lizrael update

Topic diving.

About 6 months ago the time to start developing a thesis topic arrived. I’m at my fifth idea after four have been rejected by either my overseeing professor or myself. At this point, I’m even minus an overseeing professor and I have no idea where to turn for assistance.

I will say, though, that my rejection of certain topics has been due to the realization that I’m tired - exhausted - of talking about, writing about, researching about Israel and the Middle East. My first thesis dealt with the relationships between the Israelis and the Palestinians towards themselves; the impact of their respective cultures on their presents and futures. I wrote that in the States, so it was less painful (though it was painful).

When do I get to talk about something else? Research something outside my own realm? I don’t need or want the convenience of being surrounded by Israelis and Palestinians in order to write my paper. I want something else - something far, far away. Something that I can read about without feeling physically ill. Something I can read about without half-glancing away to avoid the helpless feeling.

I think that I will continue to pursue the topic of collective memory and culture, identity and conflict, but I will look to use a different case study. All eyes on Northern Ireland. Sometimes you have to stand outside the conflict in order to see clearly, right? Hopefully this will develop into a worthwhile study, especially considering recent (positive) news in that region.

Let’s just hope it doesn’t get rejected. I think my professors have a penchant for disproportionately focusing on Israel and the Middle East, like everybody else on the planet.

Today’s Word: מתיחות

Today’s word is brought to you by my new hip hop class. As mentioned, I started taking dance classes. I learned last Monday that I don’t mix well with organized dance. On Friday I decided to go with something a little bit looser, so I joined a street hip hop class. It was a lot of fun, and I plan to continue it, but I learned a second lesson on Friday.

Since my class I have been in a ridiculous amount of pain, which leads me to believe that I really ought to take pre-class stretching more seriously. In fact, doing sets of מתיחות, stretches, is something I should do everyday since I tend to be a lazy lump who sits in an office chair all day and then once in a while decides to ‘go running.’

So, next time I will be sure למתוח before class. And then I won’t look like an old lady for a week afterward when walking up and down stairs.

Weather report.

Last night, in Jerusalem, we experienced a hot rain. It doesn’t usually rain here in May, and certainly not in a tropical hot rain kind of way.

Today, the sky is yellow. See for yourself:

I hope tomorrow it’ll rain cats and dogs so that we can be rid of that stupid phrase.

Students, leave those teachers alone.

It’s kinda funny that I’m supposed to be studying Conflict Management & Negotiation right now and instead the government, university heads and students are all at battle with each other.

Hmm… What would I say if I could speak my mind?

Anyway. Here’s a photo I took of a hauntingly empty classroom where education is supposed to be happening:

Israeli dancing.

Tonight I learned - nay - was reminded that there’s a reason why my parents didn’t sign me up for a second year of ballet and I dropped out of Israeli dancing class in sixth grade.

I can’t dance.

Well, that’s not true. I can bump and grind and rock out in front of any mirror any day. I can create a buzz on the club dance floor (or in the corner, or on the bar) if I’ve had the right cocktail of coffee and sugar. But I can’t dance in organized forums. Like dance classes. For beginners. It just doesn’t work.

And the funny thing is, this is a chug I could really participate in without needing to be, or pretending to be, 100% Israeli. Though I understand all the Hebrew anyway, dancing is visual, not verbal.

I’ll probably go again. But next time I’ll try to keep the laughing under my breath.

City feature: Haifa

Now that summer is upon us, there’s a new series of jokes going around the cynical Israeli circuit, which revolve around the same punchline:

“So, what are you doing this summer?”
“That depends - when does the war start and end?”

“Hey, feeling like a weekend in a tzimmer?”
“Maybe; but let’s wait for the wartime deals.”

All jokes aside - though it’s hard - I would like to get out to Haifa one of these days. The last time I was there was in 2004 and it was only for one day. It’s a fascinating city in its own rite, totally different than Tel Aviv or Jerusalem. In fact, I remember feeling like I was in a different country altogether. It’s a city of religions, but unlike Jerusalem, it’s calm and peaceful. It’s a city of modernity, but unlike Tel Aviv, it’s laid-back and green.

Here are some photos from that day nearly three years ago - and hopefully I’ll have updated ones fairly soon; before ‘the war’, of course.

33 means fire.

It’s the night of Lag B’Omer, which means Jerusalem is up in smoke, though we’ve done it to ourselves. Bonfires abound (as do marshmallows) as we celebrate… Wait, what is it we’re celebrating? It seems to matter not; all anyone wants to do is run around the city and collect wood and burn things. Kind of like the way Halloween has lost its meaning in the States.

Oh well. Let the flames rise and the marshmallows goo. Happy 33rd of the countdown.

Showing more than leg.

My leg is famous thanks to BY’s photography and this website:

“Elections now.”

It’s funny because I don’t necessarily believe in elections now, but it may be the start of a political-modeling career.

Shabbat eve in full bloom.

The good Jewish husbands bring their wives a bouquet of flowers on Friday afternoon for a shabbat shalom.

The great Jewish husbands take their wives on a Friday afternoon stroll through the Jerusalem Botanical Gardens so she can pick out her own.

Word of the day: Hafgana.

I joined over 100,000 other disgruntled Israelis to protest and rally against the current government. The truth is, I was there more to observe than to voice my opinion; I let my body exist in Rabin Square to do the talking but I kept my mouth shut. I’m feeling very numb about the whole thing. It’s painful.

I will say I made an interesting observation that stood out for me: I can’t imagine being a kid going to rallies with my parents. There were so many young kids there. Maybe, for America, in the 60s it was different, but growing up in the 80s I would never have witnessed that, nor would my parents have taken me.

Anyway, here are some images to make up for my wordlessness: