Halloween.
A chill cuts through the air. Leaves of brown and gold and crimson flutter from the trees onto the city sidewalks. Jack o' Lanterns guard porches, their eyes glowing in the twilight. Monsters are everywhere.
OR
Halloween.
The temperature hovers at a balmy 80 degrees, sunshine scours the rocky landscape, and there's not a cloud in the sky. Witches, pumpkins, goblins, vampires, zombies, and Frankenstein's monsters...are nowhere to be found. (There are, however, plenty of tourists riding around in monstrous buses.)
Halloween in the Holy Land is, alas, a contradiction in terms. Since it's the Devil's big day, it's not terribly popular around here; in fact, it's nonexistent.
One of my colleagues, Paula (from the Dominican Republic, where she tells me Halloween is celebrated in a carnivalesque fashion) shares my sense of loss, and we're consoling each other as well as we can.
Pondering Halloween leads me to think of other things I miss about the US.
1. Friends and family. While the people here are extremely warm and friendly, there's no substitute for the ones I know and love.
2. Supermarkets. In an upcoming edition of the Bethlehem Blog, I'd like to write about grocery shopping in the West Bank and how it differs from grocery shopping in the US. For now, suffice it to say that when I enter the new Dominick's near my house in Chicago I may well burst into tears of joy--especially when I see the bakery section, as I've been eating only pita bread (or some variation thereof) for the past two months.
3. Movie theaters. Bethlehem used to have one movie theater, but now it's gone. Locals can still see a movie every so often in the auditorium of the Peace Center, however.
I miss movie theaters almost as much as I miss supermarkets; and I will likewise probably start to sniffle and sob when I return to one of my favorite Chicago theaters, the River East 21--as I plan to do within days, if not hours, of my arrival in the US.
The idea of a movie theater with twenty-one screens showing twenty-one different films, all of which are new releases--it simply boggles my mind. It may well be that one of Chicago's movie theaters has as many screens as the entire West Bank, and that Chicago's movie theaters outnumber those of Israel and the West Bank combined.
Ah...I feel the tears coming.
I did see Superbad in Tel Aviv, at a theater with six screens, and I was very excited--until I walked into the place, which was sad and shabby.
You might be thinking I'm superficial; and maybe, having spent my formative years in southern California (which, as most of you know, is to supermarkets, movie theaters, and malls what Rome is to churches) I am. That said, ponder life without any of these places (at least without them in their recognizable forms).
4. Chicago's skyline. Buildings here tend not to go higher than, say, several stories. There are a few skyscrapers in Tel Aviv, but compare its skyline with Chicago's.
While Portland, Seattle, and San Francisco are lovely and NYC is of course amazing, Chicago remains the most beautiful city I've seen. What's more, it's much cleaner and greener than Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Tel Aviv, Hebron, Ramallah, or Istanbul.
5. Mobility. Although this area is, by American standards, quite small, it's not so easy to get from one point to another--and, of course, Palestinians are restricted in terms of their travel. Driving, taking the subway, even riding on public buses--all of these are things for which I'm now deeply grateful. After being stopped at checkpoints, taking hours to travel a few dozen miles, and traveling via prehistoric, bone-rattling cabs driven at deadly speeds, I'll think twice before griping about a traffic jam or a bus that's running five minutes late.
6. Diversity. Tourists aside, there's not much of it here in Bethlehem; and I'm struck by how dramatically non-Arabs stand out from the crowd. It's going to be nice to see people of various races and ethnicities again.
7. Netflix. My queue contains 500 movies (the limit). In contrast, my TV at Madame Mauge's place offers five English-language channels. Instead of spending my evenings in front of obscure horror movies, I'm now watching (at least briefly) movies such as Rush Hour 2.
Given my very limited options, I'm also getting acquainted with old and once-popular TV shows that I never bothered to see in the US--e.g., Law and Order: SVU, CSI, and Prison Break (which last I cherish for its Chicago location). I watch these shows on a channel called MBC Action, which devotes a couple of weeks to one series and then moves on to another. (One of my five male students, Samer, also watches this channel to polish his English.) MBC 4, aimed at women, has offered Charmed (a guilty pleasure of mine), and Desperate Housewives--though now, horribly, the channel has moved on to Dr. Phil.
The other night I saw an episode of Housewives from a few years back, and I was extremely excited; ditto for a very old episode of Smallville that aired recently. And when I happened upon an ancient episode of The X-Files that I'd somehow missed...well, you can imagine my reaction.
"Don't it always seem to go / That you don't know what you've got till it's gone?"
8. Internet (and wireless) access. Bethlehem University's bandwidth is terribly narrow, so I generally wait until 4:00 p.m. (when everybody instantly leaves both the computer labs and the campus) to go online.
If I go off campus, I have two options. Apparently Israeli soldiers raided and trashed one Internet cafe in town, which leaves another that I visit from time to time. It houses machines dating from the 80s or 90s, and local kids congregate there to play on-line games. There's also one restaurant I've found with wi-fi. The place is quite nice, but sometimes it's hard to see the screen through all the nargileh smoke.
9. English-language magazines and newspapers. I've hoarded issues of Time and Newsweek, together with some newspapers in English, that I bought in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, and Istanbul. To ensure that they'll last, I limit myself to one story per day.
I'm glad I brought my iPod, which I use to listen to all my favorite news shows: The McLaughlin Group, Face the Nation, NPR, etc.
Bottom line: this trip, like all the others I've taken as an adult, has reminded me of how incredibly, astonishingly, wonderfully fortunate I am to be (1) an American and (2) a Chicagoan.
So what, if anything, will I miss about Bethlehem and the West Bank?
Short answer: the people. Speaking generally (and, of course, excluding all of you), the people here are the warmest, most hospitable, most emotionally expressive, and most caring I've ever met. This might sound odd, but they are intensely and beautifully human. They look you in the eyes; they smile broadly; they’re genuinely interested in your well-being; they don’t hide their emotions or veil their thoughts; and if you’re a foreigner, they couldn't be happier to meet you.
In comparison, I'm afraid, many Americans (myself included) don't look so good.
My students' attitudes toward US society (as expressed in some of their essays) are revealing. They see Americans (and those living in "the West") as people who are prosperous materially but impoverished emotionally and spiritually. (OK, they haven't put the idea in quite those terms; but they're still working on their English. I'm giving you the slightly spruced-up version of their observations.)
What concerns them most is the fact that American and European families tend to split apart when the children become adults and leave home to pursue degrees, careers, or marriages. In contrast, children here live with their parents until they get married, and even after marriage parents and children--and in-laws, and cousins, and aunts, and uncles, and grandparents--remain close. The families grow larger instead of smaller.
While my students recognize the independence that comes from the US lifestyle, they imagine our lives as relatively isolated and lonely.
Lately I've been thinking that (for me, anyway) the perfect society would be one that blended the best parts of West and East--i.e., a beautiful city with both plush movie theaters and caring people.
Well, the muezzin has started up (I'm writing from my office at BU), which tells me it's time to head home. Happy Halloween!
Love,
Jamil
The temperature hovers at a balmy 80 degrees, sunshine scours the rocky landscape, and there's not a cloud in the sky. Witches, pumpkins, goblins, vampires, zombies, and Frankenstein's monsters...are nowhere to be found. (There are, however, plenty of tourists riding around in monstrous buses.)
Halloween in the Holy Land is, alas, a contradiction in terms. Since it's the Devil's big day, it's not terribly popular around here; in fact, it's nonexistent.
One of my colleagues, Paula (from the Dominican Republic, where she tells me Halloween is celebrated in a carnivalesque fashion) shares my sense of loss, and we're consoling each other as well as we can.
Pondering Halloween leads me to think of other things I miss about the US.
1. Friends and family. While the people here are extremely warm and friendly, there's no substitute for the ones I know and love.
2. Supermarkets. In an upcoming edition of the Bethlehem Blog, I'd like to write about grocery shopping in the West Bank and how it differs from grocery shopping in the US. For now, suffice it to say that when I enter the new Dominick's near my house in Chicago I may well burst into tears of joy--especially when I see the bakery section, as I've been eating only pita bread (or some variation thereof) for the past two months.
3. Movie theaters. Bethlehem used to have one movie theater, but now it's gone. Locals can still see a movie every so often in the auditorium of the Peace Center, however.
I miss movie theaters almost as much as I miss supermarkets; and I will likewise probably start to sniffle and sob when I return to one of my favorite Chicago theaters, the River East 21--as I plan to do within days, if not hours, of my arrival in the US.
The idea of a movie theater with twenty-one screens showing twenty-one different films, all of which are new releases--it simply boggles my mind. It may well be that one of Chicago's movie theaters has as many screens as the entire West Bank, and that Chicago's movie theaters outnumber those of Israel and the West Bank combined.
Ah...I feel the tears coming.
I did see Superbad in Tel Aviv, at a theater with six screens, and I was very excited--until I walked into the place, which was sad and shabby.
I strongly suspect that for supermarkets, movie theaters, and shopping malls, America is unmatched in the world. (Those of you who have traveled more than I are welcome to comment on this suspicion.)
You might be thinking I'm superficial; and maybe, having spent my formative years in southern California (which, as most of you know, is to supermarkets, movie theaters, and malls what Rome is to churches) I am. That said, ponder life without any of these places (at least without them in their recognizable forms).
4. Chicago's skyline. Buildings here tend not to go higher than, say, several stories. There are a few skyscrapers in Tel Aviv, but compare its skyline with Chicago's.
While Portland, Seattle, and San Francisco are lovely and NYC is of course amazing, Chicago remains the most beautiful city I've seen. What's more, it's much cleaner and greener than Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Tel Aviv, Hebron, Ramallah, or Istanbul.
6. Diversity. Tourists aside, there's not much of it here in Bethlehem; and I'm struck by how dramatically non-Arabs stand out from the crowd. It's going to be nice to see people of various races and ethnicities again.
7. Netflix. My queue contains 500 movies (the limit). In contrast, my TV at Madame Mauge's place offers five English-language channels. Instead of spending my evenings in front of obscure horror movies, I'm now watching (at least briefly) movies such as Rush Hour 2.
Given my very limited options, I'm also getting acquainted with old and once-popular TV shows that I never bothered to see in the US--e.g., Law and Order: SVU, CSI, and Prison Break (which last I cherish for its Chicago location). I watch these shows on a channel called MBC Action, which devotes a couple of weeks to one series and then moves on to another. (One of my five male students, Samer, also watches this channel to polish his English.) MBC 4, aimed at women, has offered Charmed (a guilty pleasure of mine), and Desperate Housewives--though now, horribly, the channel has moved on to Dr. Phil.
The other night I saw an episode of Housewives from a few years back, and I was extremely excited; ditto for a very old episode of Smallville that aired recently. And when I happened upon an ancient episode of The X-Files that I'd somehow missed...well, you can imagine my reaction.
"Don't it always seem to go / That you don't know what you've got till it's gone?"
8. Internet (and wireless) access. Bethlehem University's bandwidth is terribly narrow, so I generally wait until 4:00 p.m. (when everybody instantly leaves both the computer labs and the campus) to go online.
If I go off campus, I have two options. Apparently Israeli soldiers raided and trashed one Internet cafe in town, which leaves another that I visit from time to time. It houses machines dating from the 80s or 90s, and local kids congregate there to play on-line games. There's also one restaurant I've found with wi-fi. The place is quite nice, but sometimes it's hard to see the screen through all the nargileh smoke.
9. English-language magazines and newspapers. I've hoarded issues of Time and Newsweek, together with some newspapers in English, that I bought in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, and Istanbul. To ensure that they'll last, I limit myself to one story per day.
I'm glad I brought my iPod, which I use to listen to all my favorite news shows: The McLaughlin Group, Face the Nation, NPR, etc.
Bottom line: this trip, like all the others I've taken as an adult, has reminded me of how incredibly, astonishingly, wonderfully fortunate I am to be (1) an American and (2) a Chicagoan.
So what, if anything, will I miss about Bethlehem and the West Bank?
Short answer: the people. Speaking generally (and, of course, excluding all of you), the people here are the warmest, most hospitable, most emotionally expressive, and most caring I've ever met. This might sound odd, but they are intensely and beautifully human. They look you in the eyes; they smile broadly; they’re genuinely interested in your well-being; they don’t hide their emotions or veil their thoughts; and if you’re a foreigner, they couldn't be happier to meet you.
In comparison, I'm afraid, many Americans (myself included) don't look so good.
My students' attitudes toward US society (as expressed in some of their essays) are revealing. They see Americans (and those living in "the West") as people who are prosperous materially but impoverished emotionally and spiritually. (OK, they haven't put the idea in quite those terms; but they're still working on their English. I'm giving you the slightly spruced-up version of their observations.)
What concerns them most is the fact that American and European families tend to split apart when the children become adults and leave home to pursue degrees, careers, or marriages. In contrast, children here live with their parents until they get married, and even after marriage parents and children--and in-laws, and cousins, and aunts, and uncles, and grandparents--remain close. The families grow larger instead of smaller.
While my students recognize the independence that comes from the US lifestyle, they imagine our lives as relatively isolated and lonely.
Lately I've been thinking that (for me, anyway) the perfect society would be one that blended the best parts of West and East--i.e., a beautiful city with both plush movie theaters and caring people.
Well, the muezzin has started up (I'm writing from my office at BU), which tells me it's time to head home. Happy Halloween!
Love,
Jamil
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