I've known exactly what this post was going to be about since Thursday, when I was working on my last entry, and It was actually going to be one big post, but due to the fact that I was being pulled away to go out dancing (which turned out to be a long walk through the Florentin neighborhood), I thought that digesting this matter would be better. Turns out it's not. I've been dreading writing this, because my thoughts are so jumbled on the matter- because of shock and amazement. Also, I don't want to bring out my thoughts on the politics, so we'll see how that goes. That being said, I've realized that personal stories are more effective in recreating events than statistics and numbers.
Thursday, as I said, was full of Arabic. First with the formal, then the dialect, followed by a cafeteria lunch sitting next to my Arabic teacher, and then 2 more 3 hour classes. While talking about me going to Abu Dhabi next year, and the polar differences I was about to experience, my Arabic teacher and I got on the subject of what it's like to get through an Airport, as I have been told that I will be questioned on my return from my RA training in Abu Dhabi. While he is a Passport holding, Israeli Citizen, he has told me that anytime he leaves the country he, and other Israelis who live or have lived in Palestinian communities are escorted to a different screening room than others,
not for security reasons, but as a means of humiliation.
So, after spending some time in the United States teaching, and seeing the difference in lifestyle, and the ease of mind he had in the States, he's making his own move, one could say aliyah to the Midwest.
Dun Dun Dun. Another one bites the dust.
The next morning, after two cups of instant coffee, I was (less than) enthusiastic to be leaving Bnei Dan at 8:30, but was ready for an first-hand experience of Jaffa from one of her residents. Our professor picked the 4 of us up and drove us to the restaurant where we were to practice the Palestinian dialect we had learned the day before. So, not a big fan of plain hummus, I ordered ana bidi Masabaha w qaleelan al-ful, mixing my formal and dialect, but the message was received, and I got my Masabaha with a little bit of Ful. This dish is a common Arab breakfast, and is eaten with pita and onion, both of which are used to scoop the chick pea and fava bean dish, and is typically thought of as the working man's breakfast, as it can keep you full through the end of the work day.
After struggling to finish half of my plate, our teacher drove us to a local coffee shop and we sampled his Arabic coffee while we enjoined our cappuccino. (I have yet to have a bad coffee here). We talked in a mixture of formal and regional Arabic, and at one point, upon noticing that all the books in the shop were written in Arabic, and hearing that all the people speaking were speaking Arabic, I noticed that the emergency exit sign was still in Hebrew. I asked my professor why, and we proceeded to ask the shopkeeper, who told us that they just don't make exit signs in Arabic.
Ironic, that of all countries to not see a command 'exit,' it cannot be found in Arabic?
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