I saw my acupuncturist today. For those of you who don't know, I acquired an e-coli type bacteria about 6 weeks ago, went on antibiotics but apparently wasn't on them long enough because the bug came back. So now I'm taking antibios for 10 days and am feeling under the weather again. Cross your fingers that it works this time. Cipro kills anthrax but can't conquer Amy's GI bugs??? Let's hope it does this time. Anyway....
Several things happened during my treatment today that just blew me away and made me even more of a believer in the power of acupuncture. First she looked at my tongue closely as she always does. It was dry and a bit yellow, indicative of GI problems. I have had a really bad headache that won't go away for about 4 days now. I told her about it and that it is in my forehead. Some of the points in the forehead are related to GI problems, thus the headache (which by the way is so much better since my treatment). Then when she took the needles out of my forehead there was the slightest bit of blood coming from those teeny tiny needles. She wasn't surprised as GI troubles should cause heat in the forehead, thus the needles acted like teeny tiny leeches in that they were drawing heat to the surface (for those who are afraid of acupuncture, I just want to say that even with blood and needles involved, it really does not hurt and is so worth it).
Okay, so I admittedly butchered the language and descriptions of acupuncture in the above paragraph. The art of eastern medicine is not easy to learn and master, so that was laywoman's language at the very most. But you get the drift. Every pulse she took and point she treated and conclusion she made, made perfect sense. How many times are we blessed in our lives to be privy to perfect sense. For me, very few, but hopefully that will continue to change throughout my life. I laid on her table, feeling sick and tired and frustrated, and between her knowledge and expertise and my body's ability to communicate with her, just for about 30 minutes, it all made sense. How beautiful is that?
Monday, September 24, 2007
Language Schmanguage
*As I sit down to write this I fully acknowledge that if I would just get my butt into ulpan these things probably wouldn't happen*
Grocery Store
I had an appointment with my acupuncturist today, in Talpiot, an area where there are far more Hebrew speakers who don't speak English than in other parts of J'lem. I have never had difficulty at the grocery store there, Super Sol Deal, but I have never had my groceries delivered to my apartment from there. I had gotten big items that I really couldn't carry on my own such as cases of soda, a big bag of laundry detergent and a big container of fabric softener. It's hard to carry more than one or two 1.5 liter bottles of soda from the grocery store and up 4 flights of stairs. I got other random food items, some of which were cold or frozen that I took with me in my own bag.
When I got to the checkout lady I said "delivery" in Hebrew -- my acupuncturist had written how to say it phonetically correct before I left for the store. I had no idea if I was supposed to put food in the delivery box myself or if someone who works there does it for me. So I started loading the cases of soda and putting the food items in the box, and then the cashier started talking a mile a minute to me in Hebrew -- it appeared she wasn't happy about something. The only thing I could understand was that she was telling me they wouldn't deliver my groceries. Now it took me asking several people when I got there if they speak English whether or not delivery is an option and if I have to spend a certain amount to qualify for delivery (like it is with another grocery store) -- I got an affirmative answer so I knew this woman was confused. We then proceeded to have a bit of a standoff --this was something neither of us wanted -- we just had no choice but to speak to each other in our native language and not understand what the other was saying. So it may have looked standoffish, but I was being as kind and polite as possible. After all, I am in a foreign country where I do not know the language, and I always feel a little guilty for not speaking Hebrew, especially in a situation like the grocery store.
Thankfully there was a very kind Israeli woman behind me in line who ended up being our translator, helped at times by other store employees who thought they spoke English but didn't really do so. So the cashier was told that I want delivery and that seemed to make her happy for a while. I was shown by our translator how to pack the delivery boxes, and meanwhile the cashier was keeping busy with paperwork. I had a few bags of food that didn't fit into the box, so the cashier's response to me was again that my food can't be delivered. My niceness was wearing thin at this point and I asked the translator to tell the cashier that I cannot take all of this food home and that I'll have to waste everyone's time refunding everything. Apparently Israeli's aren't patient, well, we knew that already, because when they asked me if I could wait a few moments until an empty delivery box turned up, I said yes, and they seemed shocked by this. I was just happy that the delivery process was continuing. When it came time to get my name, address and phone number, craziness emerged again. Translator wrote it down in Hebrew for the cashier and delivery guys, but the problem came when they asked me to explain exactly where I live. Imagine explaining the following in English to people who only speak a little English: our address is 22 Jabotinsky, but there is no entrance there; pretend that you're standing on Jabotinsky in front of 22, and notice that there is no entrance or any doors; so now imagine that you have to go to the back door, at which point you start going down M'ndele, the street that our entrance is actually on; now walk under the apartment building that is in front of you to the courtyard, where you have to look really hard for the hidden walkway to Entrance 10, our entrance, and then walk to the top floor and you will find our apartment. They always demand our address, and I always say that it is not helpful and is quite confusing, but they always demand it in the end. As I sit here and write this I am dreading when my cell phone starts ringing because the delivery guys can't find my apartment and are speaking to me in Hebrew while I speak back in English. Translator wasn't helpful at this point but only because she was trapped behind my shopping cart and couldn't engage in said conversation. Things finally seemed in order but was asked one last time for my contact information. The man said they would call if they get lost, and I smiled nicely and said I'll be waiting. I lurked for a moment while some poor man who only was buying a bottle of soda and had probably been waiting for too long checked out because I wanted to thank the translator. The cashier was looking nervously at me out of the corner of her eyes, but all I wanted to do was thank the translator and apologize for keeping her held up. She was very nice in return.
Taxi Cab
I wish I had brought translator with me on the cab ride home. I took a cab out to Talpiot earlier for my appointment and the cab driver suggested 20 shekel as a fair price. Seeing as how I was totally and knowingly, but in too much of a hurry to care, ripped off the day before when I paid 20 shekel to go half as far, I happily agreed and all was good. When I left the grocery store, there was a cab right there and the driver told me he could give me a ride. I hopped in, he started driving, he suggested 35 shekel and I said nope, that I had paid 20 earlier, he said 30, I said nope, that I had paid 20 earlier, and he stopped the cab and told me to get out. Fine. I was really growing frustrated at this point. I decided that because the area I was in, right around the Hadar Mall, is always so congested with cars and people that I would walk a ways up Pierre Koenig until things thinned out and grab a cab then. I did just that and got a cab right away. I got in and he immediately turned on the meter (this was good), and he asked me where I'm going. When I said 22 Jabotinsky he said that he doesn't speak any English, what is it in Hebrew. Um, Jabotinsky is how it is said regardless of the language -- it's just spelled a lot different. He asks me to write it down, so I did, "22 Jabotinsky," and showed him and he again said in Hebrew. I just kept saying Jabotinsky, confused as to how he doesn't understand my saying the word and by he not knowing a major street in J'lem and be a cab driver. He called a friend on his cell phone, said something and handed it to me. I assumed his friend spoke English -- wouldn't you? I said hello and he asked where I'm going, I said Jabotinsky, he says he doesn't speak English. Tell me why the cab driver would call someone to talk to me who doesn't speak English. At this point we are getting closer to the major intersection and he calls another friend who again was no help at all. Out of desperation I started saying major street names that are near where I live, and he recognizes those of course, but not mine, and then proceeds to drive up one of them. Only then does he say he knows Jabotinsky which is of course now very difficult to get to. I immediately told him I would only pay him 20 shekel as I looked at the meter that was almost to 20. He starts getting really angry and muttering under his breath about money, money, money, as though he doesn't care about it himself. We drove towards and ended up near Ben Yehuda, a good 15-20 minute walk from my apartment before circling around and coming back down. He was so angry and at this point I was right there with him. He is yelling at me and asking how I don't know Hebrew. I responded that if you are a cab driver in J'lem you should know basic English and how the heck do you not know Jabotinsky!!! He was driving far too fast for this particular street, and I told him to turn on the street that is parallel to mine, I was just going to get out and walk the rest of the way. He went around a little park and then got on the wrong street which caused me to yell a little. He then went off in Hebrew, I said to him that I don't understand him but God does, and demanded he stop the car which he did at a screeching halt. I threw my money at him, said "todah robah expletive expletive (thanks a lot expletive expletive)" and got out of the car and slammed the door as hard as I could. He literally peeled out and what I found hilarous was that by driving straight for about a block he would run into Jabotinsky. I had to walk about 5 minutes and was so angry that even with my being sick and tired I made it up our 4 flights super easy.
4 guys literally just got here with my groceries 5 minutes ago as I write this. I was surprised that I never got a call, so I asked the guy who I knew spoke some English from the store if he had any problems and he said yes. Big surprise. I asked what was confusing and he said that it was because our entrance is not on Jabotinsky and instead off a side street. Didn't I try to tell him that at the store? And he of course acted like it was my fault. Ugh...Israelis.
Is there a moral to this long story? Of course! Amy needs to learn some Hebrew. Or, better yet, Amy needs to find "the translator" and hire her for 10 hours a week. That's plenty of time to get all of my errands done :)
Grocery Store
I had an appointment with my acupuncturist today, in Talpiot, an area where there are far more Hebrew speakers who don't speak English than in other parts of J'lem. I have never had difficulty at the grocery store there, Super Sol Deal, but I have never had my groceries delivered to my apartment from there. I had gotten big items that I really couldn't carry on my own such as cases of soda, a big bag of laundry detergent and a big container of fabric softener. It's hard to carry more than one or two 1.5 liter bottles of soda from the grocery store and up 4 flights of stairs. I got other random food items, some of which were cold or frozen that I took with me in my own bag.
When I got to the checkout lady I said "delivery" in Hebrew -- my acupuncturist had written how to say it phonetically correct before I left for the store. I had no idea if I was supposed to put food in the delivery box myself or if someone who works there does it for me. So I started loading the cases of soda and putting the food items in the box, and then the cashier started talking a mile a minute to me in Hebrew -- it appeared she wasn't happy about something. The only thing I could understand was that she was telling me they wouldn't deliver my groceries. Now it took me asking several people when I got there if they speak English whether or not delivery is an option and if I have to spend a certain amount to qualify for delivery (like it is with another grocery store) -- I got an affirmative answer so I knew this woman was confused. We then proceeded to have a bit of a standoff --this was something neither of us wanted -- we just had no choice but to speak to each other in our native language and not understand what the other was saying. So it may have looked standoffish, but I was being as kind and polite as possible. After all, I am in a foreign country where I do not know the language, and I always feel a little guilty for not speaking Hebrew, especially in a situation like the grocery store.
Thankfully there was a very kind Israeli woman behind me in line who ended up being our translator, helped at times by other store employees who thought they spoke English but didn't really do so. So the cashier was told that I want delivery and that seemed to make her happy for a while. I was shown by our translator how to pack the delivery boxes, and meanwhile the cashier was keeping busy with paperwork. I had a few bags of food that didn't fit into the box, so the cashier's response to me was again that my food can't be delivered. My niceness was wearing thin at this point and I asked the translator to tell the cashier that I cannot take all of this food home and that I'll have to waste everyone's time refunding everything. Apparently Israeli's aren't patient, well, we knew that already, because when they asked me if I could wait a few moments until an empty delivery box turned up, I said yes, and they seemed shocked by this. I was just happy that the delivery process was continuing. When it came time to get my name, address and phone number, craziness emerged again. Translator wrote it down in Hebrew for the cashier and delivery guys, but the problem came when they asked me to explain exactly where I live. Imagine explaining the following in English to people who only speak a little English: our address is 22 Jabotinsky, but there is no entrance there; pretend that you're standing on Jabotinsky in front of 22, and notice that there is no entrance or any doors; so now imagine that you have to go to the back door, at which point you start going down M'ndele, the street that our entrance is actually on; now walk under the apartment building that is in front of you to the courtyard, where you have to look really hard for the hidden walkway to Entrance 10, our entrance, and then walk to the top floor and you will find our apartment. They always demand our address, and I always say that it is not helpful and is quite confusing, but they always demand it in the end. As I sit here and write this I am dreading when my cell phone starts ringing because the delivery guys can't find my apartment and are speaking to me in Hebrew while I speak back in English. Translator wasn't helpful at this point but only because she was trapped behind my shopping cart and couldn't engage in said conversation. Things finally seemed in order but was asked one last time for my contact information. The man said they would call if they get lost, and I smiled nicely and said I'll be waiting. I lurked for a moment while some poor man who only was buying a bottle of soda and had probably been waiting for too long checked out because I wanted to thank the translator. The cashier was looking nervously at me out of the corner of her eyes, but all I wanted to do was thank the translator and apologize for keeping her held up. She was very nice in return.
Taxi Cab
I wish I had brought translator with me on the cab ride home. I took a cab out to Talpiot earlier for my appointment and the cab driver suggested 20 shekel as a fair price. Seeing as how I was totally and knowingly, but in too much of a hurry to care, ripped off the day before when I paid 20 shekel to go half as far, I happily agreed and all was good. When I left the grocery store, there was a cab right there and the driver told me he could give me a ride. I hopped in, he started driving, he suggested 35 shekel and I said nope, that I had paid 20 earlier, he said 30, I said nope, that I had paid 20 earlier, and he stopped the cab and told me to get out. Fine. I was really growing frustrated at this point. I decided that because the area I was in, right around the Hadar Mall, is always so congested with cars and people that I would walk a ways up Pierre Koenig until things thinned out and grab a cab then. I did just that and got a cab right away. I got in and he immediately turned on the meter (this was good), and he asked me where I'm going. When I said 22 Jabotinsky he said that he doesn't speak any English, what is it in Hebrew. Um, Jabotinsky is how it is said regardless of the language -- it's just spelled a lot different. He asks me to write it down, so I did, "22 Jabotinsky," and showed him and he again said in Hebrew. I just kept saying Jabotinsky, confused as to how he doesn't understand my saying the word and by he not knowing a major street in J'lem and be a cab driver. He called a friend on his cell phone, said something and handed it to me. I assumed his friend spoke English -- wouldn't you? I said hello and he asked where I'm going, I said Jabotinsky, he says he doesn't speak English. Tell me why the cab driver would call someone to talk to me who doesn't speak English. At this point we are getting closer to the major intersection and he calls another friend who again was no help at all. Out of desperation I started saying major street names that are near where I live, and he recognizes those of course, but not mine, and then proceeds to drive up one of them. Only then does he say he knows Jabotinsky which is of course now very difficult to get to. I immediately told him I would only pay him 20 shekel as I looked at the meter that was almost to 20. He starts getting really angry and muttering under his breath about money, money, money, as though he doesn't care about it himself. We drove towards and ended up near Ben Yehuda, a good 15-20 minute walk from my apartment before circling around and coming back down. He was so angry and at this point I was right there with him. He is yelling at me and asking how I don't know Hebrew. I responded that if you are a cab driver in J'lem you should know basic English and how the heck do you not know Jabotinsky!!! He was driving far too fast for this particular street, and I told him to turn on the street that is parallel to mine, I was just going to get out and walk the rest of the way. He went around a little park and then got on the wrong street which caused me to yell a little. He then went off in Hebrew, I said to him that I don't understand him but God does, and demanded he stop the car which he did at a screeching halt. I threw my money at him, said "todah robah expletive expletive (thanks a lot expletive expletive)" and got out of the car and slammed the door as hard as I could. He literally peeled out and what I found hilarous was that by driving straight for about a block he would run into Jabotinsky. I had to walk about 5 minutes and was so angry that even with my being sick and tired I made it up our 4 flights super easy.
4 guys literally just got here with my groceries 5 minutes ago as I write this. I was surprised that I never got a call, so I asked the guy who I knew spoke some English from the store if he had any problems and he said yes. Big surprise. I asked what was confusing and he said that it was because our entrance is not on Jabotinsky and instead off a side street. Didn't I try to tell him that at the store? And he of course acted like it was my fault. Ugh...Israelis.
Is there a moral to this long story? Of course! Amy needs to learn some Hebrew. Or, better yet, Amy needs to find "the translator" and hire her for 10 hours a week. That's plenty of time to get all of my errands done :)
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Kaparot
So someone came across my post about Kaparot and gave me the link to his post about Kaparot which is very, very, very different from mine. I'm posting the link below.
PLEASE KNOW THAT THE PHOTOS INCLUDED IN HIS POST ARE VERY, VERY, VERY DISTURBING. This isn't just sensitive ole Amy talking -- I looked at them quickly and was truly appalled. It's not going to make you vomit but it will almost certainly make you shudder and question the ways of the ultra-religious. The writing on the blog is interesting too. Viewing the photos might help you see that in yesterday's blog post I wasn't speaking from pure irrational emotion -- it really is a pointless and disgusting religious practice. Plus, it truly gives you a very good idea of what happens during Kaparot if that is something you want to know. AGAIN, THE CONTENTS OF THE LINK BELOW ARE HIGHLY DISTURBING.
http://niralon.wordpress.com/2007/09/18/send-the-sinful-chicken-to-hell-take-ii/
PLEASE KNOW THAT THE PHOTOS INCLUDED IN HIS POST ARE VERY, VERY, VERY DISTURBING. This isn't just sensitive ole Amy talking -- I looked at them quickly and was truly appalled. It's not going to make you vomit but it will almost certainly make you shudder and question the ways of the ultra-religious. The writing on the blog is interesting too. Viewing the photos might help you see that in yesterday's blog post I wasn't speaking from pure irrational emotion -- it really is a pointless and disgusting religious practice. Plus, it truly gives you a very good idea of what happens during Kaparot if that is something you want to know. AGAIN, THE CONTENTS OF THE LINK BELOW ARE HIGHLY DISTURBING.
http://niralon.wordpress.com/2007/09/18/send-the-sinful-chicken-to-hell-take-ii/
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