October 11th, 2005 by elie
to clarify: the 400 bus is the bnei brak bus. shudder.
I feel: Defeated.
I went to my Conflict Management and Negotiation orientation at Bar Ilan and it was a complete failure.
It took 3 hours to get there and when I did, I got there late, so late that the stupid thing was only an hour and as I walked in and apologized, the director also apologized, laughed, and everyone got up to leave because it was the end of the orientation.
I felt stupid, but only for a split-second, then I felt reenergized. I walked up to the director and he told me I’d have to wait a few minutes. Fair enough, really. Then he turned to me. We started talking in hebrew but I switched to English mid-sentence because I wanted to call the traffic ‘hell’ and thought it would sound ridiculous in Hebrew (and he’s American).
“Do you speak Hebrew?”
“Oh, yes… Well, I understand better than I speak…”
“Right. You should have a talk with all your professors the first day to let them know… that… you know.”
“Oh, right, of course.”
“So why were you late?”
“Yeah, I’m working in Jerusalem.”
“Oh? How will you manage that?”
“I’ve worked it out, timewise, I wont be late like this all the time…”
“And to make sure you can write your papers in English and bla bla bla…” basically, made me feel like crap on a hundred levels - I was late, don’t speak Hebrew with confidence, don’t know about buses, didn’t even have to come to the orientation because I had already known everything he said, he basically called his own orientation pointless, handed me a flimsy pamphlet that I already have 4,000 of because I’ve visited the program so many times in the last 2 years.
Then he asked me if I would be turning my heels back to Jerusalem, I said yes, he said I’m going there, I said really, he said yeah, but I dont have room for you, I said, oh. ok.
So: Defeated as I walked out of there, Defeated as I walked across campus, missing American beurocracy, Defeated as I waited for another 400 to take me home, Defeated as I got on and it’s all charedis, Defeated as there were no seats, Defeated as I sat on the floor of the 400, the odor of BO filling my nose, my heart sunk and frightened to death that what I am doing - working almost full time and going to full time grad school - is a bad, bad idea.
October 11th, 2005 by elie
i woke up at 6 30 after an awful awful dream… my mom came to israel to visit and then tried to trick me into coming bacl to america with her, and i nearly fell for it, for some reason… i really believed her, or i felt guilty, and then an hour before i had to be at the airport i snapped out of it and stood my ground, but it was so painful and confusing.
October 10th, 2005 by elie
hi dad,
so yesterday xxx came to my office and i let him in and he was very impressed by how ‘fancy’ and ’serious’ it was, like an ‘american’ office… and the truth is, it resembles a nyc office to some extent… except that we are all wearing jeans…
anyways, he was also very impressed with my fancy high tech monitor and my own office, and my phone and my dry erase board, etc, etc and it reminded me of when i was little and you used to bring me to your office and i would be struck with awe at the ‘bigness’ of it and especially the dry erase board and colourful markers and i used to think you were so big and important and your office was filled with art of mine and stuff… and i guess i just started remembering all that and realizing now i’m big and i have my own dry erase board and it’s very scary and exciting.
i think that ‘bring your daughter to work day’ really paid off, even if i was embarrassed to tell my schoolmates where i had been because no one else’s parents were doing that stuff.
just thought i’d let you know.
October 10th, 2005 by elie
another milestone in my aliyah-making declaring israeliness: i bought clunky, chunky, obnoxious, israeli shoes.
they’re big, they’re bad, and they’re all mine.
and i can justify a kartisiyat noar again. ha!
October 6th, 2005 by elie
Larutz.
“Alright. Larutz.”
“Shalosh… shtayim… echad…”
The room collectively sucks in its breath…
“Action!”
[Footsteps sound outside the metal door. A man dressed as a mifaked bursts in, and then abruptly stops. He is listening to music that will be filled in by the director later. He starts to rock back and forth, in tune with the imaginary music. He waves a finger in the air. Soon his whole body is coordinating with our imaginations.]
“Cut!”
I’m sitting on a table with my legs out in front of me, my right foot still tapping the air to imaginary music. I’m opposite everyone else in the room; they are gathered around the director.
I volunteered to help out because the director is a friend, but everyone else knows each other pretty well from working together the past few months.
The movie is about a boy freshly graduated from high school; he has to make a decision between following his dream and sacrificing the next precious years of his life for his country’s army. It takes place against the backdrop of Israeli nationalism.
The movie will be my friend’s first, and his completion of film school.
“OK, od pa’am. Chevre, sheket. Larutz.”
The director has spoken, the assistant counts down from three, we inhale and shut up.
“Action!”
[Footsteps. Mifaked bursts in the door.]
The extent of my helping out at the set has been polishing army boots.
Incidentally, that will also be the extent of my own army service in Israel.
[Mifaked rocks out to silence.]
“Cut!”
Everyone in the room is Israeli and communicates in Hebrew unless using some film terminology: “cut”, “mixer”, “sound”, “action.” The only word I’m hearing in Hebrew that relates to film-making is “larutz” – Roll (camera) – literally meaning: to run.
Roll camera. Start filming. Begin. Run.
The most bizarre, and at the same time satisfying, thing about being on this movie set with my director-friend’s cast and crew is that they are all speaking in Hebrew to each other and that this is the place where I live. I have voluntarily began life in a Hebrew world, and it has begun. It begins again everyday when I wake up and walk outside.
It is possible that I should not fear Hebrew, distrust Hebrew, dismiss myself dressed in Hebrew words when it is what I am to be here, wrapped in it, embraced in it, like the soft wrap skirts Israeli girls wear.
That someone told me “larutz” and I did; I can feel the Hebrew wrapped around my waist, over my legs, surrounding me in its soft melodic fabric that makes me feel like running further, more.
And, on the set, when someone makes a joke in Hebrew, I laugh. When my director-friend declares a five-minute break, the crew disperses into pockets of Hebrew conversation. And when there is something they need me to do in wardrobe, I’m on it - as soon as they give me the command in Hebrew.
“Larutz… Action!”