Travel Log #28

February 13, 2010
Yokneam is a quiet place. I like it. No pubs, no crowds of people screaming, shrouded in drunkenness. Excellent gelato. There are a lot of children; this is a town filled with the young. About ten years ago, the mayor (who is still the mayor) came up with an initiative that would bring young people to one of the oldest towns in Israel and that would also rejuvenate it economically. Today, Yokneam is a center for high-tech business. Those in the industry brought their young and upcoming families with them. So, like I said, there are a lot of children.

Four days a week, I, along with Max and Andi, go into work at an elementary school where we primarily teach English. Between the three of us, we work with grades 1 through 6. I, personally, work with 2 through 6, but mainly with the 4th and 5th grades. We work one-on-one with the students who need extra help and it's really amazing to see our efforts actually bearing fruit: the children are learning! The children are improving.

At first, I wanted nothing to do with them--the thought of children does not sit well with me. But I tried anyway and ended up loving them. They're so sweet and, a rarity these days, interested in learning things. When we walk into a classroom, we're bombarded with squeals of excitement and hugs and a contest over who gets to have us sit at their table.

A few weeks ago I was sick for a week and one of my fourth grade classes made me Get-Well cards, all of which were absolutely adorable.

Another surprise is that I'm also teaching math--second grade math, but still. This is me. And math.

Sometimes, as part of the English lesson, I bring in Therem and teach them a song. They absolutely love this. Edna, the English teacher I spend most of my time with, asked if I could bring her in again this week, so we'll see.

February 15, 2010
The school is the most organized of our volunteer activities. However, there still remain days like today, when there is absolutely nothing to do. Welcome to Israel, land of organization. I ended up hanging in the office with the secretary, Zohar, and we taught each other English and Hebrew. She may be one of my interviewees, for the photojournalism/conflict journalism project I'm working on for my internship during Part III. I'll explain that in more detail later--probably in a later post.

Anyhow, I don't only teach at the בית-ספר (school); I also teach at the local youth center (בית נוער) in the evenings. The students there are high school age and I teach them guitar and English penmanship, reading comprehension, and writing. They are high school seniors, preparing for their בגרות (bagroot--exit exams). My students are amazingly motivated and fantastic, and serious about learning.

Of course, there are the typical issues: how can I teach them guitar if they don't have guitars of their own to practice with? Sure, they can borrow mine during the lesson, but that's only an hour or so a week and we share the guitar between at least three people. My girl student had intolerably long nails for playing guitar, so I told her to cut them. And she did! The next week, she was incredible! I was so impressed. The boys are good, too, but their attendance is more intermittent.

The Youth Center is sometimes an enigma. Most of the kids go to have a place to hang out, play ping-pong, air-hockey, and fooze-ball, and use the computers. They come to stay off the streets. There are leadership programs, and a pre-army program called אחריי (Ach'a'raii--After Me). My favorite is the cooking program, with a great guy named Gid'on. He makes pita from scratch in a stone oven, and pizza, and is always handing out tea. Gid'on is Kurdish and taught me and Andi some words in Kurdish. Turns out Kurdish has its etymological roots in Chaldean, just like Hebrew, and where we would say things like "לחם" (lechem--bread) in Hebrew, we would say "לחמה" (lach'ma) in Kurdish.

Other than this, I'm not really sure what we're doing at the Youth Center. The administrators, or coordinators seems to have some very undefined idea of having some kind of grandiose impact n the place--but every time we suggest something, they shoot it down as "unrealistic" and "not good enough". I was personally berated for "doing a great job, but it's not good enough--what else can [I] think of?" Nothing, truthfully.

I don't really have answers to these questions. I came here to build connections with people. I came here so that those connections would bring me closer to understanding Israel. Place=people who live in that place. I told my inquisitor this. Not good enough. Think of something else.

"What do you think the children would find interesting?" he asked.
"Well, when I was their age--" I began.
"No. Don't think like this. This is bad thinking," he cut me off.

I stopped talking and very much wanted to leave and go cry in a corner, but I endured this for over half-an-hour, where he even told my student, Shira, to go away. I wonder what is considered sadism, or if this is guy even realizes what he's doing. Probably not.

The point is, other than my students, I really have no motivation to go anymore. Plus, the guy treats me (and maybe my peers--I don't know) like I'm twelve. I walk in and he's all perky, blows over with a high-five and keeps walking. I hate being patronized.

On Sunday mornings, I have been working at an elderly day care center. Unlike the old-age home in Ashkelon, these people are totally coherent and go here mainly for socialization and informative programs. Yesterday, I conducted a seminar that I've been planning for a few weeks now on the history of American folk music, beginning with the Stephen Foster song, "Hard Times, Come Again No More:, written in 1854. I brought them all the way up to John Prine's "Paradise". For each song, I prepared a 2-4 sentence summary reviewing the song's content, and a brief background of the songwriter. All of this was then translated into Hebrew and Russian. Half of the people at the center are Russian and will never learn Hebrew--we have no common language other than actions and smiles but we get the point across.

Usually, I work with one woman, M., who was a professor of English Literature in Moscow. Her English is amazing but she has no confidence and claims that confidence and happiness have both eluded her at this, the end of her life. "I have no future. But my past was wonderful. I just cannot think of it always," she says. Everyone has a future, no matter how brief and I believe in making the best of it. For all she knows, she can outlive me.

"But I can't create happiness out of nothing," she says. It is unfortunate then, how she can create grief.

For the duration of my concert, everyone was happy, but M., I think was able to appreciate it the most. I saw on her face that while the music played, her grief was forgotten, at least for a little while. This is what makes the music worth it.

When it was over, I got bombarded by an enthused audience. Next week, I have another presentation for a different crowd. I have also possibly been hired for a real concert outside of Yokneam by one of the younger audience members.

"You should stay in Israel," a lot of them tell me, because they want my music. "You need to have a disc. I want to buy it." Discs would bring in money, but that's the Catch-22: I need money to record and produce and אין לי--so no money from albums. Maybe I'll find a rich person who wants to produce me (fat chance). Maybe I should move to Nashville.

Another volunteer activity that we at least attempt to do is package food once a week. This has not been working out as envisioned. We always get picked up way too late--so we only have half-an-hour or so--or not at all. It's very frustrating. I'm the contact person for us and I speak to the guy in Hebrew. It's hard and I think there is a large rift in the communication, but I don't think it is solely because of the language.

For instance: last Wednesday, he called at around 4:15, told me he was coming in 20 minutes. 20 minutes go by, I call him. He doesn't answer. We wait around for an hour. He never calls back and never shows up. Not to mention that we requested that he show up earlier, at something like 3:30 so that we can actually have a good amount of time to work with the packaging. But time is different here: take a time and multiply it by at least three. Apparently, after an hour, we're supposed to give up.

We have this problem with our landlord, too: "I come Friday," he says. I call him to confirm. "No. I not come Friday. I have party. I come Sunday at 7:00am." He shows up at 8:15. He rips up the apartment but does the job, closes the hole in the wall, and asks me if I'll still be in the apartment in fifteen minutes. I tell him, "Yes. I'll be here in fifteen minutes." I wait an hour. I get on with my day. I get back at 6:00 and he still hasn't shown up! He finally gets here at 7:00-ish, after Max called and yelled at him about it. He says, "Sorry. I had to go to Tel Aviv." TEL AVIV?!?! So much for fifteen minutes!. At least he wasn't "go to party in my truck with Mommy at four" again. Really, the whole thing is beyond hilarious. But none of us ever want to deal with him again. And, of course, when we think we're home-free, the light in our room explodes and we need an electrician! But c'est la vie.

I have spent the day working and studying Hebrew. My vocabulary is improving and I'm getting much more comfortable with speaking. There aren't too many words I have to ask for now in everyday conversation. It's a good feeling.

What isn't a good feeling are my dry, cracked hands, which haven't completely healed--still! My hands look like sick rotten meat. Ok. I'm exaggerating. I do not have gangrene, just dry skin. But I"m used to naturally soft and healthy hands. Not the case in this climate, apparently.