Home in the Old City

Today, I was pressed and pushed. I was smirked and kissed at. I think the men may wrongly assume that all American girls perpetually blush or scold or just giggle nervously.

On our free days, or the hours in between classes, we rush to the Old City.

I just walk along the cobble step streets and try to remember every face and feature.

A round little seven year old boy walks around the Old City with a cig burning on the end of his pouting lip. You can tell he thinks he is all that and a bag of those crunchy BBQ puff chips. An older man sits at his shop, stooped over a hooka, taking long, big draughts. He reminds me of the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. A sickly sweet smoke billows around him and he closes his eyes, wraps his wrinkled hands around the nozzle, and seems to fall asleep in the clouds. Women in headscarves grasp their children's hands and walk brazenly forward. Tourists dawdle at the shops. The tourists in the bustling, matching color t-shirt groups fan themselves and then bow their heads, muttering prayers or singing hymns as they follow their guide.

I just realized I am talking about tourists and I am one.

But not really.

I have to admit, I feel like a natural now in the city.

I know, I know that is arrogant to say. To be honest, I still fit into the crowds of bustling tourists. But I feel more confident.

Growing up, I watched the cartoon movies of the scriptures. There is one with time travelers visiting Queen Esther. The time travelers are with Esther when she is chosen as queen, when she learns about Haman's plot against the Jews, and when she prepares the banquet. But my favorite part is when Queen Esther must go in to speak to the king. She knows she may die but she still walks forward, pushes aside the soldier's spears and, without looking down, says, "I am queen." Sometimes, when I am walking into places where I feel as though everyone is looking down on me, I compose my face, I look ahead and confidently walk forward. In the Old City, I was thinking about this.

I try to walk confidently.

I wear my genie pants, the ones with red and green and orange stripes as a belt. I munch away on the most delicious falafal, bursting with wedges of green cucumbers, fried chickpeas, and creamy humus wrapped up in pita bread that smells like yeast and warm earth.

I raise my eyebrows at the prices and tsk when I know the shopkeeper is trying to swindle me.

I know I have so much to learn. From the people. From the land. From the history somehow saved in every building and cobblestone.

But I still like to walk confidently and believe for a moment, that I belong here. Because, for right now, I do belong here.

Andrew, Katie, Me, Kaylie, Jeff, and Lauren

Me, Mary, and Kaylie

Anyone who knows me knows I am somewhat obsessed with the movie Ever After. I was a bit too loud in the holy church when I found this gem ... it's Leon Cre! As in, Nicole de Leon Cre.

I am doing pretty well on my goal to try every flavor of gelato ice cream. This day, double scoop of Ferro Rocher and Snickers. (from left to right-Mary, Me, Kaylie, and Scott).

While it wasn't the time of the year for the holiday, we had our own Seder dinner. That's the passover dinner with singing, crisp unleavened bread (tastes like saltine crackers ... yum) and, of course, our wonderful professor: Ophir.

Traditionally, Seder meals include wine. We feasted with grape juice.

An Adventure in the Kidron Valley. Me and a few of the Arabic students went to explore caves in the valley. There, we found millipedes, knats within the tombs and tethered ropes in Absalom's burial chamber. I felt like the female version of Indiana Jones.

Tragically, I died in the cave.

Then, I turned into a zombie with Egyptian dance moves. (Zombies from left to right: Whitney, Tyler, Robin (in back), Me (in front), Allyson, and Elise.

Our burial place. Or us planking. (Whitney, Me, Robin).

Kaylie (aka Popcorn) and I planned a night out on the town in West Jerusalem. We planned to go see a jazz concert and invited everyone we saw at the center. By the time we ordered the bus, more than forty people joined our group. The bus driver dropped us off on the side of the street and we tried to assemble a group of forty flirty students to find the concert. We searched and searched ... but never found it. We asked for directions. We listened for the whisper of some jazz note. We got lost in a food market. Eventually, we went to Ben Yuhada street and consoled ourselves with gelato. It was ... a wonderful night.

Outside of the JC, there are olive trees. I love the trees' large, gnarled roots and branches. The olives are like plump, hard green grapes and are so bitter they make my cheeks pinch. We each went out to fill bags full of these little olives. Later, we will press them into our own little flasks of Holy Land olive oil.

I reached the top of the tree branches on Cameron's shoulders (he kindly pretended like I wasn't hurting his shoulders). Before going on his shoulders, I did a nice job of getting so scratched up in the tree tops that I now am making good use of the Batman bandaids my Mom sent.

Elise, Me, Scott

Mary, Kaylie, Me, Mary

Falafels are the most delicious food since Betty Crocker brownies.