Rosh Hashana In Jordan: One Year Later

Hey Everyone,

As I reflect upon the last Jewish year, I can't help but to think about where I was at this time last year. My Rosh Hashana in Jordan was among the most special ones of my life, and I didn't post about it then.  Looking back on the year,  I realize how far I've come, how much I've learned, and how much I still have to learn. Thanks to everyone who made this last year possible, and I hope you enjoy reading about what Rosh Hashana was like in Jordan. 

Rosh Hashana in Jordan

September 5, 2013

As I prepared to fly to Jordan, I was worried about the J word—I assumed being Jewish was legit a death sentence. I was told that Jordanians understand the difference between Judaism as a religion and Zionism as a political movement, but also told to be careful about to whom I tell my religion.

Sure enough, though, tonight was Erev Rosh Hashannah, the night in which Jews around the world welcome in the Jewish New Year. Although I could not go to my parents’ Rosh Hashannah feast or synagogue, I found a way to make Rosh Hashannah special.

Jacob, another Jew on my program, and I decided yesterday that we wanted to do something, and I suggested that we buy some apples and honey so that we could at least celebrate the sweetness of the new year. We then extended our tradition into an invitation to the whole program to come hang out with us after dinner in a room to celebrate the Jewish new year. Today, I went to the market and we bought some apples, a pomegranate and a jar of honey. I was ready to go, excited even, but I missed the festivities at home.

As the sun set in Amman, I called my mom at home, ready to wish everyone a shana tova. At that point, I broke down. I walked into dinner with my program trying to hide the tears from my eyes. The staff and my friends saw me and called me out on it, which instantly made me cry more. I was given hugs and asked how they could help me, but I had no answer. I explained that to be in Amman during Rosh Hashannah was similar to being in the United States for Rammadan. Not impossible, not wrong, but emotionally difficult. They then started asking me all about the holiday, my family traditions, etc, and I really enjoyed telling my Muslim staff and American friends about this holiday. I explained that we eat apples and honey for a sweet new year; we eat a round loaf of bread to represent the cyclical nature of the calendar; the day is about renewal; the next week and a half about repentance. The sadness faded and melted into joy, as I realized that for the next four months, these people will serve the role of family and help me create new traditions that I can take with me anywhere in the world.

After dinner, a group of 9 us crowded into a friends room to celebrate Rosh Hashanah. I cut up the apples and the pomegranate, took out our round bread (a few pieces of pita I had stolen from dinner), and explained a bit about the holiday to them. We had no candles, so we turned out the three lamps in the room and then turned them all as the other Jew and I said the blessing over the “candles,” followed by the shehechiyanu, borei peri ha etz, and hamotzi.

Everyone enjoyed the sweetness of the apples and honey, and suddenly, we are all goofing around, taking pictures, etc. Jacob and I sang avinu malkeinu, and I did a very spirited (albeit fast) ma’ariv/yom tov service in the hotel bathroom. I figured out which way Jerusalem was (west of me) by looking at the marker on the ceiling of where the Kaaba in Mecca was. Yes, that marker with an arrow is on the ceiling of every hotel room.

My favorite part of the night was seeing the Catholics react to our descriptions of Jewish summer camp as a highly sexual breeding zone for future Jewish babies. As I described the very physically intimate games played at Ramah (sumo kiss, lap tag, etc), the catholic girls were shocked, unable to fathom the idea that a structured religion would be that sex positive. The conversation got more and more insane from there, but I will say that laughter was prevalent.

As we got into deeper topics about religion, I realized just how diverse our small group was. From our original 9 we were down to 2 Jews, 2 conflicted Catholics (13 years of catholic school), 1 self described “kind of catholic, I guess,” 1 Baptist, 1 Bahai, and 1 person raised with no religion that now attends Jesuit college.

While this Erev Rosh Hashannah was different than any that I’ve experienced in the past, it reminded me just how lucky I am to be here. I am in a place where I will get to live in a Muslim society, with a Palestinian family (I meet them tomorrow and am TERRIFIED), and experience life in this hectic yet beautiful and open region.

Life is good, and this year is going to be a damn good one.

Shanna Tova u’metukah.

First Day (September 6, 2013)

When I woke up the morning of Rosh Hashannah, I had very mixed feelings. I was so happy with what had happened the night before, and yet I realized that I had missed my family’s massive dinner party and seeing my community at synagogue. It’s all good. I’m in Jordan.

I decided, though, that I wanted a chance to daven shacharit and rosh hashannah services as best as I could here. My mom helped me find a Machzor online, and ultimately, I found a pdf of the full art scroll siddur to use. While the rest of my classmates were taking the Arabic placement exam, I went outside to a corner of the garden with my computer to do the service.

I placed my computer on the ledge and went straight to the point that contains the lead up to the shma. I did the shma and its brachot and turned to the page where the Amida begins. Sure enough, at that moment, the call to prayer rung out from mosques across the city of Amman.

I closed my eyes, letting the call to short, focused, and deliberate prayer to Allah move me into a state of mind that would facilitate reflection. As I listened to the Maznoon, I was amazed by the beauty of the voice I heard. Arab singing is very different than western singing, and involves much more vocal control and flair than the average singer in the west. The call to prayer is a cappella, in a language I don’t understand (yet), and yet, for those 3ish minutes, I stood still, eyes closed, hypnotized by it.

When the call to prayer ended, I took a deep breath, took 3 steps back, 3 steps forward, and bowed. For the next 10 minutes, I focused on my computer screen, saying these ancient words that helped me to welcome and celebrate the New Year. People were finishing their tests and coming outside, calling me for food, and my concentration didn’t break. Rarely in my life have I had that focused of an Amidah.

After I said Oseh shalom and finished, I decided that I wanted to hear the shofar. I went to YouTube and found a video of the shofarot service. I put on my headphones and shut out the world around me as I let the blasts of the shofar wake me up, calling me to action and reflection.

Being a Jew in a Muslim country is complicated, especially when 50% of that Muslim country is of Palestinian origin. This moment, though, solidified my already firm belief that all of these religions are the same; Allah is Elohim; Jews and Muslims are cousins that can learn more from each other than our current political situation allows us to remember.

Having said that, my Palestinian host family knows that I am Jewish and that I have been to Israel. And they call it Israel. They know that Jews are different than Zionists/Israeli soldiers/the Israeli government/Palestinian baby killers, and they too hope that peace will soon emerge.

Insha-Allah, god willing, we as Jews will learn to accept Arabs and Muslims the way they have so far accepted me.

Gmar Chatimah Tova, and may you soon have an easy fast and be inscribed and sealed in the book of life.

Looking Back

Hey Everyone,

Since I left Jordan for the first time in the crazy snow day, it's been nearly three weeks. I spent one of them in Turkey (sorry, I'm not really gonna blog about it), and now I'm back in the beautiful bay area. The culture shock of traveling to Turkey and then America has given me a lot to reflect on when I think about wrapping up my time in Jordan.

Falling in love with Jordan 

I didn't expect to fall in love with Jordan. I expected to be in a state of constant tension, scared to be myself by openly talking about my background, religion, and perspectives on the controversial western neighbor. I expected that the people would treat me with disdain because of my American passport and give up on communicating with me because of my lack of Arabic skills. I could not have been more wrong. I was welcomed in with open arms and cups of overly-sweet tea, made to feel at home in a place so foreign in every way. 

Redefining My Relationship With the Arab World

When telling people why I came to Jordan, I explained that I wanted to get over my fear of people named Mohammad. Although a joke, I cannot deny that in a way, growing up in the Pro-Israel, Zionist, post 9/11 United States have given me a subconscious fear of Arab people. Living in Jordan reminded me of what I expected to learn--they are just people.  

Yes, I spent a lot of time laughing at their cultural anomalies. Yes, I constantly laughed at how ridiculous my day to day life was. But ultimately, I fell in love with a place that I add to the list of where I am proud to call home. I feel proud to be a part of the Arab world, and I never expected that I'd say that. I am not Arab, and I am not Muslim, but I feel a need to remind people just how wonderful Arabs and Muslims are, as the American media makes it increasingly difficult to remember this fact.

Yes, I had some very difficult conversations. I listened as a man told me why the Holocaust was a conspiracy theory, and another one told me that he sees no reason why Jews can't go back to Germany where they came from. I had many tell me that Israel will never be acceptable, with one telling me that if he got access to Israeli soldiers and a gun, it would look like "a playstation game." But even these people, those with views I find fairly vial, welcomed me into their homes and work places, respected me and my views, and force-fed me tea.

Redefining feminism, sexism, and cultural differences

While In Jordan, I learned a lot about Feminism and Sexism. Going in, I assumed that Jordanian/Arab women are repressed, and I came out thinking something very different. Women in Jordan aren't repressed. They don't go out a lot, they cover up their hair whenever they are around men that aren't a part of their immediate families blah blah blah. But they are happy. They have vibrant social lives, they are valued at home for taking care of their families, and a clear division of labor between husbands and wives makes houses fairly stable (I have a small sample size here, but my friends spoke of similar relationships between their parents).

There were cafes that were all men, including my favorite cafe right near my house. Even though I am clearly not a man, I was never turned away. A few times I was asked to turn around so a man didn't have to look at me, but I didn't mind. For some reason, the request felt reasonable. I was the bride's brother at the Bachelorette party.

Cultural Differences

It's the little things at home in the states that remind me I'm not in Jordan anymore. A lot of them have to do with the socioeconomic status of my family vs my host family, but many have to do with Jordan vs America. In no particular order:

• I put toilet paper in the toilet as opposed to a trash can next to it
• I understand things people say around me.
• I try to decide what to say to the guy in the airport that assumes the veiled woman on a cell phone is trying to blow something up in Chicago.
• Internet works round the clock, and everyone uses it round the clock.
• My house is massive, I have my own room, I have internet in it. I have showered three days in a row.
• My house has central heating. It's nice.
• No one understands me when I say Inshallah
• People find it funny, not normal, when I refer to His Glorious Majesty, King Abdullah II, may he reign forever, and talk about the king of Jordan, may he reign forever, in any way. 

Thanks to All of You

This semester has been among the most fascinating experiences of my life thus far, and I want to thank everyone that read this blog from the US, Jordan, Israel and anywhere else in the world. Next semester, I'll be in Israel doing the Peace and Conflict Studies program in Haifa, and I'll be keeping a blog. I'll post the link to Facebook as soon as I figure out what it'll be. 

Til next time, I wish you all the best, and a happy new year.

Becca

Getting Out of Jordan Part I

Hey Everyone,

Last time I posted, I had just arrived at SIT after a snowy (but shockingly successful) commute. I was on the early side to show up, but by 1 or 2 we were all there. The last people presented their research and then we started doing our re-entry workshop around 4:30 or so--how do we re-enter back into America taking what we learned with us? What happened next has to be talked about.

We were supposed to go to dinner as a group. However, it had been snowing all day, and the roads had gotten significantly worse. The vans showed up to take us to dinner, but we then found out that all the restaurants were closed as were the roads. Instead of finishing the conversation at dinner, we were going to go home. But, as logic holds, in order to go home, one has to drive. In order to drive, the roads have to be open and cars have to be on it. We had ourselves a good old mushkilah. After some rushed goodbyes, 4 of us that live in my area got into a car with a professor who lived past us. Another group got into one of the vans to go home.

We started driving on the very sketchy roads, and within minutes, we had reached our first hill. The car was skidding out as were all the others, and we had to push it. For the first time in my life, I was pushing a car up the snowy hill. My friend from Chicago took the wheel, and the ride that normally takes 10-20 minutes depending on traffic took three hours. Here's what the roads looked like:



A few funny things as we were driving, the most significant being the feminist revolution we held. It was small, but it consisted of American girls helping Arab men push cars. That's right guys--we can do it too.

I got home, cold as hell, curled up in a ball, and went to bed. The next morning I woke up, hoping that I'd be able to go back to SIT to say goodbye to friends. A look out the window and I gave up on that plan. In the middle of the day, my brothers told me they were going to the roof to play with the snow. Like an idiot, I didn't put on my waterproof jacket. Here's what happened next:



From the roof, everything was beautiful--albeit cold.






My flight to Turkey was scheduled for 12ish the next day, so I was supposed to be at SIT at 7 or 8 AM. Because it's Jordan, though, obviously the plan changed. I learned that a car was going to come pick me up at 9 PM. Suddenly, my packing became much more frantic. As I was finishing up, of course, the power outage began. It was dark, cold, lightless, and I had to say goodbye to my family.

I'll talk more about this process in my Jordan wrap up post, but to make a longer story short, it was really hard to say goodbye to my host family. To make the next long story short, I spent 18 hours at the airport before going to Turkey. They were afraid the road would freeze over and I wouldn't get out in the morning.

Luckily, I made it to Turkey. I'll talk more about that in a post soon.

Becca

Snow Day!!!

Hey Everyone,

I came to Jordan for a lot of reasons. I came to learn about the Arab world; I came to get over my fear of people named Mohammad; I came to learn Arabic; I came to learn about the Palestinian people. But mostly, I came so I could experience my first snow day. That's right folks: I had to come to Jordan to experience a snow day.

But it's not a normal snow day. It's a Jordanian snow day. Meaning the insanity meter is turned up to 11. Here goes nothing

Since I'm a weather wimp from California, I don't know what normal snow day protocol feels like, but from what I've heard, snow days are announced morning of, when everyone wakes up and realizes the roads aren't nearly clear enough for everyone to drive to school on. In Jordan, though, they announce a national holiday the night before, when it is EXPECTED that a lot of snow will come the next day. Great.

As the evening went on, I kept waiting for the snow to come. And waiting. And waiting. Apparently the snow was coming at midnight. I woke the next morning, and my brother and I decided to go outside and play in the snow. Thank god they had declared a national holiday...



My brother and I had a snowball fight, but the majority of the day was spent huddled for warmth next to the unsafe gas space heaters. Having said that, it snowed pretty consistently through the day.

SIT had told us that we weren't going to have class on Thursday because of the national holiday, but on Friday, we would be coming in (even though it's normally a weekend). There are two days of the program left, and some people still had to present their research. They said to come in at 11.

The thing is, though, that the national holiday has continued (it's the weekend after all), as has the snow. Now it actually looks like a snow day (for a wimpy californian). My family laughed at me yesterday when I said that I would be getting a cab this morning...because there is actually snow.




Cab Drivers in the Snow

I've spoken before about the bad drivers in Jordan. In case you haven't gotten the point, drivers are bad in Jordan. These bad drivers are by no means capable of driving in the snow. And yet, I have to get to SIT for the last day, so I'm about to put my life in the hands of some arab driver that doesn't know how to handle snow...

To make a long story short

1) my family gave me waterproof boots to use on my adventure, as they continually laughed at me while I tried to leave
2) I got a cab after just a few minutes (this is surprising), and he told me that he'd charge me an obscene amount, but I went with it. I was cold.
3) I made it safely. It was clear that this guy didn't know how to drive in the snow.
4) I was the 8th person at SIT. There were supposed to be 31 of us.

I hope my plane will make it out on Sunday...I'm going to Turkey for a week!

Becca

Random Things Part II

Hey Everyone,

Now that I'm done with my research, I have time to think about the strangeness that is my life in Jordan. Here are a few of those observations:

1) Jordanian TV.

Aside from the obsession with Arab's got Talent, Jordanians watch some weird things. Both at my house and in my favorite Shabab hangout, people love watching WWE. Yes, the weird acting/wrestling/awkwardly buff men fake beating the crap out of each other. The one where they show a scene about a guy pushing another down in the locker room and then...OH MY GOD...they're fighting each other in the ring. But it's not really fighting. One guy will knock the other down, and then wait for him to get up and attack him. It's almost as if the whole thing is staged...but Jordanians love it.

They show a lot of American movies, but they are often edited. In Mean Girls, they left out significant parts of the house party scene (the whole thing about Karen Smith kissing her cousin isn't nearly as funny when cousin marriage is completely common). My brother and I bonded over twilight the other night. Yes folks, I watched twilight. Yes folks, I actually found it entertaining (while I wasn't busy laughing my ass off)

2) Watching Jordanians freak out about the cold

Right now, it's cold. My midwest friends say it's cold too, so it's not just my wimpy California cold. Our family has a space heater which is just a gas tank on wheels with a small fire in the front with metal to spread the warmth. My family fights over it as they wheel it around. I can't blame them, but I don't want to engage in the fight.

3) Having Brothers

I grew up in a small family with only a sister. In Jordan, i have a 10 and 15-year-old brother. Watching them beat the crap out of each other is hysterical, especially as I notice what people mean when they say "I can tell you're the baby child." When the younger brother (Rashed) wants something, he tears up and runs away to baba until he gets what he wants. When Ahmad (his older brother) hits him too hard, he fakes injury, but when he and I are playing and he falls onto his ass really hard, he is totally fine. Emma, I'm sorry--youngest children are the worst. Since I started letting my brothers use my iPad, this got significantly worse, because whenever one of them is using it, the other one OBVIOUSLY has to has it, and then fights break out, and then I feel bad.

My sister also really enjoys using me and my need for privacy as a means of kicking Rashed out of our room. I'm happy to help out when I can.

4) More Adventures from Taxis

I've met a surprising number of taxi drivers that lived in America (and speak fluent english) before their visas expired and they had to return to Jordan. One of them asked me if he could be my boyfriend (I should mention he was at least 50 years old), and then he wouldn't let me leave until I called his cell phone so he could have my number. He also pulled over at one point so I could move to the front seat of the taxi. It was quite awkward when I said no. It was creepy except for that it wasn't creepy, but it was REALLY creepy.

5) The Call to Prayer

I was at the Roman citadel on a hill overlooking downtown Amman with an American friend who is Jordanian/Palestinian, and as soon as the call to prayer rang out. He freaked out with excitement. Within a few minutes, over ten mosques were blasting the call to prayer, and all of them were overlapping. As a good Jew, I davened mincha with Alla Hu Akbar in the background, and it was one of the cooler spiritual experiences I've had here.

A different experience with the call to prayer happened after getting home from the plane in Morocco. I got to the building at about 4 AM, and of course the door was locked. I sat outside in the pitch black freezing cold for about two hours, and one of the things I saw was the lights turn on in various apartments as the call to prayer woke people up. It was cool to see the city start to wake up, leave their houses to go to Mosque, but I wish one of those people would have been in my building...

I'm going to miss it a lot when I leave, but many of my friends who wake up at 5 AM every day because of it will miss it less.

That's it for now,
Becca

Research is done.

Hey Everyone,

As you know, I've been working on a research project. Now it's done. I conducted 9 official interviews, distributed and analyzed 175 surveys (in two languages) to students at the University of Jordan, and synthesized that information international law, prior academic research, and public opinion polls. I'm a 21 year old undergrad student, and I just whipped out a 41 page research paper in 3.5 weeks. And my advisor thinks I may be able to get it published in an academic journal...which is kind of cool (inshallah is the only word that fits here). The research is called Jordanians of Palestinian Descent and the Right of Return: Legal, Ideological, and Practical Perspectives, and if you want to read/skim it, let me know and I'll send you a copy. If you're at all interested in Israel/Palestine issues, I suggest you do.

For the first time in a month, I have a free afternoon/evening without having to worry at all about ISP related things. I have time to hang out with my host family again (I basically haven't seen them in a week), talk to people besides the waiters at my shabab spot, and maybe even take a nap.

Looking at the calendar though, I realize that I only have a week left in Jordan before I go to Turkey for a week and then home (my life sucks, I know). Other than hearing about what my fellow SITers did for their ISPs and presenting my own, there aren't many plans. It's going to be a crazy good week, I'm sure, but for now, it's definitely nap time.

Becca

Cold, Wet, and Stranded

Hey Everyone,

My last few posts have been all about the really intense research period. I've spent at least 7 hours in the same cafe working for the last three days straight, and I have three days left to finish a 50 page paper. I'm a little bit stressed. Having said that, Jordan is nothing if not a setting for ridiculous stories to emerge. I have to share one with you.

Today, it rained. Unlike the horrible downpour in Los Angeles, this rain actually happened. As in rain fell hard. Rain fell loudly. Rain fell in significant volume (by middle eastern standards). Having said that, unlike American cities that have decent drainage, Amman has virtually none. Today, Amman's streets are a puddle. This caused problems for taxis.

My friend and I left the SIT building while the rain was falling down quite hard. It's 50 degrees (cold by my California standards), wet, windy, and fairly miserable. After walking in the rain for about five minutes, we managed to get a cab. As we drove through the terrible traffic, the car was bombarded by splashes from other driving cars. It was quite funny. After about 20 minutes in the cab, the driver pulled off the main road and told us that the cab was dead. Instead of letting us out of the cab, he made us pay him for the journey we had taken thus far.

However, he dropped us in the middle of fucking no where, where there were no cabs, traffic was ridiculous, and it was still fucking cold.

We walked for a half hour, literally jumping from sidewalk to sidewalk as to avoid stepping in 4 inch high puddles (and got rounds of applause from laughing passerbyers), before we finally saw an empty cab. We looked at him with pathetic, cold, American eyes, and of course, the asshole didn't let us in.

Dejected, we kept on walking. About five minutes later, we saw a woman get out of a cab right in front of us. Allah Hu Akbar! We got one. Oh wait--there was another person in it, and we couldn't get it. Two more frozen minutes later, we saw another woman get out of a cab about 20 yards in front of us. We waved at it, and sure enough, it picked up someone else. Realizing that we were at least an hour walking from home, frozen solid, and still wet, cold, grumpy, and needing to do work, we had no choice but to keep on walking.

A cab finally stopped for us, but as soon as we told him where we were going, he said no becasue of the traffic. We pleaded with him, and he gave us an insanely high price (as we looked like lost american tourists), saying it would take at least an hour because of the traffic. With no other option and wanting the pseudo warmth of a cab, we agreed.

Sure enough, 15 minutes later, we were at our destination. The asshole took every side street and shortcut he knew, and took enough money to pay for the hot chocolate that I so desperately wanted.

Now I'm at my normal cafe doing work before going to dinner with SIT and all of our host families. It's going to be crazy, and of course, all I want to do is sit down and work. I'm still wet, still cold, still cranky, but I guess I'm realizing that it's the first time in a long time I've worked this hard on anything. Aside from my frozen fingers and wet legs, it's kind of nice.

That's all, and Inshallah, I'll be done with this paper soon!

Becca