Arabian Nights... Like Arabian Days...
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Things I will miss about Dubai:
really cheap bottled water, the opportunity to travel a lot (despite the fact that it was brought about by my lack of a proper visa), never having to do work because my classes were harder in high school, cleaning ladies (even though I now know they clean the bathroom floor with the butt hose), the friends I made, pita bread from the Unimart, the AUD night guards, seeing ridiculous cars and even more ridiculous driving, playing the license plate game, the beach, looking at the Burj al-Arab from the beach, concerts outside my window
Things I will NOT miss about Dubai:
- squat toilets, taking cabs EVERYWHERE, dust storms, eating out for every meal, living in a dorm (and by that i mean walled-in, fully guarded, gender separate dorm compound), $8 beers and $12 cocktails, government and university blocked web pages, living in a neighborhood called Internet City and still getting internet that makes dial-up look speedy, having to explain to foreigners why I did not vote for Barack Obama, the stares of creepy migrant workers, being hit on by creepy foreign men, foreign ATM fees, pretending I'm not Jewish, the extreme inefficiency and illogicality of absolutely everything
Things about which I am excited to come home:
my own bed, driving, fast internet, my dog, my family, my friends, my 21st birthday, cooking my own food, food in general, TV, house parties, overall efficiency, a bath, intellectual people, clean public toilets, america in general....
I still need to write about Egypt, Jordan, and my two trips to Israel (one in March, when I went to Jordan, and the one with my mom from which I just returned). After that, this blog will be done. I'm still surprised anyone has continued to read this, but I hope you've enjoyed. No promises on when said blog entries will be up.
It feels good to be back. I feel so so so so so lucky to have been able to travel and learn and see and do all that I have done these past months, but there really is no place like home, and more than that, no place like the USA. John Updike claimed that, "America is a vast conspiracy to make you happy." Its working.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Story on Indentured Servitude in Dubai aka Dusties...: http://abcnews.go.com/video/playerIndex?id=2688465
umm... Sheikh Khalifa... you got some 'splainin to do...
Friday, April 17, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Term Paper # 2
Term Paper #2 31.3.2009
“The creation of the State of Israel in 1948 may have been the result of Hitler’s attempt to destroy the Jews of Europe… or the result of the Palestinians’ failure to forge a state of their own…or…”
Discuss the events and processes that led to the establishment of a ‘Jewish national home’ in British-mandate Palestine on May 14th 1948.
circa 2000 words...and that's IT. Firstly, I take issue with the prompt. From where does this quotation come (and what the hell kind of guideline for a 2,000 word paper is this)? Very un-scholarly, though this aspect of the educational system here has ceased to surprise or amuse me. Beyond that, however, I'll also note that the phrase, "Hitler's attempt to destroy the Jews of Europe" is the closest this professor has ever come to using the word "Holocaust". Then again, based on a recent Politics lecture, I guess no one would know what he meant by it anyway.
I feel like the prompt is all but inviting students to write about how the Jews stole the land from the Palestinian Arabs before they could "forge a state of their own", with countless opportunities to write misrepresentations and falsities about Israel, beginning with the inception of Zionism.
When we discussed Zionism in class, I brought up the fact that Zionism did not emerge as a quest to retake the Holy Land for the Jews, but rather as a political ideology supporting the creation of a Jewish homeland. Herzl, whom we view today as the founder of modern Zionism, didn't care a fraction of as much about WHERE this homeland existed, so long as it came to fruition and provided a place of refuge for Jews, who were being persecuted and discriminated against throughout the world, despite their efforts in assimilation. There were proposed Jewish states in Uganda, Argentina and, obviously, the NEVER-ESTABLISHED-AS-A-STATE land of Palestine. Palestine made the most sense, and negotiations brokering support for a Jewish homeland here commenced. There had always been a Jewish presence in the land, and Jewish heritage and history trace back to the land of Israel from long before the Prophet Mohammad was even a speck on the horizon.
Not only did my Oxford-educated professor say outright that he didn't "buy" the Uganda argument, he actually went on to say that there wasn't any scholarly research on the topic. An Arab student then chimed in to relate my statements about the founding philosophies of Zionism to the "genocide" Jews (not Israelis-- Jews. All Jews) are commiting against Palestinians now. Amazing how he was able to make such a jump, as that was nowhere remotely close to the topic on which I was speaking...
My point in all of this is that my professor, an intelligent man for sure, made a completely irresponsible move in setting this assignment. When tackling such a sensitive and controversial topic--especially in an academic setting, especially in the Middle East, especially in a class of students whose ideas about the Israeli-Arab conflict are so tempered by emotion, miseducation and closed-mindedness, and whose overall education is sub-standard at best--the professor should have AT LEAST had the sense to set more rigid assignment guidelines rather than, for all practical purposes, invite these students to rehash the same mistruths and biases with which they've grown up under the heading of scholarly work. Its a shame that this professor, who has before him the opportunity to engage his class in a fact-based, unbiased writing assignment, has chosen the low road.
Of course, I have yet to begin this paper, and I'm debating how to go about it, and what effect the position I take may or may not have on my grade... Then again, I'm pretty sure the fact I can string together more than five consecutive English words will ensure my passing no matter what. I'd love to get my hands on this stack of papers and see the craziness people will turn in (though pigs will fly before that happens). Eh... I'll let you know how this one goes.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
I'm not one to delve into the spiritual side of religion. I prefer to view it more as a buffet than a set menu, and when it comes to religious practice and observance, I'm kind of a picky eater. Every Passover since I can remember I've been more apt to whine about having to eat matzah and be the designated Hebrew reader than anything else. The meaning of the holiday was obscured by my annoyance with it's restrictions. Truth be told, its my least favorite holiday. Somehow though, this year, being in Dubai without the option to observe it, I'm actually missing the cardboard-esque sheets of matzah, our homemade Haggadot with their specks of crusted-on Charoset from Seders past, dry Manischewitz box-mix cakes in tiny tin pans, and my little brother's annual refusal to complete the Mah Nishtanah and his subsequent ill-mannered table behavior more than I ever thought I could.
I'm pretty sure I'd have to make my own dough, run away before it had time to rise and let it bake in the desert sun like the original version if I wanted to have any matzah at all.
So I'm a little bit at a loss. I've got questions running through my head about what this all means and to what extent I'm damning myself to the firey depths of JewHell... My dad, the kind of Jew whose idea of religious practice is eating corned beef on marble rye (until recently, it seems), always made it clear that no matter what kind of Jew you may or may not be, you at least have to observe Pesach, Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur. I'd have to agree. I think the closest I'll be able to get to observing Pesach this year is going to be writing this blog entry and hopefully Skyping in to my family's Seder in Maryland later tonight.
I'm not fretting over the "bad Jew" thing. I'm not really one to do that (though I did feel badly about accidentally eating shrimp in Bahrain...). Its more that it just feels uncomfortable. It feels wrong. Dispite my griping, I've observed Passover every year of my life, so the lack of it this year cannot simply go unnoticed. I've not written before about being Jewish in this blog, nor do I talk about it here outside the group of American study abroads with whom I spend my time. Supressing something that is so much a part of me has felt odd from the get go, but I knew it would, and I knew it would be something I'd do since before I came here. Still, now, at Passover, hiding this part of me stings a little more.
So I start drawing parallels between the holiday and my own situation. Self-centered? Yeah, a little. The theme of Passover is freedom. In the case of the Jews in Egypt, the definition is pretty clear. In the case of the Jew in Dubai, what is the definition? Who would stop me if I chose to paint a Star of David on my forehead and walk around town? No one (or at least I'm pretty sure I could get away with it for a little while...). But does freedom always have to do with force? Just because I could do it, does it mean I'm free to do it? And if so, then what's stopping me? What would happen if I did it?
A couple months ago I decided to do a litmus test on an Arab student here (a Syrian) with whom I'd become friends. We were talking one-on-one and the topic of Israel came up. He made a comment that though he did not acknowledge Israel's right to exist, he did differentiate between Israelis and Jews, and had no problem with the latter. While to western ears this still sounds harsh, its actually a very forward-thinking statement for someone of his background. Just this week in one of my classes another Arab student who loves to say things like "The Jews are our enemy, we will never negotiate with them" also raised his hand to ask what the Holocaust was, because he'd never heard of it. That's another story entirely, but back to this one: After feeling comfortable about this kid telling me of his tolerance of Jews, and hearing him say that he had had Jewish friends, I decided to cautiously drop the J-bomb: Silence. Then, "Cool." Then more silence. Then, "Well, this is a stupid topic. Let's talk about something else." The next thing I know, his Saudi Arabian buddy is drunkenly saying, "Shabbat Shalom" to me that same weekend. I pretended to have no idea what he was saying, but the fact that the first thing my little Arab test dummy did with my classified information was spread it didn't put me at ease. I've since adopted a vow of silence on the matter when it comes to the locals, and also in speaking up in class when students or professors proport total inaccuracies about Jews, Israel or the Zionist lobby that supposedly controls America in class (this decision came about from another incident in my History class). This silence is not something that comes easily or for which I have ever been known.
The point is, while I may not be bound in chains, forced to make bricks or sacrifice the male children of my people, I feel like my freedom has, in a way, been stripped from me. Though the temporary nature and fact that I have people with whom to share my secret makes said non-freedom much easier to stomach. Still, most days I feel like I'm in the witness protection program.
To wrap it up, dispite the fact that I'll not be able to sit around my grandmother's table and retell the story of my ancestors' freedom as if it were my own, and dispite the fact that I will not have a kosher Pesach by any means, I think that the absence of Pesach from this Pesach, for me, will bring home a point I've failed to grasp for the last twenty years. At the end of the Seder we say "This year we are slaves. Next year, may we be a free people in Jerusalem." Since I have no Seder at which to recite such a verse, and I don't consider myself a slave by any means-- I did CHOOSE to be here, the closing to my internal Seder will be a little different:
This year I am not free to express myself as a Jew. Next year, may I fully appreciate my freedom to do so.
This year I am not free, next year I will be. May I please not screw up the meaning of this holiday then.
בשנה הבא בירושלים
I love and miss you all, and will be thinking of you lots this week, as the Yenta in the back of my head berates me for every bite of Chametz I eat.