations, schools, NGOs and the like in order to figure out where we would fit in and be useful.

With that said, here are my volunteer placements:
1) Beit Daniel, a mixed kindergarten that is a project of the Daniel Center for Progressive Judaism.
2) Aros El Bahar, an Arab women's organization dedicated to women's education, legal rights, small business development, the prevention of early marriage, and to being a safe space for the women of Yafo.
3) Ironi Zayin's College for All program, an intensive and early intervention after school enrichment program based out of a mixed high school
4) Ironi Chet, an Orthodox high school with a diverse population of Ethiopian, Ashkenaz and Sephardi students.

I'll be splitting this post into several posts, so stay tuned as there is also a distinct possibility of Nate sharing his thoughts.


Part One: Beit Daniel
A kindergarten/nursery school suffering from an inexplicable lack of nap time

The Israeli school system isn't really comparable to the American system in terms of structure or pedagogy, other than the fact that there is generally a classroom and there is generally some sort of attempt to impart knowledge. Think back to the last time you taught or volunteered or tutored at a school. There was probably some sort of orientation or background check or conversation about rules and regulations. Oh no. Not here. You're here to volunteer with kindergartners? Sababa. Go through that door and go volunteer with kindergartners. You've never worked with little kids in the form of a swarm before? Don't worry about it. Have fun!

While I appreciate the prevalent Israeli attitude of "Don't ask me, figure it out for yourself and make it work," it just doesn't seem appropriate e to, say, interacting with tiny impressionable people between the ages of three and six. Along with three of my fellow volunteers, I was shown the main room of the kindergarten and told to just help. Help with what? Your guess is as good as mine. Most days, it boils down to helping the instructional aid keep from losing her mind or pointing out when one of the children is being truly inappropriately violent.

This place alternately makes me want to laugh, cry, scream, shout, or break something.
The actual structure of the kindergarten is particularly interesting in that it's an all Arab class with two primarily Jewish classes that have two or three Arab/Jewish children of mixed parentage. The mixed kindergarten classes are run by the Daniels Center for Reform and Progressive Judaism, whereas the Arab classroom is under the auspices of the public school which hosts the Daniels Center's program. The contrasts between American standards of discipline, respect and general classroom behavior initially overwhelmed and infuriated me, but the entire picture is much more complicated (surprise!). Some of the hardest working women in the world share their lunches, offer to come over to take care of me when I'm not feeling well, help me enormously with my Hebrew, commiserate with me about the difficulties of wedding planning, and are generally downright amicable towards me, in spite of my embarrassing Hebrew skills.

These same women will stare at a violent kindergartner who happens to be Arab, not interfere, and proceed to let loose with random epithets about the Arab kindergartners, or about the poor people in the neighborhood, or about Arabs in general. When I ask them what they mean by these statements, it usually results in a fascinating and unflinching description of the poverty experienced by the Arab students, of their one parent households where a father was arrested for reasons ranging from terrorism to drug trafficking, and of the pervasive lack of regard for the teaching profession in Israel. Unlike the particular brand of American racism where a great deal of hemming and hawing takes place after calling people out, Israeli racism and discrimination are right out there for discussion. Racism certainly isn't restricted to the realm of Jews, and yes, there are people who are fighting racism tooth and nail, but I'm not talking about those situations at the moment, dear readers. A teeny-tiny bit of me respects the Israeli cab driver or school teacher who, without prompting, display contempt for Arabs and will back up their contempt with lines of reasoning that are oftentimes shocking in their clarity. I have yet to hear an American justify, much less explain, their racism after being called out. What goes on here is unacceptable and ugly, but at least people are generally willing to have a conversation on it (unless you're at a government sponsored event on security issues, of course). What I'm saying is: no "kol hakavoed" (good job) for you in the race department, Israel, but thanks for generally being willing to talk to me about it.

It's not exclusively Mohammad's fault that he's so angry he punches Nate in the groin, or throws a chair at a teacher. It's the convergence of negligence, hunger, substandard housing, near total lack of discipline and poorly trained and compensated teaching staff. You cannot expect well-socialized behavior out of a four year old whose only full meal of the day comes from school and who doesn't get to take a nap during a seven hour school day, followed by two hours of the Israeli equivalent of latchkey. I don't care what stream of social thought you align yourself with, you just can't have reasonable expectations of tiny children barely able to use the bathroom on their own who are in such unreasonable circumstances.

So what do I do about this? Where do I fit in? It's been incredibly difficult to manage my own reactions to what happens at the kindergarten. Other than lots of nannying experience involving herding toddlers, I don't have formal education or training in classroom management of little ones. I barely speak the language. With that said, I can wield a mean pair of scissors and have made some pretty awesome Chanukah headbands for the upcoming Chanukah recital. I spend a lot of time trying to coax some of the quieter kids into being more social. I also do lots of other assorted grunt work ranging from squeegie-ing floors to making sure hands are washed before mealtime to playing a combination of hide and go seek and tag with fifty screaming kindergartners. More than any of my other volunteer places, the kindergarten has been an opportunity to experience the good, the bad and the ugly aspects of Israeli society. There is a lot of screaming and dragging of kids by their arms, but there is also an incredible amount of positive affection that would result in a lawsuit back in the States.

My reactions upon coming home from the kindergarten range from elation:
"Bat-toot didn't kick me today!" "Mohammad smiled and didn't break anything!" "Rami played with the other kids!"

to moral and social confusion/despair:
"Nate got punched in the balls by Mohammad and the teachers didn't do anything." "The teachers abandoned us on the playground and we were left to face 50 kindergartners on our own." "Two of the kids went over the fence and we're hoping they weren't hit by a car."

With that said, do look forward to more updates about the other places I'm spending my time at. Next up are Aros El Bahar and Ironi Chet.

Security Issues and You: If You're Not With Us, You're Against Us

Last weekend, we attended a Security Issues conference in Jerusalem, including a visit to the security barrier that divides the West Bank (Judea and Samaria in the parlance of lots of people) and Israel. Our group from Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Yafo was told that there would be a variety of opinions presented and that it would be an opportunity to critically analyze the security situation faced by Israel. It has been amazingly refreshing and challenging to be in Israel and participate in conversations with Israelis from across the generational and political spectrum and hear an incredible variety of opinions on how Israel should form and execute its domestic and foreign policy. There is oftentimes a pressure, sometimes voiced and sometimes not, in the Diaspora to stand behind Israel, no matter what, which in my experience leads to extremes of opinions and very little middle ground to hold a civil, much less analytical, discourse. There certainly are some great exceptions to this and some amazing people doing amazing work, but this weekend was not an exception.

Our weekend opened with a bus tour of Gilo and an overlook of Bethlehem. The unnoticed passage of our bus over the Green Line was surprising to most of us. There wasn't a checkpoint and there wasn't a guard: we were simply in a Jewish neighborhood that had been constructed after the Six Day War in 1967. This is definitely not territory most tourists cover, and is generally considered "out of bounds" for participants of MASA programs. The overlook we went to showed us the road that is often referred to as an “Apartheid Road” to Gush Etzion, a large settlement block in the West Bank.

Ah, the “A” word: “Apartheid.” Before I get into the actual details of the weekend, it is interesting to relate what my friend and roommate Amy has said about Israel as an Apartheid state. Amy's parents left South Africa before the end of Apartheid due to fears about their safety as anti-Apartheid activists. Talking with Amy about her family’s experiences in South Africa has led me to believe that equating Apartheid South Africa with Israel’s currently policies is unbalanced and illogical. An Arab can still vote and have citizenship and Arabs are not forbidden from doing business with or socializing with Jews, however difficult those interactions might sometimes be. Segregation and racism certainly exist here, but it is not a legally mandated policy of the state as was in South Africa. In short, using “Apartheid” in conversations dealing with Israel is counter productive to actually moving forward in understanding the conflict. You can call Israel a segregated society, with notable exceptions such as Haifa and Yafo, but it is not an Apartheid state.

Living and volunteering here has shown me that viewing Israel in black and white terms is unhealthy, unproductive, and downright ignorant. I'm increasingly convinced that I need to spend far more time listening than talking when it comes to Middle East policy, and that was the attitude I went into the weekend with. At no point did anyone hold a gun to my head and make me go to the conference; I knew that I would probably be one of the more liberal people in the room, that I would disagree with speakers, and that I might be intensely offended.

With that said, the overwhelming theme of the weekend was that there is no partner for peace. The military, policy and journalistic backgrounds of the speakers allowed for no argument with their expertise and experience. Truly probing questions were generally met with evasive answers that ducked the question entirely, reframed it so that it was a completely different statement, or a rant about a different topic. At one point, I privately asked a speaker if Jews in the Diaspora, particularly America, should be allowed to publicly criticize Israel's policies. I was told that of course, everyone has a right to their own opinions, but that we should keep our mouths shut in order to stand together in unquestioned solidarity with Israel.

I could not have been prouder to call myself a participant of Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Yafo during the course of the weekend. Our group spoke up against racism and discrimination. Our group raised the issue of school segregation and unequal access to services in Israel. Our group questioned seemingly non-plussed and inappropriately morbidly humorous statements about death and warfare. Our group was also the only contingent that volunteered with Arabs, Christian and Muslim alike. I'm ashamed to say that I kept my thoughts to myself more than I thought possible during the weekend, but I really wanted to be engaged as an observer and I did not feel comfortable raising my voice in an environment where my friends and comrades were continually shot down and met with vitriol. At one point in the weekend, a participant in our group was told by another conference attendee that the way we think is dangerous. I have never been prouder to have Nate as a best friend and husband-to-be as when he stated that we must care about Gaza, and that racism is simply unacceptable. Of course, he is a traitor to the Jewish people, so that shows what I know.

I could give you all a play by play of the weekend, or I could leave you, gentile and Jew alike, with this question: does it make you dangerous and traitorous to ask the hard questions and to not accept the status quo?** If it does, then I'd like it labeled on my forehead, thank you very much. Israel is the historic homeland of the Jewish people. Israel is supposed to be a light unto the nations. Israel should be held to a higher standard. I am continually impressed by the ethical code of the IDF. With that said, asking probing questions is a cornerstone of my religious and cultural identity. I'm not saying you need to start donating to J-Street or to Peace Now. I am saying that as a community, we should hold ourselves to a high intellectual standard, instead of resorting to emotional appeals that cannot be argued with. Dealing with the Israeli-Arab conflict is always deeply emotional, no matter who you are or what you believe in. This does not mean that a civil, inclusive dialogue cannot be conducted.

As a participant in Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Yafo, I am privileged to affiliate with Bina and the Secular Yeshiva. One of the best examples of what this means is that I've gotten to go on a program sponsored tour that was co-led by an Arab Israeli and a Jew, providing an immediate example of the differences in the Palestinian and Israeli narratives. I am constantly surrounded by people who push me to define how I stand in relation to Israel in terms of Zionism, social justice, and religious identity. While this weekend provided a view of the military perspective of Israel's policy, and fascinating examples of persuasive, professional and brilliant public speaking, what I really walked away with was a better appreciation and understanding of my program. Civil discourse, a variety of opinions, and a variety of perspectives are cultivated in my program. Even when I disagree with my fellow volunteers, I still feel respected by them. Pro-Israel, pro-peace, and pro-Palestine are not mutually exclusive in my program and for that, I feel that I will walk away from this year with a clearer understanding of Judaism and Jewish peoplehood. Being anti-war isn't brushed aside as naive by my program. It is accepted. For that, I am intensely grateful. Listening to security experts discuss Israel's situation in the Middle East was a great opportunity, but because simple, emotional arguments peppered with factoids had been favored over nuanced dialogue, the opportunity for a serious conversation was squandered.

*I'm defining racism in the simplistic terms of "discrimination plus power," just to ease any confusion.
**Also, do we really need to hear from another military man? Where are the women?! WHERE ARE THE WOMEN?!

How time flies when you're wrangling kindergarteners...

It wasn't personal. It was just the swarm of screaming kindergarteners and the resulting need to take a *&^%^&^ nap. That's all the excuse I can truly offer for our inability to update this thing in a timely or reasonable fashion. With that said, let's have an update and then we can move onwards and upwards towards posts with significant content:

On October 9, 2010, Nate Kemphues ate a vanilla Krembo, took the wrapper, made a ring out of it, and put it on my left ring finger with a very loaded request: "Will you be my wife?" The ring fell off my finger two days later and I ran over it with my bicycle (it is very, very flat now). While some might take this as an evil omen of things to come in our marriage, I take it as a sign that 1) having single use engagement rings is pretty reasonable as accidents do in fact happen and 2) he's a darn thrifty man with good taste in confections. Many, many thanks go to my future Mother-in-Law, Marlana Kemphues, for offering to take charge of designing and executing my engagement ring. How cool of a present is THAT?! We hadn't even intended to have an engagement ring, so it's really pretty lovely. Thank you, Marlana.

Into the deep end of the swimming pool of adulthood we go!

Using all of our reasoning powers gifted to us by g-d, we're getting married in Chicago in, um, February. Doesn't it make sense? We think it does, too! We can't afford to get married here and have our friends and family around us, so we're heading back to the Windy City in the coldest month of the year. We don't even have real winter coats here, much less mittens! Yes! The wedding dress has been purchased along with shoes and a hat that's being made for me, for less than I had budgeted for shoes. The dress and shoes are currently hiding in a housemate's closet, but I promise, it's a pretty darn awesome ensemble.

Planning a wedding from several thousand miles away has turned out to be minimal in the stress department, and downright enjoyable. We have amazing friends and family who has stepped up to the plate to be our DJs, our photographer, our planner, our flower finder, our person-who-will-keep-people-calm-or-resort-to-slapping-them, among other honoraries/titles/things that need to get done. Our pre-marriage counseling is happening via Google video chat and we're headed to Jerusalem sometime in the next couple of weeks to go ketubah shopping. It's just not legal until it's an illuminated text written in Aramaic! For those of you who have already bent over backwards for us, just know that we've got what may be the best darn thank-you presents imaginable up our sleeves (and no, they're not the ubiquitous Israeli genie pants that so many people will be getting as souvenirs).

Look forward to exciting posts in the next 24 hours covering the following issues:

1) Security Issues and You: Drink that Kool-Aid, Damnit.
2) The Inmates are Running the Asylum: Kindergarteners and the American volunteers they kick and bite (and hug, and cuddle with, and draw pictures with).
3) Ways to feel better about your accent and Hebrew skills: tutoring non-native speakers