So I'm doing well.
Especially in regards to neglecting this blog. It's a bit daunting to start writing about what has happened so far because there is so much to write about and organizing it all into something that doesn't resemble some nonsensical blob of information is going to be difficult. But it probably will be a nonsensical blob of information anyway because I'm basically writing in a poorly edited stream of consciousness kind of way, adding pictures in order to detract from the fact that I'm not a writer and don't always know how to make transition between paragraphs.
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| OHWOWSOCOOLDONTNEEDACONNECTINGSENTENCE |
Deciding to take a five month sabbatical to live and study in Jerusalem may be the best present I have ever given myself. I figured that this was probably the time in my life to take a sabbatical seeing as I have no obligations. I am not responsible for anyone's financial or physical well being but my own, nor is anyone responsible for mine. I saved for months, contributing greatly to my already existing savings account, in order to ensure that I could support myself and live comfortably in Jerusalem. I wanted to reward myself for the years of studying and working with something I've always wanted to do but could never afford: to live and study abroad. And rewarding studying with more studying makes complete sense. Right. Anyway.
It wasn't that I wasn't happy with my life in DC. On the contrary, my life in DC was amazing and I am completely grateful for it. It consisted of family, Andy, friends, fitness classes, the gym, work, concerts, etc. But I felt that I needed a change of pace and environment. And when I realized I had the opportunity to engage my quarter life crisis, I went for it.
Using Craigslist, I found a tenant for my DC condo, which means my mortgage and condo fee are covered, and I make a small profit out of renting, just enough to cover my cellphone bill and most of my food expenses per month. I found my apartment in Israel by looking at several postings on the Pardes housing list serve and had my mom's first cousin's *insert the rest of how we are somehow related by family* Gadi check out the places before I made a decision. I don't know what I would have ended up with if it hadn't been for him! This trip took a considerable amount of planning and coordination and it was good to know that when I have to/want to, I can be extremely organized and proactive. Though I may be judging this solely off of my ability to deal with Comcast and the Israeli embassy at the same time a week prior to my departure.
And it was worth it. The stress, the worry and the sleepless nights were all worth it because I am so unbelievably happy here as I learn to relax and get out of work mode. At the start of the semester, there were several frantic moments where I would rummage through my purse looking for my work badge because it had the keys to the women's bathroom. How would I enter the building? How would I pee?! After several seconds, I would suddenly realize that I didn't need a badge to get into the building, or a key to use the bathroom and that oh my goodness, I was so well trained.
But that was nearly a month ago. And so far I have been enjoying a quality of life that I did not have in the US.
Kind of. Because OMG THE FOOD. The food is amazing here: fresh, delicious, and cheap (if it's from the shuk). I think I could write several entries on the food alone. The fruits and veggies actually taste like they're supposed to. And they make up a huge part of my diet, which, in addition to all the fruits and veggies, consists of candy, falafel, and MEAT. SO MUCH MEAT. And it's everywhere! It's just REALLY REALLY great to be surrounded by kosher meat.
Most of all, it feels really nice to be in a place where no one feels the need to comment on my diet. Here in Jerusalem, when people have you over for dinner, they ask about any additional dietary restrictions beforehand. And they don't try to make you feel guilty or weird about it. Almost everyone keeps kosher and even those who do not are still respectful. What is this magical place?!
Food is such an integral part of connecting and uniting people and I think some people, especially people that were never exposed to a diversity of culture or food, take it to heart and get offended when you don't eat the same thing as them. Or they get upset if you can't eat their signature dish or some food that they felt was particularly delicious that they swear you would compliment them on if you would only just try it. Or they assume you're judging them or they think you're trying to be different on purpose.
But here, no one gives a fuck. Because it's a city full of yiddishe mamas who just want to feed you.
In Jerusalem, there is kosher food for those who want it, but also plenty of places that sell and serve non-kosher food. Pretty much every restaurant has vegetarian options and there are gluten and sugar free products easily available in several stores and bakeries. And they are much, much better than the cardboard tasting gluten free crap in the US. Eating certain foods with gluten makes me very sick, but I usually leave the pain for future Nataliya because the baked goods here are pretty amazing and I figure she can handle it. Future Nataliya usually hates past Nataliya a lot, but figures she will become past Nataliya at a certain point and there will be always be an opportunity for revenge. And I help keep the peace when I can by purchasing yummy gluten free challah and gluten free Italian bread that is baked with rosemary, sun dried tomatoes, oregano and garlic.
So it's not hard to be well fed here. And this is just a sample of what I eat:
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| SALAD |
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| Falafel with fries |
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| OMNONOM <3 Hamburger from Daisy Burger |
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| MOAR SALAD! |
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| Veggies and eggs (though tomatoes are technically a fruit)! |
"I can't help it," Martine explains. "I just get so nervous. What if they lose?"
In the first week, I would wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, completely disoriented. It would take me a few seconds to realize where I was. But now I sleep through the night, occasionally awakened by the sprinkler system at three in the morning if I leave my window open. This is becoming less of a problem as the nights grow colder.
Awesome food and crappy sleep aside, I am still exercising and keeping in shape. My body is something that I really love and am proud of. I work hard to stay healthy and fit and it's important for me to maintain a positive body image and in order to do so, I try to exercise at least three to five times a week. It also helps that I spend over an hour everyday walking.
I've started on P90X and so far, I'm pleasantly sore. I am especially enamored by the Ab Ripper X exercises because abs are my favorite muscles to work on. However, the exercises are rather uncomfortable because they involve a lot of leaning on my "mutant" tailbone (note: tailbone's nickname courtesy of Andy). In my junior year at UMD, I went on a month long trip to Uruguay with a group of friends. On a trip to Punta del Este, being the naturally suave person that I am, I had jumped backwards onto a hotel bed, not knowing that one of the wooden bed posts was covered by the duvet. This resulted in a broken tailbone and though it has healed since, it's bent out of shape and juts out of the bottom of my spine so that when I do ab exercises on a hard floor, it scrapes against the surface and is quite uncomfortable. I usually have to put a pillow or a towel down and this helps, but I can still feel it. This also goes for oblique exercises since my hips are bony. It's still worth it to work out this way because I love the feel of sore ab muscles and the results I get.
Running, on the other hand, is still my greatest fitness love and running in Jerusalem is a fulfilling challenge.
Running downhill - you see the city expand before you and everything is beautiful.
Running uphill - you hate everything, including the person walking leisurely downhill on the same path as they watch you struggle to run up some stupid 45 degree slope.
I usually run down the main road in my area in my neighborhood which is Derech Hevron, but I also run on the Rakevet, which is the old Jerusalem railway station whose tracks have been made into bicycle, walking, and running paths and the station area is home to several restaurants, bars, and art vendors. It's now a place for families and young people alike to walk around and hang out in.
I have also been running around the Haas Promenade, otherwise known as the Tayelet, next to my apartment complex. I'm a little obsessed with it. It has a view of the entire city, is quiet and peaceful and the shrubbery smells like fresh cinnamon, lavender and rosemary. Numerous walking/running paths wind down the side of the hill, making for a pleasant and scenic run/walk. Sometimes after an especially long day, I descend down the Tayelet, sit on one of the benches that has the most pleasing view to me, and listen to the adhan echo throughout the city while watching the sunset. This has to be timed perfectly and it makes for a beautiful and relaxing experience. It's always exactly what I need to ground myself.
The hill upon which the Tayelet sits is known as the Hill of the Evil Counsel, where Judas plotted against Jesus along with the High Priest Caiphas. This was the site where they decided to arrest Jesus. How do we know this? Because during the 4th century, Emperor Constantine sent his mother, Empress Helena, to the Holy Land in order to locate Christian relics, and she picked out sites where she found crosses and nails and built churches over them and/or declared the sites as holy to Christianity. She supposedly found the true cross and nails upon which Jesus was crucified. I say supposedly because there are other denominations of Christianity who claim to have the real cross and nails. She also had a huge entourage with her and destroyed a bunch of Roman temples and built churches over them as well. And that's as much as I remember about her from my early Christianity class at UMD.
In the morning, there is almost no one around the Tayelet and usually it was only me at 5:45ish starting my run and watching the sun rise over the Jerusalem. I often got lost in my thoughts and didn't realize how far downhill I was until I looked around me and suddenly panicked when I saw how alone and far off I was from the main road. I never even did this in DC. But it's hard when the view is so beautiful and there are so many paths to run. However, due to continuous warnings to be careful, I decided to start avoiding it all together in the morning because it's simply not worth the risk to become a cautionary tale of that American girl who didn't heed safety warnings.
Talpiot, the neighborhood I live in, is a mix of working and middle class families. The area is diverse, with Jews, Arabs, Filipino migrant workers and settled refugees from Sudan and/or Eritrea commonly seen walking about. A ten minute walk down the street from my apartment is the Green Line, the line that indicates the pre-1967 border of Israel, and along the line are several Arab villages. It's odd to think how tiny this area really is. Bethlehem is only a ten minute drive down the road from me. A 15 minute walk in the other direction is the Ramat Rachel kibbutz, an archaeological park, cherry orchards and the Palestinian neighborhood of Tsur Baher.
Overall, I feel that my neighborhood is safe (*knocks on wood*). But during holidays, late nights in class, and Shabbat, I walk home in the dark by myself and it is definitely creepy. Not because there are creepy people, but because it is completely empty. There is almost no one walking or driving. Sometimes I'll hear the occasional cat skitter away or meow loudly, but overall, it is complete silence except for the sound of my own footsteps. It still freaks me out a little bit and I usually hurry to the apartment as quickly as I can.
But other than all of that, I feel safe and happy here.
I am not being bombed by Syria, mom. I do not feel as if I need a gas mask and the room I am renting is the mamad (read: bomb shelter). The door is so heavy that I had a hard time closing it when I first arrived and the window was made to withstand chemical weapons so there is no airflow in the room when the window is closed. While this is a good thing in case of a chemical weapon attack, it is also a bad thing since I still need to breath when chemical weapons aren't present. The room is suffocating when the window is closed so I pretty much always leave it open just a bit. Since we are on the ground floor, my window has bars, built in blinds, and it peeks out into the garden which is surrounded by stone walls and a wooden fence. In the garden, my flatmate grows pomegranates and has a lemon tree, among other things.
"I used to stock bottled water in your room in case of emergencies but then I would just end up drinking it all," Martine said, when explaining safety here.
I can't speak for all Israelis, but the Israelis I've spoken to in Jerusalem rolled their eyes at me when I've mentioned gas masks. "Don't worry!" is what most people have said to me. "We'll probably just get rockets from Hezbollah."
Israeli citizens can pick up gas masks at specific locations (or alternatively can have them mailed to their doorstep for ~40 shekels) but tourists and students will only get them if the government feels there is a significant threat of chemical weapon use. They did hand out gas masks to tourists and students at the beginning of both Gulf Wars but do not feel it is significant enough of a threat at the moment.
Truthfully, I'm more worried about crossing the street. I was told to take precaution as a pedestrian since "more Israelis have died crossing the street than in all of the wars combined." I don't know how true that is, but this has made me forever paranoid. I am very careful as most people drive like maniacs, and on holidays and in the evenings, since roads are empty, the people who happen to be driving seem to think Jerusalem streets become Formula 1 race tracks. However, the thing that surprised me the most is that cars do stop for me if I am at a crosswalk which is more than I can say for DC drivers.
But the sense of adventure that I get every time I need to cross the street is starting to wane and I'm starting to get used to the driving, like with everything else here.
The adjustment into living in Jerusalem has been much slower and more gradual than I expected. Much of it has to do with the language barrier and the initial jet lag.
I barely remember anything from the day after I arrived.
I woke up at 8 for the orientation at 9. I somehow managed to drag myself out of the house. It was a beautiful, sunny day with a lovely breeze but I couldn't really focus and everything seemed foggy. A man winked at me and said something under his breath as he passed by me. I crossed a street. And another street. And another. I met teachers and fellow students and forgot their names and faces almost immediately.
After orientation and some caffeine, I wanted to be productive. I wanted to get things done and begin to settle in. I wandered over to Super Sol Deal, a grocery store on Pierre Koenig street next to Pardes, to grab food and toiletries. I walked into the toiletries aisle and stared at the huge selection of shampoos, conditioners, and soaps.
When testing my Hebrew skills (or lack thereof), one of the teachers told me to read a passage in a book.
"That's very interesting," he said when I finished. "Your English tells me you're American, but your Hebrew tells me that you're Russian." That was embarrassing, but not necessarily a bad thing.
There is a large population of Russians and/or Russian speakers in Israel and I hear Russian spoken around me constantly. It has been a huge help to be bilingual here because Russian people stick out like sore thumbs. This is especially true for older Russian people. Their clothing, their bitchy resting faces so similar to my own, and their accents in Hebrew are all very recognizable and they always know where the bathroom is/where the bus is going. On the whole however, pretty much everyone has been interacting with me in Hebrew, only occasionally switching to English when they see that I'm just staring at them and saying "yes" repeatedly. And apparently almost no one in the service industry speaks Russian.
Except one Bulgarian check out lady who was convinced that I was Asian.
"Are you Asian?" she asked.
"Um..well I'm from Kiev originally, but if you're wondering about my accent it's because I've actually been living in-."
"There are many people of Asian descent in Bulgaria," she loudly interrupted as she scanned my produce and handed it to me. "So I can tell. Somewhere in your bloodline is an Asian. I can see it. You have that look. Someone in your family was an Asian. *pause* Okay? Come back again soon!"
But it was really nice to finally understand a cashier, even though it was an odd, mostly one sided conversation.
My go-to Hebrew word for when I don't understand anything is 'ken' or yes. This works half the time. If I notice they say 'ken?' in an odd way, I quickly change to 'lo!' or no. This works 0.05% of the time because usually they are asking me an open ended question.
When I finally went to buy toiletries at a pharmacy, they asked me how I would like to pay and if I would like to pay in installments. There is an option for people that if you cannot afford to pay for something all at once or if you would like to break the total up into separate payments, you can pay in as little as 3 installments, or as high as 36.
So when I answered "ken!" when the cashier asked me how I would like to pay, switching to "....lo?" did not help. Thankfully, a lady shopping nearby felt bad for me and helped but interactions like that make me frustrated and wanting to learn more.
In the beginning, when people approached me in the street to ask something, I told them that I didn't know or that I didn't understand. My bitchy resting face does not deter people here. This may be because many others here also have bitchy resting faces so they assume that it is a native expression.
Thankfully, as my Hebrew improves, I still tell people that I don't know or understand what they're saying, but I have given directions several times when I do understand what they're asking and it makes me feel accomplished. At the same time, it also makes me feel guilty and nervous and I always hope that I'm telling them to go to the right place. Because in reality, I still don't understand 90% of what people are saying to me.
Two weeks ago, a woman at the supermarket shoved a cup of yogurt (unopened) in my face and asked me something in Hebrew.
"Ken!" I said, hoping that would make her go away.
She stared at me.
"Ani lo mevina," I finally told her. I don't understand.
"Anglit?" she asked.
"I speak English."
"What do you think of this?"
"Errr...it looks okay?"
I don't think I gave her the answer that she wanted because she then smirked at me and walked away.
In all honestly, I didn't even know it was yogurt until Martine told me it was. In fact, I had bought a couple of cups of what I thought was yogurt but it turned out to be cottage cheese instead. It was delicious and I ate it anyway.
But the language barrier is something that I've been struggling with and trying to improve. I've been here for a month and so far, I have learned to ask a vendor at the market if they have a particular item, to give directions to my apartment, tell a food vendor the ingredients that I want in my falafel/shwarma pita, tell the vendor that I want that order to go, and how to order a shot of vodka.
I have been studying Hebrew in my off-time and trying to memorize and learn as much grammar and vocabulary as possible. Google translate has been my fair weather friend through all of this. I don't always trust it since the grammar is often icky and it doesn't recognize first person gender conjugation. And now I trust it even less due to one terrible moment when I was about to order the vodka shot. I was with a group of fellow students and I looked up how to say "shot of vodka."
כוסית וודקה (kusit vodka) was what it came back with. But just to make sure my pronunciation was correct, I checked with one of the more fluent members of our group.
He looked at me oddly for a moment and then burst out laughing. "What...why are you saying that?"
"This is what I got from Google Translate." I showed him the translation on my phone.
"Don't say that," he said, laughing. "Well actually, do say it. It'll be interesting to see how our waitress reacts."
Apparently, the word כוסית (kusit), while it can mean glass, is Hebrew slang for the C word.
That is definitely not the kind of vodka I wanted.
Google Translate, how could you!?
Thankfully, I was instructed on the proper way to order a shot. A shot in Hebrew is called a chaser (צ'ייסר), so when I said "אני רוצה צ'ייסר אבסולוט ולימון גם ,בבקשׁה," (I want a shot of Absolut and a lemon also, please), I got exactly what I wanted. And now I'm going to remember that sentence forever. Especially since vodka shots are something I always order because 1. they make me pee less 2. I don't get hungover with all the sugary mixers and 3. they are a good way of making sure the bartender isn't screwing me over which is sometimes hard to tell with a mixed drink.
The cost of alcohol here is only marginally less than DC, but I was also at a bar off of a busy street. The shot cost me about 18 shekels, or about 5$, which isn't bad since shots can be anywhere from 7-10$ in DC depending on where you go. The cost of buying in a liquor store is the same as DC as well and there is also a larger kosher wine selection. But if you specifically want non-kosher wine, there are stores that sell that as well. While I keep kosher to a strong degree, I am not strict when it comes to alcohol.
And with my British-Israeli roommate, I am learning more and more about the different kinds. Such as mixing Pimms with Sprite and apples to make a sort of English Sangria. Or mixing beer and Sprite to create a shandy. Or the already mentioned vodka with apple juice.
From that bar where I ordered a shot, I decided to cab it home since night buses take longer and I still have to walk about 20 minutes to get home from the stop.
I have had three experiences with Jerusalem cabs and the latest was unsettling.
My friend Rosella was visiting Jerusalem with her family and we had agreed to meet at Hatzot for dinner. This was right after Shabbat and buses usually start running an hour after Shabbat ends so I grabbed the first one out. I found the restaurant easily, met up with Rosella, and we both ordered the Jerusalem mixed grill, which is various chicken pieces (heart, liver, etc) grilled to perfection. We were also served various delicious sides.
Afterwards, we walked down to Ben Yehuda to wander. It was filled with babies. And by babies, I mean the 18-21 crowd. The last time I had been down that street, I was the same age as these babies. They were mostly kids learning in seminaries and yeshivas. It also seemed like there were more bars and restaurants than there were 6 years ago. Loud music blared loudly from several streets. We also saw a Chabad dance party/concert.
We walked to Cafe Kadosh where Rosella ordered fresh carrot juice and I ordered a shot of vodka with lemon. We sat and talked for a while before we decided to call it a night. She walked back to where she was meeting her family and I decided to get a cab.
The first cabbie refused to use a meter so I refused to get in the cab. I found a cabbie that did and got in. This guy also spoke English. I thought this was a good thing.
"Why don't you sit up front with me, sweetheart?" he patted the front seat as he drove away from the sidewalk. "I want to see your face. I want to look at you. You're very beautiful."
This was probably the last thing I wanted to hear at one in the morning.
"I'm okay here," I said, clutching my purse to my chest like it was some kind of security blanket. He was speeding down the street and I momentarily contemplated opening the door and hurtling myself out but then thought about the prospect of hitting a light pole or a parked car.
After not being able to convince me to sit up front, he asked me where I was from. I told him that I'm from DC.
"You're married?"
"No, but I have a boyfriend."
"Here in Israel?"
I stupidly didn't lie. "No, in the US, but I'll be back in a short while and he's coming to visit me very soon." The conversation descended from there.
"Just a boyfriend? You must be feeling lonely. So long without the loving touch of a man. It's perfectly natural. People have needs. I have needs. You have needs. Why don't you and I get together-"
"You can stop here," I said, feeling very uncomfortable at this point. We were almost near Derech Hevron, where I could have caught another cab easily.
He refused and drove faster. "This isn't even close to where you're going." He smiled at me into the rear view mirror." I'll take you home."
I quietly panicked as he continued, interjecting every once in a while in a spew of Hebrew. I had never been happier to not understand what someone was saying. "You and I should do something together. You're just so *hebrewhebrewhebrew* I would just love to *hebrewhebrewhebrewhebrew*"
"WE'RE GETTING MARRIED NEXT MONTH," I practically shouted at him.
"Oh," he said, disappointed. "Oh really? How old are you?"
"36."
"You look so young!"
"I get that a lot."
"That's a good time to get married and have kids," he sighed. "I bet you've already done and seen all there is to see and do."
Whatever the fuck that meant.
I was disgusted but so grateful that he didn't realize that my 'boyfriend' turned into a 'fiance' in the span of minutes. And he didn't ask to see a ring. I was thankful for his stupidity.
"So how are you enjoying Israel?" And with that, the conversation became normal henceforth, as if he didn't just proposition me earlier. I had him drop me off on the corner of Beitar and Yanovski, ten minutes away from my apartment, practically threw the money at him, and ran out of the cab without saying thank you or goodbye.
It was only after I told him that I was getting married, that I essentially 'belonged' to someone else, that he backed off. In the Shuk or in the street, the men who talk to me always ask if I'm married when I tell them I'm not interested (because that must be the only reason why I wouldn't want to give them my number). When I tell them I have a boyfriend, their response is usually "So? You're not married." It makes me feel like I'm in that Positive K song, especially because sometimes they'll follow me when I try to walk away. I wonder if "boyfriend" is actually Hebrew for "temporary penis holder." Perhaps Google Translate has misled me once again.
Of course, alternatively, I could always tell them that I have a terrible case of the clap or some other STD.
"אני מצטערת .יש לי עגבת."
"I'm sorry but I have syphilis. Can I have my fucking tomatoes?/Can I shop in peace?/Can you just drive and stop talking to me?/Sometimes syphilis can be transmitted via eye contact\is airborne\you now have syphilis."
It frustrates me that simply saying "I'm not interested" isn't enough to get someone to leave me alone. I suppose I could try to point out to them that they're being disrespectful but I think that kind of mentality starts in the home and I'm not looking to start arguing with anyone. I can't be responsible for someone's failure to bring up their sons to see women as people. I just want to be left alone.
Which is why I decided to start wearing a fake wedding/engagement ring when I'm out.
"Baby, I'll buy you the best cubic zirconia money can buy," was Andy's response to my plan.
I thought about getting a Lord of the Rings ring and just telling guys in my nerd voice that I'm planning a Lord of the Rings wedding, "but my friends don't speak Elvish so we'd have to perform the ceremony in Klingon instead. Peons!"
But I chose the cheaper alternative and went to Top Ten, a store similar to Claire's.
It's an admittedly stupid idea, especially because two of those rings are disco balls but I can just tell them I'm Ukrainian and they'll understand why my ring is so gawdy. But the taxi incident and other interactions which I will write about in later posts could have possibly been avoided if I had just lied and flashed some 5 shekel ring.
My proposal to myself was short and to the point. I didn't get down on one knee or anything but I made sure I had a cat staring at me during my inner monologue. That counts as a witness, right?
"Nataliya, will you do me the honor of marrying me so I can avoid creeps?"
"Yes! YES! I thought you'd never ask!"
I celebrated my marriage/engagement/ownership ritual to myself with a falafel wrapped in a laffa and hoped for the best in my new hopefully harassment-less life with myself.
And now the game is over. It's almost midnight and Manchester United has won 4-2 against Leverkusen which means I get to go to sleep in relative silence. I write relative because Martine usually doesn't go to sleep until 2 and sometimes laughs out loud at the television, watching reruns of shows like Will and Grace or Little Britian with Hebrew subtitles. Thankfully, this is why I keep earplugs on my nightstand, for those nights that I hone into every little noise on purpose. I'd like to blame the fact that I don't sleep on someone else, but the truth is that even when Martine is gone for the evening, I still don't go to sleep until 2. And I'll probably stay up even later typing up this entry. I hope the wife doesn't mind.
Lessons learned:
Always tell creepers you're married
If encountering a new word, always ask for its proper usage
Sometimes it's okay to not be productive and have a hamburger instead
I woke up at 8 for the orientation at 9. I somehow managed to drag myself out of the house. It was a beautiful, sunny day with a lovely breeze but I couldn't really focus and everything seemed foggy. A man winked at me and said something under his breath as he passed by me. I crossed a street. And another street. And another. I met teachers and fellow students and forgot their names and faces almost immediately.
After orientation and some caffeine, I wanted to be productive. I wanted to get things done and begin to settle in. I wandered over to Super Sol Deal, a grocery store on Pierre Koenig street next to Pardes, to grab food and toiletries. I walked into the toiletries aisle and stared at the huge selection of shampoos, conditioners, and soaps.
I usually have an issue with indecisiveness in the States but this was worse.
Smelling everything did not help. Coconut Vanilla smelled like Milk and Honey, and Milk and Honey smelled like Pomegranate. All of the body soaps smelled the same and all of the shampoos and conditioners smelled like the body soaps, with the exception of one that reminded me of elderly Russian men who wear too much cologne, smell faintly of moth balls and boiled potatoes, and smoke 10 packs a day. One of the workers at the store came to watch me as I opened and smelled each individual bottle. I guess no one does this here.
After half an hour of inhaling soap fumes, I finally selected the products I wanted and went to the checkout line, figuring I would get food somewhere else since the produce section was packed with people. If I had been less jet lagged, I would have realized that it was a Thursday afternoon, which is the worst possible time to go grocery shopping since it is the day before Shabbat and everyone acts like there will never be food again. The lines were ridiculously long and all of the carts were filled to the top. The cashiers were moving the items in slow motion. I had never seen anything like it.
"Nope," I muttered to myself. "Nope nope nope." I went to a nearby cart, dropped everything I had in my arms and walked out. This wasn't happening today.
As I walked up the street, I saw a small grocery store and started walking towards it. Next to it were two men, about my age, sitting on a bench. They looked at me, then at each other, smiled and stood up as I approached, looking like they were going to talk to me.
Nope. Sorry friends. Not happening.
I turned on my heel and walked the other way. I didn't know if they were going to sell me insurance, drugs, or if they were secret Israeli Jehovah's Witnesses wanting just a moment of my time to discuss their Savior and my hell bound soul. I just knew that I couldn't process anything at the moment, much less deal with creepers.
My last attempt to be productive ended at the ATM. Since Martine does not accept PayPal and I find it useless to set up an Israeli bank account since I'm only here for 5 months, we agreed that I would pay in cash. In my attempt to withdraw a stupid amount of shekels, I accidentally went to the 'information' ATM and not the real ATM (also called a caspomat). There are apparently two different kinds of ATMs here and as random words appeared on the screen whenever I pressed a button, I gave up.
(I would also like to add that some ATMs accept my card only at certain times. The same ATM that accepted my card in the morning will express its anti-American sentiment in the evening by telling me that my card cannot be accepted.)
After I came back to the apartment, Martine and I went to Daisy Burger, which is a 5 minute walk away, and my eyes went immediately to the mushroom burger on the menu before I realized that this place was kosher and I could actually get meat. This was my first introduction to the fact that for the first time, kosher meat was going to be easily accessible to me.
I was in heaven.
I wanted to try everything. I wasn't used to having so many options since in the States I usually always ordered one of a few vegetarian items off the menu. But this place had lamb burgers. And chicken wings! It was very exciting.
But the initial excitement ended when I actually had to order because it made me realize how crappy my Hebrew is and how much more I needed to learn. My goal for the end of my time here is to be able to order food without using charades, pointing emphatically or making various gang signs. While I have managed to order food exclusively in Hebrew, it could still use a lot of work.
Smelling everything did not help. Coconut Vanilla smelled like Milk and Honey, and Milk and Honey smelled like Pomegranate. All of the body soaps smelled the same and all of the shampoos and conditioners smelled like the body soaps, with the exception of one that reminded me of elderly Russian men who wear too much cologne, smell faintly of moth balls and boiled potatoes, and smoke 10 packs a day. One of the workers at the store came to watch me as I opened and smelled each individual bottle. I guess no one does this here.
After half an hour of inhaling soap fumes, I finally selected the products I wanted and went to the checkout line, figuring I would get food somewhere else since the produce section was packed with people. If I had been less jet lagged, I would have realized that it was a Thursday afternoon, which is the worst possible time to go grocery shopping since it is the day before Shabbat and everyone acts like there will never be food again. The lines were ridiculously long and all of the carts were filled to the top. The cashiers were moving the items in slow motion. I had never seen anything like it.
"Nope," I muttered to myself. "Nope nope nope." I went to a nearby cart, dropped everything I had in my arms and walked out. This wasn't happening today.
As I walked up the street, I saw a small grocery store and started walking towards it. Next to it were two men, about my age, sitting on a bench. They looked at me, then at each other, smiled and stood up as I approached, looking like they were going to talk to me.
Nope. Sorry friends. Not happening.
I turned on my heel and walked the other way. I didn't know if they were going to sell me insurance, drugs, or if they were secret Israeli Jehovah's Witnesses wanting just a moment of my time to discuss their Savior and my hell bound soul. I just knew that I couldn't process anything at the moment, much less deal with creepers.
My last attempt to be productive ended at the ATM. Since Martine does not accept PayPal and I find it useless to set up an Israeli bank account since I'm only here for 5 months, we agreed that I would pay in cash. In my attempt to withdraw a stupid amount of shekels, I accidentally went to the 'information' ATM and not the real ATM (also called a caspomat). There are apparently two different kinds of ATMs here and as random words appeared on the screen whenever I pressed a button, I gave up.
(I would also like to add that some ATMs accept my card only at certain times. The same ATM that accepted my card in the morning will express its anti-American sentiment in the evening by telling me that my card cannot be accepted.)
After I came back to the apartment, Martine and I went to Daisy Burger, which is a 5 minute walk away, and my eyes went immediately to the mushroom burger on the menu before I realized that this place was kosher and I could actually get meat. This was my first introduction to the fact that for the first time, kosher meat was going to be easily accessible to me.
I was in heaven.
I wanted to try everything. I wasn't used to having so many options since in the States I usually always ordered one of a few vegetarian items off the menu. But this place had lamb burgers. And chicken wings! It was very exciting.
But the initial excitement ended when I actually had to order because it made me realize how crappy my Hebrew is and how much more I needed to learn. My goal for the end of my time here is to be able to order food without using charades, pointing emphatically or making various gang signs. While I have managed to order food exclusively in Hebrew, it could still use a lot of work.
When testing my Hebrew skills (or lack thereof), one of the teachers told me to read a passage in a book.
"That's very interesting," he said when I finished. "Your English tells me you're American, but your Hebrew tells me that you're Russian." That was embarrassing, but not necessarily a bad thing.
There is a large population of Russians and/or Russian speakers in Israel and I hear Russian spoken around me constantly. It has been a huge help to be bilingual here because Russian people stick out like sore thumbs. This is especially true for older Russian people. Their clothing, their bitchy resting faces so similar to my own, and their accents in Hebrew are all very recognizable and they always know where the bathroom is/where the bus is going. On the whole however, pretty much everyone has been interacting with me in Hebrew, only occasionally switching to English when they see that I'm just staring at them and saying "yes" repeatedly. And apparently almost no one in the service industry speaks Russian.
Except one Bulgarian check out lady who was convinced that I was Asian.
"Are you Asian?" she asked.
"Um..well I'm from Kiev originally, but if you're wondering about my accent it's because I've actually been living in-."
"There are many people of Asian descent in Bulgaria," she loudly interrupted as she scanned my produce and handed it to me. "So I can tell. Somewhere in your bloodline is an Asian. I can see it. You have that look. Someone in your family was an Asian. *pause* Okay? Come back again soon!"
But it was really nice to finally understand a cashier, even though it was an odd, mostly one sided conversation.
My go-to Hebrew word for when I don't understand anything is 'ken' or yes. This works half the time. If I notice they say 'ken?' in an odd way, I quickly change to 'lo!' or no. This works 0.05% of the time because usually they are asking me an open ended question.
When I finally went to buy toiletries at a pharmacy, they asked me how I would like to pay and if I would like to pay in installments. There is an option for people that if you cannot afford to pay for something all at once or if you would like to break the total up into separate payments, you can pay in as little as 3 installments, or as high as 36.
So when I answered "ken!" when the cashier asked me how I would like to pay, switching to "....lo?" did not help. Thankfully, a lady shopping nearby felt bad for me and helped but interactions like that make me frustrated and wanting to learn more.
In the beginning, when people approached me in the street to ask something, I told them that I didn't know or that I didn't understand. My bitchy resting face does not deter people here. This may be because many others here also have bitchy resting faces so they assume that it is a native expression.
Thankfully, as my Hebrew improves, I still tell people that I don't know or understand what they're saying, but I have given directions several times when I do understand what they're asking and it makes me feel accomplished. At the same time, it also makes me feel guilty and nervous and I always hope that I'm telling them to go to the right place. Because in reality, I still don't understand 90% of what people are saying to me.
Two weeks ago, a woman at the supermarket shoved a cup of yogurt (unopened) in my face and asked me something in Hebrew.
"Ken!" I said, hoping that would make her go away.
She stared at me.
"Ani lo mevina," I finally told her. I don't understand.
"Anglit?" she asked.
"I speak English."
"What do you think of this?"
"Errr...it looks okay?"
I don't think I gave her the answer that she wanted because she then smirked at me and walked away.
In all honestly, I didn't even know it was yogurt until Martine told me it was. In fact, I had bought a couple of cups of what I thought was yogurt but it turned out to be cottage cheese instead. It was delicious and I ate it anyway.
But the language barrier is something that I've been struggling with and trying to improve. I've been here for a month and so far, I have learned to ask a vendor at the market if they have a particular item, to give directions to my apartment, tell a food vendor the ingredients that I want in my falafel/shwarma pita, tell the vendor that I want that order to go, and how to order a shot of vodka.
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| This is (almost) everything I want on my falafel/shwarma |
I have been studying Hebrew in my off-time and trying to memorize and learn as much grammar and vocabulary as possible. Google translate has been my fair weather friend through all of this. I don't always trust it since the grammar is often icky and it doesn't recognize first person gender conjugation. And now I trust it even less due to one terrible moment when I was about to order the vodka shot. I was with a group of fellow students and I looked up how to say "shot of vodka."
כוסית וודקה (kusit vodka) was what it came back with. But just to make sure my pronunciation was correct, I checked with one of the more fluent members of our group.
He looked at me oddly for a moment and then burst out laughing. "What...why are you saying that?"
"This is what I got from Google Translate." I showed him the translation on my phone.
"Don't say that," he said, laughing. "Well actually, do say it. It'll be interesting to see how our waitress reacts."
Apparently, the word כוסית (kusit), while it can mean glass, is Hebrew slang for the C word.
That is definitely not the kind of vodka I wanted.
Google Translate, how could you!?
Thankfully, I was instructed on the proper way to order a shot. A shot in Hebrew is called a chaser (צ'ייסר), so when I said "אני רוצה צ'ייסר אבסולוט ולימון גם ,בבקשׁה," (I want a shot of Absolut and a lemon also, please), I got exactly what I wanted. And now I'm going to remember that sentence forever. Especially since vodka shots are something I always order because 1. they make me pee less 2. I don't get hungover with all the sugary mixers and 3. they are a good way of making sure the bartender isn't screwing me over which is sometimes hard to tell with a mixed drink.
The cost of alcohol here is only marginally less than DC, but I was also at a bar off of a busy street. The shot cost me about 18 shekels, or about 5$, which isn't bad since shots can be anywhere from 7-10$ in DC depending on where you go. The cost of buying in a liquor store is the same as DC as well and there is also a larger kosher wine selection. But if you specifically want non-kosher wine, there are stores that sell that as well. While I keep kosher to a strong degree, I am not strict when it comes to alcohol.
And with my British-Israeli roommate, I am learning more and more about the different kinds. Such as mixing Pimms with Sprite and apples to make a sort of English Sangria. Or mixing beer and Sprite to create a shandy. Or the already mentioned vodka with apple juice.
From that bar where I ordered a shot, I decided to cab it home since night buses take longer and I still have to walk about 20 minutes to get home from the stop.
I have had three experiences with Jerusalem cabs and the latest was unsettling.
My friend Rosella was visiting Jerusalem with her family and we had agreed to meet at Hatzot for dinner. This was right after Shabbat and buses usually start running an hour after Shabbat ends so I grabbed the first one out. I found the restaurant easily, met up with Rosella, and we both ordered the Jerusalem mixed grill, which is various chicken pieces (heart, liver, etc) grilled to perfection. We were also served various delicious sides.
We walked to Cafe Kadosh where Rosella ordered fresh carrot juice and I ordered a shot of vodka with lemon. We sat and talked for a while before we decided to call it a night. She walked back to where she was meeting her family and I decided to get a cab.
The first cabbie refused to use a meter so I refused to get in the cab. I found a cabbie that did and got in. This guy also spoke English. I thought this was a good thing.
"Why don't you sit up front with me, sweetheart?" he patted the front seat as he drove away from the sidewalk. "I want to see your face. I want to look at you. You're very beautiful."
This was probably the last thing I wanted to hear at one in the morning.
"I'm okay here," I said, clutching my purse to my chest like it was some kind of security blanket. He was speeding down the street and I momentarily contemplated opening the door and hurtling myself out but then thought about the prospect of hitting a light pole or a parked car.
After not being able to convince me to sit up front, he asked me where I was from. I told him that I'm from DC.
"You're married?"
"No, but I have a boyfriend."
"Here in Israel?"
I stupidly didn't lie. "No, in the US, but I'll be back in a short while and he's coming to visit me very soon." The conversation descended from there.
"Just a boyfriend? You must be feeling lonely. So long without the loving touch of a man. It's perfectly natural. People have needs. I have needs. You have needs. Why don't you and I get together-"
"You can stop here," I said, feeling very uncomfortable at this point. We were almost near Derech Hevron, where I could have caught another cab easily.
He refused and drove faster. "This isn't even close to where you're going." He smiled at me into the rear view mirror." I'll take you home."
I quietly panicked as he continued, interjecting every once in a while in a spew of Hebrew. I had never been happier to not understand what someone was saying. "You and I should do something together. You're just so *hebrewhebrewhebrew* I would just love to *hebrewhebrewhebrewhebrew*"
"WE'RE GETTING MARRIED NEXT MONTH," I practically shouted at him.
"Oh," he said, disappointed. "Oh really? How old are you?"
"36."
"You look so young!"
"I get that a lot."
"That's a good time to get married and have kids," he sighed. "I bet you've already done and seen all there is to see and do."
Whatever the fuck that meant.
I was disgusted but so grateful that he didn't realize that my 'boyfriend' turned into a 'fiance' in the span of minutes. And he didn't ask to see a ring. I was thankful for his stupidity.
"So how are you enjoying Israel?" And with that, the conversation became normal henceforth, as if he didn't just proposition me earlier. I had him drop me off on the corner of Beitar and Yanovski, ten minutes away from my apartment, practically threw the money at him, and ran out of the cab without saying thank you or goodbye.
It was only after I told him that I was getting married, that I essentially 'belonged' to someone else, that he backed off. In the Shuk or in the street, the men who talk to me always ask if I'm married when I tell them I'm not interested (because that must be the only reason why I wouldn't want to give them my number). When I tell them I have a boyfriend, their response is usually "So? You're not married." It makes me feel like I'm in that Positive K song, especially because sometimes they'll follow me when I try to walk away. I wonder if "boyfriend" is actually Hebrew for "temporary penis holder." Perhaps Google Translate has misled me once again.
Of course, alternatively, I could always tell them that I have a terrible case of the clap or some other STD.
"אני מצטערת .יש לי עגבת."
"I'm sorry but I have syphilis. Can I have my fucking tomatoes?/Can I shop in peace?/Can you just drive and stop talking to me?/Sometimes syphilis can be transmitted via eye contact\is airborne\you now have syphilis."
It frustrates me that simply saying "I'm not interested" isn't enough to get someone to leave me alone. I suppose I could try to point out to them that they're being disrespectful but I think that kind of mentality starts in the home and I'm not looking to start arguing with anyone. I can't be responsible for someone's failure to bring up their sons to see women as people. I just want to be left alone.
Which is why I decided to start wearing a fake wedding/engagement ring when I'm out.
"Baby, I'll buy you the best cubic zirconia money can buy," was Andy's response to my plan.
I thought about getting a Lord of the Rings ring and just telling guys in my nerd voice that I'm planning a Lord of the Rings wedding, "but my friends don't speak Elvish so we'd have to perform the ceremony in Klingon instead. Peons!"
But I chose the cheaper alternative and went to Top Ten, a store similar to Claire's.
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| Oh, you shouldn't have! |
My proposal to myself was short and to the point. I didn't get down on one knee or anything but I made sure I had a cat staring at me during my inner monologue. That counts as a witness, right?
"Nataliya, will you do me the honor of marrying me so I can avoid creeps?"
"Yes! YES! I thought you'd never ask!"
I celebrated my marriage/engagement/ownership ritual to myself with a falafel wrapped in a laffa and hoped for the best in my new hopefully harassment-less life with myself.
.JPG) |
| Falafel wedding feast |
And now the game is over. It's almost midnight and Manchester United has won 4-2 against Leverkusen which means I get to go to sleep in relative silence. I write relative because Martine usually doesn't go to sleep until 2 and sometimes laughs out loud at the television, watching reruns of shows like Will and Grace or Little Britian with Hebrew subtitles. Thankfully, this is why I keep earplugs on my nightstand, for those nights that I hone into every little noise on purpose. I'd like to blame the fact that I don't sleep on someone else, but the truth is that even when Martine is gone for the evening, I still don't go to sleep until 2. And I'll probably stay up even later typing up this entry. I hope the wife doesn't mind.
Lessons learned:
Always tell creepers you're married
If encountering a new word, always ask for its proper usage
Sometimes it's okay to not be productive and have a hamburger instead
