Back in Jerusalem

Long time no writing, very long time. That’s not okay because I love blogging. 
I am back in Jerusalem. Only this time I have a job and a shared apartment, which is very different from the last time I was here. 

I arrived at Ben Gurion Airport with two suitcases which seemed like LOADS of stuff back in the US and here when the mini bus(שירות) driver was cursing me (and himself) for having too much stuff. Oh Israel! Lovely service as always! 
A Palestinian passenger helped me very kindly with my stuff and told me “don’t mind the driver”.
Unpacking everything I discovered that most of my “stuff” were winter clothing and bed sheets that didn’t fit the bed and that I had pretty much nothing. I did have, however, an unfurnished apartment and a dumbass landlord, and I still have them but the apartment is slowly becoming habitable.
‘It will be okay’ I tell myself at times the world seems a bit uncozy. 

Life is rolling. There is the middle-aged man at the store who keeps saying “how are you sweetheart what can I help you with”, which considered SUPER polite here. There are the high volumes in which Hebrew is usually been spoken: eagerly, aggressively or simply too loud. And don’t forget the sound of the impatient Israeli driver’s horn that seems to last forever. They give the most accurate soundtrack to a country that is, and always has been, gravely stressed out.  

Among all of this there is the place where my past longings are coming from. This place has nothing to do with politics, military, wars or Gal Gadot. It is a shy and gentle place, protected by my subconscious.  She doesn’t appear on any maps and she doesn’t have a form. Yet, she is there. Somewhere in the morning’s smell, hidden in the taste of a fruit, dancing with the sound of rain meets dry pavement. 
I live in Rehavia, a West Jerusalem neighborhood, mostly secular and young. Cool coffee places. 
I work in East Jerusalem, close to Damascus Gate and Salah E-Din street AND the tip end of Mea Sha’arim (an extreme orthodox Yiddish neighborhood women don’t simply wander into). I am definitely not used to the environment the Seeds of Peace office is in. But I’m getting used to it.

It’s like living in two different worlds. Universes even. All in one crazy city. 
I do drawing more often. I want to improve my technical skills, find my style and develop it. But most importantly, it helps me calm and meditate myself while living in this country.
I am hoping the Jerusalem Syndrome will inspire me in a good way.

A community garden very close to where I live.

All the photos were taken while I was exploring, of course. 

Nachlaot

Sukkah

And a small drawing for Sukkot

More Nachlaot

 Rosh Hashanah drawing
I am up for an illustrating the holidays project! Not only Jewish holidays (hopefully). I’ve never finished my Halloween one for some reason… But we will see what unfolds. 
Ciao

Seeds of Peace

Last month I have started my journey with Seeds of Peace. As a new staff member in the Jerusalem office, it was essential for me to join the 2016 Seeds of Peace’s summer camp which took place in the forests of Maine. 
During the first week of July, we had our staff orientation. I quickly realized that a fair amount of counselors were returning counselors who knew the drill of peace fairly well. But I was surprised by fellows who never been to the “region” most of the kids were about to arrive from. Somehow, with all my years outside of The land, it conquers 80% of my soul at times, especially the times I go to a peace camp.
I guess I wasn’t expecting the other counselors to be too different from me in this regard.  Not sure what I was expecting exactly. But they ended up being a sweet mixture of special backgrounds and talents. I hope these people will stay in my life forever 🙂 
We were all in the forest for the kids and their extraordinary experience, that, more than anything, made me feel in the right place.
Kids came from Israel/Palestine(West Bank and Gaza), Egypt, Jordan, US and the UK. We welcomed them with the most noise I’ve ever heard or produced with my lungs. Cheerful screams and hugs were flying around when each delegation stepped out their buses.
For some, it was overwhelming, confusing even, others appeared very confident and in control. I was somewhere in the middle. But as a counselor, I just kept smiling for hours.
The Israeli delegation, of two buses, were mostly kids from my area. Hamerkaz. And evenדרום  השרון.  In short, Kfar Saba and the much smaller towns around it. When I was their age, my mind pumped with Jewish solidarity, bible stories and shadows of doubt, that tiny area was my life. Those days seem far away, but they aren’t really. 
I didn’t say this out loud because the counselors were supposed to keep neutral as if we came to this world in our olive green t-shirts and peaceful sing-song minds. Kids are smart though and I’m really bad at being mysterious so it didn’t take them too long to figure me out.

All the photos here besides the ones with a flower beneath them are with credit to Bobbie’s Pictures from SoP Intl Camp
As the first couple of days rolled in, I found myself comforting and joking with kids from places I used to associate only with wars. I wasn’t at all surprised by our similar concerns and happy moments. I was a homesick kid too. Today, I am just a few years older.

Sport and art activities alongside daily dialogues of discussing the conflict came one after another. I was making art with people who weren’t sure what to do or never used clay before, they ended up creating marvelous things.

When I was really happy about someone’s work I became a bit childish or overly joyful. It happened at meals too, when we shared pudding. It happened everywhere if I wasn’t too tired.

I was yelling Yallah and Khalas on everybody here and there because it was incredibly more effective than English. But English was everywhere and people stuck to it more than I was expecting, even those who struggled with it.
After hard dialogue sessions, however, people run back into the shells of their native tongues. Frustrating and aching in Arabic or Hebrew, crying and seizing each other in small groups.
We as counselors were there to listen and bring back the English, alongside with trust. Trust is so fragile to maintain. It wasn’t easy and sometimes I felt bare and useless in the face of someone’s hurt or anger.

Who am I to convince them to “trust the process”?

Back when I was a teenager, I felt like my “side” was lying to me, even using me. But I didn’t know much about the “other side”. Later on, I was angry with the “liberals” for twisting Jewish history. Eventually, I learned that being a person means more than taking sides, seeing the world in black and white or being angry. I learned that each person, everywhere, and on each “side”, has a story.
We cannot ignore people’s stories because they will catch up to us in the end. Because in Israel/Palestine we are all connected and taking sides gets us farther away from peace.

Our hatred and fears, our conflicts, are not bound to last forever, but they cannot solve themselves.

The process is long.

Historical facts, myths, and world views aside, being so far away from home in an environment that challenges your basic beliefs and constantly pushing you out of your comfort zone, is hard at any age. Being there in the forest with those brave kids, I cherished them.

Soon, the spirit of togetherness dominated the camp and every person had a meaningful place in our young community.

It was beautiful, yet filled me with sadness.

How far away is this place from home? Sometimes it felt so far, too far. How will these kids face home? Home is cruel, home is anguish.  But home is also home.


Overall, I have had a special month in a special place surrounded by dear people. It is only the beginning for each one of us and I look forward to our next meeting in the holy land. 
I am hopeful, I am inspired. 

Fabric and Paper

The Star of David is made up of two triangles. Before I learned how to draw one triangle I learned how to draw two of them on top of each other. I was probably very proud of myself for being able to produce such a significant geometrical form. 

Watching the woman tearing up the Israeli flag at the Brussels memorial I remembered myself drawing basic shapes, I remembered the set of white and blue clothes I wore for a holiday. The other kids wore them too. Moments of small or shared happiness came in a flash before I could separate them from the abused piece of fabric. But she was most definitely not thinking of them or of me at all because for her this flag represents nothing but all the evil in this world and so much loathing from deep inside. Watching her I could feel a fraction of it, burning in my blood, pulling me into a darkness I can’t even imagine. But it has to be much worst to make you tear up the material. It must be so firm and dominant until you don’t really feel it. 
I would be lying if I said I never wanted to rip something apart. Unfortunately or fortunately, most of the time it doesn’t have a physical form. I keep in mind that the satisfaction in tearing the smallest piece of paper might lead me to never stop tearing things. For sure at some point, I will ravage something or someone I didn’t mean to harm. 

Flags don’t mean much to me but her actions do. I wish her to find peace and I wish us all less animosity in our lives. 




A collage painting I made in 2014