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!

My housemates and I have gotten into quite a vacation groove these past few weeks. We eat delicious meals with our host families, go on sunrise runs through date farms, drink wine on our rooftop, explore new hot springs. It has been such a treat. Today we found a new waterhole. It is inside a nearby kibbutz, and to get to it you have to take a winding path through eucalyptus trees. There were a lot of kids our age, smoking hookah on the bank or laying on mattresses floating in the water. One of the trees overlooking the river has with a rope attached to a tall tree. We took turns swinging on the rope and jumping into the water. The water was cool and refreshing, and we felt as if we had found a hidden gem.

Last night was Simchat Torah. We spent the day at the Levi's, singing 80's rock ballads karaoke-style, and some One Direction for the daughters. When the sun went down, we went out to the town square, where a live band was playing. Everyone was out, and there was a circle of men (and hidden from view, another circle of women) dancing around a person in the middle who is carrying a torah. It was quite a festival, with vendors selling popcorn and glow sticks and cotton candy (called "grandma's hair" in hebrew). The head rabbi of the town came out to bless the crowd. In his speech he talked about how Jews all over the world were celebrating just as we were here, and said that our enemies could not hurt us because Israel was strong. It is a kind of sentiment commonly expressed here. During the holidays, families will bless many foods before the dinner with blessings, some hopeful (may god watch over us and protect us from enemies), and others less gentle (may all of our enemies be swallowed by the sea). It draws my attention, because here no one thinks the words are empty.

After Shabbat is over, we have training, and then Monday we start our first day of teaching! I am excited, and a little bit nervous. Thanks for all the comments and letters everyone!

I finally went to the Sachne for the first time this week, and it is more beautiful than I ever would have imagined. The water is blue and deep and the same temperature all week long, and lined with palms and flowering trees that bend low to touch the water. There are waterfalls all along the spring with a ledge built so that you can sit and feel the water crash on your shoulders, huge boulders to jump off of, and caves and shallow pools where kids can play. During the holidays, families come armed with grills and picnic baskets and eat, swim, and relax in the sunlight. My roommates and I went with the Levi's, Sarah's host family, and it was one of my favorite days so far in Israel. We ate a veritable feast, dove into the water with the kids, and then lounged in the sun.

Gila and Dudu, the family that took us to the Sachne, has adopted me, and they are the sweetest people I have ever met. Sarah and I have spent a lot of time at their family meals during the holidays. Gila teaches us to cook, and we help her prepare her cookies to sell at the market. We play with the kids, and they teach us games and hebrew words. Dudu tells us all about the history of Beit She'an, and we visit his shoe store and buy the things we need there. The extended family is welcoming, kind, and so warm. A few days ago they showed up at our house with all the makings for fricasses, a delicious sandwich with egg, potato and olive on fried bread. They stayed to see our house and talk with us, and we sang songs and played the guitar together. I love Israeli hospitality.

Yesterday I went to Haifa for the first time, and it is such a beautiful city. The entire city is built on a hill that rolls upwards from the ocean, so from the top you can see the whole city stretching towards blue in every direction. I met up with Rabbi Edgar, a progressive rabbi and friend of my rabbi and family friend, Michael. He and his wife were so kind and hospitable. He grew up in Argentina, she in the states, and they met in Israel, where they decided to settle and live their lives as a rabbi and school psychologist. Both sets of parents now live in Haifa as well. They gave me and one of my roommates an amazing tour of the city. We went to the Bahai gardens, the german colony, and a nursing home for holocaust survivors, and met a progressive Imam, to list a few highlights. My favorite part though, was when made a visit to another nursing home. Edgar brought a guitar, as well as a lulav and etrog, and we sang songs and he talked about the meaning of Sukkot. I think that the residents really appreciated us coming, and I loved that even on my short journey I was able to participate in such a mitzvah. At the end of the day he dropped us off at the beach, where we chased waves and stuck our toes in the sand. On the way back to the bus, we happened upon a film festival! We bought a ticket for whatever was open, which happened to be a silly movie about vampires, and went. It was a lot of fun.

Today Sarah and I woke up early to go for a sunrise run, and then came back and made couscous for lunch. We made it with chickpeas and tomatoes and pumpkin and dates, and it's probably the best couscous I have ever made. Tonight we will join the Levi's for a Simchah Torah meal, and I will probably spend a lot of time eating delicious food and jumping on the trampoline with the kids. I am looking forward to it.

Gmar Hatima Tova

We saw our classes finally! The word for hot mess in hebrew is balagan, and I think it helps me to describe what I saw. Beit Shean is economically depressed. The schools are some of the worst in the country, the resources so thin even in comparison to even schools that the ITF program is assigned to. Many of our schools lack hallways or textbooks, and none of us have classrooms of our own to teach in. I am lucky to at least be working with a teacher who is kind and speaks English relatively well. Most of the English teachers in this town are inexperienced, speak the language poorly, and have very little control over their classrooms. Students here walk in and out of class, talk through the entire lesson, hit other students, and rarely do the work. There is little lesson planning and zero classroom management, and a class might spend an entire hour on a one-page worksheet. Teachers get exasperated and yell often, to little avail. The environment is not at all conducive to learning. Few students can understand basic questions. Many of the students come from poor backgrounds and broken homes, and the aim of teachers is often primarily to create a safe environment for kids, with education being secondary. And yet they are sweet, bright, and very motivated to learn. Just my presence seems to be appreciated more than I could have ever expected. They delighted at hearing their names spoken with an American accent. They asked me to sing songs from all the popular American artists. They would show off all the words they knew in a rush, hellogoodbyefathermotherredbluegreenyellow. There is no concept of speaking one at a time, and my head buzzed as they all shouted over each other to catch my attention. A group of girls ran giggling out of the room, and came back holding index card with my name written on it and candies stapled to every corner. To fathom the needs of this community and the impact I can have on it is overwhelming. I am so thankful to be here.

Yom Kippur in Beit Shean is quite beautiful. Families gather for feasts before sundown, and then dress in white and go to services. There are 72 synagogues in Beit She'an (a population of 18,000), and they represent every Sephardic country you can imagine. Dan and I visited a Moroccan shul close to our house, and the services are different from ones I attended in America. They are dischordant and friendly. Teenaged boys pull at each other's talits, and when the congregation chants together, the children compete to be loudest. Prayers are not sung but chanted in a jumble over each other, and the stream of hebrew is constant. Women sit in a balcony area away from the eyes of the men, praying quietly and switching toddlers from hip to hip to hip. I was overwhelmed by the lack of singing, direction, or English, but an American cannot hide forever in such a small town. A woman with deep wrinkles and a covered head noticed me flipping through the wrong prayer book, and silently pushed the correct siddur into my hands. Another woman cocked her head curiously and asked me a question in Hebrew, and I shrugged shyly to show I didn't understand. Suddenly I was revealed, and every woman's head looked up from their praying, as if a switch had flipped in the small balcony. Like in the classroom, faces crowded my vision as everyone asked me questions in rapid Hebrew- what is your name, where are you from, who are your parents, what school are you teaching at, how many other Americans are here, are you married? I stumbled through the answers with the few words I knew. A young girl with decent English was called from the other room to interpret. No I am not married, I answered, and soft hands patted my knee. Soon, soon, they reassured me. I am teaching at Tachkimoni, I explained, and a few women looked brightly at me. My daughter goes there! My aunt is a teacher there! I smiled and nodded and tried to remember names. One woman took me to the edge of the balcony and pointed to men below. See the man davening in front of the Torah? That is my father. And the man praying next to him? That is his brother. The woman sitting here? She is his daughter, my cousin. And that boy making faces over there? He is my son. She smiled at me and held my hand tightly in hers. Baruch haban, she said, welcome.

Over two hours later I left the shul, prayers still in full swing. The car-less streets were filled with people, a sea of white. It is a tradition unique to the town. Teenagers whispered in gender-segregated clumps, children played soccer in the middle of the road, men kissed each other in greeting. I saw every single person I had ever met in Beit She'an, including friends of my program director, girls I had met in services just an hour before, relatives of our host families, and the mayor. People stroll late into the night, wishing each other meaningful fasts and a good writing in the book of judgement. Kippur day was quiet, and we broke the fast with an Israeli family, and then built a sukkah and drank beer and relaxed late into the evening. 

Beit She'an's sister city is Cleveland, and apparently this means total and utter devotion to a city who's population may have never heard of them. The town hall is filled with dramatic pictures of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame at sunrise, or main streets lit up at night. Every time I meet an Israeli, upon hearing my American accent the first thing they ask is, "Cleveland?" My host mother loves to mention that a shirt she is wearing, or a recipe for a dish we are eating, was acquired in Cleveland, as if she is casually dropping the fact that she was invited to tea with the Queen. One of our housemates is actually from Cleveland, and you'd think he was a god the way people react. No one here has heard of San Francisco, or knows the difference between Washington DC and Washington State. Every day someone tells me a fact about Cleveland. Did you know they have 80,000 Jews? Did you know they eat cous cous there? Did you know the women there wear lacy flats? One girl from the town got a grant to study there for a year, and she came back with stories that she would tell to hushed audiences that were starstruck with her worldliness. Never in my life would I have guessed to know so much about such a place. 

Today was the first of many teaching seminars around the country. We had to drive a long way there and back. The bus driver, in casual Israeli fashion, pulled into a gas station halfway home and kicked us out of the bus with an explanation in rapid hebrew that none of us understood. All of us looked around in a panic, realizing that he was planning to drive away without us and wondering how we were ever going to get home, when suddenly another bus drove up and the people got out of that van and into our van. We slowly put it together that they were swapping rides because our driver wanted to end his night closer to his final destination. It seems to me like the kind of detail a driver should warn his passengers about ahead of time, but I guess it is different here. 

Another story about the land of not-exactly. Roi took us to the hot springs yesterday, and what a baligan! The original plan was that the 6 of us would bike out to meet Kevin, who was already there. Roi however gave us no direction about where we were going and biked like a maniac on the shoulderless highway. As we went, each bike slowly began to fall apart. Sarah's gears went wrong, and Dan's chain broke, and Avram and I ended up racing ahead so that he could bring my bike back and save Dan from walking the whole way. Once we arrived at the hot springs, Roi told us that in fact he had taken us to the wrong one and that, even though we were six and Kevin was one, we had to go meet him instead of the other way around. So back on the highway we went, swerving like maniacs because we are all following Roi who changes his mind about turns after he misses them and then doubles back without warning. We arrive at the second hot spring, and Roi is biking around on the grass shouting KEVIN KEVIN in this totally crowded place while the lifeguard runs after him telling him that the grass is off limits. It is not until Roi is absolutely certain that we have found Kevin are we allowed to drop our bikes and enjoy ourselves. Clearly, a simple call would not suffice.

Last night was our first Havdalah in Beit She'an, and it was a lot of fun. We went out onto our rooftop, and sang in the new week with fresh spices and wine. We brought up some speakers and a phone, and blasted party music and danced next to the solar panels. By the time we were done we had an audience of stunned Israelis laughing and clapping. What a way to start the week! I have a good feeling about it. Tomorrow we see our schools for the first time. I am excited to learn more about the schools and my job.