So very much to say

Picture this with me, if you will. I was at the market yesterday (though I did realize that if I wanted to keep any kind of remotely positive image of mankind, I must avoid it in the future - but more on that later). As I was attempting to thread my way through the crowd of people who have no clue of what it means to walk in an efficient and courteous manner, my eyes came upon something that made me smile - and indeed continues to make me smile. So...picture this with me.



There is a stool in the middle of what would be an intersection if it weren't the market area. On top of the stool is something that looks like a combination between a small kiddie pool and a large bucket. Standing in the bucket on top of the stool is a man clothed in green spandex. The spandex suit covers his head (all but his face), has long sleeves, and long pant legs. His face is painted green (in the disturbingly same shade of green as his suit). He is playing a guitar, and alternates between playing a harmonica and singing. How can one observe something like that and be even remotely unhappy? It's just not possible! I still had to make my way out of the market, and that was unhappy...but the image of the green man has stuck with me. Sitting a few feet away from the stool, there was a woman sitting cross-legged, staring up at the green man admiringly. And I realized just how strong a thing human affections and emotions can be. It made me think a lot about the green man. What in the world makes him sing, play his guitar and harmonica, while wearing a green spandex suit, standing in a bucket atop a stool? Is it a political thing? Did he lose a bet? Did it just sound fun to him? I would have stood around and listened to what he was singing, but it was in Hebrew, and there was no point.



Monday was a rather exciting day for me. I arrived at school in time to have a rather helpful and yet extremely frustrating conversation with the English teacher that coordinates our schedules in the school. One of my groups of students (the one I have after school that Fakhr is in), one of the students told their regular English teacher that they didn't understand what I said, that I spoke too quickly, and they didn't want to come to the class anymore. Throughout the course of the conversation I started crying, not because I was taking it personally (though the struggle not to do so was immense - you that know me well know how sensitive I am) but because I thought the class was going SO well. Samia and I discussed it, and she ended up telling me to just go back home and relax for the day. It wasn't a disciplinary release...it was a merciful pardon. Anyway, the more I thought about the whole thing I've realized what the problem is. Below are the major points:

• The class is after school. Who wants to stay after school for anything unless they absolutely have to?
• These students are some of the weaker ones I have. The fact that they don't always understand what I say is inevitable. As one of the second-year interns said to me today, "When you're learning a new language and have a native speaker for a teacher, it's inevitable that you spend part of the time underwater, so to speak." And she's right. When I took Spanish II in high school we were only supposed to speak Spanish in class, and we spent the greater part of the first semester in severe and profound confusion. But by the end of the first semester and into the second, our Spanish had improved dramatically.
• ONE student of the eight in the group complained. This student happened to be a boy who wants to be playing football (soccer for you Americans) rather than studying English. See the first point.

Anyway, it's still frustrating, because if I have any idea at all what I'm doing, it's at best a very vague one. But it gets more clear everyday. And the fact remains that I really love my students and the school in general. Besides, if I didn't take it personally when one of the students (not one of mine, one at the school) asked me if I was pregnant, how can I take it personally that a high school student doesn't want to stay after school?

I've been having some issues with the toilet in my apartment. (Sound familiar, anyone? Remember #30 in the ghetto?) It began giving me some problems the day after I moved in, but I didn't want to be pestering my landlady before she had even cashed the rent check. So I waited, and ended up waiting far longer than I intended. I called her yesterday around 3:00 or 4:00 PM and told her there was a problem. She told me she would come by and check to see if maybe the pump had been turned off, and if it was more than that, she'd call a plumber. Well she came by, and called a plumber. She ended up just staying and hanging out with me in my apartment, and we talked for awhile, waiting for the plumber to arrive. She was quite impressed with how I had arranged it all, and LOVED my couch (oh yes, I did buy the most amazing couch Monday). Long story short, the plumber came, fixed the toilet, cleaned the bathroom (and I'm not just talking, cleaned up the REALLY disgusting stuff, he scrubbed my toilet for me and mopped the floor!). He also changed my porch light (long story why I couldn't do it), and fixed part of the light fixture in the living room for me. It was amazing. All I could think was, "Am I still in Israel? I can't be...everything worked out far too well too quickly." But still in Israel. Amazing.

Well I'm just about finished with what I think I have to say. Ah yes, for all of you who are interested, my postal code is 63118. And feel free to email me, my inbox has been disturbingly NOT full at all for some time now. I miss you all!