Twenty minutes of sitting here, thinking, and listening to the chatting of Bibi, my USTREAM parrot pal, has done absolutely nothing to stimulate my creative thinking. Neither has a glass of grapefruit juice. One thing is for certain, staying up until midnight watching Food Network Star didn't help my morning alertness, especially when I had to be up at at 'em for an early appointment in town.
So while I contemplate the pros and cons of fixing a cup of coffee that I know will foul up my heart beats, I will continue listening to Bibi whistle for the dogs, imitate running water, count to six in English and Chinese, ask to step up, put in her request for strawberry yogurt, sing "Hello my honey-hello by baby", and say hello in several languages including Hebrew. "Shalom".
Just the word "shalom" transports me back to 1960-61 when I lived in Israel for nine months. I was a mere eighteen year old girl accompanying a great-aunt who would be teaching at an Orthodox Jewish university there. I was not only young, naive, and Christian, I also knew only one word of Hebrew. "Shalom". In contrast, my great-aunt was a short, white-haired, 65+ year old Jewish immigrant who came to America in the 19-teens, and spoke German, Russian, and Polish--all fluently.
What an interesting year I had. We lived in the professors' housing at Bar-Ilan University which was located in a suburb of Tel-Aviv, called Ramat Gan. A young couple with two little children lived across the hall from us. I learned most of my Hebrew from their three year old daughter, Tova. That resulted in my becoming fluent in "baby talk". Of course the adults all got a kick out of that, but Tova and I had a great time conversing. We understood each other quite well.
The University was quite diverse. There were French students who sat in science classes, listened to Hebrew lectures, took notes in French, and read English textbooks. My aunt taught criminology classes in English, but being multilingual was a great advantage in communicating with her students. Then there was me. I took an English Literature class taught by an American professor, and filled with students from New York state. So much for learning Hebrew that wasn't "baby talk".
But let me tell you about buying fish at the nearby market. My aunt and I would walk across a large weedy field, then across a road to a single story, three sided building of some sort. The front was all open. Inside was a counter, a large tank full of swimming carp, a stack of newspapers, a heavy stick, and the Hassidic proprietor and his wife.
The proprietor, like all Hassidic Jewish men, wore a long black coat, black pants and shoes, and a large brimmed, black hat. He had a full black beard and long, curled sideburns tucked behind his ears. I was fascinated. His wife wore a dress and kept her head covered with a scarf, as did all the women.
Anyway, after my aunt exchanged pleasantries with the owner, she in German-he in Yiddish, she would point to a darting fish in the metal tank. He would grab it with his bare hands, bash its head with the wooden stick, gut it, wrap it in newspaper, and hand it to my aunt in exchange for the proper amount of money. Then, off we would go. I swear that the fish wiggled all the way home. It probably didn't, but I sure though it did.
By our second week, getting fish was my job. I never looked forward to walking to the fishmongers for a fresh carp. In fact, I dreaded it. There was something about choosing a fish and seeing its life ended that really bothered me. I never had any trouble eating it, though,
My aunt would steam the fish and lay it out on a nice platter for our mid-day meal. So there it would lie in all its glory--poor little fishy with a pretty plate for a bed and a lettuce leaf over its head. My aunt didn't like it looking at her.
Living in a country as diverse as Israel was an eye-opener me. Before being exposed to our Hassidic community across the road, I was used to men wearing Levis, cowboy boots, western style shirts, leather belts with big silver or turquoise buckles, and ten-gallon hats. The only time beards were sported was during Nevada Days celebrations. The women at home wore scarves only to keep their curlers from falling out or to keep the hot, dry, desert wind from blowing their hair all over the place.
As for fish, ours at home came from a tuna can, not a carp tank.
Little did I know how the Lord would use that year living among Orthodox Jewish people in the Promised Land. What I thought would be a year living with a great-aunt I hardly knew, in a country I didn't know, listening to languages I didn't know, spoken by people of cultures and a religion I didn't know became an eye-opening, life changing experience. I received such an understanding of Biblical times and life styles. As I grew in my own faith, I could understand more and more the conflict between Christ and the orthodoxy of the Pharisees. The way God works in our lives is amazing, isn't it?
Wondering how God will use today in my tomorrows,
Jan
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