Postscript

Yesterday I was out on our balcony fairly early in the morning. I was startled to discover raw oatmeal and raisins scattered about. This was very odd. I asked Lisa about it, but she also found it rather odd. I couldn't imagine any of our neighbors were into the habit of flinging the stuff around. Maybe there was some Passover rite involving a meal offering? Okay, I am being sacrilegious. Maybe the pigeons dropped it. Where do pigeons get raw oatmeal and raisins?

A mystery indeed.

Later that morning I went over to the neighbors to ask a question about work I was doing for them. I casually mentioned the enigmatic oatmeal and got an interesting response: Mrs. looked only surprised, but Mr. and Mike suddenly looked mischievous and rather guilty. Aha! We have culprits! The two of them had been so pleased with Yum-Yum's hunting prowess, that they decided they should start trying to attract pigeons (these are the people who spent all last summer in wholesale warfare against the pigeons) just so Yum-Yum could kill more of them! So they scattered oatmeal all over their balconies, and then threw some over the dividing wall between their balcony and ours... all the more places for Yum-Yum to stalk pigeons.
Alas, it only attracted ants.

Weasels Among Us or See the Conquering Hero Come

Her name is Yum-Yum, and she is actually a ferret. Our next-door neighbors (most of my friends know who they are) recently acquired her as an alternative to a cat (allergies) or a dog (size). She doesn't make anybody sneeze, is very small, and can be very quiet.

My only previous experience with ferrets was at Melissa's house. Andrea, Melissa and I were watching ummmm, that movie that I can't remember the name of.... the book was called The Hot Zone... Outbreak! Remember? And Melissa's dad came in part-way through, when we were huddled up on the couch in sheer terror, and threw the beast on us! Needless to say, I haven't thought kindly of ferrets since then.

Yum-Yum comes to visit us sometimes. It is barely a step from her doorway to ours, but it took quite some time before she felt really safe going even that short distance from the safety of her apartment. She wears a tiny collar with a bell on it to keep unsuspecting people from stepping on her. She scuttles around the outer edges of each room, sure that nobody can see her. She likes the space between the counter and the stove - small, secret, dark, and safe from hawks. Her favorite foods are cucumbers and raw eggs. Once she is sure that she is safe in a new environment, she likes exploring. She loves to push things over, especially if they make a loud noise. Sometimes I think the bell is unnecessary - just follow the sound of falling china. She routinely tips over the trash cans, the toilet brush holder, everything on Lisa's bedside table, and has even managed to get up on the kitchen table to finish off the sugar bowl.

One of her other favorite occupations is chewing on people's feet. I never thought of myself as one of those females who stand on chairs to avoid mice, but I must confess that more than one occasion has found me standing on the couch, my bed, or some other convenient high spot to avoid her. Something about her size, skritchy claws, rodent-like aspect, and cold little nose reacts unfavorably with my nerves. Even kicking at her doesn't work (not violently, for any animal rights activists or sensitive souls who are reading this. In fact, if you fit one of those categories, probably it would be good to stop reading at the end of this paragraph). She seems to have no concept of size, and will attack back immediately. I like animals very well in their place, but attached to my foot is not it.

Today Yum-Yum displayed another side of her character, very much to glee of all the male members of her family. She killed a pigeon. Pigeons land on the railing of the porch, make messes, and are a general nuisance. Apparently, one was actually on the floor of the porch, a mistake he will never make again. Yum-Yum suddenly roused herself in war-like might and leaped upon him, hanging on to his wing. Thankfully, the gory details of the ensuing battle and victory were not repeated to me. Sorry, Derrick. She would have loved to have carried her trophy home like a bloodthirsty warrior returning from the battlefield, displayed it before her admiring family and then hidden it in the springs of the couch. She was thwarted in this, and got a bath instead. Poor Yum-Yum.

She was over to visit us after the big event (clean and in her right mind). Thankfully battle instincts were lying dormant again - she felt no need to kill my feet. Instead she went off to push over the trash can....

So Thanks

I taught my class and did just fine. I should never worry about things and then write a post about them long after my bedtime.

I talked for 40 minutes all about the Atlanta airport and how to navigate it in English. I even found myself dealing unexpectedly with class discipline (an aspect of teaching I assumed I wouldn't have to deal with in a classroom of sedate ladies). One of my 'students' became intrigued with the various usages of the word 'terminal', and how I had explained it. She kept making bright comments about people being terminally ill in the airport terminal, and wondering where you began your flight, if the terminal was the end of it. Pretty soon she had dragged Sandy (my instructor) into it, and my classroom dissolved into laughter. Twenty minutes into my new 'career' as an English teacher, and I had already lost control of the situation!

It was actually a very relaxed way to begin teaching- a dry run where you could stop and discuss methods, spelling, pronunciation, and definitions with the others. At the end everybody critiqued me, but since it was all women nothing particularly harsh was said.

We also scheduled our student teaching for the next two months. Soon I will be standing in front of real students, and I had really must find a better way of defining the word 'terminal.'

butterflies

Tomorrow I am teaching my first English class. And I am not finished preparing it. It's now 10:40 pm and I already have butterflies.
It is going to be a looooong night.
And get this- it isn't even to real students! This is just the dry run in front of my teacher, Lisa, and one other teacher-in-training! You'd think I could handle that!
Sigh.
Feel free to pray for me.

I answered a public telephone the other day. In America and in English it might have be sort of amusing, but in Israel and in Hebrew I felt like I had conquered worlds! :-)

We were on Ben Yehuda Street, minding our own business on a bench by the public phones when one of them started ringing. It didn't stop. I mentioned it to Lisa and we looked at the phone with mild curiosity. It still didn't stop so I suggested I might answer it. Ha! It kept on ringing. I asked Lisa how to say 'public' in Hebrew, got up and picked it up.
"Shalom."
"Shalom."
"This is a public telephone."
"Really?"
"Yes, on Ben Yehuda."
"Where?"
"On Ben Yehuda Street."
"In Jerusalem?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Okay, bye."
"Bye"

There. Thrilling adventure wasn't it? At least I kept him from calling Ben Yehuda Street for the next week, thinking it was his cousin's, or the lawyer's office, or whatever, and never getting an answer. Katie the superhero saves the day!

Help?

Does someone have easy and clear instructions for adding website links to my blogspot?

The Italians were first!

Today during hafsakah (break) of Hebrew class I joined the Romance language circle to provide a change from the English-speaking circle I usually move in. The Romance Language circle consists of a young mother from Italy, a Seminary student from Italy, a seminary student from Poland, a man from Puerto Rico, and sometimes a young pacifist from Germany. Of course, as soon as I joined them, it became an English circle just for my benefit. I was discussing classical guitar, large families, and priests and pastors with the seminary student. He wanted to know if my dad wore a... ah, hmmm... (he points to his clerical collar and I supply the word). Suddenly the conversation moved into Italian as he discussed the exact meaning of the word 'collar' with the young mother. I could follow the gestures of her explanation to a certain extent, and suddenly I heard a word I recognized from high school French- colla (neck). I asked her about it and then we started discussing languages. She spoke Italian, and English, the Puerto Rican spoke Spanish and English, and the Polish seminarian spoke Polish, Italian, English, and I think possibly Russian.

Thus a mystery was solved! These people come from vastly different sections of the world and yet they converse? What is the common language? There isn't one: The Italians speak Italian, the Puerto Rican answers in Spanish and if I had mastered French I would have fit right in.

So, if one can learn one language from each family just think how many people you could communicate with! So after I finish my first Semitic language (Hebrew), and another Germanic language (Yiddish), I think I'll take up French again so that I have at least one Romance language. Then all I would need would be an African language and something from the Far East....

We talked a bit more about the language similarities between French and Italian and the Italian mother said, "They got it all from us. We were there first!" Take that, France! :-)

Jerusalem Corner # 2

So, I was crossing the road about 50 yards from a street corner. I had looked carefully before stepping out and there was not a car in sight. I was halfway across when suddenly a car came around the corner, saw me, and... sped up! I tell you, I DO NOT understand these people! What in the world was going through his mind? I mean, when any American comes around a corner and sees a pedestrian, what does he do INSTINCTIVELY? He steps on the brake! Right? Of course right. That "slow down' gene must be really recessive in the Mediterranean gene pool. Maybe nonexistent.

Or maybe he just assumed that I had enough native intelligence to get out of the way in time. After all, it is his road, not mine- I belong on the sidewalk, and the sooner I get there, the better all 'round.

Same thing happened again tonight, only it was a motorcycle in the dark, and I actually had to run for the sidewalk. I'm afraid I bellowed unkind things about the Israeli race in general to relieve my irritation. But I was instantly repentant when I saw there was a security guard a few yards away. I hope the window of his little hut was closed, or that he didn't speak English. I am sorry Mr. Israeli! I really am glad to be in your country, I love you all, and I think you are lovely! (Just please don't run down visitors; it isn't very good PR!)

my favorite tree 

Honesty in Hebrew

How things do complicate themselves in a second language! Today I had to run a small errand of honesty- I bought some groceries the other day including two small yogurts. All very good. A day or so later Lisa informed that I had paid for only one of the yogurts. I am afraid that my first response was "What possessed you to sit down and translate the silly receipt?!"
I know, I know, not exactly a Christ-like response. Anticipating a conversation in Hebrew isn't very far removed from anticipating a battle- you plan verbal tactics, think up every eventuality, run scenarios through in your mind, and get butterflies as you walk onto the battle field.
A receipt in English can be cryptic, a receipt in Hebrew is, well, let's just say that one cannot just casually glance it, say, "Yep, that's the one," and away you go. So we temporarily mislaid the thing, and what with one thing and another, it was just today that I actually got the correct receipt in my pocketbook, gathered my mental reserve, and headed for the grocery store.
Practically speaking, people who work at grocery stores usually don't have much in the way of a second language. I mean, if they did, why would they be a checkout clerk? But not so in Israel! The majority of grocery store checkouts seem to be manned by middle-aged Russian ladies with ginger-colored hair and two languages- Russian and Hebrew. Which is nice, but does me no good.
I went to the customer service desk first and asked the lady at the counter (which was about chin level) if she spoke English. She shook her head no with a sad little half-smile.
This is what the following conversation in Hebrew sounded like: "I am here before, and I write... no, I buy two yogurts (I pull out the receipt as a prop), but here there is only one (point to the receipt). I want to give you more money."
"Okay," she says, "You want to give more money? Go over there." She gestures to the checkout line. Blast.
I went the long way round, picked up a few things I needed, as well as one yogurt for the clerk to scan.
"Hi, do you speak English?"
"No."
"Okay, (in Hebrew) I have two yogurts, but here (point to the receipt) is only one. I want to give you more money."
"I don't understand, here there are three chocolates.." She says, looking at the wrong item on the receipt.
"No, there, one yogurt." I say, leaning over and trying to locate the word 'yogurt' in Hebrew, upside down. "I have two, but here is only one," I say again.
"You have two?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
Well, that wasn't so hard after all!
The deed is done, the battle won, the yogurt scanned and set aside (I don't want any more right now, thank you), money paid, and off I go. But first, I double-check my new receipt...

In Passing

On my way home from class on the bus I pass a delicious corner of suburban Jerusalem- two shops side by side for two of the most beautiful things in the world: women's hats and flowers. In Jerusalem these are also the necessities of life- women must cover their heads when they marry, and tradition says that husbands should bring their wives flowers every Friday before the Sabbath. Some cultures have all the luck...

This one is for you Meredith...

What Meredith, are you studying Hebrew? You shouldn't encourage me... Hebrew is the biggest thing in my life right now, and its hard not to talk about it.

Here's the other mistake I made in class, which I didn't realize until I thought about it later. But first, a bit of grammatical background:

In English we make a plural by adding an 's': immigrants, books
When we add an adjective it looks like this: new immigrant, big book.
If you add an adjective to the phrase the noun gets an 's', but the adjective doesn't: new immigrants, big books.
One more thing: in English the adjective comes before the noun.

In Hebrew the plural is made by adding a suffix (usually a 'ot' sound or an 'im'sound: oleh-olim, sefer-sefarim.
When you add an adjective to the singular form, it comes after the noun, and it looks like this- oleh hadash, sefer gadol.
But when you add an adjective to the plural form, the adjective gets a plural ending as well!: Olim hadashim, sefarim gadolim (if we did the same in English it would look like this: news immigrants, bigs books).

Okay, got that? :-)

So in class we were writing down lists of things about ourselves (our favorite book, our dream, our birthday, our favorite sport, our philosophy of life, etc.)Then we had to pass them in to the teacher, who read some of them out loud while we guessed who had written them.

Under 'philosophy of life' I wrote "God is good" (or at least I thought I did). Of course, there is a lot more to my philosophy of life, but one can hardly write it in a sentence, and at my level of Hebrew!

The Hebrew word for God that I used (there are many) was Elohim. NOTICE that it has that 'im' sound at the end, making it sound like a plural! (think- Three In One)

The word 'elohim' is also used to mean 'gods', the same as we use 'God' and 'gods'. So if I am going to say 'God is good' in Hebrew I say 'Elohim Tov.' That is a simple noun and adjective- and even though 'Elohim' is plural, I should use a singular adjective (Tov) because God is One!

Only... I didn't. I wrote "Elohim Tovim" So, it comes down to a simple difference of endings, but a very big difference in philosophy. Do I think that:

"God is God" (Elohim Tov)
or that
"the gods are good"? (elohim tovim)

Oh the joy of languages! and oh the pitfalls!

Dati

Today in class we had a involved discussion about family relationships. That doesn't mean such deep topics as two-parent families vs. one-parent families and their effects on society...We are yet babes in the language. We learned how to say sister, sisters, father, fathers, brother, brothers, uncle, uncles, married, single, oldest, youngest, only child, and other such words. Then the teacher went around the room stressing people out by asking them simple questions like this, "Rami, do you have brothers or sisters?" "How many sisters do you have? How many brothers?" This is always an interesting moment in class- I take delicious pleasure in having seven siblings in a room full of two-sibling families. "Katie, how many brothers and sisters do you have?" "I have three brothers and four sisters." "Really! How many is that total?" "Eighty." Okay, okay, I don't really, but eight an eighty are almighty close in sound and syllable when you are nervous and speaking in another language. At least I provided entertainment for the rest of the class.

I was also provided with the opportunity I had been looking for recently. I couple classes ago I realized that my teacher labored under the impression that I was Jewish. It was a completely understandable impression, but I didn't want her to continue under it for long.

A week or so ago we were having a discussion about the Jewish holiday of Purim (celebration of the story of Esther). She went around asking the Jews in the room what they had done for the holiday celebrations. The usual activities are highly suspect in my book- getting very drunk and having loud parties. Not that I am against loud parties in general, but well, you know. Anyway, she asked me if I had danced during Purim. I suppose I could have come up with some smart response, or something goody-goody, or used the opportunity to say I wasn't Jewish, but none of these seemed right, so I just slunk down in my seat and said that no, I hadn't danced during Purim. Sigh.

So today, after our class discussion about families, we had to talk to our neighbor one-on-one some more. The teacher came to me and asked me if my family was religious. I quickly said that I wasn't Jewish, but Christian. She was surprised, but persisted, "Okay, but are you religious Christians? Because in modern times only religious families have such big families."
The word in Hebrew is dati, and is fraught with meaning. Dati applies in varying forms to the Ultra-Orthodox in Mea Shearim, to the American religious Jews, and to any Jew who takes his religion seriously. It is also a bad word to all the secular Jews who have been treated badly by dati Jews. "Religious" doesn't even really fit me in English! But how do I explain all this to my Hebrew teacher when I can't even remember how to say my numbers? "Well,..." I say slowly, "I guess so." and leave it at that. Again, sigh. Someday, in my dreams at least, I will be able to say that in Hebrew...

And by the way, I was beaten for the title of Biggest Family by one-the priest from Poland is one of nine children.