Attack of the Mecarer- an Israeli Halloween story

Below is a retelling of the long and terrible saga of the fridge, inspired by that holiday I miss so much in Israel, Halloween. Readers with weak stomachs beware.

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It was a dark and stormy night in Beit Shean.

The heavens had opened up as the final bell of school rang, and I walked home amongst a rush of students dancing and shrieking in the first real rain of the season. Baruch Hashem, the teachers exclaimed, praised be to God. The rain will feed our crops, cool our foreheads, wash our city clean. What a blessed day.

Do not be fooled.

Walking home, I thought about my fridge. It was metal with fake wooden paneling and latches to keep the doors from swinging open. Perhaps it was once the pride and glory of an Israeli in the time of Golda Meir, but now it lay in disrepair in our kitchen. Wires twisted like the innards of a wild animal and crossed in and out of melting ice blocks that held debris in perpetual brownish suspension. A gaping hole allowed you to reach your fingers through the unopened door and touch the food inside, reducing the fridge to a glorified pantry, the freezer to an ice box. Opening it was like reaching your arm into enemy territory- one would take a huge breath, plunge an arm deep into the belly of the beast, and pray for two intact limbs at the end of the ordeal. My roommates and I had been reminding our madrich of the situation for weeks, first gently, and then not so gently. The technicians were finally coming today, and I was hoping to come home to a fixed fridge.

I rounded the corner to my house. A dead bird lay on my stoop. I paused to stare at the oily black feathers, the twisted neck, wondering if it's life was worth the few hours of electricity it managed to take with it to the grave. I hoped the rain would wash away the smell of death that clung to the modest patch of grass outside my window.

Home, I make a beeline for the fridge, and sigh to see it unchanged. I am thirsty after a long day, and open the freezer, the only place where water will stay cold. Suddenly, I am hit by a wall of smell. I stumble backwards, unable to breath, my brain trying to catch up to my overwhelmed senses. My eyes streaming, I throw up my arms to protect against an oncoming attack. When there is none, I slowly relax my stance and peer into the offending appliance. A smell so terrible words do it no justice was emanating from the freezer. Has an animal crawled into the fan and found its end? If this were a cartoon, I would be enveloped in a cloud of acid-green, and squiggly lines would enter my nose and make my eyeballs swirl. Alas, this is life, not fiction, and life is far more terrible and less neat. Horrified, I shut the freezer, secure the latch, and run for cover in my room.

My roommates come home to find me cowering under blankets, wide-eyed and muttering to myself. They coax me out with promises of market stands piled high with gleaming produce. We give strict instructions to another roommate to bring this added problem to the attention of the repairman, and leave to wander the wide aisles full of persimmons and pistachios.

An hour later we come back, our arms filled with fruits. The door is ajar. Embolded by confection, I cautiously tiptoe across the threshold. There, pooling on the tile, is the most foul-smelling fluid I have ever seen. Brown and insidious, it slid across the floor like a serpent preparing to swallow its prey. Stunned, I watch the almonds fall from my hands and clatter on the floor, where they wait to be enveloped by the swirling mass.

My eyes flash to a corner yet untouched by the mess. Inching across the perimeter, I make my way towards the kitchen. There, heaving and sweating in the heart of the room, lay the beast. Its doors were splayed open like gaping mouths, and water dripped from icicles like terrible teeth. Fraying wires writhed like pathetic worms in the growing liquid that bled from its open jaws, and cucumbers and carrots lay strewn across the counter like forgotten soldiers in a field. The technicians brandished their tools against the terrible fridge in a losing battle, like a man who faces a tidal wave with a towel.

I know for the sake of my roommates, the repairmen, and my own pride, that I must do something, and fast. I take a deep breath, and dive for the cleaning supplies. I slip, and a toe touches the foul substance lapping at my feet. I shriek, and lunge towards the dish rags. I am safe for now, and begin the attack. I am everywhere, spraying, bleaching, wiping, mopping, and yet I cannot take back that slip into the spill. It is spreading, spreading, through my foot and up my leg, and I am aware of the dull buzzing in my head growing ever louder...

My favorite thing about my school right now is the bells, or as an Israeli once called it, the ring tone of the school. They are a 10 second snipet of a song, and each bell is different. One attempts to depict "row row row your boat", another sounds suspiciously like "twinkle twinkle little star". Each time a period ends, the town erupts in a chorus of synthesized, abbreviated renditions of nursery rhymes. The timing of the day is strange to me too. Classes are 45 minutes long, from 8-2:45, and there are 3 periods of recess that are followed by periods of eating throughout the day. Many times the mini meals consist of things like cake and doughnuts. No wonder the kids are bouncing off the walls. The teachers continue to be kind. One teacher likes to ask me what new words I learned that day, and I get to show off what I practiced all weekend. My favorite thing to do is sit in the teacher's lounge and listen to the women chat. I could do it all day. They appear to scream at each other, and I start to plan my escape routes in case a fight breaks out, when they suddenly all laugh and kiss each other on the cheeks. I turn to my English teacher, confused, and she explains that one teacher got an unexpected present from her husband. Every time I am surprised!

We had our second ulpan class this week. Our teacher does not speak a word of English, and it takes every ounce of concentration I have to pay attention for the whole two hours. The material itself is basic, and I usually understand what she is saying, even if I don't understand all the words. I leave feeling proud and energized for the next day, but only after a long recuperation period that consists of me lying in my bed in a stupor. 

At the end of this past ulpan, our teacher stuffed posters into the hands of all the girls and told us in rapid Hebrew that she would show up at our house tomorrow at 8 and that we were expected to come dancing with her. We had NO idea what she meant, or what to expect, but I have learned by now not to say no to Israeli women. Sarah and I went, and we sat hidden in a corner hoping no one would ask us to do anything particularly energetic. We shrank in our chairs as each woman in orthodox skirt and head covering walked in, regretting everything from our running shorts to the Hebrew we didn't have the energy to to understand after a long day at work. We were starting to plot fake sicknesses when a short bubbly man in tight jeans and a tiny mic popped out, and music began to blast from speakers. Everyone is up in a circle dancing, and we are too, because no matter where you grew up or what language you speak, if you are Jewish you know the Mayim. The songs are shmalzty, but layered with new dubstep-esque beats. The dances are taught in Hebrew, but they are simple and familiar. The leader shouts out each move the way someone shouts out when they get a package full of chocolate from their favorite aunt. The women in the group are all really into it, closing their eyes and swaying to each beat with a smile on their face that says this is their favorite part of the week. It was all high energy and so fun. I learned so much Hebrew, like for example the word for "point", a word you can use to describe everything from the shape of your feet while dancing to the birthmarks on your face. 

Last week we went to the Roman ruins in the national park for a night tour and light show. The show was impressive, with music and lights all over the park, and a projected movie playing on the walls of the amphitheater. The show told the story of the city of Scytopolis, which according to mythology was founded by Dionysus, god of pleasure, and was a huge center of life and culture until an earthquake brought it to ruins. The city is said to be the gateway to the Garden of Eden. Our tour guide was Dudu Levi, my host dad, who volunteers part time because he loves it, and is one of the few guides who can give a tour in English. He told really fun personal stories about growing up in Beit She'an and watching the discovery of the ruins unfold. When he was a child, everything in the park was totally covered except for perhaps the top 10 inches of a column, and no one knew what it was. He and his friends used to play hide and seek, and he would hide behind the column, and as they grew older they used it as a soccer goal post. Little did he know then how deep that column went, or how it would stay with him as he talked about it on tours every weekend as an adult!

Dudu's English has a wonderful flavor to it that is distinctly Israeli. During the tour, he described the many different layers of cities that created the tell at the end of the park as, throughout the centuries, one civilization after another built on top of the last civilizations' ruins. Because Israel is most interested in the Roman ruins, Dudu explained, that is what has been dug up. However, if you took a cross-section of the tell you would learn about the other era's that inhabited Beit She'an. Instead of using the word cross-section however, Dudu said that if you took a big knife and cut the tel like a cake, and took a slice of that cake, all the layers of frosting would be different civilizations. What a fun way to think about the world! Another time he told us that we could take home one of the bread loaves that Gila made, because she had made twins. I love it. And of course I know I sound even more peculiar in Hebrew. I get laughed at often for saying things incorrectly. I have collected a huge repertoire of dirty words that I stumbled upon unwittingly because they sound similar to something much more mundane that I meant to say. How silly we sound all the time with our sparse vocabularies and American accents! Good thing everyone here is so forgiving. 

English of course is important for all students in economically poor areas because without it you don't go to college, but it is also important to Beit She'an because of the park. People come to Beit She'an from all over the world to see the Roman ruins, including many English speakers, and there are not enough tour guides to accommodate them. Dudu will help train Dan, Kevin and KT as tour guides, who will help to take on this load. It is amazing how many ways that a command of the English language translates to direct economic benefits in corners of the world like Beit She'an. Hopefully the continued presence of MASA here will help the city to grow and prosper.

I will be traveling a lot over the weekends in November, and so I am looking forward to a weekend of cooking and eating and relaxing with my host family. Shabbat Shalom everyone!

A few days ago I was walking home with Dan when we noticed a parade of people dancing down the street. It looked so fun, we ran to catch up. There were men and women dressed religiously, and a group of men danced in the center while lifting a beautifully encased Torah up to the sky. The parade was led by an unwieldy caravan bedecked in what we in America call "christmas lights", in the shape of the star of David in a variety of flashing colors. Huge speakers swaying precariously in the back blared traditional songs and prayers, accompanied by synthesized instruments and a booming bass. The huge mass followed the caravan into a cramped parking lot, blocking the way of many unhappy people and causing a few moments of confusion as cars attempted to park among the masses. As things settled down, two enormous shofars and a bevy of fireworks appeared, and the sky erupted with sound and light. The caravan, of course, continued to sparkle and blast music. People recorded the event with ipads. The event ended with everyone filing into a building nearby, presumably to continue the party. I found out later the celebration was in honor of the receipt of a new torah to a nearby synogague. To see shofar and talit and torah next to ipads and fireworks and the kitchiest star of David I have ever seen- can you imagine such a sight? 

Teaching has finally started in earnest, and it is fun and frustrating in turns. The students range from conversational to illiterate, but they are all sweet and curious. The language barrier is quite overwhelming, but I get better every day. The lessons surprise me. Some of the very first words they learn are helicopter, dolphin, skateboard, and kangaroo. My teacher seems competent, but because of the range of students the and the size of the class, the lessons are repetitive and students get restless. Sometimes I sit in class and work with someone in the back who has a hard time focusing, and other times I take students out into another classroom to practice conversational skills. Sometimes I feel as though I really helped bolster a student's confidence in speaking, and other times I feel the whole day is wasted by distractions and behavior management. 

Israelis do not seem fond of preparation, and I am getting used to being told where to be one minute before I have to be there. The concept of wasting someone else's time does not exist here. Yesterday for example, we met our ulpan teacher. This meeting was relayed to us mere hours beforehand (you are meeting with your ulpan instructor at 7 yes? As if we were the ones who knew.) She does not speak English, and so Roi came along to translate. He came late, then rushed us to our meeting (yella, stop stalling, we have to go now!). Then of course the teacher was late. Once we all met, we went to our room, only to discover that it was occupied by a group of women doing yoga and playing tibetan gongs. Naturally. When we all finally arrived where we were supposed to be, it turned out Roi and the teacher had not yet met on their own, and proceeded to have a long conversation about expectations. It was never clear when the meeting started, or when it ended, or what it was even intended to achieve. Eventually we all decided to just leave, and no one seemed upset or surprised. It is at times like these that I wonder how the government ever gets anything done. 

Last week we celebrated Sarah's birthday with the most delicious cake I have ever eaten in my life, courtesy of Gila Levi. And this week we celebrated the 50th birthday of a relative of the Levi's. There was a huge surprise party with confetti, a baby pictures slideshow, loud music, trivia about his favorite things, toasts, free flowing alcohol, and the most beautiful array of catered food and homemade deserts I have ever seen (the women of Beit She'an excel at the art of pastry-baking, unfortunately for my waistline). 

Our neighbors continue to come by daily with food and accusatory questions (why don't you come to visit me??) Everyone is kind and welcoming, and there are many opportunities to learn hebrew. Yesterday we met a group of Israeli volunteers working in the kibbutzim nearby, and most of them have just finished the army so they are close to our age. We all swapped numbers and plan to hang out.

Tonight Kevin, Sarah, Dan, and I are all going to the Levi's house for Shabbat dinner. I always look forward to host family visits- it is where I learn the most Hebrew, get to talk to Israelis about their opinions on a variety of topics, and eat more delicious food than should be humanly possible.

Shabbat shalom everyone!