My Trip Home Part 2

*This entry covers the time span from my departure from Tel Aviv to my landing in Atlanta; I started writing in Newark and am finishing here in Georgia.  Ok carry on J

I think having a camera crew following me around would be much more helpful than attempting to convey in words my experiences over the last 24 hours, but I shall try my best.  As I write this, I am sitting at Liberty International Airport in Newark, New Jersey, my stomach very full from the large chocolate chip cookie and orange juice I have recently consumed; the cookie was so good that I went and bought 4 more for my niece and nephews—courtesy of United Airlines of course, as I made use of the meal vouchers they supplied me with.  

Since this airport does not offer free wifi (seriously??), this will be posted well after I land in Atlanta.  Picking up where I left off yesterday, which was pre-hamburger and pre-flight status in Tel Aviv, I will now discuss the flight.  Oh, how I would much rather be in a car for 12 hours than on a plane, but then I guess I wouldn’t have much to write about.  I forgot to mention that when going through security stage #2 at Tel Aviv (when my bodyspray got tossed), I was lightly tapped on my right arm.  I looked to see who it was and recognized her as one of the ladies from the security area that had held onto my checked luggage as I waited for the United desk to open.  She apparently had followed me to this stage of security, and asked me more than once if the guy (the one who did not put the security tag on my luggage) went through everything, if he used the wand, etc.  I ensured her he checked everything very thoroughly, and she seemed relieved, all the while relaying the story in Hebrew to the lady who had just gone through my carryon.  I'm wondering if the guy still has his job?   

 

When they announced over the loud speaker that we would finally start boarding, some people clapped.  The 2 hour delay had gotten to a lot of people; for me, it just meant I was at the airport for 8 hours instead of 6.  I found row 40 on the 777 jumbo jet, and was so thrilled to find my seat was right in the middle of two people (that’s sarcasm).  One was a student from the Hebrew University; I didn’t know him, I just remembered seeing him around the Student Village.  He was the lucky one who had the window seat.  Within minutes of being seated, a man two seats to my left in the middle row, whose seat was on the aisle, asked a flight attendant to fill his empty water bottle. I watched as the flight attendant took the bottle from his hand and proceeded to check overhead storage.  About ten minutes later, I heard the man in the middle ask the flight attendant about his bottle; the flight attendant apologized, saying he misunderstood what the man had asked him to do, and that he had thrown the bottle away.  The man sat in disbelief, then decided to voice his disbelief.  The female flight attendant standing behind the one getting his toosh chewed said “sir, it was a mistake, we are sorry; we will bring you as much water as you want during the flight”, but the man was not satisfied with her response.  He crossed his arms and slumped in his seat, and began to pout.  I watched in amazement at this man of about 40 who was now acting like the 5 year old I had previously watched at the gate; she too had crossed her arms in defiance when she didn’t get her way. 

The rest of the flight was pretty uneventful; I watched Ben Hur, The Wizard of Oz twice, and Thor, while cat napping here and there and playing some games on my phone.  We were fed three meals, which for me was two too many for someone sitting in the same spot for so long.  The first meal I chose (very Mediterranean/Israeli) was a delicious roasted chicken with shell noodles, Greek salad, dinner roll, and cookies for desert.  I later picked a turkey sandwich, but they wrapped two together; I could only eat the one.  The last meal was a choice between eggs and quiche; I picked eggs, which came with potatoes, fruit, and a bagel.  I drank a lot of liquids, and finally decided to get up to go to the bathroom when my seatmate had the same idea.  When I finally was able to get into the bathroom, I heard the familiar “ding” that indicated the seatbelt sign had come on; I picked a fine time to use the restroom—we were in the middle of some turbulence.  Interesting experience! 

I filled out the paper for customs, and checked the box for “yes” I brought food, which was a mostly eaten bag of pretzels.  Then I read the back of the paper, and it mentioned “food” being items like fruit, nuts, meat, etc. that was forbidden to bring into the US.  So I crossed out the “yes” box and checked the “no”.  This later caused an issue.  The landing was wobbly, enough to make people say “whoa” and “oh” a lot.  I was too busy praying to say anything.  We never were told why our flight was delayed so long, only that wherever the plane had come from was experiencing very heavy rain; the stewardess implied there were other reasons, but said she didn’t know; I was fine with that, I didn’t need to know. 

Going through customs was ok, but when the border agent saw my scribbled out “yes” box, he asked about it, and I explained that after reading the back, I didn’t know if the pretzels “counted”.  He then asked, “Are you going to eat them or display them on your mantel?”  I wanted to display him on my mantel.  After that, again, I was pulled out of the line and sent to a scanner.  The guy at the scanner asked me if I had food; I said “yes, pretzels in my backpack.”  I then had to place my backpack and my carryon on the conveyer belt.  I walked around and waited.  My backpack came down and I put it on, but another guy grabbed my carryon.  He went all through it, looking confused, went through it all again, and then held his hands up as if to ask “why am I checking this bag?”  I wanted to explain that all of this was over a small bag of pretzels that was currently on my back as I had already stated, but I was too tired to care.  He saw me, asked if the bag was mine, I nodded and he sent it my way.   

After leaving customs I found a lady and asked her where I needed to go to inquire about my room and new flight.  Her directions led me down a hallway that opened up to a check-in area; I found the United economy line and waited with about 30 other people.  Here is where things got out of control.  So many of us missed our connections due to the delay, and soon those other people started to pour in.  Those who were in business/first class walked up to the line by that counter, and this made the guy in front of me, along with some others, very mad.  He told them they were cutting and they needed to go to the back of the line; they explained that they were not economy, thus they were not supposed to be in our line.  This discussion went on for several minutes until an airline employee walked up and told the business/first class group they were in the wrong, making the guys in my line very happy.  Then he pulled me out of line (I wasn’t surprised at this point, why break the cycle?), and he let the guy in front of me move up, and put those he said were out of line in front of me, and I lost several places in line.  The guy who was behind me, who also had complained about people cutting, cut in front of me.  I didn’t know what to do.  Very frustrated and sweaty, I quietly half prayed, half begged to just get my ticket and go to bed.  As time went on the line situation continued to escalate.  Even an employee behind the counter got into a spat with a customer, and the constant grumbling and accusing from those in line brought a police officer over to babysit.  One lady, who also cut in front of me, yelled at another lady who was about to go to the counter when the agent said “Next!”; she informed her that she was in line before her, had been waiting for over an hour, and SHE was going next.  I was there before all of them, but I knew it was a lost cause and really not the end of the world.  You know what happened after that?  Another agent yelled out “Arnett, Stacey Lynn!”  I yelled “Here!” much louder than I had intended; she walked over with my new ticket, my hotel voucher, and two meal vouchers.  I then happily took them and left the bickering ladies behind in line.     

I went upstairs, took a train, walked downstairs, stood on the curb, and waited for the shuttle to the hotel.  For over thirty minutes.  Several other shuttles from several other hotels came and went several times...the one I needed was MIA.  Again I started to think that maybe I should just sleep in the airport (that thought first occurred to me when the fighting in line ensued), but then the glorious little mini bus that was labeled “Ramada Plaza” pulled up.  With glee, I skipped blissfully as I effortlessly toted almost 100 pounds of luggage…actually, I forced my jelly legs to move as fast as they could as the two pieces of luggage I dragged behind bit me on the ankles.  Once seated on the shuttle, I noticed the two guys next to me had been on the plane from Tel Aviv, and they started speaking in Hebrew.  I decided at that moment I did not feel that I was yet in America, and I half listened to their conversation, understanding half of that.

Check-in at the hotel was insanely simple; I showed her my voucher, she typed in my name, and handed me my room key.  When I stepped into my room, I wanted to cry.  There, beautifully decorated in my favorite colors, was an adult-sized bed, all for me.  It took over two hours to leave the airport once my plane landed, so now it was almost 10 PM.  I made a phone call, took a short shower, and climbed into the most amazing, most comfortable bed I have ever had at a hotel.  As tired as I was, I didn’t sleep much, about three hours.  I started getting ready to leave for the airport at about 3:45 AM, checking out was just as easy as checking in, and was on the shuttle by 4.  I got lost at the airport, had to carry my luggage downstairs (no escalator), and had to remove items from my suitcase to make it closer to the 50lb limit (just so you know, you can’t take bottled water on a plane, but you can take rocks the size of baseballs.  Clearly they’ve not been to the Middle East, where one is used to keep you alive and the other is used for the opposite).  As I was hastily transferring rocks from my checked luggage to my carryon, the agent asked me if I had been one of the people who had missed my connection from the Tel Aviv flight; I told him yes, and he said “Oh, I heard it was terrible”.  Wow, word gets around.  He then gave me a window seat with a little extra leg room, and off I went to security.

Going through security was of course a lot faster than in Tel Aviv.  The lady who checked my ID wished me a happy early birthday, and as I said thanks I had to stop and think; wow, my birthday was coming up in a couple of days.  I had forgotten.  As expected, the other lady at the bag scanner asked me to follow her to a table so she could open my carryon.  I still have no idea why I kept getting pulled to the side, but at least she didn’t spend a lot of time going through it; just long enough for me to put my shoes back on.  By this time it was 5:30 and I was hungry, so I then made use of my meal vouchers.  When we got on the plane, I almost froze at how narrow it was.  Once I was seated, I had to keep looking out the window and not at the inside of the plane; I could reach over and touch the man on the other side, and this really bothered me.  Once we were in the air I was fine, and was thrilled beyond words to have finally landed in Atlanta.  Once I received my carryon I made my way to the baggage claim.  Apparently our plane landed on one side of Atlanta, because I had to walk to the other side to reach my luggage.  Once I found it I stepped out into the sunshine and cool air, and as a lowrider passed by blaring rap music, I smiled and thought “ah, America.”  Soon, I spotted my mom and sister coming out of the parking garage (originally all of my family (that live in Georgia) was going to be at the airport, but due to the change my dad and brother had to be at work, and my other sister had to be at home with her kids).  On the way home, I had my first American meal:  double cheeseburger with bacon from Burger King.  It is good to be home.

 

In Tel Aviv; this is the picture that got me in trouble; shows my flight is delayed

Pretty scenery on the way to Atanta

My mom's dog, who was very happy to see me

My hotel room

Well looky here, a blog post...

So, I am still in Israel as planned, just not leaving when planned.  I wanted to come to the airport early in case security was um...thorough, and I am glad I did.  My flight was supposed to leave at 11:45 AM, but when I made it to the departures display, mine was one of two that were delayed...majorly.  My flight is now scheduled to leave at 1:55 PM.  But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

I spent the evening eating a second dinner next door with my friends.  I had eaten a falafel previously, and when I went next door to hang out for a while, they decided to make pasta, and then salmon (which I don't like, but this was amazing...Amir throws together some amazing dishes).  So, at 10:30 PM the 7 of us were sitting around the table, eating, talking, having a great time.  Around 11:30 I was very tired, and I knew I needed to be getting to bed soon, as I had to be up around 4 AM.  When I told Amir bye, he said "but I was going to make you bacon."  My goodness.  So he proceeded to take the bacon out of the refrigerator (I have not eaten bacon since....November?), sliced it up, and started to fry away.  The apartment smelled amazing...well, not to the lone vegetarian in the room.  When he brought me the plate, the smile on my face was evidence enough I was a happy camper.  I got my picture taken as I gobbled it up, and after another 30 minutes, I finally had to say goodbye.  My friend/roommate/OU classmate Sylvie said she did not mind turning in my keys for me later this morning, so I left them on her desk and I spent yet another night on the infamous midget bed as opposed to the squeaky blue couch.  Three short hours later my alarm went off, I stripped the bed, packed my backpack, and then the driver of the sheirut called.  I had just enough time to make it to the North Gate, as within one minute (right on time at 4:45) he pulled up to the curb.  Within 20 minutes the sheirut was full, I was drowsy/hot/nauseous, and we were on our way to the airport.

I arrived to the airport around 6 AM, took a huge breath of fresh, cool air, and made a couple of phone calls from my toy Israeli phone (which I happily shipped back a couple of hours ago), and found a seat.  It was after this that I saw my flight was delayed.  I called my mom and let her know that if the departure time remained the same, I would not be making my flight to Atlanta tonight.  At 8 AM I was allowed into the check-in area where an Israeli security lady held my passport as she asked me questions.  Unlike for some of my other friends who left Israel several weeks ago, this was relatively painless.  Then they scanned my checked luggage, and I got sent to the snooping area. 

The security guy asked me to open my luggage, and after obeying, I took a picture of the departures display.  Promptly a miniature Israeli security guard was at my side demanding I show him the pictures I had just taken; I had the urge to pat him on the head, but thankfully I refrained.  As he perused through my photos, the other guy dug through my underwear and collection of rocks; after ten-fifteen minutes I was allowed to leave.  However, since the United counter had not yet opened, they needed to keep my checked luggage there, and I was free to roam and come back later.  Thirty five minutes later, I was back in line for another fifteen minutes just to pick up the luggage that had already been searched.  When they brought me my bag, they took me straight to the "special" counter that had no line, and the security lady waited there with me.  Perplexed, I practiced listening to Hebrew while I waited another twenty minutes for the lone customer in front of me to complete everything, wondering "why I am I standing here with a bodyguard?" (this question was never answered).  Once I reached the counter, the agent informed me I would not be making my connection to Atlanta, and then she made a phone call.  No, it was not a short phone call.  (I failed to mention that before I walked into security I had to pee, and during my wandering I was not able to locate a bathroom).  While on the phone, she got my attention and said United would pay to put me in a hotel for the night in Newark, including transportation to and from the hotel and meals, and I would fly out to Atlanta at 6:30 AM Tuesday morning.  I agreed (as if I had another choice), and so as of now that is the plan.  Thinking I was in the clear, I put my checked luggage on the scale, and the agent asked me if I had been accompanied by a security guard.  I told her yes, and when she spotted my bodyguard she asked the her a question in Hebrew.  A problem arose: the security guard who very thoroughly inspected my luggage did not tag my luggage, thus it appeared to them my bag had never been checked.  I was told to remove my luggage from the scale, she (the bodyguard) apologized, and when a third person said something in Hebrew (indicating I would not have to go back through security), my bodyguard put a tag on the luggage handle, and said I could put it back on the scale (in the middle of all of this the agent behind the counter said a word in English I cannot repeat; she too was frustrated by this point).  Once I returned the luggage to the scale my bodyguard asked me "are you done?" I said "I hope so."  She smiled and let me exit. 

Thinking that little adventure was over, I realized it only continued as I still needed to have my carry-ons inspected/scanned/questioned...eh.  It didn't take nearly as long, but I did lose a bottle of body spray my sister got me for Christmas (sorry Shannon) because it was too tall.  Then my two rocks from the Dead Sea got the special treatment as the inspector lady left the area completely to talk with a supervisor.  They let me keep them.  Well over two hours later, I finally got to pee, and now I'm writing this blog.  And I'm very hungry.  My only question is why is it so much easier to enter a country than to leave one?  Maybe I'll have an answer after I eat a cheeseburger.  Oh wait, I'm still in Israel...make that a cheeseburger without the cheese.  :)     

Ramblings of a post-ulpan-ee

Well, I finished my Hebrew final a little over an hour ago.  Even though my brain is wanting to find a corner to sit in to suck its thumb and think of a happy place, I realized I needed to update my blog.  Unless I get a few extra minutes by breezing through Israeli security at the airport in the morning (one can always hope), this will be my last post from Israel.  Wow. 

I am already packed, except for my carry on items, and I need to strip down my midget bed and turn in my keys.  Unfortunately, they expect me to lock my bedroom door as well, which means I will be sleeping on the blue squeaky couch tonight.  That's ok, I will have some amazing scenery outside the living room window.  I've been very excited to be heading home, yet today when I left class, I realized it was for the last time.  Tuesday the 23rd marked my 6th month of living here, and needless to say so many things have become familiar.  I sat in the garden for a few minutes but my growling stomach and headache forced me to leave my bench.  Later my friend and I walked to French Hill Falafel, but they wouldn't open for another hour....waaahhh!!  So I'll be having falafel for dinner.  I called for my sheirut (shuttle) to the airport, and I have to be at the North Gate by 4:45 AM.  My plans for the rest of today:  clean, finish packing, turn in keys, say bye to my neighbors, and then relax.  Oh and sleep would be nice; I hope to sleep some during the 12 hour plane ride, but I don't want to sleep too long; by the time I arrive to my parents' house after flight #2, it will be midnight Georgia time (7 AM Israel time), and I will be more than ready to get some shut-eye, thus hopefully eliminating jetlag and my body will naturally be on its normal time zone.

On Thursday, I got to chat with a familiar face: Professor Norman Stillman, who is director of the Judaic Studies Program at OU, has been in Jerusalem for over two weeks for a conference.  After receiving an email stating he was going to be on campus, I walked to the Rabin Building and quickly spotted him among the small crowd.  While speaking with him, he introduced me to his friend Professor Maman, who is the head of the Center for Jewish Studies at Hebrew University.  Very cool!

I'm having a hard time organizing thoughts at the moment, so I will share the random ones:

Did you know Jerusalem is the 23rd (some say 14th) most expensive place to live in the world?  It outranks every US city.  By a long shot. 

The reason meat is expensive here is because of kosher laws; the animals have to be killed in a certain manner to be kosher/clean/fit for consumption; you can read the nitty gritty in the Old Testament.

Turkey recently released a bird that was suspected of spying for Israel; after x-rays revealed the bird was not "embedded with surveillance equipment", it was set free.  Well, that's nice.
I guess there was no evidence of "fowl" play?

I will not miss hearing fireworks/gunshots/explosions in the desert (IDF training).

We have metal detectors and bag checkers on campus because of a bombing attack at the cafeteria 11 years ago (see pics).

 I've been waking up every morning between 4-5 AM and have not used an alarm clock for over two months.

I will greatly miss my coffee creation at the Aroma Espresso Bar...half iced coffee with blended Oreos and half iced chocolate (iced=smoothie/shake, none of that ice cube nonsense).

The bottled water here is kosher for Pesach (Passover), in case you need to know in the future.

Mt. Dew is not available in Israel.

I haven't had milk in over 3 months.  Or cookies for that matter.

Living in Jerusalem and travelling across Israel has been an experience that is more amazing than I or anyone could convey with words and/or pictures.

Inside the Church of the Holy Sepluchre, above the little room that is traditionally believed to be where Jesus was buried/resurrected

On a wall in the Old City

Inside a small restaurant, downtown Jerusalem

I fell down the stairs, had a golf ball-sized pocket of fluid; this was over two months ago and it is still sore today

Colorful bruises

See the cross?

When my roommates from France left after the semester, they left me this; most of the food had expired BEFORE I arrived in January.

What it looked like after I cleaned it

My favorite drink

Tilting Tree memorial for the bombing

 

 

 

The cafeteria today...cats love it there

11 Days, 1 Hour and 12 Minutes

Well, I've started packing (and the countdown, hence the title), and the suitcase didn't have nearly as much dust on it as I thought it would.  It has been living under my midget bed these last (almost) 6 months.  Granted, I started packing a tad early, but I confess I'm a bit excited.  Thrilled actually.  And yet, I am sad.  I love Israel, especially Jerusalem.  I was talking with my friend who lives next door, who is studying here but is from the Haifa area, and we both agreed that although we love to travel to other places in Israel, we are always happy when the vehicle we are in starts to climb those hills, indicating we are making the ascent back to Jerusalem.  There truly is something special, unique, comforting, and familiar about this place.  Coming back to Jerusalem from a trip always feels like coming home.  At this time, I do not foresee taking another trip outside of Jerusalem, aside from the one I will take to the airport in Tel Aviv in a week and half.  As expected, ulpan has made the time speed up exponentially, in contrast to the sluggish semester.  I confess I hit a wall this week in terms of learning Hebrew; my brain decided it has had enough and needs a break from the constant learning and the energy it takes to put into practice what it has learned...so, here I sit on the squeaky blue couch writing instead of being in class.  Actually, I have an appointment with the lovely Ministry of the Interior, so walking alllll the way uphill to spend a little bit of time in class just to turn around and walk back did not seem practical to me...or much fun.

Tuesday was the 9th of Av on the Jewish calendar, and that meant no class for us (as a result we now have class tomorrow on Friday...bleh).  The 9th of Av is a day of mourning and fasting, and is the saddest day on the Jewish calendar.  A lot has transpired on that particular day, starting in the bible when Moses sent spies to check out the land; Joshua and Caleb returned with the group and said "The land is amazing; we can take this place, let's do this!", but the others were like "Um, noooo, there are giants in the land, we're like ants to them; ain't no way we're going back in there to be slaughtered by those big boys!" (my paraphrasing, of course).  This mixed report caused fear to spread among the children of Israel, and the masses sided with the latter group, and complained and grumbled yet again (they grumbled a lot), saying it would be better if they had stayed in Egypt.  As a result, God was not happy about this and told them that no one from that generation (over 20 years old), with the exception of Joshua and Caleb, would live to see the land He had promised to give them; they would all die in the desert.  And that is precisely what happened...and it was the 9th day of the month of Av.  Centuries later, in 586 B.C., the First Temple was destroyed on the 9th of Av.  In 70 A.D., on the 9th of Av, the Romans destroyed the Second Temple.  In 1290, the Jews were expelled from England...on the 9th day of Av.  What else happened on this day?  In 1492 (besides Columbus sailing the ocean blue), the Jews were expelled from another country...Spain.  WWI, which historians conclude led into WWII, began on the 9th of Av.  We all know about the Holocaust during WWII, but do you know when the "Final Solution" (mass liquidation of European Jews) was issued?  On the 9th of Av.  Needless to say, it is a cursed day. 

I had planned on spending my day off from class as a good little student, studying and memorizing and all that stuff that I assume a good little student does, but a classmate invited me to go to the Dead Sea and a spring with her and her Israeli friend.  Um, yes please.  We left a little later than we wanted, as the car rental place was not in a hurry.  I was picked up at 11 and off we went in our little metal Suzuki box on wheels.  We were in the contraption ten minutes when we were flagged down by a police officer in the West Bank.  We had driven right through a stop sign "on four wheels", said the officer (are you supposed to drive through on less?), and after smiling a lot and apologizing, we were on our way with only a warning.  We honestly did not see the sign; good thing I don't have my own car here.  Our first stop was the spring.  The road leading to it snaked up and down and around the steep hills of the Judean Desert, and I prayed a lot.  Especially when the Israeli citizen-friend in the passenger seat grabbed her seatbelt; I assumed that was not a good sign.  My classmate is a good driver, the road was just scary as heck, loaded with surprisingly sharp turns.  Thankfully we survived and arrived to our destination.  We were completely surrounded by desert hills and we had to walk down a path to the spring and the stream.  After about 10 minutes we came to a cute little area with a cute little waterfall and cute little fishes.  After a couple hours, walked back up the trail (it's amazing how much you can sweat in a 10 minute walk) to begin driving to our second destination: St. George Monastery, which is built into the cliffs in the desert.  Now here is where I almost died.

Keep in mind, this whole trip is in the desert.  We stopped at a lookout point, and from there observed the monastery.  It looked really amazing tucked into the crevices of the mountain.  After some deliberation, we agreed to drive down to get a closer look.  Unfortunately we couldn't get very close with our "car".  Yep, more walking.  As usual at these touristy sites, there were Bedouins with little tables and whatnot, filled with jewelry and head coverings to be sold at a very low price.  We had seen these along the trip so far, but this one near the monastery was selling cold drinks.  I caved after one older guy placed a cool orange on my arm; 5 shekels later I was sipping a freshly made orange drink.  Two Bedouins followed us down the steep paved path on their donkeys.  The road was made up of sharp right angles, and after 10-15 minutes we were once again in view of the Monastery.  I admit that it looks more impressive from a distance, and though we were closer at this point, we still had a long way to walk.  Because of the heat and the fact that I was sweating like an ice cube in August, we decided to turn back and make our way to the vehicle.  We could have ridden the donkeys back up...for 30 shekels.  We declined, and our "guides" left us in the steamy dust.  The way up was agonizing.  Torturous.  Ridiculous.  And hot.  When I reached the top, my heart didn't know whether to melt or explode.  I immediately gulped down some very warm water from my backpack, and poured some over my head and face.  I was definitely overheated.  The sweat that was dripping continually from my hair to my shirt was evidence of this. 

Back on the road, we stopped at a gas station where I inhaled chocolate covered Oreo ice cream, and within minutes we were back on the road driving to the Dead Sea, our final destination.  We arrived a little after 4pm, and after crossing the road from the parking lot we made our descent to the salty water.  We stopped under the shade of some brush to eat a snack or two, and of course to drink more water.  Right after our break I was standing in the Dead Sea, which I had previously been in back in February.  In February the temperature of the water was probably around 55 degrees Fahrenheit, which was too cold for me.  This time however, I felt I was sitting in a nice warm bath.  Unlike the public beach I had visited in February, this location was full of the famous Dead Sea mud, and in no time I had smeared it all over my arms, legs, back, and neck/throat area (this is the mud you buy at the mall at those little kiosks because it's good for your skin).  At one point, while waking in the water, I was in up to my shins, but my right leg sank down in the mud up to mid-thigh.  In the process of pulling my leg out, the shards of salt cut my foot and leg in several places.  Of course, the salt in the water coming into contact with the cuts resulted in a nice burning sensation, which lasted for several minutes.  Even after getting out of the water, the cuts were bleeding.  I went back into the water, endured the pain, and eventually it stopped, along with the bleeding.  I cannot put into words how peaceful it was to effortlessly float in that water, staring into the short distance at the Jordanian mountains, and not hearing a sound except a bird or two.  It was amazing.  Since all of my family members have requested I bring them a rock from Israel, I began to walk along the Dead Sea shore in search of these free gifts.  I was shocked to find places in the water near the shore to be too hot to stand in, but I did find a lot of neat rocks (which I spent a long time washing yesterday).  The residue from the Dead Sea is really quite annoying and very difficult to remove.  Once I arrived back to my apartment, I immediately washed my hands (twice) and then took a long shower, and I could still feel the salty residue afterwards. 

Besides feeling greasy, I was dehydrated.  Even though I drank 3 liters of water, it was not enough.  I learned that you need to take small drinks continually so your body can absorb it; I drank it in gulps, which I then immediately sweat out.  And for the record, I didn't have to pee all day.  I had a nice headache once I got home, and I was drained most of the next day (yesterday).  I've drank plenty of water since then, and I have eaten a lot of salt to replace what I lost, so now I feel much better.  Not to mention, my brain is thankful for the break from class today.  The following are some pictures and videos I took during the trip to the desert with my phone:

St. George Monastery

One of the Bedouin who followed us down the path

Me and the mud, with the Dead Sea and Jordan in the background

Needed a new pic for my feet


The following video shows the mud, which is really like clay:



      

I dream of bacon

Today is my mom's birthday...Happy Birthday mom!!!  I fell asleep while studying last night, I woke up around 8:30 pm and realized I was literally exhausted, so I gave up and went back to sleep.  Going to bed really early means waking up really early; I was up before 5, and remembered my friends who have already returned to America wanted to have a video chat (at 10 pm EST=5 am for me).  Once I figured out how to join the conversation (technology really has a way of making one feel old), I got to see their smiling faces.  Unfortunately this only lasted about 10 minutes as my internet connection wouldn't hold, and I got the boot more times than I can count.  I eventually gave up and took a shower.  But it was fun while it lasted.

Ulpan has been quite the rollercoaster ride; there are times I walk out of my 5+ hour class and wonder "What was I thinking?  I can't do this", blah blah blah, and then there are days I walk out happy that I was able to understand what we talked about in class and I feel confident once again that ulpan will not be the death of me.  Yesterday was one of those days and I hope the trend continues today.  My teacher told me I study too much (yes, it IS possible).  I usually do things all-out, it's my personality, however in this case (and probably in others too) I need to study in increments, not immerse myself for hours; my little brain just can't take the punishment.  I have discovered this actually works; I study for 10-15 minutes, take a break, and return.  I remember vocabulary much better and I do not feel like I'm drowning.  In addition, yesterday during one of our breaks I was reading my new favorite book in the bible, Ecclesiastes, and I came across a verse (12:12) that supports this: "Of making many books there is no end, and much study is wearisome to the flesh."  Amen.

I get asked from time to time, what will I miss when I leave Israel?  Of course people is a given.  Yesterday one of my roommates, Judith, was trying to teach me modern vernacular (I'm afraid I'm more lame than I realized), and I learned that my rope sandals are "hipster".  I think that's a compliment...?  Aside from people, what I will miss most is my garden.  Not that I own it of course, but it has become my sanctuary, my safe place to think, ponder, wonder, question, nap, eat, read, watch lizards sunbathe, listen to my mp3 player, pet the grey cat that always finds me there, watch a new building being constructed from its very foundation to where it currently stands, look at the Separation Wall...the list goes on.  I walk through it every day on my way to and from class, and I go there for almost every break.  It is a large garden with numerous trails that all end up meeting at four different exits, one being the exit from the campus.  There are innumerable trees (I found some yesterday that are usually found in the Sinai), bushes, flowers, benches, frog ponds, three tombs, and small waterfalls.  All of this combined with an amazing view to the East, showcasing the Judean Desert, part of the West Bank, and on a clear day Jordan and the Dead Sea.  It is a garden that shows off the diversity of Israel; parts of the garden are tropical, and other parts remind me I am in a desert (Jerusalem sits on the edge of the desert, and over half of Israel is desert).  My only complaint is that once Shabbat starts Friday evening and continues through Saturday evening, the campus is closed and I do not have access to the garden.  Ok my other complaint is that usually when I get home from class I have to change into a dry shirt.

All of the following pictures (taken with my IPhone) are taken inside the garden, except for the ones of the Student Village towards the end.

 

Fuzzy leaf

 

My second favorite place to sit/nap

 

Of course there would be a cat in the path

The bench I claim as mine

 

The grey cat found me today

Frog pond

Interesting way to pour concrete on a roof

Main entrance to the Student Village

Stairs I have to climb every day (walking down isn't so bad)

Courtyard

My window on the 7th floor (technically 8th, they start with floor 0)

The slowest elevators in Israel

I haven't told my mom and dad this yet, but I have started a list on my IPhone of foods I want them to cook for me; this list grows daily with every peanut butter sandwich I eat:

The List

 

I just realized I've never taken pictures of my apartment, I might do that next time.

Charlie randomly takes elevator rides, a lot of the time ends up in our apartment

#30

Well I am sad to report that there will most likely be no more pictures posted, unless they come from my IPhone, as my camera cord is recently deceased.  Decapitated actually.  I expected what little clothes I brought and my shoes to give out while I was here (and they have), but I didn't expect my camera equipment to bite the dust; after I dropped my zoom lens on the Temple Mount a few months ago, it was all downhill from there.  But hey, what better place to drop an expensive piece of equipment?  That's what I tell myself anyway.

Ulpan.  Hebrew word that translates to "studio", which apparently translates in English to "a room that is filled with hopeful students that are probably clueless of the effects of being subjected to ridiculous amounts of Hebrew being crammed into their brains in an incredibly short amount of time."  The good news is I have learned more in the last week and a half than I did all semester...or that is bad news, depending on how you look at it.  I find myself thinking and answering myself in Hebrew, my English conversations are intermittently mixed (unintentionally) with Hebrew words and phrases, and soon I will probably be dreaming in Hebrew.  Basically Hebrew has been my life ever since June 23rd.  The amount of hours I spend in class Sunday through Thursday outnumber the hours I spend sleeping in a week.  My current schedule looks like this: I go to class, study, eat, nap, eat, and study...and eat (I'm still eating what seems like non stop, and I still don't  know where it's going...I've gained a whole 3 pounds since December).  When my eyes start to cross I crawl out of my room to visit with my awesome new roommates, one of whom is a classmate from my Hebrew class at OU...what are the odds??  Of all the apartments in all the buildings, she was moved into mine.  Amazing. 

The thing about ulpan is it makes the time fly by.  My time in Israel is winding down, as my roommates and I just realized we have a little over 3 weeks left of class, and I leave the next day.  Soon my countdown will shift from days to hours.  My time in Israel has been an experience I can hardly put into words, which was the purpose for this blog, and though I am more excited than I can convey at the thought of going home, at the same time I am in no hurry to leave this amazing place.  To say Israel is a unique and special place is a gross understatement.  For example, whenever someone says anything to me about seeing all the Apache helicopters (Apache AH 64D Longbows to be exact) landing nearby and daily circling overhead (here in the Student Village usually low enough to see the pilots' faces), my response is "welcome to Israel."  A couple days ago a "suspicious device" was reduced to toast downtown, and I heard a rumor that there was a bomb scare at Hadassah Hospital, which I walk by daily to and from school.  But as I've mentioned before, this is the norm in Israel.  Unfortunately. 
 

Apache Longbow; releasing anti-missile flares

 

 

Anti-Semitism and terror threats aside, I am fascinated with the effects and influences of religion here.  In terms of anything and everything to do with life, it is the basis, the foundation, the cause, the reason...the fuel for the fire.  If I were wearing close-toed shoes, I would have to remove them to count how many times the Temple Mount has been closed to tourists due to an outburst of violence.  I will never forget the yelling and the anger in the faces of the Haredi at the Women of the Wall service, nor will I forget being closely followed and occasionally yelled at (in Arabic) on the Temple Mount, or being kicked out of the White Mosque in Nazareth by a very not-so-happy Muslim.  Needless to say, most (if not all) of my experiences here where religion is concerned have been anything but pleasant...tense is probably a good word.  Frustrating is another good one.  These experiences remind me why I hate religion, and it makes me appreciate even more what Jesus did on the cross.  Love.  Mercy.  Grace.  We need a lot more of these I think.

 

Well my Hebrew is calling my name (in English), but I will write more soon.  !להתראות