Israel: The Land and the People

Ok, sorry for the lame title. I seem to recall that some movie or something was named this. In any case, it sounded like too great of a title for me to pass up to talk about my favorite parts of Israel, namely, the people and the land.

When I first came to Israel to live in Jerusalem last year, I was only interested in the land and the history. I had no idea what awaited me in the Holy City and I had no intention of being tied to anything but the land in Israel.

However, returning has taught me that the people with whom I became acquainted mean so much more to me than any tel or broken shard of pottery.

My favorite place in the Holy Land is, and will forever remain, the Jerusalem Center. More than my home, the Jerusalem Center was my place of refuge, my bit of BYU in Israel, and the place where I felt the Spirit more strongly than at any of the sites I ever visited. The first time I walked into the Jerusalem Center I felt like I was at home, and that feeling returned as soon as I walked through the gates this time around. While the Jerusalem Center is not a person, I feel that it is living and breathing with the life of the students and the workers and administrators therein.

The people in the Jerusalem Center also remain my favorite people in the Holy Land. In returning to the JC this year, one day for church, one day for a speaker, and one day for a “tour”, I ran into my favorite security guards, Tawfiq and Feras, and Eran, who is an Israeli and has been the director of the Center for the past 21 years.

When I walked into the JC for the first time, for church, I peeked my head into the guard room and waved, and the guard immediately recognized me and did the “shocked face” look. Then, when I went for the lecture, I ran into Feras in the hall, who did a double take, gave me the “shocked face” look also, and then said, “Welcome home!”

Thanks, Feras.

The Huntingtons, who were the professor/wife when I was there last year, were also there and I met up with them several times. I was given a special welcome in Relief Society (I hope that wasn’t awkward for anyone else) and Brother Huntington asked me to give the prayer at the lecture Monday night, introducing me as one of the visiting Arabic students from Jordan “and a former student of mine, last year” (and clearly a favorite, although that part was unspoken).

Perhaps my favorite part is that the lecture was Danny Sideman, who was an Israeli lawyer talking about the Israel/Palestine conflict and especially the separation wall. He gave us an incredible lecture last year and a tour of the separation wall, and I credit much of my knowledge in that sphere to him. After my prayer, he made special note of me and told everyone in the audience that he was especially touched by my prayer, noting that if someone had told him ten years ago that he would lecture to a group of Mormons about the separation wall and they would start with a prayer and he would be incredibly touched by the prayer, he would have laughed. But he was incredibly touched by the prayer, and I was incredibly touched by the presentation, once again (this is him last year).

Thanks Danny.

Tuesday, I went to the “tour” of the Jerusalem Center just to see if I could catch Eran in his office. Thankfully I was able to, and got caught up on news of my mission and how the program has been going since I left. Let me just say something about Eran—when I was at the JC, one night Sister Heyes (another favorite of mine but gone back to the States now) said this about Eran: “If he were to tell me to walk off a cliff and I would be safe, I would do it, because I would believe that it would be best for me, just because Eran said it.”

I totally agree. As much as I chafe against authority figures, when Eran told me to do something I did it, and I did it without complaining.

Thanks, Eran.

In addition to others at the JC, I was also recognized in several places in the Old City. I stopped by the place I used to volunteer, and even though the woman at the front desk was one I had not worked much with, she immediately recognized me. In fact, her words were, “Oh yes, I remember your face very well.”

And then I walked into a T-Shirt shop (this one always creeped me out last year and I tried to avoid it at all costs) and the creepy guy instantly recognized me.

Creep.

And then I was walking through Nazareth with a bunch of other BYU students, somewhat removed from everyone and wearing a BYU shirt, when someone on the street said, “Are you guys BYU students?” After answering in the affirmative and them introducing themselves as from Utah State, the guy said to me, “Oh yeah, I totally recognize you!” Although I never really understood how, I think they mentioned something about seeing us in a church in Jerusalem—although I am not sure how I would stick out so obviously so that someone could remember me.

Maybe I just have one of those faces?

And Sometimes, I [feel uncomfortable] Being American

Really, I do love America. And I love being American. I have limitless opportunities, my country is a world power, and as an American, I can do almost anything I want.

And this is where the problem lies.

When I talk to people in Jordan about living in Jerusalem and travelling and ask if they have travelled to Jerusalem (1 hour away from Amman), most of them say no. It is too hard for Arabs to get through the checkpoints. And the Israelis don't have to let anyone in if they don't want to.

As we crossed the border from Jordan into Israel, our American tour bus whizzed past lines of cars waiting to cross, because we are American and get special privileges--and some of those cars had been waiting since early in the morning to be the first across when the border opens at 8 am. And then going through the checkpoint on the Israel side, we lined up in our own special room to go through the metal detectors and have our passports checked, while in another room, the Palestinians were crammed together, hoping to get through the checkpoint before it closed at 4 pm for Shabbat.

As much as I love special privileges, sometimes it makes the bile rise up in my throat. And I wonder what it would be like to go through a checkpoint every day to get to school. I wonder what it would be like to send my children to elementary school or junior high knowing that they had to cross a checkpoint to get there, and they may or may not get across.

As much as I love both the Israelis and the Palestinians, sometimes even I am aware of the discrepency in treatment that is given because of the country on your passport.

And for this reason, sometimes I [feel uncomfortable] being American.

(PS, I recently changed the title of this post. I really do love being American. But it does make me feel awkward and awful that I get special treatment when others are suffering. But I hate suffering, too. There is just no way to win with me.)

Back "Home"

Dear Friends, I have returned home. Not home to the America, but home to the Holy Land--the part on the other side of the river. After gazing across to Israel for the past two months, I have finally returned to the land of my forefathers. :) (Ok, sorry, I will stop the Zionist talk now. But I really do feel like I have come home.)

One year and two months later, not much has changed in the thousands year old city of Jerusalem. Except now I can understand the Arabic. It is really exciting to walk around the streets and know what people are saying. Plus, my ability to read Hebrew totaly gives me an advantage. :)

We are going to all of the same places to which I have already been, and it is fun to know everything (yes, clearly as an ANES major who lived here last year I know everything about every site :) and to experience it all again. And in two more months, my parents come over, and I will give them a tour of my places of residence in the last year and a half. (If anyone ever wants a tour of Provo, just let me know.)

Special experiences so far? Many people remembered me. I walked into my hotel and saw Omar, the olive wood carver. I got to know him pretty well last year, so I walked up to him and asked "do you remember me?" Except this time, it was in Arabic. And you know what? He did! And at the Jerusalem Center, the guards at the front recognized me when I walked in, and the Huntingtons (who were over with my group as a professor/wife) were there, as well as my friend Besan from Ramallah (who was at BYU this past year) and a few other people I recognized. And about 10 girls from Women's Chorus who are students at the Jerusalem Center this term, all of whom recognized me. I guess I forget what a small world BYU is.

Finally, (and here I may be bordering on Zionist talk, but it doesn't count because I study Arabic, right?) I really do feel like this land flows in my blood. As much as I was loving Jordan, this land feels like home. And it did from the first day I arrived. And I am pretty sure that every time I come to Jerusalem, I will be coming home.

Amazing Grace

The other night I watched the movie Amazing Grace. In addition to being a nice break from Arabic (although I did keep it subtitled in Arabic and read it for most of the movie--even I occasionally like English things), it reminded me of why I am here, why I am studying Arabic, and especially of what I feel is my Arabic mission.

According to a previous post, I feel the desire to change the world. I actually saw a lot of similarities between myself and Wilberforce, the main character in Amazing Grace--the fact that I get so busy with my work that my body falls apart (my favorite line in the movie? "He doesn't think he has a body. He thinks he is a disembodied spirit!" --said to the doctor when he was telling Wilberforce to not work so hard), "finding God" and wishing for a life of solitude, but realizing that you can serve God and change the world at the same time, etc. In short, I was incredibly touched by the movie, and was reminded of my purpose.

(Sorry, time for class. I will work hard to publish this before any of you wake up.)
(Sorry, guess I didn't work hard enough. Now I am in Israel and this post might not get done for a couple of days. Deal.)

Now, for those who keep up on my blog, my purpose, two weeks after the original post:

Most of the time when I meet new Arabs and talk to them (this happens daily), they ask me why I am studying Arabic. This question is almost inevitable--why study this crazy language? I know many people who study Arabic want to work for the government, but if you remember, I want to write a book and change the world.

In-sha'allah.

So this is the story I tell everyone (in my somewhat broken Arabic):

I lived in Jerusalem last year. While I was there, I finally saw Arabs, and especially Palestinians, as real people, not just terrorists represented in the news. There are a lot of bad ideas about Palestinians in America, and I want to write about book about Palestinian women--their lives and their dreams and their children. I want to show the world that Palestinians have dreams for a peaceful world for their children just like everyone else.

Basically, I want to change the opinion of Americans about Palestinians, especially Palestinian women.

It might sound somewhat gramatically awkward in the English, but this is the translation from what I say in Arabic, more or less.

Whenever I tell the people (and especially the girls) here this, they ask, "Why do Americans think Arabs are terrorists?" I look at them with their beautiful hijabs, fashionable (although rather heavy) makeup, long dress/overcoat type things over their clothes even in the heat (which is rather intense here), and their innocent faces, and say truthfully, "I don't know."

Call it the fault of the news, call it the fault of September 11th and terrorists who are Arabs, or call it the fault of a fearful and uninformed nation, but something is missing in the communication to the world about our wonderful Arab brothers and sisters.

And this is my own "Amazing Grace" mission. I, too, once was "lost" in my knowledge about Arabs, but now after living with them (twice, in two different countries), working with them, and laughing and loving with them, now I am found and now I see.

And perhaps someday I will help change the world. But first, a year and a half in Taiwan, preaching the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

And then...who knows. If I ever do write my book, I will definitely post it on my blog.

Hints for Sick Travellers

(Warning: this post is about illnesses and might be too graphic for the faint of heart--or stomach)

Having recently recovered from a rather severe but short illness, I now feel that I have experienced enough "Middle East sickness" to give hints for future sick travellers. My first illness in Egypt was a mix of food poisoning and the curse of the Nile, and my second illness was a rather nasty virus that has been moving around Amman and that took most of my family here out for a couple of days. (For example, I was so sick that within ten minutes of drinking anything, I would throw it all up, rather violently, and this was even after I had thrown up several times and emptied my stomach of all food that had previously resided therein. I was so sick I could hardly walk the 20 meters from my room to the bathroom. Sorry for being so graphic.)

Therefore, I thought I would give hints for future travellers who would like to avoid, as much as possible, illnesses that come naturally from eating street food and living in a different country.

First of all, I don't drink Coke, or anything caffinated, in the America. I just don't. I call it part of my religion, although I know there are plenty of Mormons that will tell me that the General Authorities drink Coke. I don't care. I don't.

In the Middle East, however, it is a wonderful idea to drink Coke with your street meals. When I lived in Houston, we would use Coke to clean our toilets, because it eats away at anything in its path and completely destroys the mold in about an hour.

And this is what it does to your stomach. You can see that this might be harmful, except that when you eat street food, Coke cleans out your stomach wonderfully. At the very least, it is a good idea to drink something with carbonation, like the wonderful orange Mirinda drink that is abundant here. This helps prevent upset stomachs, and the coke syrup eats away at germs and bacteria.

If you do get sick and can't keep food in in any way, Coke is also another wonderful idea. After your stomach has been emptied and you have lost all sources of nutrients, Gatorade or electrolytes (you can get them in packets here and put them in your water bottle) help immensely. However, if you really can't keep anything in your stomach, drink Coke slowly. Like take at least 15 minutes to drink a can of it.

And then let it sit.

Several hours later, try a little bit of bread. If you can't keep this down (I have found pitas are the best), go back to just Coke. But if you can keep it down, gradually work your way up to other foods. Avoid meat for at least 24 hours after you have kept your bread down.

Above all, make sure you drink enough water so you don't get dehydrated. This is incredibly important.

Finally, I have also been told that "lebene" is excellent for sick people. My family gave me quite a bit when I was sick--but I hate lebene. It is like liquid cream cheese with lemon juice in it, and I can hardly swallow it when I am not violently throwing up. However, it seemed to help others in my family--mine just went straight down the sink, instead of sitting in my stomach for 10 minutes before going into the sink.

Oh, and make sure you have plenty of toilet paper. Carry it with you in your purse, buy kleenexes (or Fine) from the street sellers, or do whatever you want. Sometimes the "toilet hoses" just don't cut it when you are ill.

A Second Love

For the past couple of weeks I have been enjoying Jordan but upset that it wasn't Egypt. We all know about how I fell in love with that country, germs, nargileh, cockroaches, and all, and Jordan is just way too Westernized for me. Way too many people speak English, and I live in a rich neighborhood, with no problems of overcrowding or horse carts in the middle of traffic. Basically, it was not exotic enough for me.

However, last week I went with my roommate (not from BYU) to Wasat-Al-Balad--the closet thing to an "old city" that Jordan can get. It is full of overcrowding, hassling men, sketchy sidewalk restaurants, fresh juice shops, and plenty of old windows. In short, it is very much the Middle East.

And then the other day I was walking through my rich neighborhood, enjoying the evening, when I almost stumbled onto a Bedoin tent.

In the middle of the neighborhood.

I am not sure what it was doing there, but they had sheep in a sheep pen and everything.

I guess I have enough love in my heart for Jordan as well as Egypt and Jerusalem!




My roommate and I at the great restaurant, Hashem. This is where I said I was from Germany and she said she was from Turkey.

This is the day I got my mission call. I am a little excited, can you tell?

On being a different nationality

When I lived in Israel, I could often pass off as being native—most of the time native Israeli, but occasionally Palestinian (I can totally pass if off in a hijab). Whenever I was not in close proximity to other Americans, all of the Israelis would speak to me in Hebrew—which was fun until it came time to answer back, at which time I just smiled at them and tried to spit out some Biblical Hebrew.

However, I really don’t look like a native in Jordan. Maybe if my Arabic was better I could pass off as being Syrian, or as being a half-breed, with my father being Arab and my mother being something else. But mostly, I just don’t look Arab.

Apparently, however, I also don’t look American. Again, whenever I am not in close proximity to other Americans, people try to guess my nationality. Russia and France are the two top choices, although I usually choose Germany when they ask where I am from.

Before you judge me too harshly for telling a non-truth about my place of origin, let me suggest that I am sure I have German blood somewhere in me, and also it is much safer to be a woman from a country other than America—because not only do the taxi drivers want to practice their English, they also want a Green Card!

In Egypt, I told people all the time that I was from Germany. It was quite easy for them to believe it, and most of them did not speak much English. I found I was much less interesting and attractive as a German or Russian than an American.

I have two favorite stories about this from Egypt. The first was when myself and another girl (Gini, who also could look French) were walking down a street in Cairo. We were approaching the French Embassy, just talking with each other, when I saw the guards begin opening the gate for us. They weren’t even going to ask us if we were French! We didn’t even ask them to open the gate! This was when I knew I could pull off this nationality switch.

The second comes from a time when this same girl, myself, and another guy from the group went to a koshri restaurant in Cairo. We spoke to the waiters only in Arabic, and I didn’t think they knew much English (although when I was trying to explain that I wanted a “doggie bag” in Arabic, the guy finally understood and said, (in Arabic) “oh, you want a “boox” (that word in English—I guess you had to be there for it to be funny)). So when the waiter asked where we were from, I naturally told him that we were from Germany. He was shocked and said, “Wow! Wow!” Naturally I agreed with him, pretending that Germany was pretty much the most amazing country to have as my place of origin.

Gini heard, but apparently my friend Griffin didn’t, and the waiter went over to talk to him and told him, “You guys speak English really good!” Griffin was insulted and wondered if that was a reflection on his poor Arabic or something, but I elbowed him and told him not to blow our cover, since I had told the waiter we were from Germany. We laughed about that one for at least two weeks.

Here in Jordan, however, I only pull out the “Germany/Russia” card if I feel that my safety would be threatened by being from America—namely, when I am not in close proximity with other Americans. I am, after all, a female in an Arab country, and I feel justified in saying whatever I want to preserve my safety. (A note to fellow female travelers in Arab countries—it is always best to be engaged or married and from a country different than America—even if you are not. Especially if you don’t have a guy with you. Trust me on this one.)

However, I don’t even have to suggest it. People just assume that I am from these different countries. For example, the other day I walked into a copy shop, and one of the women in there said, “Are you from Germany?” As she was a woman, I told her that I was from America. (Side note—she was a doctor in Criminology and studied battered women in the Middle East. Very cool.) And then a couple of days ago, my taxi driver asked me if I was Russian. When I told him no, he asked if my father was Arab (although I am not quite sure how those two connect…).

However, I have found that I can get in trouble for pulling random countries out of the air whose language I do not speak and to which I have never even traveled, let alone lived. For example, the other day I was at a restaurant in downtown Amman with my American roommate. The guy asked where we were from, and I told him that I was from Germany, while she said that she was from Turkey (her fiancé is Turkish). He asked me where in Germany, and I randomly said Berlin. Turns out he had been to Germany six times, but never to Berlin, thankfully! And then as I was leaving, he almost introduced me to other patrons who were also from Germany!

Maybe I should try Iceland…

MISSION CALL!!

Dear friends, I received my mission call.

I am going to Taiwan Taipei, speaking Mandarin, and I leave September 17!

I was shocked and delighted at how fast my call came. It came a week and a half after I sent my papers in!

I was also shocked and delighted when I saw that I am going to Taiwan. My main guesses were Russia or Germany, and no one guessed Taiwan! I think the closest was Tina, who guessed Hong Kong.

I am so excited to serve the Lord. My mission call says, "Your purpose will be to invite others to come unto Christ by helping them receive the restored gospel through faith in Jesus Christ and HIs Atonement, repentance, baptism, receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end. As you serve with all your heart, might, and strength, the Lord will lead you to those who are prepared to be baptized. The Lord will reward you for the goodness of your life. Greater blessings and more happiness that you have yet experienced await you as you hombly and prayerfully serve the Lord in this labor of love among His children. We place in you our confidence and pray that the Lord will help you become an effective missionary."

Knowing that President Monson has placed his trust in me makes me even more anxious to be worthy and ready to serve the Lord. What an exciting time!

And how exciting to start learning Mandarin 20 days after I stop learning Arabic!

Transportation and Overcrowding

One nice thing about Egypt is that traffic laws aren’t really enforced. Since there is limited space, a lot of people, and a lot of cars, you do what you can in terms of parking, driving, and even crowding into taxis and other public transportation vehicles. Everywhere I went I saw people double, triple, and even quadruple parked. I heard a rumor, and I am sure it is true, that when people double park, they leave their cars in neutral, so if the person next to them needs to get out, they can just push their car back or forward and then leave. I actually saw this happening several times and wondered at the inconvenience resourcefulness can cause.

In terms of driving, I think I already posted about this in one of my flashbacks, but people don’t really stay in their lanes. Actually, lanes don’t really exist. There are as many lanes as you can fit cars across, and that often changes on the same road. Thankfully I was never in an accident while I was there, nor did I witness any, but I am not sure how they get around driving and parking so close to each other.

Another thing is that the roads are like a free-for-all. There are thousands of breaking-down taxis, fast moving cars, and large busses, like you might expect, but also horse-drawn carts and people everywhere. Everyone just shares the road. (Even though there were so many cars in Cairo, it was easier to cross the road there than here in Amman because people expected you to walk across the road dodging cars. It was normal to see people standing in the middle of the streets, walking between fast moving cars.)

My favorite part of the overcrowding, though, was the fact that we could fit so many people into small vehicles and thus pay much less. Although I was never in a taxi with more than six people, one day a large group of us (24 to be exact) were in Alexandria. To save a bunch of money, we flagged down a large van (called a micro) and stuffed all of us inside.

All 24 of us.

On the way down, we grabbed another micro, and all of us piled in again. The door didn’t close on this one, so one guy stood in the doorway, blocking me from falling out (thank you Jason) as I was sitting next to the door, and people were standing and sitting on top of each other.

This is us piling out of the van. Yes, all 24 of us fit in that.

Finally, when we flew into the airport in Amman, due to some bad planning on someone up high in the administration’s part, we only had one bus waiting for us instead of two. We stuffed all of our luggage under the bus, and what was left we piled into the aisle, sat three to a seat, and had people standing in the stairways and the aisle.

I guess I am getting over my claustrophobia!