Oops

Today on my way to the train station I passed a store and caught a glimpse of the sign. The name of the store was “Isratool.” I thought, hmm, is this a hardware store? I read the next line, I thought it said something about selling cats (in Hebrew, cat is chatool, which would explain the name of the store). The next line, however, threw me off: “One time use,” which basically amounts to “disposable.” Now, I know Israel has a problem with their cats, but a store selling them for one time use?? That’s just inhumane. However, once I re-read the store name, everything became clear. The word for “diapers” is just one letter off from the word for “cats” (diaper: chitool). I’ll miss these moments of pointless confusion.

Eye Opening

Since classes ended, had the opportunity to visit family friends and do some traveling, which has been really great so far. I spent the past few days in Tel Aviv where I went swimming at the beach (Be’er Sheva needs one of those) and wandered around the open air market and artists’ fair. But the greatest afternoon was spent pretending to be blind.

In Holon, the city immediately south of Tel Aviv, the Children’s Museum is hosting an exhibit called “Diolog B’Chashica,” or Dialog in the Dark. The exhibit has made appearances all over the world, but Israel and another country (I forget which) are the only ones where the exhibit is semi-permanent.

My friend Avital and I showed up and the woman selling tickets offered us a tour in English, which we accepted. We were provided with walking sticks for sensing obstacles in our path, and with that, were told to enter a dark hallway with one hand on the wall, one hand brushing the stick on the ground, walking toward the sound of our guide’s voice. Entering complete and utter darkness is strange. My eyes and brain kept searching for light but to no avail. I think my head was even making up some light to keep me sane, but I really couldn’t see a thing. Normally, groups of fifteen are led through the dark maze of rooms, but for me and Avital, it was a private tour in English. Not a bad deal at all, since the rooms aren’t so big and in all that darkness, people often become dizzy or claustrophobic.

Fortunately, the voice of our guide, Meir, was very comforting and his instructions were clear. We spent the next hour or so wandering through a garden complete with cricketing crickets, trees, grass, and a small waterfall, then a hunter’s apartment (where we felt objects in the room and guessed what they were, including a goat’s skull!), and we even went on a short boat ride, where we felt the letters on the back of the boat and discovered that its name is Hannah. Our destination was an open air market where we felt through some fruits and vegetables, pedaled on a stationary bicycle, and discovered a car. Next was an empty room where we lay on the ground and listened to different music, feeling the base vibrating our bodies through the floor. Finally, we were directed to a small café, where we could buy some snacks at the bar and then sit down at a table. We were told at the start of the exhibit to bring a few coins in with us, and it was entertaining guessing which coins we were pulling out (despite my lesser familiarity with Israeli coins as compared to quarters, nickels, and dimes, it wasn’t as challenging as I expected it to be).

As we ate our snacks, we had the chance to ask Meir any questions we’d been pondering as we wandered through a world of darkness. We learned that he’d been blind from birth, having been born prematurely when medical technology wasn’t exactly what it is today. He did one of his degrees in the States, which is why his English was so good. It turns out that Braille is international and is used for many different alphabets (the guttural letter “chet” in Hebrew is written using three “English” Braille letters, t-h-e). Finally, as the tour came to an end, he asked us if we wanted to see him, or if we wanted him to remain a mystery. I hesitated for a second, pondering the idea of leaving the smooth, comforting voice in the dark forever, just as he would remember ours. We decided to see him, and we emerged from blindness, light sneaking around the corridor.

I don’t know how I was expecting Meir to look. I guess from the confidence he exuded guiding us through darkness, I thought he would be a commanding presence, wide shoulders, arms crossed, dark glasses, something like that. But he was a regular guy, gesturing with his hands, quick smiles flitting across his face every few seconds as we expressed our appreciation and bade him farewell. He hadn’t been using a walking stick at all. He said he views his blindness as a technical disability, one of many the human species experiences, and that he thinks ignorance and stupidity are more debilitating than blindness anyway.

It was a little scary and stifling, having no visual sense of space. The walking stick definitely helped, though I kicked Avital while getting off the bicycle and jabbed her with the stick a few times as well.

If anyone makes it to the Tel Aviv area, definitely stop by this exhibit, it’ll change the way you see blindness.

Pesach!

Pesach this year was definitely a new experience for me. One of my mom’s best friends growing up, Pam, flew out to Israel to spend Pesach with her daughter, Arielle, who is on a gap year in Israel program based in Be’er Sheva. They graciously invited me to spend the first few days of Pesach with them on Kibbutz Ma’abarot, near Netanya, where Pam’s boyfriend Ilan grew up (I know, how everyone is related is confusing. Imagine me trying to introduce myself and explain my connection to the family all weekend…)

Arielle, Pam, Arielle’s friend Lauren, and I almost missed our train since I hadn’t anticipated the crazy long security line due to holiday travel, but fortunately we made it on. We weren’t fortunate enough to find seats however, and we spent the bulk of the ride leaning on our bags right by the door to the car. We were not alone. About eight soldiers were packed around us cheerfully blasting mp3’s out of their cellphones, also sprawled on the floor amidst hiking packs. They were good company – one told me about his brother’s post-army trip to South America, where he bought a donkey and fed it carrots. The things you learn…

Eventually, we arrived at our stop and Ilan picked us up. Our two stops on the way to the kibbutz in the rental car included a lunch break at a falafel joint in Netanya (hard boiled egg in a falafel and pita is surprisingly good). The falafel making guy was a machine, it was impossible to stop him. Hence, we ended up with some awfully unidentifiable ingredients in our sandwiches, but they were good! So no questions!

The second stop was at a small river by the kibbutz known for its soft shelled tuftles. These things were huge – pretty sweet as far as turtles go. (Stay tuned for a future entry about my desert turtle escapade a while ago, haven’t gotten it down in writing yet, but it was awesome.)

Finally we arrived at the kibbutz, which is absolutely gorgeous. Green and flowers everywhere, ripe fruits waiting to be plucked off trees, small ponds and fountains scattered around the community. Garden of Eden wannabe, easily the most beautiful kibbutz I’ve ever seen. I spent a good chunk of the weekend studying for my computer science final, though a good chunk of “studying” was really taking in the gorgeous surroundings and chilling with Ilan’s great niece, Yarden.

Yarden is a funny kid. As a nine year old, it took her a while to acknowledge my presence at all, but I guess my sister Marielle trained me well since she finally decided I was interesting enough to talk to, and once she opened her mouth, she didn’t stop talking for two days straight. She told me about all kinds of things about the cool kids and the uncool kids, how it is rare to be both popular and [gasp] nice, and how obviously, she is a cool kid. It was kind of sad to see how someone so young has such an ingrained and nuanced grasp on social hierarchy, but funny to hear such a familiar construct explained by a kid more than ten years younger than me, and in Hebrew, to boot.

Me and Yarden at the Seder

The Pesach Seder itself was also far removed from anything I’d ever experienced before. Actually, no. Imagine a cross between your typical elementary school milestone play, and a meal. That’s what the Seder was like. Kibbutz youth of different ages sang and danced, older kibbutz members performed as well, and some of the Haggada reading was call and response. Not what I’m used to, and didn’t feel exactly like Pesach, but the gefilte fish was SO GOOD. It was made of carp grown on the kibbutz, and yeah, I know gefilte fish is really hit or miss with most people, but if you’re into it, a trip to this kibbutz during Pesach just might be worth it. The Seder was followed by dessert and Israeli dancing outside the dining hall. How nice to discover the dances I learned in Jewish school and camp aren’t the choreography creations of American Jews, as some may suspect. They exist in Israel too! Woohoo!

After the Seder at the kibbutz, Pam, Yarden, Ilan, Ilan’s son Alon, and I (Ilan, Alon, and Ilana in one room was basically disastrous; Pam would ask one of us a question, and we’d all simultaneously answer) drove over to Ilan’s sister’s house in Netanya to drop in on the end of their seder. We got there around 12:30 AM (!) and by the time we left around 3, I was about to pass out. I had a really nice time there though; Ilan’s nieces and nephews are around my age and the group of us talked for a while then played some Hebrew and English songs on guitar.

The rest of the night and weekend wound down quickly after that, and before I knew it, I was on my way to Tel Aviv to play in a frisbee tournament! More to come…

A Nice Chat

I got an email about two weeks ago from the coordinator of the Bedouin student center on campus, asking if I’d be interested in meeting with one student a few times to chat a little bit and practice her English. I said of course, and we exchanged a few emails to coordinate a time to meet up. When we did meet, she really was no what I expected. She wore a head covering, though she was dressed in jeans and a jacket, which, according to my understanding, is pretty progressive, seeing as I don’t think many of the ankle length dress clad Muslim women walking around campus are trying to make a fashion statement. I guess I was expecting a quiet, reserved, introverted girl, hesitant to speak English, Hebrew or even Arabic with me, but the girl who met me at the door of the student center had a wide smile and greeted me enthusiastically in Hebrew as soon as she saw me.

Chanin studies medicine at Ben Gurion (similar to a pre-med program) but when I mentioned that I study computer science, she confessed that she’d love to study computers are well but her parents want her to become a doctor (again, unexpected from my end). She told me that she took a year off after high school during which she started small business where she bought computers wholesale in Tel Aviv then sold them locally for a profit. Talk about entrepreneurship! This girl really surprised me. We talked about our families (she’s the youngest of… a lot) and she said she’d be happy having anywhere between 3-10 kids. Yeah. Also, that a family like mine (4 girls) would never fly in the Arab world. We’d turn into the x Marcus girls and the x+1^th boy, I suppose, eventually.

After speaking for a while, she had to get going to class so we walked over to the medical studies building together and agreed to meet up again sometime soon. Haven’t seen her yet since, as the Pesach break and finals have made things a bit hectic around here. She really did a number on my stereotypes, which was really cool. By the end of the conversation we were both speaking mostly Hebrew. Maybe next time it’ll be mostly Arabic, in which case the only things we’ll have been capable of talking about will have been the weather, shopping in the Shuk, a future career in the UN, or Ramadan. Could talk about Ramadan forever, thanks to chapter 2 of my textbook. I can not wait until I start learning some, any, speakable dialect. Fittingly, if I will it, it is no dream.