Monday, September 15, 2008

Pomegranates and Race

In Israel, I've noticed that I've been feeling "not quite like myself." I've been wondering, for a few months (it's my three month anniversary here soon!) what has been going on. 

Today, it dawned on me that my body, my mind, and everything I know is in an upheaval. I've discovered fruits I never knew existed, and could never have imagined existed. Today, I opened up my first pomegranate and thousands of beautiful, pearl-shaped pink seed-sacks spilled out. I only tried one because I was at a shop with my friend who was amazed to discover that I'd never had pomegranate, and promptly bought me one and explained how to eat it. I've never needed an explanation when it comes to fruit before, now I have to call people for instructions... "Which part is edible again?" I have to ask them. 

When my neighbor and I were having a discussion about a friend of mine who stopped by, he referred to her as "black." I got confused, "No, she's Iraq, not black," I said in confusion. "No, in Israel the term 'black' can apply to any non-European," he said. His parents are from Morocco, but in the United States he would be considered "white." It took us a few minutes to get what he was staying, but at the end of the day, when I see someone of Mizrahi descent I won't see, or think, "black" while Israelis will. I will see "Mizrahi" or "Jewish" or "I-have-no-idea-because-you-can't-tell-people's-ethnicity-by-looking-at-them." In Israel, I cannot tell who is a Jew or an Arab just by looking at someone's face, and I cannot tell who is Mizrahi or Ashkenazi any more than I can tell who is left wing or who is right wing. While outward signs help me to distinguish the different costumes that Israelis wear to signal their identities to this greater community, they aren't enough to make me even close to being an insider. 

I've gone from understanding to misunderstandings. I've said things that, when translated, are perverse, blatantly incorrect, and sometimes funny. In the United States, when I attend a meeting language is not even a question. In the United States, I "get it," I get the lingo, the body language, the implications. Here, I've started off fresh--yes, I'm 21, but in Israeli society, exactly how old am I? I know about the army, but I don't know the different terms about the army that are printed into the Israeli mind. I know about university, but not exactly how Israelis apply to universities. I'm a child and an adult. Friends have to lead me around and take care of me, and I have to let myself be taken care of in ways that I never have been before. I am clueless, but clued in. No amount of reading could ever have prepared me for living in a foreign country, in a society filled with the most intense kindness but also such intense anger and bitterness. 

Language has taken over my life. After 5 hours a day in ulpan, for 2.5 months, my head is ready to explode. As much as I want my Hebrew to improve, I also need to communicate with people--and am blessed that the world's lingua franca is my mother tongue. When I went to a Seeds of Peace reunion meeting recently, it was all in Hebrew. I picked up a word here and there, but it was difficult--even though I had a translator. I feel unengaged when this language barrier presents itself--hard as I try, it reminds me of my "outsider" status. 
When I went to Ahoti, thanks to activist Shlomit Lir, I discovered a whole new world of Mizrahi feminist activism, that involves anger, passion, the desire to move forward and the desire to reconsider the past in new ways. These women were so exuberant, in both their frustration and their happiness. I knew what they were saying was crucially important, but at the same time, I had no idea EXACTLY what they were saying. What the nuances they wanted to communicate were. All I knew what, I was visibly different from these women--very American, and almost too white. They asked me if I was Russian (no), if I'm a new immigrant (no), if Mount Holyoke really is as advanced in gender issues as they hear (what does that mean?), and how I like Israel (my feelings change more than the weather in New England.) Their website is amazing, but so are they: 
www.ahoti.org/il/english.html