I'm sad I'm missing the lunar eclipse, but I am living in Jerusalem studying art...so what's better? huh? I thought so.

yeah yeah yeah yeah

do you wanna hear about my life?

oh yeah

i'm back to my nudniky, little-jewish-white-girl ways...meaning i'm not sick anymore. I started going back to the gym (really because I really missed my monkey soap operas on Nat Geo, not the treadmill). I'm up early because I rented out a fancy schmancy camera from Bezalel last night, but the person before me didn't return it. So because of his carelessness, I can't sleep in this morning. And I have no motivation to take pictures for this class...the teacher is an egocentric, lecturer who wears pink scrunchies in his squirrel-like ponytail. When I sent him a message that I was sick and couldn't make it to class, he replied:

"Nice to hear from you. Like you, I was sick in with all the symptoms. I couldn't get out of bed last week, but I made it to class on Thursday. Class went well and it was nice to see everyone. See you next week."

Best,

Yosaif

NOTICE ALL THE "I's" stacked up against the "You's" Do I really care about how you feel?

Anyways. sorry to get riled up. I made great banana bread last night and am now washing it down with some chai. This morning is starting out great.

Last weekend, a Naftali invited Sarah and me to stay with his family on Shabbos. (The family's apartment on Emek Refaim was actually Max Feldman's apartment...fancy that). It was a relief to not have to spend Shabbos at the Kvar and also to be served dinner and lunch at the King David Hotel. It was one of those dinners with more than four forks, and afterwards I tried Cognac at the bar. One of the bartenders came over to our little nook and said pleasantly, "I hope you like fresh strawberries" while depositing a plate of fresh, sliced, sweet ones.

I hope you like fresh strawberries???

What kind of question is that???!

Next weekend (meaning this thursday night) our group is leaving for our trip to the north. We are going to Haifa, doing art with some local artists on an Art kibbutz, and staying with some Bedouins. I am uuuuuuber excited (also to not have to cook and stay in the Kvar yet another weekend). I promise, I will take pictures.

I went to the grocery store yesterday to buy toothpaste. Can you believe I consumed (do you consume toothpaste?) an entire tube of Crest mint by myself since i've been here. It's like i'm starting to live in israel or something...

nneeeeeieiieee

Kvetches from the K'far

My life:

sneezy

breezy

and cheesy (christmas music)

This week I journeyed across the Negev on my camel, Hawija. I pulled my woolen cloak taught to shield my face from the sun by day, and the bitter, sand-studded winds by night.

My throat was parched...so parched that I fancied a mirage: the scorpions were, themselves, crawling goats' bladders filled with cool water from an ancient Herodian well. I picked one up and wrung it to my open mouth.

I woke up the following day, my head engorged with throbbing pus, my mind clouded with unsavory thoughts of what could have been my end. Hawija had fled. I hoped the desert jackals had not devoured her.

Suddenly, a figure clothed in white appeared before me. His name was Zalman. He was holding a clipboard. He knew my name.

Gans. Aliza. Bus number 2.

I was ushered into a cool, humming coach bus. I sat next to a Russian man with over-gelled hair. I was given a sandwich. Everyone on this caravan had a backpack with the word "Masa" embroidered on it.

Was this...had I...reached the outer realm? A second life? The heaven of my forefathers?

Masa Shabaton in the Negev.

I visited bedouin tents, attended too many lectures on sustainable living in the desert, ate greasy chicken, saw tumbleweed blow in the thunderous winds of a sand storm, drank a lot of tea, watched Magic Bullet infomercials. Overall, a journey to remember.

Then I got home (I started calling the K'var "home" which means I must really be settled in) and started feeling achey and chilly. I took a couple Tylenol and went straight to bed. I woke up with a fever and the whole Megillah of symptoms. I spent the whole day in bed sleeping. It was a blur of Rapid Eye Movement, trying to read Grapes of Wrath without getting a pounding headache, and then settling for two hours of "Hey Arnold" episodes. I called a doctor Sunday night at 2 PM and he didn't call back until 11:30 PM. He also didn't speak a word of english. I went to the medical clinic on Monday with Shoshana, and the doctor (Moishe Hirschenbaum from Queens, NY) concluded that I had either a really bad cold or the flu (if my fever persisted for another 48 hours). I skyped with the family for our annual Hanukkah Extravaganza in Bridgewater, MA. It was great to see everyone having a great time without me.

Did a social experiment with my friend in Mea Shearim, the uber-religious neighborhood of Jerusalem. Men and women aren't frequently seen together (it is inappropriate and immodest to associate casually with members of the opposite sex) so we saw some eyebrows twisted in some interesting positions. I went to the shuk and got provisions to make chicken soup for all the people on our program that are sick (there are six or seven as of now). But as soon as I finished cleaning the chicken necks (I thought of you sucking the bones, dad) I started sneezing again. I ate a bowl of finished soup and made one of those nasal tissue tampon things (coils of toilet paper shoved up my nostrils to catch the drips).

I am going to finish watching "Singing in the Rain," which is one of the best feel-good movies I have ever watched. Then more sleep. Oh, sleep...let me marinate in your moonlight...snooze in soothing silence.

A Great Miracle Happened HERE

Chanukkah is such a simple holiday. In Israel, it doesn't come with the baggage of Christian consumerism, it's a celebration of light.

Here in Jerusalem, i've been inspired to create and admire light in it's physical and non-physical forms.

On Hanukkah Day 1, our apartment hosted a Chanukkah party. We attempted to make latkes without a set recipe, which proved to be a disaster (plus we made enough of our bad batter to feed a troop of maccabees (damn. bad chanukkah jokes, sorry)). But it's impossible to make deep fried potatoes and onions taste bad, so, our horrible hash was eaten by all.

We sang songs. We ate sufganiot, a troop of religious men armed with menorahs knocked on every apartment door to make sure we had all lit. Overall, it was a very warm night.

The Chanukiah I made out of clay. (lit with real israeli olive oil!)

me holding a handful of latke hash

Latkes (they stunk up the whole dorm complex)

All the city busses have LED "Chanukah Sameach" flashing after the destination. Every time I see one, I imagine I'm going to a place called Happy Hanukkah.

This weekend, Hannah visited from Kibbutz. It was great to host her in my cleaner, more presentable Jerusalem apartment. She, Olivia, and I cooked up a salad feast from the veggies we bought at the shuk. We made homemade hummus, eggplant salad, tossed salad, israeli salad, and had fresh strawberries for dessert. We went to Shira Hadasha, a shul on Emek Refaim. It was filled with beautiful singing, and we recited a psalm for those affected by the forest fire near Haifa. It was beautiful to light Hanukkah and Shabbat candles with my best friend.

Today I needed to skip theology in order to work on my ceramics homework. I was really tired, and in no mood to volunteer at the hospital.

I arrived in Pediatrics alone, and the room was closed (annoying dude wasn't there!). There were only infants outside (who are incapable of painting or doing crafts). Finally, when my partner, Ruth, showed up a little orthodox boy came into the room and we sat him down with something to do. Eventually, all of his siblings (I counted six) sat down at our craft table. We made totem poles and cut out menorahs for them to decorate. They were curious and cute.

Our Religious Brady Bunch

Ruth and I cleaned up and visited the Rehabilitation center, the hardest ward because its difficult to motivate adults to do arts and crafts, and it's so depressing to see everyone with IV bags and dressing gowns. We sat next to an old Israeli-Italian woman named Gina. In the beginning, she had difficulty holding a paintbrush or pencil because of her severe arthritis. Her hands were knotted like driftwood. After coaching her and soothing her frustration, she began to write words...her name in Italian.

A man in a wheelchair inched up to the table behind me and set up a Chanukiah. He cleared his throat and the whole floor went quiet. He blessed the candles, and after our debilitated congregation said "Amen" we all burst into song and clapping. We sang every Chanukkah tune in the book.

In hebrew, hospital translates to "house of the sick". But it felt like a house of healing.