 |
| Jerusalem buses in religious areas are filled with baby carriages. |
Two months into being abroad, it was beginning to unnerve me that I hadn't yet written about life here. I guess Israel always felt like an unattainable land to me with its guttural yet melodic language, sweeping hills of buildings in Jerusalem stone, and ancient artifacts clustered with Hassidic Jews - seemingly frozen in time, plucked straight out of freezing Eastern Europe and deposited into the desert giant fur hats and all. At least it seemed that way when I was just a tourist. I didn't know how to write about the disconnect between those expectations versus the reality living here - of the aggressive pre-Shabbat grocery store rush, waiting in the rain for buses that never show, or the constant struggle with language barriers. I still don't.
It's not particularly warm here in the winter. I feel like I'm right back in Ireland again. Huddled in my bed, blankets piled high, sipping chai from my favorite mug. When I Skype my parents, my dog back at home barks and runs behind the TV monitor, trying to find me. After all these years of me traveling he still doesn't understand where I am. I can relate to that.
When I first moved here I decided to wear red lipstick every day. I bought myself roses and hung them on the walls. I was going to go on a hundred Israeli dates. None of that lasted, of course.
Through my Fellowship I teach English to elementary school children during the week. It's an endless litany of "?מה זה" or "ma zeh?" or "what's this?" as I point to an object or photograph expecting an English reply. At least once a week a kid will ask if I'm really Jewish because they can't conceptualize the idea of Jews living in the United States. When I taught Halloween and Thanksgiving I even had to explain to the teachers that those are nonreligious holidays generally celebrated by all Americans. My sketchbook is filled with hand turkeys and potato prints.
Outside of school where I am a teacher, I become a student. We have programming every Sunday. Everything from religious classes to Hebrew classes to field trips to seminars. I have been writing poems sourced only from what comes out of the lecturers' mouths.
Poem 1
shopping, fishnchips and wonderful things
all stacked together on the train
Who is on the train, Thursdays, 4 pm?
Soldiers.
I ordered a latte and I'm on my way to Hogwarts
I drink my coffee with two sugar spoons
someone thought it would be okay
to catch me and give me a history
lesson about the Zionist movement
It's not that we don't care about the individual
But what are we rebuilding?
or is it just a narrative we found
Poem 2
once everything was covered with sea
remember yesterday we saw the layers
where there is a crater now there once was a mountain filled with sand
and when you peel it like an orange you get the highways of today
sand collapsing, burnt sand, like a volcano shooting only sand
in every color, minerals washing over tour buses
we hold the world record for not doing it
I should mention that I don't go by Julie or Julianne here. I use my Hebrew name, assigned to me by my parents, which is יפה חיה or Beautiful Life. I shorten it to יפה, which is pronounced Yaffa. I don't have a lot to say about that. It suits me. Maybe not quite as well as if I were named Critical of Life or Constantly Sick Life. But every so often when I step outside, I walk along the boardwalk by my apartment. I take clippings from plants and vines. I notice that the crows here are glossier, more inquisitive. Life has a slower pace here. There are more books. Yesterday I saw a Hassidic man, gowned head to toe in black and tzitziyot (fringe from a religious garment), riding an electric bike down the street right behind a couple clutching a motorcycle. I watched for as long as they were in sight.
No comments:
Post a Comment