Are any of us surprised that English speakers feel no need at all to learn another language when the move to a new country? I'm not. Why? Well, because I see this happen every day.
Showing posts with label Hebrew. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hebrew. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Israel's Immigrant Anglo Students Don't Want to Learn Hebrew. Shocker!
Are any of us surprised that English speakers feel no need at all to learn another language when the move to a new country? I'm not. Why? Well, because I see this happen every day.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Israel Museum Has a Face Lift
I just got back from an outing to the newly improved Israel Museum. And you know what? It looks great.
Here's a map of the musem:
The museum was well-planned overall, and especially accessible to tourists from all over the world. Nearly all audio and video was played in English with Hebrew subtitles, and all print that had to be read was available in Arabic, English, Hebrew and sometimes Russian.
My favorite sections were the parts I've circled in pink. These were the special exhibits and contemporary art exhibits that were well laid-out, well organized and offered the most bang for the buck. It's stuff you haven't seen before, and that's what makes it special.
I don't mean to imply that their Archaeology, Modern Art and Jewish Art and Life sections, etc, are not well done. Their collections are impressive, well-organized, and beautifully restored. I just happen to be drawn to eye-catching modern art that you just don't find at other museums in Israel.
My favorite temporary exhibition was "פעימות" which literally means "strokes" or "heartbeats" and was in my opinion poorly translated as "Still Moving". Despite the poor translation, the exhibit was conceptually and aesthetically bewitching. All of the pieces in the exhibit in one way or another played on time whether it be space time, sensory time, frozen time.
The exhibit included a small plastic baby pool filled with slowly swirling water whose swirl was regulated by three motorized pumps hidden in the bottom of the pool. A scatter of floating ceramic blows and wine glasses sat swirling in the water, slowly moving as if together, but then delightfully chiming against one another at seemingly random moments.
After passing the pool, we entered a series of white rooms and corridors constructed like a small house, with the walls and ceilings covered by black paper butterflies seemingly frozen in movement. The effect was at once frightening, mesmerizing and beautiful. The piece by the Mexican artist Carlos Amorales, is called "Black Cloud".
Another beautiful piece called "Table" by Junya Ishigami featured a long, tall table upon which trays of herbs, flowers, seeds and spices were laid out romantically, evoking what might be the kitchen of a rich and playful heiress in the south of France. At first glance, one doesn't notice that the table is slowly undulating up and down, in long smooth bounces, but as one nears, it becomes clear that the long, thin wooden plank of the table is silently moving, without disrupting one perfectly placed item. Nearly everyone, curious as to how the table remains in continuous movement, bends down to check for a motor or spring beneath the table. But it is the museum guard who keeps it moving: every few seconds pushing down on the thin plank of wood.
The last piece in this exhibit that really stood out was a slow motion video that played on a small television framed so as to appear as a painting or photograph. The short, almost 4 minute film begins with about two minutes of frozen video of a pomegranate and head of lettuce hanging from a string at a window sill, just above a sliced pumpkin and zucchini. I was sure it was some sort of digital still life.
Then, suddenly, with a "whoosh", a speeding bullet flies into the pomegranate from behind spewing juice and seeds, and rupturing its skin. I jumped despite the fact that all of this is filmed in extreme slow motion. Every drop of juice is shown in immense detail, a violence of destruction deconstructed with the hypnotizing, slow swinging motion of the broken fruit.
So, if you are making your way to Jerusalem, DO NOT miss the new Israel Museum. It's open on Saturdays till 5:00pm (I know, I was shocked too). If you're a student, bring your ID card- you get a few shekels off. Oh, and did I mention, the place is HEAVILY air conditioned?! (Huge plus!!!)
Here's a map of the musem:
|
| Israel Museum Map |
My favorite sections were the parts I've circled in pink. These were the special exhibits and contemporary art exhibits that were well laid-out, well organized and offered the most bang for the buck. It's stuff you haven't seen before, and that's what makes it special.
I don't mean to imply that their Archaeology, Modern Art and Jewish Art and Life sections, etc, are not well done. Their collections are impressive, well-organized, and beautifully restored. I just happen to be drawn to eye-catching modern art that you just don't find at other museums in Israel.
My favorite temporary exhibition was "פעימות" which literally means "strokes" or "heartbeats" and was in my opinion poorly translated as "Still Moving". Despite the poor translation, the exhibit was conceptually and aesthetically bewitching. All of the pieces in the exhibit in one way or another played on time whether it be space time, sensory time, frozen time.
The exhibit included a small plastic baby pool filled with slowly swirling water whose swirl was regulated by three motorized pumps hidden in the bottom of the pool. A scatter of floating ceramic blows and wine glasses sat swirling in the water, slowly moving as if together, but then delightfully chiming against one another at seemingly random moments.
 |
| Picture from :http://www.imj.org.il |
After passing the pool, we entered a series of white rooms and corridors constructed like a small house, with the walls and ceilings covered by black paper butterflies seemingly frozen in movement. The effect was at once frightening, mesmerizing and beautiful. The piece by the Mexican artist Carlos Amorales, is called "Black Cloud".
 |
| Picture from: http://www.casino-luxembourg.lu/html_en/expositions/expo2008.htm |
 |
| Paper Butterflies Cover the Walls and Ceiling |
Another beautiful piece called "Table" by Junya Ishigami featured a long, tall table upon which trays of herbs, flowers, seeds and spices were laid out romantically, evoking what might be the kitchen of a rich and playful heiress in the south of France. At first glance, one doesn't notice that the table is slowly undulating up and down, in long smooth bounces, but as one nears, it becomes clear that the long, thin wooden plank of the table is silently moving, without disrupting one perfectly placed item. Nearly everyone, curious as to how the table remains in continuous movement, bends down to check for a motor or spring beneath the table. But it is the museum guard who keeps it moving: every few seconds pushing down on the thin plank of wood.
 |
| Picture by Chiaki Hayashi |
The last piece in this exhibit that really stood out was a slow motion video that played on a small television framed so as to appear as a painting or photograph. The short, almost 4 minute film begins with about two minutes of frozen video of a pomegranate and head of lettuce hanging from a string at a window sill, just above a sliced pumpkin and zucchini. I was sure it was some sort of digital still life.
Then, suddenly, with a "whoosh", a speeding bullet flies into the pomegranate from behind spewing juice and seeds, and rupturing its skin. I jumped despite the fact that all of this is filmed in extreme slow motion. Every drop of juice is shown in immense detail, a violence of destruction deconstructed with the hypnotizing, slow swinging motion of the broken fruit.
So, if you are making your way to Jerusalem, DO NOT miss the new Israel Museum. It's open on Saturdays till 5:00pm (I know, I was shocked too). If you're a student, bring your ID card- you get a few shekels off. Oh, and did I mention, the place is HEAVILY air conditioned?! (Huge plus!!!)
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Making Aliyah in Tel Aviv- A Glance Back at My First Day as an Israeli Citizen
In light of my most recent post about marriage in Israel, I dug out my ruminations that I sent out to friends and family when I first made Aliyah...way back when I had long hair.
My relationship with Israel is a complicated affair. You could call it a love/hate relationship, but it's more complicated than that. I think it comes down to the fact that we're both still trying to find ourselves.
Some of you have already read this. Think of it as a nice refresher. Plus, I edited it a bit so that it reads a bit better.
My love for this country and my fascination with Israel runs deep, despite the fact that I don't agree with everything that happens here.
"Yesterday morning, it was my turn. After waiting in a large gray hallway lined with uncomfortable gray metal chairs, it was finally my turn. I'd watched for almost an hour as Russians, Koreans, Vietnamese, French,Spaniards, and Ethiopians jumped up at the call of their mispronounced name and entered the room behind the security guard with a thick Russian accent.
But there was none of that -- only a small piece of paper with my photograph and my name and birthday written in Hebrew. So, that's all my citizenship really is? A piece of paper? I came home feeling strange. The day was incredibly anti-climactic.
Compared to Hebrew, the English-speaking world is a play, a farce, or a choreographed dance of sorts. If Spanish is a strange magical dream, and French is the language of romance; if Chinese is complex and somewhat mathematical, and Russian is the slurred speech of alcoholism; Hebrew is the language of raw, direct, honest truth.
So maybe that's it. Maybe that's why there are cigarettes scattered along every sidewalk, and why the paint is peeling on almost every building. Maybe that's why there was grayness and uncomfortable metal chairs and half-smiles yesterday morning. Maybe that's why I didn't feel any different at all.
My relationship with Israel is a complicated affair. You could call it a love/hate relationship, but it's more complicated than that. I think it comes down to the fact that we're both still trying to find ourselves.
Some of you have already read this. Think of it as a nice refresher. Plus, I edited it a bit so that it reads a bit better.
My love for this country and my fascination with Israel runs deep, despite the fact that I don't agree with everything that happens here.
 |
| Me and my brother in Israel 1995 (gotta love the hats) |
"Yesterday morning, it was my turn. After waiting in a large gray hallway lined with uncomfortable gray metal chairs, it was finally my turn. I'd watched for almost an hour as Russians, Koreans, Vietnamese, French,Spaniards, and Ethiopians jumped up at the call of their mispronounced name and entered the room behind the security guard with a thick Russian accent.
Now it was my turn. I sat down at a big gray desk and handed over my birth certificate, a letter from my rabbi confirming my maternal Jewish lineage, and my passport to a thin olive-skinned woman. I bit my nails and tried my best not to look to hung over.
Yesterday morning, a thin olive-skinned woman behind a big gray desk typed a few keys into her computer, made a few photocopies, and suddenly I was an Israeli citizen. She handed me a small plastic folder with an ID card inside. "Mazal Tov" she said with a half smile, and then she sent me on my way. She pressed a button to signal that her desk was open to serve the next in a long line of anxious people, and then she turned back to face her computer.
Yesterday morning I walked out of The Office of the Interior in Tel Aviv with my new ID card unsure of what to do next. For some reason, I thought I'd suddenly feel different. Or, maybe not even feel different, but be different. Or if not that, even, I'd imagined that the staff at the office of the interior might hand me a small plastic Israeli flag, or a bag of
Bamba (Israeli snack food), or the words to the Israeli national anthem, 'HaTikvah', to welcome me as a new citizen of their holy country; to make me feel like this day was somehow special.
Yesterday morning I walked out of The Office of the Interior in Tel Aviv with my new ID card unsure of what to do next. For some reason, I thought I'd suddenly feel different. Or, maybe not even feel different, but be different. Or if not that, even, I'd imagined that the staff at the office of the interior might hand me a small plastic Israeli flag, or a bag of
Bamba (Israeli snack food), or the words to the Israeli national anthem, 'HaTikvah', to welcome me as a new citizen of their holy country; to make me feel like this day was somehow special.
But there was none of that -- only a small piece of paper with my photograph and my name and birthday written in Hebrew. So, that's all my citizenship really is? A piece of paper? I came home feeling strange. The day was incredibly anti-climactic.
At home I discussed my new status with my roommate Liron. It didn't seem any different than any other conversation we have on any other day. We sat on the balcony, drank coffee, smoked our cigarettes, and
spoke about little things and big things….in Hebrew. I've already been living in Israel for over a year. I already conduct my entire day in Hebrew.
My typical day is already quite "Israeli". I sit on my mirpeset and drink my instant coffee before walking to work. I walk the entire length of Tel Aviv at least twice a day, each day changing up the route depending on the weather. When it's too hot, I choose Ben Yehuda Street, which always has shade. When it's too windy, I choose Dizengoff Street which shelters from the sea breeze. When the weather is just right, I walk along the boardwalk and sometimes allow myself a few meters of strolling along the shore. Every so often, I run the 4-kilometer length and shower at the public bathrooms near the Tel Aviv port where I work.
spoke about little things and big things….in Hebrew. I've already been living in Israel for over a year. I already conduct my entire day in Hebrew.
My typical day is already quite "Israeli". I sit on my mirpeset and drink my instant coffee before walking to work. I walk the entire length of Tel Aviv at least twice a day, each day changing up the route depending on the weather. When it's too hot, I choose Ben Yehuda Street, which always has shade. When it's too windy, I choose Dizengoff Street which shelters from the sea breeze. When the weather is just right, I walk along the boardwalk and sometimes allow myself a few meters of strolling along the shore. Every so often, I run the 4-kilometer length and shower at the public bathrooms near the Tel Aviv port where I work.
Walking along the beach is by far my favorite route. I put on my ipod and stroll briskly down King George Street past its discount clothing stores. I take a right on Allenby at the intersection where the Tel Aviv open-air market makes it's home. I then pull a left on Ge'ulah, pass a few hotels and finally reach the boardwalk.
The Tel Aviv beach could never be mistaken for anything but a public beach. The sand is laden with trash and cigarette butts, there are old men with dark shriveled skin playing Matcot (Paddle ball), and men and women of
 |
| Me on the Tel Aviv beach with my friend Nomes |
all ages walking their dogs along the shoreline. There are bike riders and runners, and kids playing volleyball. There are homeless people sleeping on the hot sidewalks, and restaurants with tables in the sand where tourists watch the soft blue waves of the Mediterranean ebb and flow as they eat their Israeli breakfast of eggs, sour
cheese, and cucumber and tomato salad with lemon and olive oil. There are stands of jewelry sellers, portrait artists, and "born again" Orthodox Jews hoping to convert the secular.
One of the reasons that I love Tel Aviv is that it's a bit tacky. Maybe tacky isn't the right word. Maybe the aesthetics just aren't 'polite'. While the city itself is beautiful and the sea is gorgeous, while most buildings betray their distinctive Bauhaus design and produce stands fill the streets with sweet smells and bright colors,
there is an air of disrepair hanging over Tel Aviv that can't be overlooked.
cheese, and cucumber and tomato salad with lemon and olive oil. There are stands of jewelry sellers, portrait artists, and "born again" Orthodox Jews hoping to convert the secular.
One of the reasons that I love Tel Aviv is that it's a bit tacky. Maybe tacky isn't the right word. Maybe the aesthetics just aren't 'polite'. While the city itself is beautiful and the sea is gorgeous, while most buildings betray their distinctive Bauhaus design and produce stands fill the streets with sweet smells and bright colors,
there is an air of disrepair hanging over Tel Aviv that can't be overlooked.
Most buildings, even the most beautiful, have paint peeling at each corner of their balconies, and they aren't shy about their water stains or ashamed of their dirt-caked faces. Most fruit vendors sit in the doorway of their healthy-looking stores, smoking cigarette after cigarette between deep phlegmy coughs. And even the most important businessmen walk to work in shorts and a button-down linen shirt. Only recently have they implemented the "no jeans policy" in the Knesset. It's as if aesthetics are understood and important, but not important enough. And I take this all in as I walk my hour-long walk to Gilly's restaurant where I work as a hostess.
By the time I get to work, I'm almost always sweaty, and I'm ready for another shot of caffeine. I say 'boker tov' (good morning) to the barman, ask him to make me a cup of black coffee, log myself into the computer, and begin
answering phone calls. At 9:30am all the waiters and waitresses working the first morning shift sit down to eat breakfast and chat about this and that before the restaurant opens at 10:00. I sit at the table, spooning salad, labane, and shakshuka (Israeli breakfast dish of eggs cooked in a tomato-base) onto my plate, and listen
to their stories.
The first word out of my mouth every day is in Hebrew, and the last thing I say before I got to bed is "layla tov" (good night). I've begun to resent Americans who speak English here. They don't understand the raw
beauty of the Hebrew language.
Last night, while out celebrating my new civil status with a couple pints of beer, my friend noted how different one's voice sounds when speaking Hebrew as opposed to English. He then pointed to his heart and he said, "Hebrew comes from here". "English", he said, pointing to his head, "English comes from here".
By the time I get to work, I'm almost always sweaty, and I'm ready for another shot of caffeine. I say 'boker tov' (good morning) to the barman, ask him to make me a cup of black coffee, log myself into the computer, and begin
answering phone calls. At 9:30am all the waiters and waitresses working the first morning shift sit down to eat breakfast and chat about this and that before the restaurant opens at 10:00. I sit at the table, spooning salad, labane, and shakshuka (Israeli breakfast dish of eggs cooked in a tomato-base) onto my plate, and listen
to their stories.
 |
| Breakfast at Gilly's (that's me at the head of the table) |
The first word out of my mouth every day is in Hebrew, and the last thing I say before I got to bed is "layla tov" (good night). I've begun to resent Americans who speak English here. They don't understand the raw
beauty of the Hebrew language.
Last night, while out celebrating my new civil status with a couple pints of beer, my friend noted how different one's voice sounds when speaking Hebrew as opposed to English. He then pointed to his heart and he said, "Hebrew comes from here". "English", he said, pointing to his head, "English comes from here".
And he's right. In Hebrew, there's no other option but to speak the truth. Hebrew doesn't allow for anything but brutal honesty. In English, everything is softer, more polite, and takes longer to say; everything is somehow
twisted, and a bit less exact.
twisted, and a bit less exact.
Compared to Hebrew, the English-speaking world is a play, a farce, or a choreographed dance of sorts. If Spanish is a strange magical dream, and French is the language of romance; if Chinese is complex and somewhat mathematical, and Russian is the slurred speech of alcoholism; Hebrew is the language of raw, direct, honest truth.
So maybe that's it. Maybe that's why there are cigarettes scattered along every sidewalk, and why the paint is peeling on almost every building. Maybe that's why there was grayness and uncomfortable metal chairs and half-smiles yesterday morning. Maybe that's why I didn't feel any different at all.
This piece of paper, this small photo-ID, this morning free of ceremony- it all said more than I had realized. It's honest. It's not very polite. It's not sugar coated. There's no celebration, no gifts or kitschy fake smiles. The ID is as plain as plain can be. It says what needs to be said, and no more. Without a hologram or a laminated seal, it says that I am now a person whose name and birthday and residence are printed … in Hebrew."
 |
| My Israeli ID Card |
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
On Being Illiterate
For some reason, the word "illiterate" still feels a bit dirty. It evokes the image of some beggar child out of a Charles Dickens novel or an old stubborn woman living all alone in an old rickety house.
I'm not quite sure why this is. It may be because of all the TV adds I saw that tried to promote reading and portrayed the illiterate as a handicapped population. It may be that the movies, television programs and books I read featured illiterate low-class. It must also be because of the fact that I learned to read at such a young age. Being illiterate simply seemed impossible to me. I couldn't wrap my head around how someone could go their entire life without learning, or at least trying to learn, how to read.
Well, here I am. I'm almost 27. And I am half illiterate.
I'm not quite sure why this is. It may be because of all the TV adds I saw that tried to promote reading and portrayed the illiterate as a handicapped population. It may be that the movies, television programs and books I read featured illiterate low-class. It must also be because of the fact that I learned to read at such a young age. Being illiterate simply seemed impossible to me. I couldn't wrap my head around how someone could go their entire life without learning, or at least trying to learn, how to read.
Well, here I am. I'm almost 27. And I am half illiterate.
This past Sunday, I took Israel's Hebrew Proficiency Exam. We'll see whether I pass. It's been three years since I've moved to Israel- three full years of living my life in Hebrew, and yet, I do not read. Or, rather, I read at a very elementary level.
Now, on the one hand I feel extremely shameful. I don't ever push myself to read, I haven't been strong enough to carve out a time each day in which I sit down to read, and I certainly don't make a point of trying to read the news in Hebrew. I'm lazy. And this is how I approach most things in life. I am incredibly lazy.
I sit around and watch movies. I go out and get drunk on the weekends. I get home with plenty on my mind, and instead I make food or dabble around on facebook, peeking in on others lives in order to make myself depressed. I read and write e-mails, deluding myself that I'm doing something productive. At yet, at the end of the day, I haven't done anything I can say I'm at all proud of.
Everything seems meaningless. I'm not quite sure when I lost my interest in the world, but it's happed very quickly. I feel incapably of writing well, incapable of applying myself to serious critical reading, and incapable of doing anything interesting.
I flip through the facebook pages of my friends who are pursuing a dream. Well, I never really had a dream. I never really knew what it was I wanted or how I was supposed to know this in the first place. What are these "passions" that people have? Why don't I ever feel passion? The kind of passion that propels and excites?
So I'm back to square one. My impotence. My illiteracy. My inability to follow through.
The end.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Baby time and making Aliya
I am an unemployed new immigrant. The unemployed status is relatively recent. I had been waitressing, but was fired almost a month ago; my elementary school English teacher status ended with the school year; and my one and only private English student has had enough.
I find myself - once again - frantically searching for a decent paying job, desperate enough to take almost anything I can get.
Since my arrival I've been trying to find my place here in Israel's economy. I have found this task to be impossible. For one reason or another, I feel ill-equipped for every position. The first and most obvious issue is Hebrew. Secondly, it seems I have little to no experience in almost every area. Third, the older I get, the lazier I seem to get. I don't have the energy to work like a dog, which once upon a time I was happy to do.
And now all of my friends are getting married and having babies. This is what my age-group is talking about: weddings, couples, pregnancies, births or baby-steps. My friend noa is pregnant. My friend Izhar has a three month old boy. My best friend naomi is trying and here I am unemployed unengaged and uninterested. Here I am with about 1000 shekels in my bank account, trying to stay afloat, trying to figure out my future and my life, while my friends are getting married, buying houses and having babies.
Do I have it all wrong? Am I a poorly evolved 20-something?
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