Hi Again!
So it’s been a few days and wow, so much to review! I’m not sure how much info I can squeeze into this one post because it’s Erev Shabbos and there is much to do! Meatballs on the stove and chicken in the oven as we speak.
I’d like to begin this post by responding to the 49 or so people (many of whom are friends of friends of my parents or grandmother, Bobbie, possibly even including a cashier or two at Costco) who have expressed concern for my safety “over there.” “Is she okay? It’s so dangerous ‘over there’ right now!” I can only assume that “over there” is in reference to the current situation in Egypt. So let me just clear this up. I am fine, BH. (BH= Baruch Hashem or Beverly Hills [as in 90210]…depending on which you choose…I use them interchangeably as in,
Friend: “How are you?”
Me: “Beverly Hills, I am fine.”
Sorry to those of you who did not understand or chap this tangent.)
Contrary to popular belief, Jerusalem IS NOT in Egypt. See map below. That said, I do however, appreciate your concern.
So, on our second full day, we ran around to try to get our plans in order for our stay. I am one of those people who needs structure in order to survive. If I don’t have somewhat of an agenda, I start to go a little mad and drive Ira seriously crazy. So, after a quick visit and coffee with my dear friend and former Neve roommate, Jen Gladwin, Ira and I headed to Givat Shaul to check out the schools we want to study in, (Midreshet Rachel for me and Shapells for Ira). This was quite a trek and it was much colder than weather.com had told me it would be. After investigating the schools, instead of heading directly to the Kotel (Western Wall) as planned, we headed back home so I could change into something warmer. Ira no longer fights me about these kinds of detours because he would rather go an hour and 20 minutes out of the way, than have to listen to me complain. I have a list of 3 things that I will complain about repeatedly until remedied:
1. Being cold.
2. Needing to use the ladies’ room.
3. When my self-imposed high-heel rule backfires and my feet KILLLLLLLL.
I am mamish a terrible sport (translation: a reeeeeeeeeeally bad sport) when it comes to these 3 things. I do hope to improve, though.
So after changing into tights, a sweater, a scarf, a hat, and gloves we headed back out. We decided to walk because whenever possible, it’s wonderful to get to walk around Jerusalem, and the walk from our apartment to the Old City is particularly nice. I was soooo excited to go to the Kotel! It has been almost exactly two years since I was last at the Kotel (see photos from then and now below) and since then, I have been dreaming about going back and thinking about all of the things I wanted to discuss with G-d.
THEN
NOW
Not that I have to be at the Kotel to have these conversations, but it can be a really powerful place to connect. (I guess I now have one less thing to pray for than I did two years ago, as I am now married to a Jewish doctor-to-be. Actually, now that only means that I have to pray that, G-d willing, any or all of my future children become doctors so I can fulfill every Jewish mother’s dream acronym: M.S.T.D. [My Son, The Doctor]. A Jewish mother without an M.S.T.D. is like apple pie a la mode without the ice cream, utterly incomplete.)
Anyway, on the walk over I was so clear-headed about what I wanted my experience to be like….major expectations, guys. Well…as you all know, it is unusual when experiences actually meet our expectations for them, and this situation was no different.
We walked towards the Old City (I was yelling at Ira the whole time about how he took us the long route…as usual I was wrong…we later saw on the map that it was the shortest route possible…I will stick to what I do best from now on, which is basically do ANYTHING BUT navigate.) and my heart began to race with anticipation. As I walked through the Jaffa Gate and onto the uneven, dangerously slippery cobble stone streets, I immediately got that warm and fuzzy feeling I always get…it’s a shame to even try to describe this feeling. It’s just kind of a sense of security and belonging mixed with a whole lot of awe. (No pun intended by the security comment, but yes the old city is unbelievably SECURE!)
As we headed down towards the Kotel, I saw something I’ve never seen before. There was a car driving directly up to the wall surrounded by over 50 Chassidic men, pushing and shoving to try to take photographs on whomever was in the passenger’s seat. I did not know Chassidim owned cameras and I certainly never expected to see them behave in such a paparazzi-like manner. Very interesting…
After this scene ended, I headed to the women’s side to get to all my planned “conversations.” Well, I’m not sure what happened, maybe I was distracted by the previous paprazzi craziness, but I was just incredibly overwhelmed and the second I approached the wall I couldn’t remember any of my plans! After I finished davening maariv (the evening prayers), it was like my brain just turned off and I had nothing to say. I hear this is not uncommon, but it is tough to deal with. You have all these expectations about being at one of the holiest spots on earth and your brain crashes like your hard drive did mid-research paper during an all-nighter your sophomore year of college. I am looking forward to going back and having a more organic, less-choreographed experience to see where my emotions take me. I will keep everyone posted. (As I reread this paragraph I see that it is really personal and possibly TMI, but I’m leaving it because well, I might as well treat this blog as a diary of sorts).
As we were leaving the old city, we saw Marzipan had opened a new location right there! This is excellent news, except now our walk to the old city will be negated by the calories we consume in rugelach.
We followed our night in the old city with a delicious dinner in Mamilla at Hertzla.
We tried to go to bed early, but after hours of lying awake, we finally decided to get up around 2 AM and have a glass of wine and look over Ira’s rank-list for residency. Wine at 2 AM…now that’s what I like to call quality time. Jetlag is lagginggggggg.
Yesterday, I had planned to wake up at 8 AM to go to the gym. Well, I slept until 12:30. Still groggy, I watched TV on my laptop until 3. So glad I came all the way here to do that J At 3:30, I went to my Ulpan evaluation test and found I was in level Aleph 1 aka my proficiency in Hebrew on a scale of 1 to10 is like a negative 5.
After that, I decided I better hit the gym. If I don’t start this trip off by going to the gym it’s pretty much guaranteed I’ll never make it there. So, I looked at the gym class schedule and saw “Body Sculpt.” Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but in America that would usually mean like a low-weight/high-rep aerobics type of class. I thought it would be a good way to start out because I didn’t want to have to deal with the treadmill and converting miles to kilometers at that point in the day. I just wanted to go to a nice class and have a teacher tell me what to do.
Minor issue. I was the only non-Hebrew speaker in the class and the ENTIRE CLASS was taught in Hebrew, save a couple “up and down, up and down.” The teacher barely spoke any English. MMMMMMMMK. Well I stood in the back and tried to follow the people in front of me who all looked like they had been taking the class twice a day, every day, for the past five years. Apparently the Hebrew translation for “Body Sculpt” is a combination of Zumba, Cha-Cha, Mumba, and Yoga. There was dancing. And more dancing. And more dancing. And then at the end the lights were turned off and there was stretching and maybe even a “nameste” (the only other non-Hebrew utterance). Anyone who knows me even a little, knows I have zero rhythm and zero body control. I am terrible. I have my “one move” I do. I put one arm in the air and shake my booty with my back arched. I have no moves other than this move. I am not sure if I will be allowed back into “Body Sculpt” or the gym all together. However, on a positive note, I now know how to count backwards from 5 in Hebrew, thanks to the teacher’s rhythm counting. BH I learned some Hebrew. (Beverly Hills or Baruch Hashem? You decide.)
Last night in honor of our first big night out in Israel (Thursday night is like Saturday night here—the night to go out) we went to the most American bar in Israel, Mike’s Place (BTW, it's moved...AGAIN). Makes a lot of sense right? Well, we had a good time with Ira's friend, Kenny.
This guy had fun too...
I’d like to leave you with a poem I may even submit for a Nobel Prize. The working title is:
“Ode to the Shabbos Rush”
The Shabbos Rush is spirited, but also insane,
Especially in a city unaccustomed to the rain.
Not one person in Israel owns an umbrella,
But, I did see a plastic hat covering on one Chassidic fella.
To do Friday shopping, one must be quite brave,
With stores packed with people who’ve forgotten how to behave.
There’s pushing and shoving and cutting in line,
No, “Excuse, I’m sorry,” But instead just, “That’s MINE!”
From the man who takes the challah you waited patiently for,
Oh the Shabbos Rush, it’s you I adore!
I wanted to put in a line about how unrecognizable and disgusting the Israeli kishka looks, but nothing rhymes with “kishka.” I was considering something along the lines of:
I do not have a death wishka,
So I will not eat the kishka.
Thoughts? Any suggestions?
Unfamiliar with kishka?
Kishka or kishke (Slovene: kašnica; Belarusian: кішка, kishka; Polish: kiszka; Silesian: krupńok; Yiddish kishke; Hebrew: קישקע) refers to various types of sausage or stuffed intestine with a filling made from a combination of meat and meal, often a grain. The dish is popular across Eastern Europe as well as with immigrant communities from those areas. It is also eaten by Ashkenazi Jews who prepare their version according to kashrut dietary laws. The name itself is Slavic in origin, and literally means "gut" or "intestine".[1]
Sounds delicious huh?
I’ll try to update sooooon. Shavua Tov from Israel! Nobody will be reading this for another 7 hrs...
XOXO
XOXO
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