I originally wrote this as a Facebook note which defeat ths purpose of blogging, but whatever

I am currently eating really good bread. This makes everything in life seem a little better. And with that introduction, I begin:

I was scheduled to arrive at Hebrew U at 8:30. Finding myself in the center of town at 6, I decided to wait for the bus. It didn't come, so I started asking random drivers if they went to har hatzofim, and jumped on the first bus that gave me a "yes". I was dropped off somewhere in East Jerusalem, and wound up walking around for half an hour looking for a bus stop for the 19, as various people gave me various directions that invariably were wrong.

As I walked around, all the thoughts you don't want to have went through my head: I am a woman, alone, in an area where I don't speak the language (yes, most of the Arabs around probably spoke Hebrew and/or English, but it when two people are speaking Arabic, I find it intimidating to interrupt their conversation in my non-Arabic languages), at night, and it's kind of deserted. Two Israelis were lynched in Ramallah, and their murderers were just let free. An Israeli was stabbed in Ramot - pretty much every worst-case scenario floated through my head, for a few minutes, until I got control of myself. I also called a friend, which made me feel calm and casual.

Finally, I wound up giving up. I found the light-rail track and took it into town, where a different set of wrong directions wound up with my waiting for the 4a for at least an hour, before I gave up and headed home. Of course, I was sitting in Meah Shearim feeling really self-conscious about wearing pants, but everyone I met was really nice to me.

As I was sitting there, nearly crying from the cold, it occured to me how lucky I was: So many people are homeless and can't afford proper clothing. They freeze on a daily basis, with no respite. Here I was, only cold because I didn't dress properly, and I had a warm place to sleep for the night.

I bought bourekas and coffee at one point, and the coffee made me warm. I was very hungry, and tempted to stop for falafel, but I decided it was a waste of money because I'd already spent on bourekas (which I just finished eating now). I realize however, that might have been the wrong decision - my body still craves protein. I am sometimes too strict with myself, and especially with my body, about eating and other things, and need to learn to be more accepting of my wants and needs.

At a certain point at the bus-stop, I helped a woman pick up some stuff she dropped, and it occurred to me that doing so was a fulfillment of the Torah mitzvah of helping people pick stuff up, and I feel really happy to follow a religion that cares so much about people that it bothers to put rules like that in its holy book.

Walking back to my friend's house post-bus ride, I thought about how there were two ways I could frame this day to myself: 1. What a crappy day - I spent 3.5 hours not making it to Hebrew U 2. This day was somewhat difficult, but overall, it was a good day, because I did what I had to do, despite not feeling well.

I chose to go with the second way, because that is the way that is most beneficial to myself. I think that a lot of how events effect us depends on how we frame those events to ourselves, which is why it is so important to maintain a positive inner dialogue - personally, that is something that I struggle with sometimes.

I then started thinking about framing and romantic relationships: I think sometimes we frame a person a certain way, and interpret their actions in a way that fits that frame. But is that wrong? If two people have a relationship built on illusions, but they are happy in those illusions, is their love any less true?

I don't have an answer; its just a thought that occured to me as I peered out over the Jerusalem mountaintops and realized how much grattitude I should show to God for the gift of that moment. To see, to think, to feel, to desire people with our bodies - these are all blessings from God that we should be thankful for at every moment.

I am currently fixating on whether my jeans will still fit me tomorrow, which I suppose brings me back to the subject of bread again: Israel has really awesome bread. Now I will go thank God for that bread, drink some coffee, and go to bed.

(For a jeans-wearer, I am quite a דוסית. It's kind of scaring me - which I guess is appropriate for Halloween, though my lack of inebriation is not.)

Bus Experience 3

I have had some ups and downs in the past two days; the downs mostly related to my not getting done what I planned to get done, and the accompanying guilt and anger.

There was a rocket attack about an hour and a half away from Jerusalem the other day. I was sitting on the bus in Jerusalem, when it occured to me how incredible it is that we are sitting an hour and a half away from the site of a rocket attack and life goes on as normal, thank God.

There are many Arabs on the buses in Jerusalem, and from most points in the city, one hears Muslim calls to prayer announced on the loudspeakers of various mosques. It occured to me that if I grew up in a small minority Muslim community, I might feel more comfortable in Jerusalem, because there is a large Muslim population, its pretty normal to see many women with hijabs in the street, in stores, in buses, etc., and you can even hear Muslim prayer services broadcast in public.

Just a thought I'm throwing out there; I know it only tells one side of the story.

I was supposed to do my hair, apt hunt, and buy a phone.

I woke up, got sick from trying to do my hair (I get nauseous sometimes when combing my hair - yes, it's weird), got mad at myself for getting sick, and went on a Facebook spree to numb my anger.

Very unproductive day. Conclusion: Computer/home chores can be done in the morning once in a while, but doing them in the morning two days in a row feels wasteful and unproductive, and that feeling makes me mad at myself, which in turn makes me actually unproductive.

Plans for rest of day: Attempt hair, buy cell, call ppl about apartments. Let's see if that happens.

Minor annoyance 1: Unable to shower bc at other ppl's house and she's organizing her bathroom right now.
Minor annoyance 2: calory-intake guilt related to big lunch

Bus Experience 2

First of all, I consider the Jerusalem bus system functional, but slightly inconvenient. For a New Yorker who has heavily criticizes both Boston and DC's transit systems, that is a high compliment.

Second of all, last night, I had the following exchange at a bus stop:

מישהו בתחנת האוטובוס: מה יש פה בארץ? אני: הם דתיים. בשבילם זה מקום קדוש. איש: אבל את לא דתייה, נכון? אני: חצי-חצי. איש: איזה בסה

By the time the bus dropped me off, it was 11:30. I did not have my cellphone. I wound up walking for five minutes along a major road with no houses or stores, and despite the low crime rate, as a woman, I was afraid. I thought about how different it is to walk at 11:30 at night in a dark empty place as a man verse as a woman - because a woman always has that unnamed fear.

Part of that is statistical: Women are at higher risk. But part of that is, as a friend pointed out, because society teaches women to be afraid of rape, it teaches women to be afraid of the power of a phallus to ruin their lives, instead of actually trying to change the rape culture we are all a part of. (I guess my feminism is showing.)

Another friend introduced me to this cool website: http://israel.ihollaback.org/
which has an English equivalent: http://www.ihollaback.org/

Bus Experience 1

Jerusalem is an extremely safe city - it has a very low crime rate.

Last night, I was on the bus. The bus I was in passes through East Jerusalem. We were stuck in a hug traffic jam. I was half-asleep. Three Arab guys - in their late teens-early twenties started making lewd noises at me, but I ignored it/went on half-sleeping. Then they began banging on the window, right by my face. I jumped up, startled, and they laughed, then continued walking, and were gone.

I couldn't figure out if they were doing this because I was a woman, because I was Jewish, or because I was a Jewish woman, but no matter the reason, it was very unpleasant.

I told this to a friend and he goes, "If you thought that was unpleasant, I'm not going to tell you what happened near Ashkelon" - but I knew the answer to that - a rocket fell this morning near Ashkelon, where I have cousins and where I have spent much time.

I don't know why, but this comment from a friend kind of annoyed me. Maybe just because I am in a bad mood this morning.

I did however, receive two good quotes: 1. "If everyone were getting oral sex, we wouldn't need guns." (There's a great solution to the Middle East problem).
2.
קודם כל, תרגעי" , בדיחה קצת גזענית טוענת שכך נפתח כל ספר בישול של מרוקאיות. אני לא יודעת איך זה קשור למרוקאיות דווקא, אבל זאת עצה טובה. תנשמי עמוק, יש אויר טוב בחוץ, יש פרחים, יש עצים, יש פיח מאוטובוסים, אבל לפחות יש אוטובוסים.

Israel is Hospitable

Being "homeless" isn't as frightening as I thought it would be - all my friends have really stepped up to the plate. Even married friends with tiny apartments who I suck at keeping in touch with have offered their homes to me.

This reminds me of one of the reasons I love Israel: Israeli culture is very hospitiable; it is a culture in which people regularly host others and let them crash on their couch. It is also a country where people with cars give rides to others on a regular basis - it is not uncommon to see people hitchhiking.

I would like to thank my friends for really helping me in this tough time, and to applaud Israeli culture for the value it places on being hospitable to others. I've literally met people in the supermarket and within five minutes, been invited to their house for a Sabbath meal. In NY, this would be considered creepy. In Israel, it's considered normal.

Hmmm...

Once again, I am using this blog as a form of procrastination. A few thoughts:
1. An Israeli cousin called to make sure I was eating, bc he felt I didn't eat enough when I was at his house. This is something I can only imagine an Israeli relative doing, and it is something that definitely conforms to the American stereotype of the Ashkenazi Jew.
2. I was babysitting the other day, and this American guy who's been living in Israel for 10 years made a comment about "stupid Arabs", but his son was next to him, so he said, "But they're not stupid bc they're Arabs. They're Arabs who happen to be stupid."* I made a comment like, "I don't beleive in inherent stupidity", or something along that lines. He looked at me, said, "How long have you been here?" "Six weeks", I replied. "So you have no right to talk", he said contemptously.

I was really ticked off. What the heck does he know about my life? I've been 20 km from Gaza during the Gaza War and have been coming to Israel since I was 9 months old. (I also happened to be referring to the human species, not to an ethnic group, when I made said comment.)

It is a general Israeli assumption that if you don't live here, you have no right to talk about the situation. On the one hand, I understand that - but on the other, its normal to receive a peice of information and have an opinion on it, whether or not we've experienced that information first hand. As humans, it's what we do.

I think that the truth is, that as humans we must have opinions, because that is a form of caring, but must temper our opinions with the knowledge that if we don't experience something firsthand, we can't truly understand it - and let's face it, as humans, there are many things we pray to God not to understand in that way - the experience is not worth the price.

I certainly think that 6 weeks + too many visits to count, including some during the second intifada and the Gaza War, earn me the right to a casual comment on the playground.

* He later went on a whole speil about not wanting to teach his son to be racist. Good for him. (I mean that seriously. It is tough to educate people to be open-minded.)

Instead of Packing

I am drinking coffee and writing this post. I have managed to master the art of packing while drinking coffee right before leaving for the airport, but somehow today I feel slightly less time pressure (I have to be gone from here in 3-4 hours) so that skill eludes me.

I realized I can't fit everything I need into the suitcase and one carry-on I brought. Instead of freaking out, for today I am stuffing everything into a shopping bag - and what will be will be. I am not wasting time stressing or being angry at myself. For me, this self-acceptance is a big deal.

May we all have days in which we love ourselves, and love and are loved by others.

Good Morning Oklahoma

Or Jerusalem. Whatever.

So:

1. This morning I actually managed to fall up the steps. I feel very cool.

2. I think my relationship with my mother can be summed up in the song "Hot'n'Cold" by Kate Perry. After yelling hurtful things to me last time we spoke on the phone and refusing to help me out with a sublet that cost more than I expected, she sent me an email telling me she hopes I had a nice chag and would like to hear from me. I don't want to call, not because of the money - I'm over that - but because of the hurtful things she said. It's not that I am angry - it's that I am afraid if I call, she'll tell me hurtful things again, and I am already having a hard enough day.

3. In an email I sent to someone: "

apparently an Eritrean Christian named D. loves me "like a sister". I think this is code for "An Eritran Christian named Dori drank too much beer". His reply:

Either that or “An Eritriean Christian wants you to become an Eritrean Christian, too....” I don't agree with his reply, but I do enjoy short, witty, and cynical email exchanges.

1 more thing

As of tomorrow, I will technically be homeless: Due to details I'd rather not go into, my 2-week sublet didn't work out, and I go back "home" on the 7th. This means I have had to ask for favors - to sleep at friend's houses, etc.

It's been a really humbling experience. First of all, I keep on thinking of the various prayers about "not needing help from flesh and blood" (ie people) in order to make ends meet. Asking close friends for favors on a short-term basis is so hard - imagine people who must ask strangers for help on a regular basis. I do beleive that everything in life comes from God, and hope this experience will teach me to treat others - especially the homeless people one sees on the streets - with more compassion.

Second of all, I have a tendency to think, "I can do it all on my own", and to get really angry at myself if I fall short of my expectations. Now I am learning that I can't do it all on my own, and that's ok.

So hopefully these life lessons will serve me well in the future.

Goodnight

That last post was pretty fucking depressing. I refuse to go to sleep with such a depressing post as the first thing visitors to the blog will see- the same way I refuse to finish a meal without drinking coffee.

So here goes:

1. My current roommate does not have any family in Israel. I can not imagine making aliyah without having any family at all here. I really admire her for that.
2. The outfit I wore today cost 95 shekels, including shoes (ie flipflops). I am proud of that, especially since I bargained the store-owner down to 40 shekel from 49 when I bought my skirt. This was not on purpose - when I heard the price I began to walk out of the store. He asked why, and I explained that my skirt budgets was 40 shekels, at which point he gave it to me for that price. The thing is - I really was not bluffing. I did not feel I had the extra 9 shekel to spare.
3. Part of the reason the book I am reading resonates with me so much is that the main character loves poetry, comes from a very traditional family, is lonely, is torn between two identities, and comes from a world of strict sexual ethics which she chooses to violate. I could go more in depth, but I'll choose not to for now.
4. I am currently listening to Eyal Golan.

אני מתנצלת מראש על שגיות בדקדוק וחולי, אך אני חייבת לכתוב בעברית, כדי לא לפגע בשם טוב של ההורים שלי בקהילה הדתית בניו יורק.

כשהייתי בת 18, גרתי בים בשביל שנה: עשיתי תוכנית לחוצניקיות שמדרשת הרובע.

כבר ידעתי לפני כין שרציתי לעשות עליה, אך החלתתי בעמצע השנה שדוקה רציתי לעשות עליה לפני שעשיתי אוניברסיטה ניסיתי להתקבל לאוניברסיטה העברית, אך כשהגיעה הזמן לחזור לניו יורק, עוד לא ידעתי אם אתקבל או לא

שלחתי דואל להורי, בו הסברתי את כל הסיבות שרציתי לעשות אוניברסיטה בארץ. ההורים שלי ממש כעסו עלי, כעס שקשה להסביר את גדולתו, אך מצד שני, אמרו שאם אעשה אוניברסיטה בארהב, הם יקנו לי דירה בארץ ויקבלו שבשמחה את בחירתי לעשות עליה אחרי אוניברסיטה התיעצתי עם רבנים ועם נפש בנפש, ובסוף החלתתי לחזור.

5
שנים אחר כך, ואני עדיין מחכה גם לדירה שהבטיחו לי, וגם לשמחה

לפני כמה ימים, הם הכריזו שהם מנתקים את הקשר הכלכלי שלנו.

הם אמרו לי כל מיני דברים מגילים, שאני מקוה שאף פעם לא אדבר עם בן אדם בצורה כזו.

למרות ששילמתי את רב החשבונות שלי פה עם הכסף שהרווחתי אחרי שסיימתי תואר ראשון, כן קיויתי לתמיכה קלקלית לשבועים האחרונים שלי לפני שאני חוזרת הבייתה כי רוב הכסף שלי נמצא בחשבון בנק אמרייקאי, ומאוד מסובך ויקר להשתמש בכסף מהחשבון האמריקאי שלי פה, בארץ

לפני סוכות, קניתי גינסים בכסטרו, ואמרתי לאמא שלי, והיא צעקה עלי - למה אני לא קניתי גינסים יותר יקרים, למה אני לא משקיע בבגדים שלי, ושאני קמצנית, אך היא רוצה לתת לי את הכסף לבגדים טובים. שבוע אחר כך, היא אמרה לי שאני רוצה לגנוב את הכסף שלה כשהיא עדיין בחיים, וסירבה לעזור לי לשלם שכר דירה.

כשהייתי יותר צעירה, האבא שלי היה אומר לי כל הזמן שאני אהיה פושעת שחייבת לגור ברחוב. נדמה לי שחלק מהנבואה שלו התקיימה, אבל רק מפני שהוא גרם לנבואה להתקיים, בסירבוטו לעזור לי לשלם למקום לגור בו

מה שהכי כועב, זה כשאנשים אומרים לי שברור שאני אצליח, כי ההורים שלי צתומכים בי גם מאופן רגשית וגם מאופן כלכלית

אני לא יודעת איך להגיב. נמאס לי מלנענע ראשי ולחייך.

אני רוצה לצרוח, להסביר שזה ממש לא כחה, שהאנשים שממיהם נובעת רוב השליליות בחיים שלי הם הורי.

אני מאמינה, בתור אישה דתייה, שבסוף הצלחה באה מה, אך חייבים לעשות את השתדלות
- לכן, ההצלחה שלי לא תלוי בהורי כמו שאומרים בתהילים: כי אימי ואבי עזבוני, וה יאספני

הכי קשה, היא האכזבה. אני מנסה להיות בת טובה, ובסוף, כל מה שאני רוצה זה - כן, קצת תמיכה כלכלית , למרות שמה שאני מבקשת מהורי זה פחות ממה שרגיל אצלנו בקהילה שלי, ואני עובדת מהזמן שאני בת 13.
אך גם כן, לא לשמוע דברים שכואבים כל זמן שאני מרימה טלפון - אפילו כשהייתי בבית חולים פעם אחת, האמא שלי צעקה עלי שאני ארוצה לדחות אותה מהחיים שלי כי אני אמרתי שאני רציתי לישון, במקום לשוחח איתה. הייתי בבית חולים - זה רגיל להיות עייף כשאתה נמצא שם.

טוב, הסרתי את מרירות ליבי מעלי כאישה שמתפשטת לאור הירח, אך אין לי את השמחה של ערמות,
רק העייפות שבאה אחרי לילה של כביסה, וחשק לבכות, וחוסר דמעות.

ליליה טוב וחלומות פז.
שה ישמור על המדינה שלנו - קראתי שמישהו ברמות הסתכן הערב - יהי שלום בחיילך, שלוה בארמונותייך. למען אחי ורעי אדברה נא שלום בך. למען בית ה אלוקינו אבקשב טוב לך.

)כן, אני דוסית - מה לעשות - לפחות אני דוסית שלובשת גינסים מכסטרו?)

Laundry Procrastination

One more thing I love about Jerusalem: The ability to tell time through prayer-services.

Thurs night/Fri morning, I was standing outside my building when I heard the muezzin calling Muslims to morning prayers. I said to myself, "Can it be 4 am already?" I got upstairs looked at my watch - and sure enough, it was 4.

This morning: I woke up at 5, fell asleep around 8 - how did I know it was 8? Because I heard the services starting in the synagogue across the street.

Tonight, at the Western Wall, I wondered what time it was - it felt like slightly before six - sure enough, I heard evening prayer services and knew that my internal clock must be right (which it was, since I got home around 6:30).

Also, I have a few Israeli songs stuck in my head that I've decided to share - they are oldies, not really the songs you hear on the radio everyday, but they are good songs.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wfpEjXxGTlk&ob=av3e
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2-dwR8s3i0c
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m5QspR9hBdQ&list=FLOutFbwHq_mahcGyT1DzLiw&index=10
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=brUfNqgIWqg&list=FLOutFbwHq_mahcGyT1DzLiw&index=11
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eb2UvYqvvH8&ob=av3e

Allright, I am off to do laundry. I would rather clean a stranger's house, then cook him and 20 of his friends (or her friends) dinner, then do the dishes, than do laundry.

Hi

Hey. It's me again. So today, I had a random urge to burn incense and dance. I compromised by blessing God for creating various scents (borey miney bsamim) and smelling cinnamon, followed by basil. I preferred the cinammon, which is funny, given that I played a cinammon-loving hippie in a Purim speil once. (It is youtube search-able, if you know my name.)

I am not a hippie, but I do beleive in appreciating the beauty of this world, and so often, we forget the beauty of things we experience everyday - like the smell of cooking spices - so it is important to take time to remedy that.

I once heard a speech from Rabbi Riskin in which he said the first question asked by God to those entering paradise is, "Have you taken pleasure from My world?". That stayed with me.

Meanwhile, today was a big day for me because I am more than halfway done with a Hebrew novel I am reading 'The trumpet in the wadi", by Sammi Michael. A lot of the book resonated with me; because this blog is not completely anonymous (as in I advertised it on my Facebook page), I am not sure how comfortable I feel sharing the reasons that it resonated with me.

In general, it occured to me, that it will be hard to blog about my life in a not completely anonymous forum, because I need to protect people in my life, and the need to protect the anonymity of others will by its nature ocassionally limit what I can or can not say. But such is the price for open-ness, I suppose.

I hate doing laundy

So I am blogging instead. Here goes:

Things I love about living in Jlem (this list is not comprehensive)

1. How small the town is - so easy to get to know people. Yesterday, someone complimented my boots in a coffee shop - turns out we live w/in walking distance. She told me to Facebook her so she could invite me over for Fri night dinner.
2. Seeing people from all ove the world.
3. Being able to walk to the Western Wall - admittedly, were I employed, I might have less time to do so, depending on where in Jlem I lived.
4. There is recycling on every residential block.
5. Speaking Hebrew.

Things I find annoying:
1. Having to walk to the end of the block to throw out my garbage/recycling. In the states, there is usually a garbage shoot on every floor in apartment buildings.
2. How small the town is - I love the anonymity of blending into New York city streets, of going for long walks where I don't have to worry about being seen or meeting someone I know. In Jlem, there's always a chance of running into someone - I usually do. Sometimes, its quite nice. Other times, I long for privacy.
3. How easy it is to get away w/ not speaking Hebew, due to the international flavor of the city and large number of Americans.

Onward, non-Christian Pilgrims!

Here is where I move onward:

Today I walked around singing under my breath* - for me that's not soo unusual. ** I was however, embarrassed by my song selection: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0OT8NVHzYuc and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fkui_42bKhU&list=FLOutFbwHq_mahcGyT1DzLiw&index=5

I blame last night's Kareoke.

Also, today the man at the makolet who bagged my groceries (you know your makolet caters to spoiled Americans when people bag your groceries) told me he was bagging it special for me to make it lighter, because I am a woman, and he doesn't want it to be hard for me to carry it. From a feminist perspective, this is sexism at work. From a practical perspective however, I was grateful.

I think it is true that women generally have a harder time carrying then men: Part of this is biology, and part is society: Women are expected to be skinny; men, to be strong - this means that women and men's fitness regimens differ. But then I thought of pictures of African slave women with their babies slung over their back, as well as with baskets on their head, and wondered if our society's very definition of carrying is male-centric - "bag on back or by side", when in fact, there are so many other ways of positioning things in order to carry them - ways that may be friendlier towards women's bodies.

Anne Frank pointed out in her diary that despite societal perceptions of the woman's body as weak, during childbirth, she actually endures more pain than a typical male soldier.

So here's to an empowering weekend, free of the patriarchy.

* Once, upon arriving early to meet a friend for dinner, I sat on a bench in midtown Manhattan and hummed for fifteen minutes. The local inhabitants, who regularly ignore the men dressed up like Superman who scour our local Fairway's (grocery store) stared at me like I was a leper, spreading the contagious singing disease.
** Interruption: I was just asked to babysit by someone whos kids I babysat for once. That means she thinks I am a good babysitter. Yay! I feel so validated. I love kids. Does that make me a bad feminist? Also please don't equate loving children with wanting to have them right now - I don't see kids for me within the next 4-5 years, at least. Though as my father reminds me constantly, "You say that now, but your priorities might change if you meet the right man." (Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.)

Wedding

Earlier that day, I crashed a Christian Eritrean Ethiopian wedding. (Yes the countries are at war, but, as my hosts explained to me, they love each other and are really one people.)

I was walking through "Bell Garden"* when I heard songs that reminded me vaguely of various Afro-Brazilian religious ceremonies, but I knew was different enough that it wasn't actually that. I walked a bit further, and saw a bunch of white people staring at a bunch of black people engaged in traditional Ethiopian shoulder dances, as well as traditional call-and-response songs. I was surprised, because the language did not sound like Amharit, the language of Ethiopian Jews.

So instead of watching the ceremony, I joined in by sitting down at an empty spot in the circle. I could not sing since I did not know the words, but soon I was drinking beer and exchanging friendly conversations with fellow wedding guests. We spoke about religion and Israel (they love Israel - they really appreciate that it is a democracy, and were explaining to me why they seek asylum here), and that all people are brothers and sisters, etc. There is one man who insisted he loves me like a sister and gave me his number (bc I didn't have mine on me). I am debating whether or not to call him (obviously I am only interested in him as a friend).

Pros:

1. It's the nice thing to do.
2. It would be a great way to make sure I have friends who are different from myself - I love learning from people, and it is through our differences that we learn from each other.

Cons:
1. Past experience of men supposedly seeking a platonic connection who then phone-stalk me
2. There is no 2, but 1 happened enough times to count as two reasons.
3. He asked me if I had a bf, and when I said no, said he didn't beleive me. He could have been trying to be nice, but a small part of me is sensing the typical "Is she available? Yes - now, compliment time" routine - and that makes me feel cynical, which makes me angry at myself.

Where is the line between cynicism and caution?

* The name of a poem waiting to happen, but until it does google Edgar Allen Poe's "The Bells" and maybe "The Raven" and "Anabell Lee" while you're at it.

Last Night (oohooh, was a good night)

Ok, so I guess I''ll start with last night and work my way back chronologically in posts to follow:

Last night I got home at 4 o'clock in the morning. I knew it was 4, without looking at my watch, because I could hear the muezzin calling Muslims to morning prayer. I was out until that..early, because I was at Kareoke with friends. One of those friends was a person I had called and specifically invited to kareoke.

At a certain point, I let a guy buy me a beer, more out of politeness than anything, and wound up talking to him quite a bit because he seemed lonely and I felt bad about letting him buy me a beer without talking to him. I know girls who use guys for free beer all the time, but I just don't have the heart.

Examining my actions, I was bothered by a few things:
1. My inability to say no when I really wanted to.
2. Violation of my ethical code "Do unto others as you want done to you" - while I would prefer for a person I offer beer to to say yes, the hurt I would feel if they said no can not be compared to the hurt I would feel if a friend invited me to hang out, and then didn't actually hang out with me. Granted, the friend I invited knew everyone else - or I wouldn't have even considered hanging out with the free-beer guy, who I was not attracted to.
3. Does it make a difference that the friend I invited was a guy? Does this make it wrong to accept beers from other guys when I am with him - even though I invited him as a friend, not as a date?

To sum up: I had an awesome time, but at am really confused and don't know if I owe said friend an apology - then again, I tend to over-apologize.

On the Name

I sometimes joke that my life is like a "telenovella", a Brazilian soap opera. Hence the title "telenovellista". According to wikipedia, the suffix "ista" denotes:"One who follows a principle or system of belief...A member of a profession or one interested in something." I suppose it is these two definitions I am thinking of the when I apply this suffix to my blog title, though I am more focused on the gestalt effect of the suffix than any individual definition, along with the addendum that: "The Portuguese suffix -ista does not have the same pejorative connotation as the English suffix -ista." (Thanks, Wikipedia. Beijos, querido!).

Now that you've seen the introductory scene, hopefully there will be more to follow after the commercial break.

First Post - yay!

Hi everyone. This is my first personal blogpost. I suppose it will consist of the following: 1. Who I am 2. Why this blog

Who I am? (Or, as Valjean put it so beautifully in Les Mis, "Who am I?".) I am a recent college grad in her twenties, migrating between New York and Jerusalem. I am a religious Jew, trying to live a life of meaning and modernity, finding that in an era of postmodernity, the two can be at odds with each other: It is hard to have meaningful experiences and connections with people when one is expected to constantly ironic and critical, to wear jeans and then comment on how those jeans are the products of a capitalistic patriarchy.

I like poetry, Frida Kahlo, and soccer. The last item might be due to my Brazilian heritage - thanks Mom! I speak a bit of Porgtuguese (no, they don't speak Spanish in Sao Paulo) - at least enough to get me and my mother through a night at the airport hospital when she was sick with foodpoisoning and I had to do the talking for us. I also know a bit of Spanish and French, but would like to improve on all of my language skills a) so I can have meaningful conversations with those who speak those languages b) to read foreign literature in the original - which I can kind of do in French. Portuguese and Spanish my reading seems to be limited to newspapers and magazines.

I am addicted to coffee. My favorite foods are (in no particular order): papaya, pao de quiejo, bourekas, falafel, pizza, bananas. I also like chocolate.

So now that you know enough about me that you can feed me dinner, let's move on to part 2: Why am I starting this blog?

Traditionally, I have written many Facebook notes for my friends and my "friends", which have pondered my life, as well as general observations and even thoughts about religion. When I arrived in Israel however, I faced a major problem: I became addicted to Facebook. This made sense: I was in a place where I knew barely anyone, two of the people I did know were out of the country, and I had many on-line "errands" - applications, apartment hunting, etc., for which Facebook proved the perfect tool of procrastination.

It occured to me at a certain point that this obsession was unhealthy: There is nothing wrong with wanting to write one's thoughts, but the need to constantly share makes one constantly aware of other's perceptions. Sartre's definition of hell, in his play "No Exit" is looking at oneself through other's eyes. I found I was doing the same - looking at myself through the reflection of how it would appear to others if they read my Facebook profile.

I also realize that a supposed "friendship" I was developing with someone who lived nearby was in fact no more than a string of Facebook messages - which is not a real friendship. I realized that I was replacing real connections with people with these casual but frequent virtual contacts, which are fine to supplement connections (depending on how much time one wishes to spend on the internet) but can't create them.

I realized if Facebook dissapeared tomorrow, I'd manage: I could stay in email/gchat/phone/skype contact with most of my friends. But I would need Facebook for two things: 1. Group events that I get invited to/creating events is an easy way of inviting people 2.I enjoyed writing about my life for an audience, instead of in a journal. So this blog was born - a way to post my thoughts online, while still distancing myself from Facebook's addictive glow.

What is the difference between blogging and Facebook? Simple: Here I write for a general audience - the same way that even my journal, is, in some ways, intended for an abstract "reader". But there, I know who is reading, and know it is popping up on their mini-feed. That being said, friends reading this who wish to post comments should feel free to do so, and not feel the need to remain "anonymous" so that I maintain the abstract reader in my head. Somehow with blogging, it is easier for me to write to an abstract reader even when I know who some of my real readers are - one of my weird psychological quirks, I suppose.