I WALKED DOWN A STREET CALLED "PENIS". They spelt it Pines, but it has the same hebrew pronunciation as a male's reproductive organ: Pey, Yud, Nun, Samech. Olivia and I were the only ones that laughed.
Dreamt I dressed up as Lady Gaga for Purim. Wore a tutu and sequin leotard, and made origami talons out of newspaper, which I slipped over my fingers.
Saturday night we went to Link, a dimly-lit, dark wood, cafe/bistro/bar, in order to celebrate Agostina's 19th birthday. I bought her a bouquet of flowers the day before at the shuk. (Funny story behind this: I accidentally gave the flower peddler, a shadowy, scruffy man, ten extra sheckles for the flowers. I paid and took off in order to catch the next bus to the dorms, but he came running after me to give me my extra change. Upon hearing the sound of his quickened footsteps I thought some creeper was trying to chase me, so I walked faster. But I heard him scream, "Giveret! Miss! Your change!" and knew it was okay. He gave me my ten-sheckle coin and asked me for his number to have a drink sometime. I guess he thought he deserved something for his customer service and good citizenship. No. Thanks.)
At the bistro, my face lit up like a Telletubby's stomach when I saw "French Onion Soup" listed on the menu. It was kosher. (I love french onion soup...the broth-softened bread, the gooey cheese and brown crisp layer on top.) But I was disappointed to find that it was a lipton-like broth with a couple of croutons floating in it like sad bath toys in dirty water. They shook a little parmesean cheese on top. It was quite pathetic. Stick to your falafel, israelis.
The cake made up for my lackluster dining experience. I had brought candles to the restaurant, and snuck behind the counter and gave our waiter instructions to bring a slice of cheese cake to the table with the "1" and "9" candles illuminated. I was going to ask if they sang. I don't know what the custom is for restaurant birthdays. There's no T.G.I Fridays in Israel.
They brought it out, and we sang "Happy Birthday" in all the languages we knew (we had a french woman, italian, brit, argentinian, australian, israelis, and some americans at the table, so it took a while). I think Agostina was happy.
On Sunday, our group had to meet at Bezalel to receive our studio keys. Only our group has access to it, and the staff is working on setting up a lounge with a coffee machine, water bubbler, etc., to nourish our creative, easily-tired minds. The studio is okay. Nothing to write home about (but here I am, doing just that). White walls, a couple long tables, and some paint-spattered chairs. It does feel grown-up to have a key to your own studio space.
That night, I went to ulpan, and painstakingly sat through 3 hours of learning how to conjugate verbs. I have been filling out exercises in pages we haven't gone over yet to keep me occupied. And i've been practicing drawing. And I wrote an ode in my workbook (in cursive! that's how bored I was) and translated it phonetically into hebrew letters:
I am very bored in ulpan class today.
I am amongst the pupils of balding
men and botox-injecting women. Their age-dulled
eyes (cataracts?) chill
my youthful spirit...one that thirsts
for the flame of life's gusto.
Please...help me. Save me.
If only the blue lines of your paper sheets
were perfectly tuned strings
on which I could play a sweet
and mournful song expressing my
current pitiful state.
Oh, to be young! Oh to be restless!
The pangs of my constricted soul
almost match that of my legs, which yearn
to leap through meadows and outstretch
themselves in exuberant dance. As darkness
encroaches upon the cerulean sky,
so does purposelessness poison
my sanity.
In class, I don't come across as a snob who thinks she's better than everyone else. Unlike a lot of my peers, I don't skip lessons. I just sit and answer when the teacher calls on me. Afterwards it was nice to come home to a dinner that my friend, Noa, prepared for us. I made some pasta sauce and cauliflower. I skyped with the fam. It felt warm.
This morning, I awoke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for my first REAL class at Bezalel. And, man, did it feel real. I clutched my books tight to me, as I shuffled through the busy hallways. The building is definitely pulsing with that artistic vibe. Everyone smokes. The students are quite an eclectic bunch, though. They range from dweeb-y, tzit-tzit-and-Teva-wearing jewboys to frizzy-haired, olive-skinned, mediterranean vixens. I had no problem finding my ceramics class, which was less of a class than it was a lecture/orientation.
Here's a list of class materials I need to buy:
- pencil
- rag
- newspaper
- Assorted pottery tools (Kempler Brand)
- piece of wood (15 inch...shelf-size, to dry my pottery on)
- a container/bowl to hold water to moisten my clay
- 10 Kilos of Minerco SM White 02 Clay
- A baboon's ass to shove this list into (just kidding)
It's a bit ridiculous. But it's Israel. Everything here is ridiculous.
After a tour of the facilities, we were led into our respective classrooms for an introduction. We were given clay, and instructed (in Hebrew) to make three nesting bowls by pinching (thankfully this words's a cognate: "peen-cheeng"). I'm one of two students not majoring in ceramics, but this was easy. It was very relaxing. It was just me and the clay. We had a moment. Me and the clay. The clay and I. I was shaping it, and in some spiritual, metaphysical way, it was
shaping
me.
I wrote in my journal during break:
"On my break for my first class at Bezalel. I know I should be socializing, but I am too exhausted from trying to translate everyone's hebrew blabbering into a language I understand. I made acquaintances with a lot of the students, though. They all offered to help and translate for me.
I know. I'll be honest: It sucks not knowing hebrew. I feel so weak. I'm such a baby here. Everyone in this room has been through the army and I've just finished High School. I'll definitely need to stop laughing at street names called Penis.
The teacher, Jaquaranda (Jaqi), is fantastic. Patient, kind, and young enough to feel I can trust her, but old enough to command my attention and respect. I saw both my ulpan teacher and Maya in the hallway. That was a bit of a life raft. Now I know how freshman feel towards their link leaders.
It's a bit daunting to think I am taking such a plunge. But the truth is, the biggest leap is over. I'm falling, but gravity tells me I will land somewhere."
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