In Which the Eighteenth of August is a Milestone

Today I am a teacher.

I have finished my training and have been sent home to await the first of September, during and after which time I will teach four different English classes, in the seventh and eleventh grades, and be a מחנכת in the seventh grade (a homeroom teacher who is so much more – a mentor, a mother, a leader – who meets with the kids for about three hours a week). The next two weeks hold a remarkable number of meetings, with coordinators, principals, teachers, parents, and other school personnel; and the year itself will hold many further adventures and discoveries as I finally receive the opportunity to come face to face with – and educate and inspire – my own group of kids.

Moreover, and equally significantly, today I celebrate one year of being in Israel.

In spite of the allergy that I – and the rest of the Teach First Israel cohort – have developed to the word “reflection” over the past five weeks (having been made to reflect on every activity and thought process undergone in that time), I would like to take this opportunity to do just that. This year has been dynamic, enriching, and full of adventures. At the risk of over-sentimentalizing, allow me to ruminate on the events of the last 365 days.

There have been events ranging from the expected to the unexpected… from the musing to the amusing to the musical… from the implausible to the impossible.

In just 365 days, I have transitioned from a familiar culture to a more unfamiliar, from one lifestyle to its opposite, from home and family to an apartment – where I was chosen by a dog – in central Tel Aviv (having, of course, bypassed the opportunity to live with a crazy out-of-work meditation coach in the Nes Tziona alley by the beach).

I have experienced the local culture first hand in the form of a piyut festival, two thrilling performances by two of Israel’s finest musical artists – Nurit Galron and Matti Caspi – and a relaxing holiday with my cousins at the Sea of Galilee; not to mention the more unexpected cultural phenomena such as the very high number of (almost daily) romantic propositions and the day that I atoned for my sins by waving a live chicken over my head.

I have also experienced the local culture at its most artistic; public sing-alongs, private sing-alongs, and vocal ensembles of all shapes and sizes. I recorded with one ensemble and performed in a music festival with a varied collection of prominent Israeli artists, including collaboration with Israel Gurion, one of the figureheads of Israeli musical history. And, of course, unbeknownst to myself for a scarcely believable period of time, I hobnobbed with celebrities at the farmer’s market, the most generationally distant of whom I was excited to see and the most current and famous of whom I did not even recognize, much to her shock.

I managed, too, to use Israel as a springboard for absorbing other cultures as well. I performed in two American musicals, one of which I stumbled upon by accident – by “kismet” – and during which I broke a tooth, caused torrential blood streams from my head, and had a violent allergic reaction to the makeup; and the other of which I jumped from a decidedly treacherous chorus position to the more thankfully uneventful roles of both music director and leading lady. I also attended a concert given by Renee Fleming in which she ranged from her beautiful classic soprano repertoire to an astonishing alto rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Halleluljah.”

I have looked backwards and looked ahead… from the moving memorial event organized in honor of my cousin Tiltan, at which I sang, to the day when her younger brother Yuval shed his (metaphorical, we’re in Israel) cap and gown and joined the Israeli Defense Forces. And most impossibly of all, in a family different from my own, I have even witnessed the beginnings of life by personally helping to birth a baby along the side of a highway.

I have grappled with real life, embarked on a journey of professional ups and downs, ultimately making a full circle – from my beginnings as a volunteer at a youth center in an underprivileged neighborhood… to my failed – or, rather, foiled – attempt to better myself by working at the Israel Opera… to my involuntary resignation and reluctant commitment to working, instead, in an unpleasant and pretentious local café… to my self-comforting vocational expansion which includes a flower stand at the local farmer’s market… to once again, as in the beginning, finding my niche in a profession of commitment to underprivileged youth, this time within the framework of a high school.

I have become reacquainted with the splendors of this land through visitors of all kinds, ranging from dear college friends to equally dear college professors... and I have seen, first hand, its hardships as well, most strikingly by visiting an institution for teens who would otherwise be either in prison or on the streets – even engaging them, albeit artificially, in conversation.

In one year, I have so spread my wings, so explored and discovered both myself and my surroundings, that I received a call, to my cellular phone, from television producers on Channel 2 who heard of me and wanted to meet me in person, and perhaps to feature me on their show.

In addition to the friends and support pillars I have found and appreciated along the way, I have – at long last – become a part of a framework in which I have befriended ninety extraordinary people. And each and every one of these people I respect and admire from the bottom of my heart.

Let us raise our glasses to an exceptional year. May the next be as rich and rewarding for us all.

In Which One Person Can Change the World

The other day, at lunch, while I was engaged in conversation with a few of my friends, the coordinator of the entire Teach First Israel summer training program (who had been surreptitiously concealed behind some of my colleagues, to where I could not see him) leaned back in his chair and said "so, Shani... what about your blog??" Considering I did not know that he even knew my name, it took me by surprise, but after the initial shock I took it as a pointed sign that it is once again time to update you all on what is going on in my life, beginning of course -- for the gratification of the chotam team, naturally ;) -- with the most pressing and integral part of my current daily routine.

Two weeks ago, ninety young crusaders set out to change the face of education in Israel.

People from the fields of science, language, mathematics, history, geography, biblical studies and several other subjects gathered together, from all corners of the state of Israel, in Haifa University's Student Building Lecture Hall and were introduced to their challenges for the weeks -- months, even years -- ahead.

Since that first day, all ninety of us have immersed ourselves fully in our work. Our days are filled with lecture classes (including youth/adolescent psychology; mainstreaming kids with learning disabilities; familiarization with the Israeli education system; familiarization with national curricula) and applied courses (subject-specific didactics and a hands-on studio in which we learn the practical information, such as how to give a lesson, how to prepare a lesson, how to inspire motivation and how to deal with discipline problems in the classroom). After this, we head back, en masse, to our residence and engage in an evening activity designed to promote critical analysis and introduce us daily to new ideas.

We are currently working to squeeze 2-3 years of education studies into five intensive weeks. For those of you who are mathematically inclined, you will have at this point figured out that such distribution is not possible. Undeterred, however, we -- the "chotamistim" -- continue to absorb and process information, tapping into our jumbled minds every night to try and make some sense of all of the new terminology and conceptual information that we have received over the course of the day. I find that mostly I am building an idea bank, internalizing possible lesson plans and ideas, and trying to categorize everything efficiently enough for it to come in useful on and after September first. I have realized that I can study study study, I can prepare and practice and discuss with my colleagues, I can sit in on lecture after lecture and write endless lesson plans... but nothing in the world can prepare me for the moment I walk into my classroom, shut the door behind me, and find myself face to face with forty Israeli teenagers.

Good luck to us all.

In addition to discussing school-related topics, though, we are also being exposed to relevant yet varying experiences and media. Three days ago we watched the film "Waste Land," an inspiring and touching account of a world-renowned (and therefore wealthy) modern artist who decides to give something back to the underprivileged community using the mundane thing that surrounds them every day -- in this case, garbage. The film is highly recommended, and left me strangely at peace, but the heavy nature of its content forced me begin to feel the weight of the project that I am taking upon myself.

The next morning, our lecture classes were replaced by a collaborative tour entitled "Youth at Risk."

Since we are ninety plus the chotam team, we were split into groups for the tour. My group was lucky enough to visit Haifa's "meitar," a Hebrew acronym indicating a day help center for youth of all different ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds. We were also the only group that actually got to meet and speak with actual students.

Until we walked in the door and saw the place for ourselves, I could not fully comprehend what the term "youth at risk" actually meant. I knew, of course, always, that there are teenagers that, due to one reason or another, have strayed from the straight, clear path that is frequently drilled into young minds from a very early age -- whether it be due to difficult home conditions, lack of personal motivation, or the 101 other reasons that could contribute to a child's internal struggles. Before Tuesday, however, I had only visited -- and seen for myself -- situations in which a child's earnest ambition is quashed by the lack of appropriate tools or support from his or her surroundings. A child's own ambivalence to success, and even conscious tendency to make bad choices, was something I had heard of but not yet been exposed to.

After taking a tour of the meitar, visiting its many facilities (such as the kitchen, the weight room, the music room, the recording studio, the art studio, and the work room with its eight new computers), our group sat down in the art studio, along with our chotam team representative and the manager of the meitar, and smiled at the seventeen year old boy who agreed -- or was volunteered -- to sit with us and tell us a bit about himself. I am using this particular example (though we spoke to a few others) to illustrate the depth of the experience for me.

The boy spoke freely, smiling and friendly, telling us his name and his age, and a few other details about himself. He told us he had been at the meitar for four years, and that it was a great place to be able to move forward and make friends, and other lasting connections. When asked about his plans for the future, he told us that he planned to join the army (a mandatory and not at all unusual activity in Israel, for those of you who don't know), after which he wanted to make up any school he had missed, pass his exams, and then continue his studies, so he could find a decent job. After he was finished talking, we thanked him and wished him luck, and he left the room.

Then, the manager of the meitar said "as you all know, not a word of what he said is actually going to happen."

Maybe I am naive, maybe I am inclined to always believe in people, maybe it was wishful thinking on my part... but that statement took me by surprise and left me sad and disheartened. But she continued.

The boy in question, at this point having already been under the influence of at least three joints (our meeting with him took place before 11am), has forty five open police records. Some of them are trivial, charted only because his record already exists, such as peeling a logo off of a domestic car and stealing a pack of cigarettes from a kiosk; but others include stabbing, drug dealing, robbery and a number of other crimes that I would rather gloss over than mention in this post. Having no parents or family of his own, he spends every night -- literally -- sleeping on a different city bench, though he does wake himself up every morning and makes his way to the meitar for the feeling of a framework and a structured routine. The manager of the meitar, with whom he's made a personal connection, is the only person that he has in the world that cares for him as a family member would -- but last week he tried to flip a table over onto her head when she asked him if he was high.

Besides this particular youth, there were others whose stories we were also told during our visit. Besides a murderer and several girls between the ages of 12-18 who deal in prostitution, another example is a sixteen year old delinquent with severe gender confusions. I learned that day that there is no institution in Israel that can accommodate multiple problems inherent in youth at risk -- the institution that is designed to help kids through their gender transitions refused to accept him on the grounds of his criminal record; and the meitar, though open to all and happy to help, is not adequately equipped to address any issues related to the boy's sexuality, leaving him confused and dissatisfied.

I left the meitar on Tuesday impressed and inspired by the work that is put into helping these kids achieve success in their own domains, whatever their definition of success may be; but naturally, of course, the nature of the place and its members left me morose and subdued throughout the entire bus ride back to the university (and the rest of the day). While I knew that even if one kid would be able to quit using drugs, or if another would take it upon himself to get a job sweeping the floors in a night club, that those would be considered successes... but all I could think of was that day that I was in Jackson, Louisiana -- the day I decided I wanted to be a teacher -- when kids were falling over themselves to be the first ones to shout out their wildest dreams for the future. As far as I'm concerned, the lack of resources is a problem with a solution, and one to which I am beginning to personally contribute; but the lack of ambition or any kind of a spark is one that is infinitely less penetrable to the outside element who so desperately wants to make a difference. That, to me, was among the most upsetting realizations that I had ever come to.

Now that I have given a healthy spectrum of emotion and information that are part of our chotam training, it's time to move onto happier things before this update draws to a close.

The Music Man closed almost two weeks ago, and was an undeniable success. Good fun, good friends, good reviews and good audiences made every performance more fun than the last (including my very sweet and talented costar who brought me flowers to every single show!). As well as the fun of the show itself, I would like to state that my favorite moment at the farmer's market this morning was when a customer asked for my name, while I was wrapping her flowers... and when I told her what it was, she said "oh, Shani. Yes, I thought so. I want to tell you that I saw you in The Music Man and you were phenomenal."

I love Israel. :)

(I think it's also appropriate to mention at this point that there was a day a few weeks ago that a thirteen year old boy stopped me on the street and said "hey, do you sell flowers at the harbor farmer's market?"... so it goes both ways. And is equally fun in both directions.)

In keeping with the musical theme, though, I got to see one of the world's most iconic sopranos, Renée Fleming (along with the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra under the direction of Zubin Mehta), in concert in Jerusalem last night, thanks to a very generous gift from my dear aunt Nomi. She was, of course, spectacular, both on the standards (including a spine-tingling performance of "Vissi d'arte" from Tosca) and on the more obscure repertoire (such as "J'ai versé le poison" from Massenet's Cléopâtre). Her tenor companion was also very good (though, in my humble opinion, more sleek vocal technique than actual feeling and emotion), and joined her for a few beautiful duets throughout the program.

More astonishingly than her wonderful performance, however, was the forty minutes it took for the concert to end.

Ms. Fleming took three encores and -- 15? I'm not sure, I lost count -- curtain calls. Even beyond this fact, however, one of the encores was completely unexpected, but no less stunning. After "O mio babbino caro" as the first encore, she then glided effortlessly into a belted alto rendition of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." Seriously? The woman can do anything. What an experience!


The final story I will tell you is one that I can barely believe actually happened.


Two weeks ago, I was sitting in my room, on a Saturday afternoon, packing and trying to mentally prepare for the start of my chotam studies the following morning, when my cell phone rang (which on shabbat in Israel is quite rare, especially since it was a number that my caller ID did not recognize).


I answered. "Hello?" A male voice on the other end said "Hi. Shani?" And once I confirmed that I was, began talking to me like we were old friends.


Not wanting to admit that I had no idea who he was, I went along with it for a bit, waiting for some clue as to his identity, while he asked me questions about how I was feeling and what I was up to. Finally, the small talk ceased, and he said: "Ok. My name is Alon, and I am one of the producers of the Israel edition of the TV show 'The Voice' that is coming to channel 2 this fall. We have heard of you, and wanted to know if you were interested in appearing on the show. If so, we'd like to jump you to the head of the line of 10,000 people who are currently waiting to audition."


...


There is no need to elaborate on my exact reactions to this piece of information; suffice it to say that all of them were extreme. But after the initial shock, I decide to give him the green light, while I remained carefully commitment-free, to go ahead and pass my interest on to those in charge of auditions. (Incidentally, how do I know that I'm currently doing the right thing with my life? I get a phone call, to my cell phone, from channel 2 telling me they've heard of me and want me on TV, and my response is "I don't know if I have time. I'm going to be a teacher.")

For those of you who don't know, The Voice is a reality TV show not unlike American Idol; the difference is, at least as far as they claim, the professional level of the contestants and judges alike, who regard this one as "a cut above" the others. It is literally all about "the voice" -- the judges do not get to actually see the contestant sing until they decide (or not) that they want to be his mentor. The judging panel is comprised of the creme de la creme of the Israeli music world, and it is unbelievable exposure even for those who do not make it past the first episode.


Anyway, to make a long story short, they stayed in touch over the course of the week, and I showed up to my audition on Tuesday evening (yes, the same day as the tour at the meitar -- talk about a long day). Unfortunately, I don't think that I represented myself very well at all, and am doubtful as to my chances of passing it, but whether or not I continue past this level, it makes for a very good -- and remarkably humbling -- story. It would be nice to at least make it to the first episode and get that exposure myself, but I will not be heartbroken if it doesn't work out. It is funny to me that I actively avoid reality TV shows -- ESPECIALLY those about singing -- but was definitely willing to make an exception for those who seek me out!


Anyway, we shall see what happens... and let the chips fall where they may... :)

In Which Fluency in English Finally Pays Off

Having recently emerged from another fairly severe bout of Jewish holidays, encompassing this time two separate remembrance days (one Holocaust-specific, the other more general, always a week apart), Israel's independence day, and most recently, Lag Ba'Omer (a day of Kabbalistic celebration, in honor of the life of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai), I am choosing to spend this current moment blogging with my laptop on my knees, some strawberry-jasmine tea, and a particularly succulent brownie. It is most definitely a well-earned respite... and hopefully your approach to reading this post will be as relaxing and satisfying as my approach to writing it.

Being a member of multiple music-related projects, I was of course pressed into service during several of the aforementioned holidays, having performed in services on both Holocaust Memorial Day (Yom HaShoah) and Remembrance Day (Yom HaZikaron). While it was perhaps not as financially worthwhile for me to do so as it was for the Israeli artists who were asked to perform all over Israel on Independence Day, Yom Ha'Atzma'ut (each artist having traveled to a ready location, performed for half an hour, and moved on, about 6 or 7 times over the course of the night, making at the very least about $200,000 dollars), both events were, for me, very powerful experiences. Having grown up in the states, my visits were almost always limited to summertime and winter breaks, so this is actually one of the first times I have gotten to experience any of these days while in Israel. I'm very glad I've gotten to be a part of that.

One of the more significant Jewish holidays that recently passed, of course, was Passover -- but that one, unlike the others, I did not take part in here, because while Israel was beginning to shut down for the holiday, I took the opportunity to fly home for a visit. That was a great decision. I got to be home for the Passover Seder, which was glorious, but also to see my family and all my friends, most of whom I had not seen since before I left in August. I even had a voice lesson with Caroline, something I had not done since last June, and apart from all the nostalgia and crying on both sides, it was very successful and so much fun. :)

Upon my return to Israel after Passover, I had a day and a half to recover from my flight before my presence was once again requested at a Dominanta event -- this time as a participant in the Holon Festival, in an homage to Shlishiat Gesher HaYarkon, a popular and influential musical trio from Israel's Zionist past. Dominanta was given the honor of performing alongside some of Israel's top artists, both nostalgic figures from Israel's history and rising new musicians in mainstream media. The featured soloist of the evening was Israel Gurion, a spritely and energetic man in his 70s, who has been actively performing for the better part of forty -- even fifty? -- years. The very last number in the concert was his rendition of "When Peace Comes" (sung to the tune of "When the Saints Go Marchin' In"), performed with Dominanta as backup singers. He was dancing and bouncing all over the stage, making everyone smile and applaud raucously. I deem it a great honor to have performed with Israel Gurion as part of the Holon Festival -- and am very geekily excited to announce that backstage before the show he needed to call his wife, and borrowed my cell phone to do it, so I do in fact have his home number saved in my phone, and am resisting every urge to call it and gush my adoration to him over the phone.

At this point you're probably wondering what the title of this blog post has to do with anything that I have mentioned thus far. Well, it doesn't. You're quite right. I have been sneakily tantalizing and have saved the most important news item for last.

Some of you may know parts of this, some of you may not... so for the benefit of those who are now staring at their computer screens in bafflement, wracking their brains for any information I might have given them about this, I will explain from the beginning.

It all started on the DePauw Chamber Choir tour to Louisiana in January 2010. (I know, you weren't expecting that. Bear with me.)

As part of our tour, our sixteen-person choir + two amazing chaperones, Gabriel Crouch and Amanda Hopson, performed at an underprivileged K-12 school in Jackson, Louisiana. This gig was arranged for us by Gabriel's friend Allison, the principal of the school, whose foray into education began when she was assigned to teach French at the school as part of the program Teach for America. Upon her arrival at the school, she discovered that the statistics were appalling -- approximately 50% of the students who entered the high school graduated, and those that did did so at the eighth grade reading level.

After having had an open conversation with the sixth grade class myself, as part of the choir, I can attest to the fact that the lack of education was NOT due to a lack of ambition. After asking the kids what they wanted to be when they grew up, the words "astronaut," "doctor," "lawyer," "famous sports figure," "actress," "veterinarian" and countless others were left hovering in the room, even long after it was vacated.

Allison's reaction during her Teach for America term was similar, and she stayed past her two years to keep teaching. As I mentioned, now she is the principal, and through her passion and her dedication she has completely turned this school upside down, and has almost single-handedly gotten the kids back on their feet.

I was so inspired after our visit to the school that I started to research Teach for America myself, as a possible option for after college. As my then tentative decision to come to Israel became more and more realized, however, the idea of teaching for America became, naturally, less relevant. It was then that my good friend Cora, a graduate of the Teach for America program, told me that TFA is actually part of a worldwide organization called Teach for All, an organization of sixteen participating countries. I looked them up online and discovered that one of those participating countries is Israel.

Over the past few months, I have engaged myself in a long and very harrowing application process, passing many obstacles along the way. The first, which almost deflected me right from the start, was my lack of qualifying exam grades, customary in Israeli high schools -- since I grew up in the United States, I took the SAT and other standardized tests, but was not required to take subject tests (for those of you who know the European system, the Israeli tests, or bagruyot, are similar in style to the International Baccalaureate exams). TFI, or Teach First Israel (known in Israel as the Chotam program), differs from TFA in that it is specifically geared to prepare students for these exams. This means that participants in the program teach only relevant subjects, and only at the middle and high school levels. My request to be considered as an English teacher was, therefore, denied on the grounds that my lack of subject testing and my background in music and French leave me grossly unqualified as an English teacher.

After some interventions, however, mostly on the part of my family's good friend Eitan, a professor in the English department at the Beer Sheva University, it seemed that my fluency in English, my experience both learning and teaching languages, my extensive experience with kids, and my degrees from an American university were enough to override the problems with my candidacy, and I was allowed to apply.

After two separate applications (one extremely lengthy and taxing), a demo lesson, a one-on-one analysis, four different interviews and a group assignment (all of which, incidentally, were timed militarily to the second by a girl in the back of a room with a stopwatch), I am pleased to announce that I have been accepted as a teacher for Israel... for two full years of teaching English! With this program, I get the structure that I have so been missing this year, a social network, job security for the next two years, a full salary, a teaching certification, a grant to continue my masters degree, and above all, the chance to really make a difference. All that's left now is to hook me up with a school.

I'm terrified. But could not be more excited. :)

In Which Discomfort Becomes Empowerment, the Resident Becomes a Tourist, and the Soprano Becomes a Librarian

So, it has been a while since my last post. You all know by now that I started working at Arcaffé, a Starbucks-in-disguise that was founded by my honorary relative. What you may not have heard is that for a long while I was not, per se, the branch’s happiest employee. While I am generally an upbeat person, the corporate, soulless aspect of the company that I was working for was beginning to take its toll on me. I have worked at a café once before, but where at the Bakehouse I got encouragement, here I get criticism; where at the Bakehouse we would tackle problems together, here every person who thinks that he or she is in charge barks orders at everyone else, until the cacophony of conflicting orders and instructions could out-distance the Twilight Bark; and where at the Bakehouse I immediately befriended all of the employees, here, about two months in, I still have not learned everyone’s names.  

One of the questions that I have been asked most frequently over the past two months is “with the number of cafés, restaurants, and pubs in Tel Aviv, why on earth would you want to stay in a job that you find frustrating and unwelcoming??” And you know what? I really don’t have a good answer to that question. But I have felt that it would not be right to walk out of something, even when it is so distant from my actual dreams and ambitions, because of initial discomfort. I decided, then, to stick it out for a while to see if it would get better.   

While there are some people I still find to be unnecessarily rude and brusque at the branch, the social aspect of the job has improved. The other employees are beginning to treat me like one of them (for example, I knew I was in when one day, on my break, while I was eating and reading the paper, one of the baristas pushed the newspaper into my face every single time he walked by my table – an action that was socially encouraging, if a little annoying). Furthermore, I have passed my three written tests and have been allowed to upgrade to cashier, which has allowed me some actual interaction with real people – no offense to my coworkers – and has made the time pass much more quickly. Finally, though, and most rewarding of all, the branch manager went out of his way to come over to me and give me a compliment – a phenomenon that I have not witnessed from him since the day I first donned my white-collared shirt, apron, and the “passione d’espresso” pin with my name on it. To paraphrase the Hebrew, he told me that “it is such a pleasure to watch [me] during my shifts. [I] am friendly with the customers, always have a smile on [my] face, talk to people and connect with them on their level, and make them want to come back.” He thanked me for my attitude and told me to keep up the good work.   

Overall, I feel very empowered. I took a situation that was out of both my comfort zone and my personal interest level and turned it into something positive. While there are still people there that make me want to scream and smash one of the fifteen or so different varieties of cups that we use on the floor (all of which I was tested on and get yelled at for mixing up, despite the fact that sometimes the only difference in the beverage is the amount of foam), I am starting to reach a point where I’ve realized that I can turn negative feedback into positive energy, and personally channel it into motivation rather than frustration. That, as far as I’m concerned, is an important lesson and I am glad, even in such vexing conditions, that I got a chance to learn it. 

In other news, I had, last week, my first international visitor! (I am, of course, excluding my family in this statement.  International they may be, but visitors they are not.) My dear school friend Jessi burst through the metaphorical wall of her academic institution, despite the resistance from the guards and surrounding officers, and spent her spring break, masters-free, frolicking in the Holy Land.   

Jessi’s visit, as well as being oodles of fun and such a pleasure for me, also marked an important shift in my mindset. I knew that Tel Aviv, and really Israel in general, was a fantastic place to live; but seeing the country through fresh – and EXTREMELY enthusiastic – eyes made me appreciate it all over again. (And I really mean enthusiastic – I have never in my life seen someone get so excited over a Super Pharm.) It was a perfect blend of hard-hitting tourism (the old city of Jerusalem, camel-riding, Herod’s Masada fortress, the Dead Sea…) and relaxing vacation activities (good food, lounging on the beach, and aptly-timed Purim celebrations). Over the course of the week, as Jessi will attest, I frequently uttered the phrase “Wow! I can’t believe I actually live here!” as I was re-acquainted with all of the sites and sights that make Israeli such a unique place. All in all, the week was too short, but it was spectacular, and I am so glad that she came!   

And, in keeping with my inherent, masochistic need to over-exert myself, I have just begun work on the Music Man. Produced by the same company that was responsible for Kismet, my original intention was to simply audition and see where that would take me; a few weeks before auditions, however, I received a phone call from the director. He wanted to know if I was interesting in joining the staff, and co-music directing the production. As I have experience in this area, and do enjoy it quite a bit (especially since this show has kids in it, and music directing kids is something of a field of expertise for me, much more so than adults), I agreed, but told him that I would still like to audition for the show. He told me that of course, he and Assaf (the choreographer) and I would all be in the show, even if we’re just rocks or trees or benches. With that flattering image, I was not optimistic about the outcome of my audition…   

But the end result? I am now both co-music director, and the lead role! I was cast as Marian the Librarian (following in my mother’s footsteps, I hope she is very proud). So my duties in this show include playing the central figure, and teaching the rest of the music to the entire cast. It’s a lot of work, but it’s so fun and I can’t wait! We’ve had two rehearsals thus far and I am completely in my element. :) Performances are in the first two weeks of July, so we even have a luxurious amount of time to get this show on the road!   

Those were all of the things that I had intended to mention/discuss in this post, but yesterday something happened while I was selling flowers at the farmer’s market that I felt merited a… postal coda. ;)   

I have a number of regular customers at the market. I acquainted myself with them all within a few weeks. One of them is a middle-aged lady who usually comes in every day around 10ish with her large Jackie Kennedy sunglasses and makes all sorts of demands – about how to wrap her flowers, about how much eucalyptus she wants in addition, about wanting that bouquet over the other one, and not the yellow, it’s ugly… etc etc etc. Well, yesterday, she arrived at 7:30am. Tom commented on it as she was choosing her flowers, asking why she was there so early, and her response was “I have rehearsals later in Beer Sheva.”   

So, while I was wrapping up and cutting down the stems of her flowers, I took an interest. “Rehearsals for what?” I asked. She told me it was a musical. “Company.” I exclaimed that I really like that show (which surprised her – apparently most Israelis are not familiar with that show; in fact, I think this may be the first time it will actually be performed in Israel). I also told her that I am involved in the Music Man, right now, in Jerusalem. And then I asked “so, do you sing?”   

My customer stopped everything she was doing (tugging on her little dog’s leash, glancing around at the market, etc), and just stared at me. After a few seconds, she said “did you just ask me if I sing?”   

“Yeees…” I replied, slightly wary. She continued to stare at me, and then said “you have no idea who I am, then, do you?” My head starting to pound with the pressure of the social faux pas that I was committing at that moment, I had to respond with “umm noo…”   

After a very pregnant pause, she said “have you ever heard of Ricky Gal?”   

(Now while the Israelis are freaking out, let me give a translation for my non-Israeli readers: it is the local equivalent of having Kristin Chenoweth or Lea Michele shop at your stall, while you ask them if they sing and tell them that "oh!", you're also involved in a musical right now... Except it’s even more significant than that, because not only is Ricky Gal a huge star as far as musical theatre is concerned in Israel, she’s also a solo artist and has spent the last several seasons as a judge on Israel’s version of “American Idol” – “Cochav Nolad,” or “A Star is Born.” I’d say she’s probably one of the 10 most famous singers/music figures in Israel. And I asked her if she sings, and told her that I do too. FAIL.)   

Of course, as soon as she told me who she was, I started babbling and apologizing profusely, telling her that of COURSE I knew who she was, I have even seen her on stage (I saw her perform in “Chicago,” several years ago, as Matron Mama Morton), and that she was phenomenal. I tried to explain that the reason I didn’t recognize her was that I didn’t grow up in Israel, and therefore the fact that I even knew her name was conclusive proof of how famous she really is, because I’m so out of the loop as far as Israeli artists are concerned. I couldn’t tell if she was amused or offended, or some combination of the two, but she told me that that would explain why I knew of “Company,” and that I should come see it when it goes up. And then she left.   

I told Tom everything that had happened after she left (he was busy with other customers and hadn’t been paying attention), and he started cracking up. He told me that there is absolutely no way an Israeli person wouldn’t recognize her, and while it is true that I just moved here and am therefore a new Israeli citizen, I sound like a native and so she probably had no idea what to do with me. It is entirely likely that this is the first time she has ever encountered an Israeli who has asked her who she is. But who knows? Maybe she’ll forever enjoy telling this story at dinners (or in her blog) as much as I will!

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...