In Which Dominanta Opens Doors, and a Few Things Happen Which are Entirely Unrelated

Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Last we read, I was getting ready to sing at an evening of foreign songs in Hebrew translation, a gig that I found courtesy of Dominanta...

Well, I learned not only "La Vie en Rose," but also another song that I was given the night before the event, a lovely little number translated from Italian. The evening lasted from 10pm until 3:30am, and was arguably the most fun I have ever had in my entire life. Even after five solid hours of singing, I didn't want to leave, and found myself wishing it would last forever. The morning after, I felt like Cinderella the day after the ball, still dreamy and starry-eyed, floating around as though on a cloud... that night, at Rami's event, I remembered what it was like to be in love with music. It was a feeling I had lost sight of for a while, but on Friday, January 7th, at Keren's house, I fell in love again. And this time, I'm not letting it go.

Well, it turned out that this was the gift that keeps on giving. As a result of this evening, as well as some woman's unsuccessful attempt to fix me up with her undoubtedly charming and talented nephew, I have been drafted to TWO further vocal ensembles, both a capella groups. (You'll recall that the evening itself was the result of having joined Dominanta, which was because Zvika brought me to a rehearsal, which was after I met him during Kismet, which I found by accident on facebook, which chased the cat, which killed the rat that lived in the house that Jack built...) The first, Pacapella, is a five-person group, the founder of whom was at Rami's foreign song event. Their soprano had JUST left, and somehow I had officially taken her place before I had noticed or consented... but it should be fun, nonetheless, to give it a shot, especially now that I have an uncharacteristically large amount of time on my hands! I have been to one rehearsal so far, and am optimistic -- while very different from Dominanta in atmosphere (and once I convinced myself that I am not betraying Dominanta by being a member of more than one ensemble), Pacapella is fun and upbeat and I am looking forward to some tight, one-to-a-part choral harmonies.

The second ensemble, formerly called Intonica (the current name is still under construction), has not yet met for rehearsal, but is another five-person a capella group, and another instance in which I was introduced to the group as the lovely and talented new soprano before I could either deny these virtues or agree to join. But once again, I will see how it goes and make my decisions and cuts later on in the process -- this is the first time I have ever known sopranos to be in such high demand, and I am going to take advantage of it while it lasts! :)

On a final Dominanta-related note, we recently participated in a national competition. When I joined the ensemble, the group had just risen to the semi-finals, and after only two rehearsals with them, I was asked to go ahead and participate in the semi-finals (and then, happily, the finals). I am happy to report that we placed second in the entire country, and are the proud owners of a silver medal and a tidy little cash prize. Yay Dominanta! I am very proud to be a member. At the moment, rehearsals are the highlight of my week. And since they've already decided they're going to sing at my wedding, I feel that I am, shall we say, in for life, if I so desire. :)

And now for the entirely unrelated.

I recently had the very good fortune of being able to tag along with a DePauw winter term trip to Israel! Led by drs Anne Harris and Rebecca Schindler, two professors with whom I was closely acquainted at DPU (and their boys, Oliver and Simon, the latter of whom was my Hebrew student for three years), twenty five students came to study the political and theological history of the state of Israel. I spent a few thoroughly enjoyable days with them, visiting the old city of Jerusalem, walking its ramparts, touring the Holy Sepulchre, singing "Dona nobis pacem" with Anne in the notoriously resonant basilica of St. Anne's Cathedral (appropriately), and spice shopping in Jerusalem's Machanei Yehuda marketplace. That was such a treat for me, and I am so grateful that it happened!

And in other news, after almost six months of vocational roadblocks, including the Great Nepotism Disaster of 2010, I have decided to shelve my pride and settle, albeit temporarily, into a job at a big Israeli cafe franchise. The company in question, Arcaffé, was founded fifteen years ago by a woman who is almost a relative of mine, being the significant new other in the life of my father's cousin Rami (yes, there is a plethora of Ramis in this post, I apologize upfront for any confusion this may be causing). Today, I went in for an interview, and will start my training shift tomorrow. Like the job I once held at the Scholar's Inn Bakehouse in Bloomington, everyone at this cafe does a bit of everything -- including, in this case, working the cash register, the barista, waiting tables, busing tables, and a number of other things that I am sure I will find out about tomorrow. I will grant that it will be nice, not only to have some kind of regular income, but to spend some time in the company of people who share my general age group, which has admittedly been a rarity since my arrival in Israel. And hopefully once/if something comes along that is more directly related to my range of interests/skills, I will be able to transition gracefully with, perhaps, a new group of friends, peers and supporters, in addition to all of you. :)

Let's see how this goes!

In Which Nepotism is Simultaneously Both a Boon and a Barrier

Alternately, "In Which Shani Learns the Perils of Prematurely Counting her Chickens." The downside to choosing the alternate title, however, would have been creating a blog with not one, but TWO posts in which the subject heading is devoted to the mention of poultry -- but this time the chickens are purely figurative, I assure you.

As you may recall, I posted recently -- well, not that recently, over two months ago -- about a job acceptance at the Israel Opera in Tel Aviv. The job was perfect for me; it required someone who speaks very good English, can read music, and has some knowledge about the workings of opera. Both the two big bosses at the opera house were very impressed with me, and the head of production management told me that I was hired.

Two months later, I got a phone call.

Now before I explain, yes, in a sense, I sat around waiting for them to call me for two months... I tried calling once, but I was told politely but firmly to sit and wait patiently. Their season hadn't started and they didn't need me yet. Fine. So I did other things in the meantime, moonlighting, exploring, etc, and waited, knowing that Ms. B had said "Welcome aboard!" and "you belong here, we'll call you immediately," and that everyone there agreed I was best suited for the job.

As it turns out, however, the Israel Opera in Tel Aviv has a policy against hiring family members of existing employees. My aunt, my mom's sister, works in the dress/costume department there, has for several years. Now, here is why this policy should not apply to me: a) I would be hired for an entirely different department, nothing to do with costumes; b) I have a CLASSICAL MUSIC DEGREE and all the skills required for the job, and am therefore not relying on nepotism to push me forward; c) for all intents and purposes, I am basically an "ola chadasha" (a person who has newly made his or her move to Israel, a movement that's encouraged greatly by the government -- there are packages of funding, tax breaks, free education, etc that are offered to Jews from other countries choosing to live their lives in Israel), and therefore my biological relationship to my aunt is irrelevant, as it's not as though I grew up on her block. I haven't lived in the same country as her for 23 years.

All of this being the case, however, the high-ups at the Israel Opera decided that none of it mattered. I am not as of this moment, while these people are in charge, authorized to work there. So, it's back to square one in terms of employment. I interviewed at Haaretz newspaper, the Israeli New York Times equivalent, but I'm not sure hard-hitting journalism is the first impression people get upon meeting me, so not holding my breath there -- on a related note, though, I am one step closer to fulfilling my life-long dream of becoming Eliza Doolittle. On alternate Fridays I can now be found at the Tel Aviv harbor market, selling loverly bunches of flowers. :)

In other news, four months have passed since I got here, and my family in Bloomington hit their winter break -- which means that I was graced with a visit!

First, ima got here (and is still here), followed by aba and Maya 10 days later. We had a great time, though it went by entirely too quickly, visiting family and friends, hanging out together, and generally catching up. It was (and is) so great to see them after four months -- we are a tightly knit family and this is the longest I have ever gone without seeing them. A bi-continental life has worked for me up until now, as my family has always been a part of my flip-flopping before, but this new-found independent lifestyle is going to take a bit more getting used to. Regardless, though, I am so glad they came, and just wish they could all have stayed longer, especially my dad and sister, who were here for such a short time!

My final bit of news for this post is that 10 days ago, I joined a vocal ensemble.

Now, when this ensemble was pitched to me, it was by my friend Zvika, who played the villain in Kismet. He used phrases such as "it's just for fun," and "we're all much much older than you, and far less professional," and "very few of us actually read music," and "we need sopranos" (yes, that one turned my head too)... the impression I got was that this ensemble was a completely amateur gathering of people who just do this in the evenings because they enjoy singing and have little else to do. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I told Zvika I would attend a rehearsal and see how I liked it.

The ensemble, Dominanta, sings only in Hebrew. It is an ensemble of contemporary Israeli music, both from the nationalistic era (the birth of the Israeli nation in 1948) and from more recent years. The entire ensemble consists of ten and a half people (the half being someone who fills in when she is needed) and a conductor/guitarist who have been singing together for over twenty years. Not only do they have such a ball that after a three hour rehearsal they sit around and keep singing because nobody wants to go home, but they have performed on television and with some of Israel's biggest names, including (for those of you who might actually recognize the names) Danny Sanderson and Israel Gurion, the latter of which is featured in an upcoming concert in April.

The long and the short of it are that I enjoyed every minute of the rehearsal, and "auditioned" right after -- and considering that almost everyone in the ensemble is fifty plus years old, I was welcomed with open arms and a great deal of enthusiasm. One of the members immediately drafted me for a vocal event he is arranging, as well, an evening of foreign songs in Hebrew translation, where I am to sing "HaChaim BeVarod" (originally "La Vie en Rose"), which I am also quite excited about! And I am already listed in the line-up for the evening as "Shani Wahrman, of Dominanta." :)

On that note, I will close this post. To those goyish friends of mine, a very Merry Christmas, and to all a Happy New Year!

In Which Tiltan Avni is Remembered

Those of you who were in my life already six years ago may recall a certain tragic event that occurred in my family on Thanksgiving Day, 2004, when my fourteen-year-old cousin Tiltan died unexpectedly of a fall in a construction site in Modi'in. Every year since, her parents, my aunt and uncle, have held a memorial for her at her grave in November. This is the first year I've been in Israel since the funeral, and able to attend the annual memorial. My youngest cousin, Yaara, and I, prepared a contemporary Israeli song for the memorial, in translation "To see the light," by Ephrat Gosh, which she played on the guitar and I sang. It's a really beautiful song, and can be found in its original form here, for those who are interested in hearing it. I was just glad that we were almost the very first thing in the service, because once people started talking, the tears began, and there was no way I would have been able to sing anything. Many people came up later and told us that we really touched them, for which I was glad, despite the difficult circumstances.

On a happier note, my web of freelance activity has continued to spread throughout the city. In a series of serendipitous encounters, as is the Israeli way, I came across a woman named Elvia who moved here from the United States three years ago. Her occupation since arriving, besides the numerous hours that she spends in Hebrew classes each day, has been one that is quite familiar to me at this point -- a nanny whose ulterior purpose is to help her charges practice their English. While she enjoys this, she decided that she was not going to get stuck there, and thus CityKids was born.

CityKids is an afterschool program (and during the day, for the kids who are too young to go to school), much like any other, with classes (yoga, music, dance, art, etc), a playroom, a library of about 1500 books... the only difference is, this center is run entirely in English. The idea is that parents have a place for their kids to go after school, AND they can practice their English -- anyone from those who have never heard a word of English in their lives to those who speak it at home. As well as the standard classes, then, there are also English classes at varying levels. And the kicker?

CityKids is located LITERALLY a twelve second walk from my apartment. Handy? Quite!

I met with Elvia and her assistant, and spoke to them about my qualifications and interest in their project. CityKids has not actually opened yet, and will do so on Hanukkah (two weeks from now). Right now the space is being renovated, and is going to be really lovely, but as of this moment has wood and tiles scattered all over the place. Unfortunately, the music, art and English teachers were already taken care of by the time I discovered them, covering pretty much all of my bases. The music teacher, however, is also Hebraically challenged, and spends her mornings in Ulpan (Hebrew classes)... so, with that information, I offered my mornings for the younger kids, at least until the job at the opera gets going and I have a better sense of whether my mornings are available.

For those of you who don't know what Music Together is, it is a "class" in which kids (under the age of 4 or 5) come with one or other of their parents, and everyone learns songs and makes music together (as the name suggests). There are often small instruments, like maracas or egg shakers, and songs a la Raffi or Sharon, Lois and Bram. And for those of you who DID know that, here is another piece of information: I am actually a graduate of the very first Music Together class ever taught, in Princeton, NJ. :)

Once Elvia found out my Music Together-related news, she started jumping up and down and it was decided that I would perhaps come in some mornings and run my own version. This is very exciting to me, because it's right up my alley for so many reasons! And furthermore, this is a job that actually pays me (unlike the other afterschool center at which I've volunteered around six or seven times already, including today), and pays very handsomely at that. I've already signed a contract, and am now officially a freelance teacher at the CityKids center, around the corner from where I live! (As well as the Music Together coordinator I will be the permanent substitute for pretty much all of the other teachers at the center, which is nice -- but it's definitely a plus to have my own thing to do too!)

In other news, Kismet's run has only two performances left, and has been mostly successful, all things considered. We experienced an inhuman number of technical difficulties, such as power outages, malfunctioning microphones, and people falling on slippery stages, all mid-performance; and for me, personally, Kismet has presented a series of interesting challenges as well (my filling and part of my tooth falling out during the final dress rehearsal, resulting in an emergency visit to the dentist; a gaping, bleeding wound from my head -- source unknown, no pain, just lots of blood; an unprovoked allergic reaction to stage makeup that happened only during the fourth performance, when I had been doing everything the same as on previous nights, resulting in a giant rash all over my face, much better now). In a roundabout way, this brings me back to the original topic of my post, as my cousin died on opening night of Camelot, the last time we were in Israel and both Maya and I performed... and then my grandfather died during the final dress rehearsal of Time Flies, the only other show I was in that year. Maybe I should stop performing in Israel.

But yes, other than that, Kismet has been successful. And a lot of fun, in spite of the obstacles. I especially love all the people that I've met, and hope that we will stay in touch.

The final bits and bobs I wanted to mention were that as of today, I FINALLY have my health insurance card and my student ID, both essential to my successful life here and both outrageously late in getting to me... but I actually have a plastic card for each now, so as long as I don't lose them, I can both see doctors and get on campus without difficulty. That will make for a very nice change.

And, to begin and end with mentioning my cousins and the passing of time, I would just like to say that tomorrow morning, less than 12 hours away, my cousin Yuval will be an official member of the Israeli military. This is very difficult for me to believe... much as I know that he will be successful and appreciated, I can't help but remember him as the little kid he used to be, and not the eighteen year old soldier he is about to become. And the seasons, they go round and round...

In Which Life Begins on the Mevasseret Bridge

Yesterday afternoon, on my way to dinner, I was, for the first time, a true witness to life's greatest miracles.

A few days ago, I received a phone call from my mom's very good friend Yael, whom she has known since they were 18, asking if I wanted to come have Shabbat dinner with them this week. Of course, I was very happy to do so, so we planned that I would get on a bus from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem around 3:00 on Friday (the buses here stop about an hour before the sabbath, and the sun sets very early these days), and get off one stop before Jerusalem, in Mevasseret, where they live.

The bus stopped at the Mevasseret Bridge, literally a stop in the middle of the highway, around 4:00, and I got out, pulling out my phone so I could call Yaeli and tell her I was there. While I was on the phone with her, a man with a ponytail who was walking a bicycle ran up to me and yelled "do you speak Hebrew??" I motioned to him to please wait a moment, because I was on the phone, but he continued to yell in my ear. I barely heard Yaeli, over the shouting, say that I should climb up the hill to the side of the highway and she'd pick me up in her car at the top. So I closed my phone and turned to the guy, and said "what's the problem??"

His response was, "see the car parked on the shoulder of the highway? The woman in the front seat is halfway through giving birth. We really need your help."

I didn't know what to say or do, but I shrieked and ran over to the car. The mother-to-be, a Haredi (ultra-orthodox) Jewish woman was leaning back as far as she could in the passenger seat, calm and without screaming, while another woman was holding the door of the car, slightly open so she would have air, but mostly shut because of the cold wind. I will spare you all the graphic details, but suffice it to say that there was indeed half a baby already enjoying his first breaths, while the other half was still contained in its previous nine-month abode. What astounded me the most was that the mother wasn't making a single sound. She leaned back, and looked at me when I approached, and said nothing. I think she was completely in shock that this was going on, not to mention her husband, who was outside of the car, spinning around in circles and pleading for help with every person who walked by him.

Since most of the people helping out apparently did NOT speak Hebrew, someone handed me a phone as soon as I got there, and just said the word "ambulance." I took the phone, and spoke with the health representative on the other side of the line, trying to simultaneously follow and translate her instructions about keeping the mother warm, keeping calm until the ambulance gets there, etc... one woman put an apron over the mother's torso, as well, so the baby was obscured from view and wouldn't catch a chill. But then the voice said "now. I need you to take hold of the baby's head and very gently pull."

I'm amazed I didn't faint at that point. I told the invisible voice that I didn't think I could do that... I had never delivered a baby in my life, and didn't trust myself to do it now. The woman told me that this was very urgent, that the mother needed me now... that only I could help. I was about to lose it, when the mother calmly told me from the front of the car "oh, the baby's completely out now. Could you maybe help me wrap him up?"

I told the lady on the phone that the baby was out, and then quickly handed it off to someone else. With some help from the father and the guy with the ponytail, we found a clean, spare shirt in the mother's bag in the backseat of the car, and the ponytail guy and I, together, swaddled the baby (being careful not to choke him on his umbilical cord), just as we heard the ambulance's sirens wailing on the highway. (The ambulance did, at first, come up the highway in the wrong direction, and actually took an exit IN REVERSE, drove in reverse over the bridge, and showed up minutes later on the correct side.) At that point, the paramedics took over, the couple thanked us profusely, and I walked up the hill to go meet Yaeli (who was waiting patiently in her car, after calling me to find out where I was about 10 minutes earlier). I was still overwhelmed, trying desperately to put the images out of my mind so I could just focus on dinner with family friends, but I was also really blown away by what I had just seen, and what I had just done.

I will never forget that moment in my entire life.

In Which Wednesday is a Very Good Day

To some, hump day... to me, on this particular occasion, a day full of good news, good food and good friends. :)

Yesterday, I had planned to have two friends over for dinner. In the morning, I got up, went grocery shopping, and then came home to start cooking. On the menu: a sweet potato risotto (parsnips in the recipe, but I've always been one to improvise), a lentil salad, a green salad, some homemade garlic bread and "hand made" chocolate mousse (hand made because I didn't have the right equipment, aka the electric hand mixer -- but it still came out delicious!). My French neighbor Benoit, who lives in the penthouse apartment of my building, stopped by to see my roommate, and was so impressed by the menu that he wants to have us all over for dinner (the whole building) next week. And I promised to bring something. I also ended up with a recurring coffee date to get together and practice my French, starting with Monday night. All good things. But moving on. :)

At 3:30 I had a job interview at the Israel Opera in Tel Aviv, with Ms. B, the production manager. Ms. B is an American woman who has lived in Israel for twenty three years, and doesn't speak a word of Hebrew. Everyone warned me before the interview, "she's a total character -- don't be alarmed," and "she'll either like you or hate you, there's nothing you can do about it, so just relax." All things you want to hear when you're going into a job interview!

At 3:30 I was waiting in Ms. B's secretary's office. At around 3:40, Ms. B's door opened and I was invited inside.

After the hellos and how are yous, Ms. B said to me "Shani, tell me about yourself." So I told her about my undergraduate degrees, and my decision to move to Tel Aviv after college... and her response was "ok. Let's cut the bullshit."

I was very taken aback, because that's not something I was expecting to hear two minutes into my interview. I didn't know exactly what I had done wrong, but I stopped talking and looked at her for a clue as to what to do or say next. And then she continued that thought. "...enough with the small talk. You sold me when you walked in the door."

We spent another twenty minutes or so chatting, her asking me about my experience, whether or not I can read music (affirmative), whether I can read/speak any other languages (affirmative), whether I like opera (affirmative)... she told me that normally does not like hiring relatives of employees (for those of you who don't know, my aunt Limor works in the Tel Aviv opera house), but that clearly I am not just taking advantage of my connections, that I actually have the skills and experience necessary for this kind of work (not on stage, but backstage - production work). The peak of the conversation was the moment when she told me that ideally, she wanted me in the position of ASSISTANT ARTISTIC DIRECTOR... but that that job is taken for the time being, by someone who, I gather, is unsatisfactory. She hinted that there may be a chance that the position will at some point become available, but for the time being that she really wants me around the place, that it's where I belong, and that I will be called whenever I am needed. At the end of the interview, she stood up, shook my hand, and said "welcome aboard."

...

I now work for the Israel Opera in Tel Aviv! Officially! :)

After the interview, in a daze, I walked to my next appointment, which was a two hour babysitting job. In this house, I am half babysitter, half governess -- the family just spent two years in Pittsburgh and has hired me as much for English practice as for babysitting. I will meet with the three girls once a week (ages 5-9), pick them up from school in the afternoon, and then spend a few hours of exclusive English speaking with them until their parents come home in the evening. Yesterday, we played some board games, and then when it was time for me to leave, all three of them draped themselves over me, saying "no! Shanini! Don't leave!" which I was very touched by, of course. I will see them again next Thursday.

Then, I came home, finished cooking, and spent the rest of the evening relaxing in my apartment with my childhood friends, Sahar and Alma. What a very lovely day!

P.S. Today my roommate's sister came by to pick something up, and remarked that Bamba has never acted around any of the other roommates as she does around me... she lets me play with her, kisses me on the nose, curls up in my bed... apparently I am the first to receive that privilege. More good news. :)

In Which Things Start to Happen

I realize it has been a while since I've posted. Since my chicken adventure, in fact. Those of you who are my facebook friends may have noticed that there were certain events in my life that demanded my immediate attention. But I have not forgotten you all, and here we are again with another installment of Shani's life in the promised land. :)

On the practical front, things have not progressed much. I am still currently unemployed, on the market, as it were -- though certain Tel Aviv citizens have interpreted my aura of "on the market" a little too literally. I am trying to keep a tally of the number of guys -- of all ages, single, divorced, and STILL MARRIED -- who have hit on me in the streets and asked for my phone number (I believe yesterday's bus encounter makes seven). While this may sound very obnoxious (and it certainly can be), this kind of behavior (dubbed by my father "testosterone fest") does not have the same stigmas attached to it that it would have in the United States. I have come to the conclusion that people in Israel are simply friendlier. It is much more widely accepted to strike up a conversation with someone who catches your eye, whether it is on the beach, or in a cafe, or even just waiting for the bus. The outspoken quality of the Israelis is taking some getting used to, for sure, but I am very flattered by the attention and am taking it all as a big compliment!

In other news, my one remaining claim to studenthood -- my Hebrew University course -- started yesterday. Getting myself signed up and registered for this course was nothing short of a headache. After a complex and elaborate telephone scavenger hunt (with each phone call resulting in someone telling me to call someone else), I was finally able to talk to someone who seemed to know what to do. It's tricky because I'm not registering for a specific degree, but just a single course, and so both the registration and payment processes are different than the norm. So all of this comes with a great deal of red tape. But once I was able to talk to someone who told me that I was able to register online, I did... only to receive a letter in the mail a week later informing me that they are sorry, but I can't register for a course in humanities because my level of English is not high enough.

...

Once I stopped laughing, I sent a frantic e-mail to my dad asking him for help. That is a criticism I had not yet encountered, with my two bachelor degrees from an American, completely English-speaking university. This all happened about a week before the course was supposed to actually begin, so I wasn't sure exactly where this would go. As it turns out, the conclusion was based on my failure to submit a te'udat bagrut (the Israeli equivalent of, say, an International Baccalaureate exam -- specific tests for each subject), as I did not go to school here. So I scanned my DePauw transcript, faxed it in, and am now -- FINALLY -- an official student at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, studying on the Mt. Scopus campus! My first class was yesterday.

For those of you who don't know about this, let me explain a bit about the course. The Hebrew University was kind enough to construct a course based exclusively on my many and varied interests from my bachelor degrees. They may not realize that they scored so closely, but for one such as myself, with specializations in music, French, and medieval art history, a course entitled "Music, Art and Liturgy in Medieval French Churches" could not possibly have been more apt if it tried -- with the possible exception of, say, a prerequisite in red hair. It's that level of fortuitousness!

The course is a collaborative effort, taught by a professor in the musicology department together with a professor from art history. Yesterday, they had all the students (maybe 25-30 of us total, me being easily the youngest -- without the two years of military service I am farther ahead in my advanced education at 24 than most Israelis are at 27 or so) introduce themselves, and say whether they are from the music side or the art side, whether they have studied any languages, what periods they're interested in and if they have experience with the Middle Ages. When they got to me, my response was "I studied both music and art history, I majored in French (as well as taking Spanish, Italian and German at varying levels of intensity), and as far as art history goes, I am primarily focused on the Middle Ages." Yeah, I'm pretty sure the class hates me. But the professors seemed pleased, so I guess that's what counts. Haha. The course is a year long, though, which is an entirely new experience for me, but I have high hopes for it -- and much as I never thought that I would say this, I have actually really missed being in school and it's nice to have one day a week where I'm a student again. :)

This is not the only development of mine that has been the result of a great deal of hoop-jumping, however. As of last Wednesday (a week ago today), 21 hours after I received in the mail my official release from the Israeli military (a chore in and of itself, involving multiple phone calls, endless phone menus, military beaurocracy, e-mails to the States, e-mails to the various military bases in Israel, e-mails to experts that bounced back, and finally the help of a friend who is currently enlisted who was able to accomplish in a half hour what I had been attempting to do for a month), I had an appointment at Tel Aviv's "Misrad HaKlita," or the Ministry of Immigrant Absorption. After a lot of human ping pong, again, in which I was bounced backwards and forwards from one office to another, I walked out with my official "Te'udat Zaka'ut," or my Certificate of Eligibility. It is a document that proves that I am an official returning citizen, who, after having spent most of my life outside of the state of Israel, has decided to return and am therefore entitled to certain benefits. The document itself looks like a passport, and is my ticket to various perks such as free tuition, health benefits and a tax break, among others. All in all, an important acquisition. My next step is the national insurance office.

In other news, while the job front has not progressed much, I have still started to get my name out there, and am beginning to build a network of connections in Tel Aviv. Aside from the community of both Israeli and American families who have come out of the woodwork seeking bilingual babysitters, I also visited a youth center with an after-school program for underprivileged teens, where I believe I will start volunteering once a week as the resident voice coach. My great uncle Reuven, the non-profit king, took me to visit there last week, and there is apparently a relatively high percentage of students who are interested in singing -- everything from traditional Israeli music at family functions to the Lea Michele groupies whose next big dream is their name in Broadway lights. There is a semi-functional piano at the center, so I am headed there for my first session on Thursday, to meet the interested students and see how I can help. I think my job there will boil down to a few private voice lessons a week, as well as maybe some group preparation around holidays and national events, when the center organizes parties, and in some cases, even a talent show or revue performance. All in all, it sounds very rewarding, and I can't wait to start!

It is funny, too, how one musical happening leads to another, however serendipitously. While my head was abuzz with thoughts of vocal pedagogy, I happened to stumble across a status update on facebook, posted by someone I haven't seen in six years. This man, by the name of Yisra'el, was in a production of Camelot with me in Jerusalem when my family was here the last time, right after I graduated from high school, through a company called JEST: Jerusalem English Speaking Theatre, which is where we met; and later that same year he had organized a hanukkah cabaret performance, in which I was a participant as well. This particular status update was a cry for male voices for a production of Kismet (appropriately) that is being produced right now in Jerusalem. I posted some impromptu facetious comment about being able to sing baritone if necessary (particularly right now, as I have been plagued with a very nasty cough), only to be immediately targeted by a message that said "Wait, you're in Israel?? Do you want to be in Kismet? How are you??"" (to which my response was "Yes! Yes! And fine!"). So last night, after my course at the university, I headed to a neighborhood in Jerusalem called Rehavia to crash the rehearsal and (symbolically, thanks to the cough) audition.

As well as Yisra'el, there was another girl there, involved in the show, who I haven't seen in six years. My friend Inbal, another Camelot survivor, three months older than me who I had gotten quite close with until she got married a month after Camelot closed and had two kids, making quality hanging out time slightly more complicated. I showed up at the rehearsal with my friend Ben, cantorial student and pillar of moral support (who, incidentally, got attacked as soon as he walked in the door and everyone learned that he is a male who can sing -- something I feel quite guilty about), and the first person to walk out of the rehearsal space was Inbal. We both shrieked and hugged each other, and I suddenly couldn't believe that so much time has passed since we last saw each other. It was a truly great moment that more than made up for the haphazard, disorganized atmosphere and crazy theatre vibes (all things that I dearly miss, mind you) that were bouncing ceaselessly around the rehearsal venue.

Anyway, I'm not entirely sure what happened, but two hours later I walked out of the hall with sheet music in my hand, choreography in my head, and -- apparently -- a part in the musical "Kismet." They rehearse three times a week, so mostly doable as far as the commute goes from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. It opens in about a month. I am quite excited, and as always, astounded by the ways in which theatre is able to find me, even in a place in which I know virtually no one. :)

In Which Shani Atones for her Sins by Way of Live Poultry

As some of you may have read on facebook, I made plans two days ago, on the phone, to meet my friend Alon in Jerusalem today, Thursday (and as those of you who read this on facebook know, I serendipitously ran into him an hour later at the train station in Tel Aviv when I was there to meet my cousin -- not an important part of my story, but nonetheless a funny coincidence).

We had not made any specific plans, but instead said that we would meet and figure something out from there. It wasn't until yesterday that he called me and said he had an idea. He would not tell me what it was, except that it involved live chickens, and that I was to dress in conservative, Jewish orthodox attire and meet him downtown at 10 am. The chickens threw me a bit, but every time that Alon and I spend time together, we end up doing something interesting and enlightening, and always very original. So, while it seemed an unusual set of instructions, I complied. But in between that conversation and the following day's activities, yesterday evening, I was to attend a concert at Beit Avichai as part of Jerusalem's piyut festival.

For those of you who are now staring blankly at the screen wondering what on earth I am talking about, I will tell you that one week ago, I didn't know what a piyut was either. Here is an explanation for those of you in need of internet validation, but in a nutshell, a piyut is a Jewish liturgical text set to music. In this case, the festival consists of concerts and lectures from around the Judaic world, making the event as much a world music festival as a celebration of Judaic liturgy. The particular concert that I attended was performed by a group of Libyan musicians, with very compelling and original instruments. I went in the company of a young man named Ben that I had befriended a few weeks ago (a connection made via the "friend-of-a-friend-back-home" network, as always), and a group of his colleagues from the Hebrew Union College, or the cantorial school. The concert was really fun, partly because of the music but also because many of the audience members seemed to know some of the melodies of the piyutim already, and were singing and swaying in time with the music. The concert was set in an outdoor courtyard, in perfect temperature (Jerusalem outdoors during the summer maintains an ideal climate), and we generally had a very good time.

That was yesterday.

This morning, I woke myself at 8:30, showered, and then realized from looking through my bag that I had not actually packed any orthodox-appropriate attire. This is odd for me, as some of you may realize, because the main requirement for a young religious Jewish girl is a long skirt, and as we know, that is not an unusual find in Shani's wardrobe; but in this case, I found myself without. So, I hopped upstairs, and after obtaining permission, rifled through my hostess' closet in search of something passable. I found a long, purple, corduroy skirt which seemed fitting, and paired it with my own clothes, a simple, modest, black t-shirt, and a long-sleeved, loose black jacket on top of that. Once I had french braided my hair to the side, you could not have picked me out of a lineup of young observant Jewish girls. I still find it interesting that wearing specific clothing and walking in specific areas can completely change your identity; in that garb, I was spoken to differently, treated differently -- especially once we reached our destination -- and what's more, I felt different. But all that is beside the point, so I grabbed my camera, and walked out of the door.

From there, I took a bus to Kikar Ziyon, the place I think of as the very center of Jerusalem, whether or not that is actually accurate, which is where I was to meet Alon. After briefly catching up over some coffee and a decadent pastry at the Kadosh Cafe, we set out towards Me'a She'arim, one of Jerusalem's oldest and most religious neighborhoods. It is one of the few places I've been to where I hear conversational Yiddish, where the modest conservative attire is enforced, and where every Jewish tradition is followed by everyone, without question. Stepping into Me'a She'arim feels like entering a whole different world. After some searching, some asking, and a bit of navigational luck, Alon and I came across a tent on the sidewalk. Inside the tent was a table with some laminated prayer cards on it, some Haredi Jews, a stack of boxes, and along one side of the tent a chicken run, fully stocked with noisy chickens.

I think it's time to explain.

In the Jewish tradition, Kapparot, or "atonements," are an ancient custom. It is believed that it is possible to release your sins from the previous year by transferring them to an object that is then sacrificed or destroyed. In many Jewish traditions, the person performing the kappara will use a bill of money, which he or she will then donate or invest in a worthy cause. The more archaic version is to inflict your sins on a live chicken, which is then donated to a needy family for their pre-Yom Kippur feast. For those of you who don't know, Yom Kippur, or the Day of Atonement, begins tomorrow night at sundown and continues through Saturday night. It is a day in which people fast, symbolizing their sorrow and regret, in order to absolve them so they are then able to begin the new year with a clean slate. The customary time to perform the kappara, then, is before Yom Kippur begins. The ritual involves selecting a chicken, holding it with both hands, and moving it in a circle three times over your head while reciting a prayer of atonement. Then the chicken is not returned to the run, but placed in a box, ready to be delivered to its next destination.

I am happy to say that both Alon and I released our sins today, in time for Yom Kippur. I am even happier to say that I am not a witness to the next stop in the chicken's journey, but I do feel that I made an anthropological study today, and learned something about my religion that was I was not formerly acquainted with -- and above all, I got some very original photographs. :)