The year is winding down so fast! This month we launched our super duper culmination of the whole year project of very deep thought and difficult technical features called ENGLISH DAY! Cue trumpets. As a group we are throwing an event in every school in the program (7 elementary schools) filled with rotating stations that involve using the English language. There are 5 activity stations, plus art, face-painting, and game stations, an opening ceremony, and an awards ceremony. All in all its a huge undertaking, especially for a group with so few resources. But we have successfully pulled off two so far, and it's been a blast.

Here is a look into how one of my stations goes on a typical rotation. I am operating the Peter Pan Scavenger hunt station, so I of course am dressed like a pirate and have pictures of treasure maps everywhere decorating my station, which is usually under a tree on a 90 degree day in the muddiest area of the school, somehow. Which is a feat in and of itself because the school is almost entirely paved with concrete and it never rains. The children come to my station late, trickling in over a period of 5 minutes and shouting and jumping in the mud and asking me where the treasure is buried. No teacher is in sight. I explain the game (they must read a list of school items in English- green pen, pencil eraser- and attempt to find as many as possible before the clock runs out) in the slowest and simplest English I can muster, with a lot of swashbuckly arm-waving for character. They all nod their heads dismissively, eager to start. I ask them to tell me what they understood in Hebrew. It turns out they didn't understand a thing. I explain it again in Hebrew. Now they are ready to start. I set a timer, and the scene devolves into chaos! Children are running everywhere, stealing things from each other, asking me to translate every single item on the list, arguing over who found something first. The teacher wanders in halfway through, asks what is happening in the station, shrugs with mild interest and wanders to the teachers lounge to get coffee. Every found item gets dumped in the mud, and a team wins based on whichever one manages to get at least one child back in time. I attempt to hand out stickers to the winning team, which causes protests from the other team about cheating, and protests from the winning team because they all want to switch for whatever sticker they didn't get. Then I try to stamp everyone's maps, which usually devolves in children trying to stamp each others faces and me sending everyone away to the next station, for which they are late anyway. And yet somehow, they all leave with smiling faces!

Speaking of disorder, yesterday we had a flying beetle in the classroom. While in an American classroom this might lead to a bit of excitement and an opened window, in the Israeli classroom it seems to mean no learning can be done for an entire period. The girls started shouting and running around the classroom, or cowering under tables giggling wildly. The boys started grabbing textbooks and hurling them at the poor bug, usually missing the bug but landing on light fixtures and book shelves and other students. Chairs were lifted in the air, children were crying, and the teacher was shouting uselessly in the corner. It wasn't even a dangerous bug! The teacher and I finally hurdled the kids into another classroom, and attempted to regain order for the rest of the period. I snuck back into the first classroom, opened a window, and watched while the harmless bug quietly flew away. Any excuse for chaos, really.

Yesterday the Cleveland-Beit Shean partnership put on a thank you event for us and all of our host families. It was, in a word, silly. The afternoon started with what can only be described as a bike beer party bus. It was like a huge golf cart with 20 bike seats attached to fans and a keg in the middle. You bike to keep the fan on, and the bartender refills your beer and blasts music while the driver meanders across the fields at 5 miles an hour. It was utter ridiculousness. We drank to Beit Shean, and our success, and to having no idea how any of us found ourselves here. Then we met up with our host families and their children at the hot spring in a nearby kibbutz, and challenged each other to duels on floating mattresses in the water, which invariably led to everyone pushing each other in. At one point the partnership brought out string, bamboo and lifesavers and we split into teams to build rafts and race them across the river and back with paddles. Both vessels were quite seaworthy, but the boys won. It was a lot of fun, and nice to feel appreciated.

To transition a bit, last week was Yom Hazikaron, or Remembrance Day. It is sort of like the American Veteran's Day, only it also includes anyone who died in a terrorist attack. Two air raid sirens are sounded in every city in the country, one at 8pm and the other at 11am the next morning. We were in the national cemetery for the morning siren, attending the service conducted there for the fallen. It is a beautiful cemetery, with flowers sprouting out of stone and meandering sidewalks that snake up a mountain tiered for both graves and memorials. The memorials are peaceful, and people throw dark roses into the shallow pools. Many ordinary soldiers have stories that catch the hearts of even those who don't know them, often because of exceptional devotion to the cause, and are decorated with candles and stones and knickknacks and notes in every language. High ranking officials are buried right next to nameless soldiers, and people come to pray both for family and for those who have no one left to pray for them. The cemetery was filled with loud chatter, but as soon as the siren went off there was two whole minutes of utter silence. The intensity of the moment was reflected in the faces of every single person I saw. I found it very moving, and hard to put into words.

These posts always end up so much longer than I expect. We only have a month and a half left! I will be sad to leave these children, all of whom have wormed their ways into my hearts, and all of the kind families who have welcome me into their home. And the scenery! But I am preparing for the next phase in my life, and glad to be moving forward. Love to everyone at home, and hopefully see you soon!

This weekend we went on a trip to Masada and the Dead Sea. Masada is on top of an isolated rock plateau that can only be reached by walking up 45 minutes worth of stairs, and looks out over the crystal clear blue of the sea and the Jordanian mountains beyond. The view of the sun rising over the desert in the morning, tinting pink the dry riverbeds of rock and stone that snake to the sea, is otherworldy. Standing up there looking out at the brown mountains against the azure lake is so tranquil, but the history behind the place is quite gruesome. On top of the mountain King Herod (who is also famous for the Second Temple, the remains of which are the Western Wall) built a fortress where more than 600 Jewish families lived in the first century AD. When the Roman army laid siege to it in 73 AD, the resisting Jews, the last survivors of the revolt against the Romans, committed mass suicide, preferring to die free rather than become Roman slaves. The Roman siege camps, as well as the ramp they constructed to reach the top, are among the best preserved examples in the world.

Masada today is the most popular tourist site in Israel. Every single Birthright group goes. It is where IDF soldiers take oaths when they start training. It has been declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. It indeed is one of the most beautiful places I have seen, but I really struggle with the story and what it means to me. To gather in a place where Jews sacrificed everything for human dignity and the right to be free to express their Jewish identity is very powerful, especially in light of the upcoming themes of Passover. But a part of me wishes that the story that draws 800,000 visitors a year weren't so deeply tragic and violent, especially at a time when the fear of enemies of the Jewish people is so strong in Israel.

At the end of our program, all of the Israeli staff talked about what Masada meant to them. Most of the stories were sweet, but one stuck out at me in particular. Michal said that she took a group of American's up Masada on Yom Hashoah, the Day of Holocaust Remembrance. She was nervous about spending such a solemn day at a tourist spot, but she said that when the sirens that call for a moment of silence on that day swept the airs, every single person on Masada stopped what they were doing to give their respects to the day, even tourists across the world who didn't know at first what the sirens meant. For her it was a powerful reminder of where she came from and what sacrifices were made for her to be here. Above all, this is what helped me to understand why Masada is meaningful to so many people.

After such heavy thoughts, it was nice to float in the Dead Sea. The water is a cool glittering blue, its unbroken surface reflecting shimmering desert mountains beyond. It was my third time, but the joy when you first lean back and allow the dense water to buoy you effortlessly to the surface makes me laugh out loud every time. The salt burns your skin wherever it is dry or scratched, and your feet feel tender against the salt crystals along the sea floor. We took mud baths before entering the water, sinking in knee deep to the mud pools and spreading the silky black earth on our bodies to protect us from the sun. When we left the water, our skin felt soft and smooth from all the minerals, our bodies both rejuvenated and exhausted. It was quite a jumble of sensory experiences for one day.

This weekend, Abe and I hiked from Tsfat to the Kineret, following the trail that spans the country from North to South. It was so beautiful, and full of surprises. We started our journey in the cemetery behind Tsfat, where Jews come to take ritual baths and pray among the grave sites of famous rabbis and spiritual leaders. The cemetery is beautiful, with each gravestone unique and well tended to, and great big fig trees protecting their memories. The path led us down into a narrow river valley, the bed long since dried up, having carved deeply into the steep mountains on either side. Sometimes we hiked at the very bottom of the valley, underneath carob trees with lush canopies of shade, and other times we scrambled up boulders to walk a narrow path dizzingly high up along the ridge. We camped in the valley that night, under a blazing moon. The path gradually widened the next day as we emptied out into a prairie, crossing towns and grazing herds of cows. The grasses grew taller, bright yellow mustard and spikey purple thistle and delicate pink flowers that brushed our shoulders as we pushed back the overgrowth to find the narrow trail. More towns started to dot our horizon, and we trekked through orchards of bananas, grapefruit, mango, and oranges, stopping to stretch in their welcome shade. The final segment of our hike was a terrifying ascent, first up hundreds of stone stairs, and then straight up the sheer face of the mountain in a rock climb to the top, my hands and feet finding the narrow stone holds without my eyes because to look down was too scary. When we finally reached the summit, we were rewarded with a view of the whole Sea of Galilee, the hills of Tzvat where we started so far we couldn't even see them! We marveled at the view for about 2 and a half seconds, and then collapsed to the ground from exhaustion. My favorite though, was that halfway down the mountain, we found a series of caves. Eager to explore them, we hopped off the path to take a peek. What could be there? Bedoin tents? Ancient Jewish artifacts? We poked our heads in and saw... cows! It was such a surprise to me. I guess everyone likes the shade.

I am now in the airport, on the way back to DC, where I will be for the next two weeks. I am very excited to spend Passover with friends and family, and rest and refresh myself for the last stretch of my teaching year. Chag sameach, everyone!

It’s Purim next weekend, and everything is nuts. During the weeks leading up to it, the students write out a list of demands that the teachers must follow, all of which are utterly ridiculous without exception. Some of the rules include: no homework or tests, teachers may not ask children questions, anyone who comes late must tell a joke. There are Purim markets at every school, where children can buy and sell things, which are represented by these mysterious tiny slips of paper appearing in all of my students hands. They have all turned into tiny businesspeople, shouting FALAFAL FALAFAL GET YER FALAFAL HERE ONLY ONE SHEKEL as I walk by. Some of the schools have gotten into the spirit of the holiday with tree decorations made by stapling empty candy wrappers to the trunks. No learning seems possible.   

           

My list of volunteer activities is expanding. My new evening adult ESL class started last week, and my students are amazing. Unlike my first group, which focused on fluency and grammar, this class is about the basics, which is a whole different challenge. It’s a lot of fun so far. The students are really motivated, and I am convinced that soon they will overtake the fourth graders who have been studying all year. One of my students is a music teacher from the Ukraine, who speaks Ukrainian, Russian, German and Hebrew. I conduct the class in Hebrew, and we are learning English, but she takes notes in Russian! It amazes me.

I have also started volunteering at the garden build for the Ethiopian cultural center. We are currently tearing up all the grass and laying down compost. The guys who come are mostly older Ethiopian who tease each other and smile easily. As the only girl and much slower at the manual labor, I feel shy about sticking out, but everyone is kind. The guy heading the build, Yuval, is a very spiritual man who takes breaks to pray and knows a lot about plants. He brought all these sugar canes, and showed us where the roots will grow from the plant to create new canes when we put them in the ground.

And finally, I have gotten involved in a project to fix up an apartment building in Shicon Dalet, the worst neighborhood in town. Sometimes I go out in search of volunteer projects to get involved in, but other times I get a text from Roi with all these pictures of a dilapidated building and a note that says “look at how terrible this place is. I cried just looking at it. We have to do something. Becca you like social justice right? You will do it”. Darn my big mouth.

So anyway Abe and I went last week to see the place. We met a man, Pinsky, who grew up there and now commits all of his free time to volunteering to make better the lives of those who still live there. He is very passionate and has a lot of big ideas. It sounds like we are going to be responsible for fixing up the outside of the building, which is crumbling and has exposed wires in places, and planting fruit trees. We took a tour of the apartment of one woman in particular, a mother of 8 kids, one of whom has special needs. Her husband took the money with him when he left. Their tiny apartment is piled from floor to ceiling with dirty laundry and smells really terrible. It was very uncomfortable to take a tour through a person’s private home for the purpose of seeing how “bad” it was, but it is clear that Pinsky has worked hard to build trust by showing he is committed to doing good. It is heartwarming to know Beit Sheanians feel such responsibility to take care of each other.

Last night I went to a hina (pronounced cheena), or Moroccan ceremonial henna-decorating before a wedding. I had been to one before in Morocco and thought I knew what to expect, but this one was 10 million times more lavish. The never ending food was served on the most beautiful plates and the cups overflowed with alcohol. The glass chandeliers appeared to drip from the ceiling, and the walls had windows painted with bucolic scenes of a sunny day in Italy, so that time would slip by unnoticed (they only reason we knew the party was over was because of the mops that came to join the dancing throngs). The women wore their fanciest heels and gowns and got lipstick all over everyone’s cheeks, and the men wore t-shirts and jeans and rolled cigarettes that they smoked indoors and then casually tossed to the marbled floor (a sight that will never cease to shock me). The men lifted everyone they could convince to sit in a chair (there was lots of nail biting on my part as the chair-lifters got progressively drunker), and the women ululated at them all. The young men danced with the grandmothers, the young women danced with the grandfathers, and the mother of the bride danced with everyone. Upon prompting, one man dramatically cast his cane aside to show off his moves. Everyone painted the palms of their hands with henna and then high fived each other and threatened to get it all over everyone else’s faces. It was so fun.

I walked home with some of the cousins (everyone seems to be related in Beit Shean), and they began to laugh about the music. It’s unfamiliar to us you know, one girl told me. When I asked her why, she confessed that her family was Tunisian, not Moroccan. Surely the groom’s family must be, I wondered out loud, but she corrected me- he was Russian. It turns out there were zero Moroccans in that room- they just wanted to have the hina because they wanted to throw a big party!

So here’s to old and new traditions alike. Shabbat shalom everyone!

Israel had a nation-wide bomb drill yesterday. When the sirens went off everyone started running towards the doors. All 250 students had 60 seconds to get into one of the 3 facilities, and for the oldest students to get their first aid vests out of storage. The shelters were deep, many flights of stairs under the ground, and surprisingly bright and clean. Everywhere were piled books, boards, and benches, and the far wall had black and white boards. I was nervous and unsure what to expect, but it was more casual than an American fire-drill. As soon as we got settled one of the teachers started singing Purim songs, getting everyone clapping and competing to sing the loudest and silliest. The whole thing lasted only five or 10 minutes, and then we all returned to class. It was a clear reminder for me that the comfort I feel here is clouded by a backdrop of suffering to which these amazingly sweet and bright students are in small ways already being exposed.

Over shabbat last week Abe and I went on a walk in the fields by the river on the outskirts of town. The valley we live in is just stunning. Beyond the town stretch lush green fields sprinkled with proud red wildflowers, and sliced through by a river hidden by a thriving forest of eucalyptus. Beyond are mountains rising suddenly from earth, behind which the sun sets, and if you set out around 4 or 5pm you can catch some of the most beautiful views. We wandered through the fields as the sky turned from bright blue to dusty pink, listening to the howl of the coyotes as they awoke and began to call each other to the river below us, and watching as the stars began to twinkle, free of the overpowering light of the sun. Suddenly, we turned to find ourselves face to face with a coyote perhaps only a few feet from where we stood, a silent silhouette hunched in the darkening field. For a moment that seemed to last forever we locked gazes and my heart was caught in my throat, and then it turned and sprinted for cover under the trees. I know that they are more scared of us than we are of them, but it was certainly terrifying and thrilling.

My volunteering position in the farm continues to be fun and unproductive. I've made friends with a kind and enthusiastic man named David. He takes great pleasure in practicing his English and spoiling his daughter, who goes to my school and comes into the farm on the days I volunteer. Last week, David and I prepared a huge pot of sweet corn with lemon for when his daughter came. Then he gave me a taste tour of the herb garden, and we sipped tea made from the mint and lemongrass and practiced each other's languages. Somehow we got onto the subject of anise, a popular root vegetable here that is shaped like a hand and tastes like licorice, and when I told him I cook a lot but never with this particular plant, he decided he needed to intervene. Excitedly, he grabbed a big plastic bag and a knife, and we went out to the garden. He dashed across the rows, chopping big flowers of broccoli here, huge stalks of swiss chard there, a beautiful sweet potato, and 5 big bulbs of anise, throwing them into a bag that strained against its contents. At every turn I tried to tell him it was more than enough, but at this point he was on a roll and started back to the kitchen to throw a variety of dried spices into the bag, tossing rapid-fire directions at me for how to prepare this all in a soup. I got the distinct feeling of being a daughter or friend or guest much more than a volunteer. I indeed went home to cook one of the most delicious soups I have ever made, perhaps because the ingredients were so fresh. And today as I was leaving school I heard someone shouting out HOWS THE SOUP from across the school yard, and I turned around to see David picking up his daughter! I of course ran over to report back my appreciation.

Another day last week, one of my roommates and I were walking to the shuk (outdoor market) when we were stopped by the parent of one of my students. Where are you going? he exclaimed, as if we had the audacity to do anything but visit him. We have to make it to the shuk before it closes! we protested, worried about the time, but he wore us down, insisting that we sit down to dinner with them before heading on our way. They were so kind and funny, telling us stories of a woman from Cleveland that they managed to keep in contact despite the fact that they spoke no English and she spoke no Hebrew, and yelling at us when we put down our forks for any reason. They ended the night commanding us (as is the style with all invitations here) to come any time, and to bring our whole house to their tiny table. I am constantly reminded of the kindness and warmth of the people here, and how lucky I am to have a glimpse, however brief, into life here. Beit Shean truly is a special place.

A final fun anecdote- I have been going for extra lessons with my ulpan teacher to help me improve my Hebrew, but it mostly consists of her feeding me whatever sweets she most recently baked, and telling me about her grandchildren. She doesn't speak a word of English, and so when I don't understand a word and we can't figure it out together she usually calls one of her very fluent daughters, who more often then not is in the house and will appear from upstairs to explain it to me in English and then stay to chat. Very little work gets done, but it is a lot of fun. Are you sensing a theme here? Last week, I brought a roommate along and she was so pleased by the extra company she decided to take us to her neighbors house to pick lots of pomelos from their tree. It was huge, with fat low hanging yellow globes, and our 60 year old ulpan teacher started shaking it and shouting for us to run underneath its tangled branches and collect the falling fruit. It was so silly. We dragged home perhaps 20 pomelos, and took home 6. They were so sweet and juicy, with big smooth seeds like teeth.

Spring is in full swing, with every tree I pass blooming and smelling of honey. Our little rooftop garden is similarly flourishing. Some plants are surprising us with tender baby leaves, others with delicate flowers, still others are just starting to poke their heads out of the earth. We now have tomato, spinach, basil, mint, sheba, and a variety of flowers, and I am excited to continue to watch them grow. This weekend I plan to head to Jerusalem, and am looking forward to the change of pace.

Love to everyone back home!

Last weekend I went to Beit Shemesh, which means House of the Sun in Hebrew. Beit Shemesh is the sister city of DC, and so the partnership hosted a group of MASA fellows from DC this weekend and showed us a good time. It was a lot of fun, and we met some really amazing people. Some favorites:

Beit Shemesh is half secular and half ultra-religious, which means tensions run high and there are incidents of clashing and violence. The partnership has a project that tries to address this problem by facilitating meetings and friendships between secular and ultra-orthodox women, and one of the women allowed her experience to be documented on film. We went to this woman’s house and watched the film, and then had the opportunity to ask questions to a panel of both religious and secular women who were involved in the project, as well as the founder of the organization. It was a special experience- we really saw an intimate view of these women’s lives and the ways in which their religious views interact with their experiences as wives and mothers. It was amazing how little each world knew about the other, and yet they lived so close! It really is like parallel worlds. It was heartwarming to see fears and barriers get broken down, and to feel like, despite the deep differences between these two groups of people, there is work being done to highlight the ways in which we are all human.

Another impression. The greater Beit Shemesh area (Mateh Yehuda) is a beautiful area. It is in the foothills of Jerusalem, where David killed Goliath, and area is covered with beautiful purple and red wildflowers, almond trees blooming with tiny delicate pink flowers, creeping grape vine, and olive trees nestled into 3,000 year old terraces. It was a glorious day, full of sunshine and clear skies, and we took a morning bike ride through a little moshav who’s name means “Early Morning Wind”. We went up and down the gentle hills, making frequent stops to learn about the wildflowers and the history of the area, and then made our way to a cave! That’s right, I went spelunking in Israel. The caves are hand carved out of chalk, and were used by Jews to hide from the Romans. Climbing in was a crazy experience- the passageways are so dark that the faintest of flashlights illuminated the place, and so narrow that you had to wriggle on your stomach at times and pull yourself forward with your elbows. Each time I would look ahead into the impossible darkness and feel that I would never make it through, that they would have to send cranes in to dig up this historic cave and save me, and then somehow I would find myself through! Each passageway would spill us out into a wide room, large enough for many people to stand in. The sides of the rooms had niches carved out for candles to rest, and to this day people keep candles there. To stand there with your tiny flashlight and chalk on your knees and try to comprehend what it would be like to live there- it’s impossible.

A cool story I want to share- a few weeks ago we visited Sde Eliyahu, a religious kibbutz, and one of the few in the country that still operates communally (there is a trend of privatization over the last few decades). They have one synagogue and one dining hall, one rabbi and one doctor. Everyone, from the Naot factory CEO to the dishwasher, gets paid the same salary, and people more or less do things based on interest as opposed to money. Almost everything they eat comes from their own gardens, which are completely organic. They were big innovators in organic in Israel, and people still flock to Sde Eliyahu to learn from Mario, the farm manager and man that made organic happen at the kibbutz. They do a lot of cool things, but the most marvelous is their barn owl initiative. Barn owls are really good for farmers because they eat all the rodents, and at Sde Eliyahu they built lots of little wooden houses to encourage the barn owls to nest and raise their young in the fields. However, Sde Eliyahu is right next to the Jordanian border, and in the Arabic culture barn owls are considered harbingers of death. When the barn owls fly across the border, they often get shot by scared Jordanian farmers. So Mario invited a bunch of Jordanian farmers to his farm to learn about how they stopped using chemicals and converted their farm to organic, and when they came he showed them how the owls were helping his gardens to flourish free from harm by rodents. Thus started a long lasting initiative between Jordanian and Israeli farmers to educate and protect these animals and promote a lower-chemical method of farming. Cool right?

Things have been good overall in all of my volunteer positions. The pace of life is slower here, and people work less, of which I have to continually remind myself. I’ve been volunteering in a local farm, and I am there for many hours a week but seem to do very little. There are a lot of coffee breaks, a lot of time resting in the shade while the men smoke cigarettes. I worry sometimes that I could be doing more to help, but everyone is so grateful to practice their English with me, and that is indeed why I am here. I tend to speak a mix of Hebrew and English a lot, and I hear the most interesting life stories. Today I talked for a long time with the farm guard, son of holocaust survivors and twice married, whose children from his first marriage still do not talk to him. There is a lot of pain here, and a lot of beauty as well, and I feel honored that so many people are interested in sharing it with me.

I am halfway through my program by now, with only 5 months left in this beautiful and frustrating country. It has been a struggle finding ways to be useful in Beit Shean, and comfortable in my group, and to accept the lack of control I have over so many aspects of my life as a volunteer on a program in a small town. But I am looking forward now, feeling excited about how far I have come in my Hebrew and the special niches I have carved out in the city, and ready to make the best of the second half of my program. This weekend will be spent at home, relaxing and eating good food. The sun is already strong here again, and it feels odd to look outside my window and see summer, and then read about all the snow in the States. Hope everyone is keeping warm!

Snow!

The entire country went into a frenzy this weekend as big fat snowflakes fell over Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Tsvat, and all the mountainous areas of the country. It is the biggest snowstorm in decades, and Israel was totally unprepared. People were trapped in houses and cars as blackouts swept the cities and roads were blocked, and workers were called into emergency service over Shabbat to clear roads, rescue people, and bring heat and light back to it's citizens. The government even opened the Gaza crossing to supply the strip with gas and water pumps. It is amazing to watch this country react- mixed in with the bitterness of the storm is the resolve of workers and the kindness of strangers, and the awe and wonderment that hangs in the air. The pictures, especially of Jerusalem, rolling blankets of white, every olive tree heavy with snow, are breathtaking. A part of me wishes I could have been there this weekend to witness the streets crowded with umbrellas and snowball fights.

Hannukah was a nice break to explore and be in new places. I had a blast, staying in a different city every night and meeting new people. A few highlights: on the first night of Hannukah I went to a Thanksgivikah party in Rehovot where I ate latkes and pumpkin pie and listened to Idan Raichel and the Macy's Day parade. I shared the night with Israelis who had never celebrated Thanksgiving with Americans, as well as Americans who had never experienced Hannukah in Israel. I slept on their porch (can you believe just a week or so ago it was warm enough to sleep outside?), and woke up early to watch the sky brighten as the city slowly awoke. Another night, I lit a menorah with some friends I ran into outside a restaurant in Yafo. We drank beer, listened to the live music, and watched the candles melt, as strangers from other tables came over to appreciate the light and wish us a happy holiday. My favorite night by far though was the night I spent in Jerusalem. It was the 5th or 6th night, and as I walked through the twisting walled city, I passed religious men sitting on doorsteps playing the drums and singing songs of praise, as well as children playing games among the columns. Couples wandered the Jewish quarter hand in hand eating ice cream and drifting among the colorful shops. The whole city smelled of sweet doughnuts, and the beautiful glass and oil lamps twinkling from every doorstep brightened the damp corners of the city with a special warmth and cheer. The holiday here in the city is joyous and beautiful in a way I have never seen it anywhere else I have been. I walked back to my friend's house under strings of fairy lights, as the cool walls of the old city faded into the blooming gardens of the german colony, flowers falling from trees and landing at my feet. Jerusalem is heartbreakingly beautiful, and the more I visit the more I fall in love.

The past week has been quiet, with the sudden cold keeping everyone indoors. My days here are starting to set into a routine, and feeling less like travel and more like life.  I am spending a lot of time baking bread and hiding under blankets, and looking forward to friends and family visiting in just a few weeks.

Apologies for the long hiatus. So many things happened, I don't know where to begin!

I have spent the last three weekends in Jerusalem, each better than the last. The first weekend I met up with birthright groups from DC and talked to them about what I am doing on MASA. I ran into some people I knew from the DC Jewish community, and even got to practice sign language with a friend! Everyone was interested in what I was doing, and kind. And the food was delicious!

The second weekend I went back for a group program. We first went to the conference center in Jerusalem to see Prime Minister Bebe Natanyahu speak, and afterwards attended an Idan Raichel concert. Both were so very exciting! I ran into another friend from home, and we danced in the isles. Bebe spoke very briefly, mostly about the threat of Iran and his desire for us all to make aliyah. Then we took a bus out to Almog, a settlement kibbutz in the West Bank. Almog was gorgeous- lush green grass and trees heavy with flowers and fruit, in stark contrast to the desert that stretched beyond, in a clear line like the coast of an ocean. We went back and forth between Almog, where we spent most of our time in lectures and discussion groups about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, and Jerusalem, where we went on tours. It was very powerful to have lectures and discussions on the fence, or the ring neighborhoods, or the seamline, or the checkpoints, and then go there and see it in person. I had no idea how menacing the 20 feet of cement would feel when standing right next to it, or how difficult it would be to differentiate between the Israeli and Arab settlements as we drove past them. It really helped me to articulate my opinions, which are both humanist and zionist and therefore conflicted.

Last weekend was by far my favorite, but I wouldn't have guessed it from the beginning. Dan and I were supposed to go to this really cool seminar on security issues, and I planned out a whole weekend for us around the event, but Roi couldn't get us tickets in time and I was upset. Then, the night before the conference, Roi told us that one girl had dropped out and there was room for me to go! I rushed to pack my things and prepare.

First, we had a dinner to attend. It was supposed to be some sort of Hannuka-Thanksgiving combined celebration, but it was silly. Beit She'an gathered what felt to me like all the people in Jerusalem who happened to be from Cleveland, and we talked a little bit about our town and then ate a lot of cous cous. Afterwards there was a lot of wine and singing songs in Hebrew about Hannuka, intermixed with Beatles and swaying. Afterwards, I caught a bus to stay with a friend in the city, and in the morning ventured out to the seminar.

The seminar was amazing. I was pleased to run into a lot of people I knew already from other programs, and I left with some new friends. Every lecture was interesting. We talked about a whole range of middle-eastern politics, and it gave me some really cool perspective on the topic. We heard from a member of the Knesset, and a lot of really smart educators, and people were so inspired that we got together on breaks to continue discussions. I am so very grateful for these weekends because they have given me the opportunity to do the kind of grappling that is the very basis of a jewish zionist identity.

Now I am back home, and Hannukah is just around the corner. At school all of my students are working on their road-safety menorah's, and everyone is feeding me doughnuts. There is a huge tent outside our house, which was originally for an outdoor shiva last month but now seems to be slowly morphing into a place for hannukah parties. School is short this week, and then I plan on traveling around Israel to visit friends and explore the country on my own. I am looking forward to hanging out in cafe's in bigger cities and just traveling alone.