9/11

Today is the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the United States, where hijacked planes flew into the World Trade Center buildings and the Pentagon (and another hijacked plane was flown into the ground). And like many other Americans, I thought I would post my thoughts from that day.

September 11, 2001 started out as just another normal day for me. I was a freshman in high school and school had just started a few weeks before. I was on the cross-country team and we had a race the next day. I thought about things like school, running, and how excited I was to go to 10th grade next year at the high school building, which was closer to my cross-country buddies, and out of this 8th-9th grader "middle school." One of the biggest problems in my life was the couple who had the locker next to mine--I think it only belonged to one of them, but I never saw them separated and they were always making out when I went to get my books. I was thrilled to be in seminary, after waiting several years, and I spent most of my spare time over at that building.

Before school started that day, I was walking down the hall, talking to my friends. I was completely oblivious to the fact that the TV was on in every classroom. Suddenly we ran into one of my other friends, Jena, and she told us that something happened in New York involving planes and buildings. I had no idea what she was talking about and I thought she might be joking about something because she was smiling, happy to see us, as she told us the news. I thought to myself, why is she smiling and what is she talking about? Is this some sort of joke? (I don't think she understood what had happened either--she was just smiling because she knew something we didn't! That's how 9th grade goes, you know.)

Luckily the bell rang and I walked my confused self over to the seminary building. Seminary was my first period class.

The TV was on in seminary, too. Horrific images of smoke and buildings collapsing filled the screen. People were screaming, jumping from the towers, crying. As a seminary class, we did the only thing we could do to help: we offered a class prayer. I volunteered to pray for the people in New York and Washington DC and all over the world who were affected by the tragedy.

The next day we still held our cross-country race, but my entire team pinned paper American flags to the back of our uniforms to show our support for America and for those who had lost loved ones. Our standard "before the race team prayer" was on behalf of the victims and their families. That day we all ran for America. It was a very spiritual race for all of us.

I had no idea what the implications of this attack on America meant for my life. I didn't understand that I would grow up in post-9/11 America or even what that meant. I didn't realize that during college I would finally start to see the prejudice and racism that lay so deep in the heart of Americans because of this incident and want to try and change things to promote a deeper understanding and tolerance between the vast majority of Americans and Muslims.

I didn't ever dream that I would live in Jerusalem and Jordan and study Hebrew and Arabic. And I never in a million years would have thought that I would have worked for the Department of Defense in Washington DC.

My 9th grade universe was very small.

This summer I visited the 9/11 memorials at the Pentagon and in New York for the first time. The Pentagon has two memorials: one inside, with a small chapel and a wall of information to honor those who died, and one outside that is filled with benches grouped according to the ages of those who died and whether they were inside the Pentagon or on the plane.

If you go at night the benches are lit up. There are small pools of water under each one. It is quiet and the feelings of sorrow, pain, struggle, overcoming, and patriotism hit you as soon as you walk onto the complex. But it is a settled peace. There is pain, but there is also healing. This memorial is one of my favorite memorials in DC because of the feeling that is there.

In New York the feeling is much different. When I went the memorial was not yet finished. The area around the World Trade Centers was still an ugly scar, surrounded by chain link fences and still under construction. The air was filled with noise from construction. More than that, however, was the permeating feeling of anger, of disappointment, of sorrow. The feeling was overwhelmingly depressing and the anger was very tangible.

I don't live in New York. I was only there for two days. But it seems to me that New York and New Yorkers still have a long way to go before they heal from the tragedy of September 11.

Post 9/11 still affects much of what happens in Washington DC. The tragedy there was much smaller and affected far fewer people. The cleanup was much faster than that in New York. But the difference in the feeling between the memorial in DC and that in New York is that DC has found peace and New York has not.

This September 11, ten years after the tragedy that struck America, I hope that those who lost loved ones, those who were wounded physically, emotionally, and spiritually, and all those who have been affected by the tragic events of September 11 can find peace and healing. I think this Mormon Message youtube video is a wonderful story about a man that found peace and healing through Jesus Christ.



Here are some photos from September 11, as well as an op-ed about op-eds written September 12 2001, and an interactive feature with articles and photos about the world since 9/11.

"Help from both sides of the veil"

In one of his BYU devotionals, Elder Holland tells the story about an 18-year-old from a small town in Southern Utah that left home to travel east to visit his sister. He was taking the train and he had an overnight layover (what do you call a train layover?) in Chicago, and it terrified him. However, Elder Holland relates, when his parents drop him off at the train station, "his humble, plain, sun-scarred father did something no one in this room should ever forget. He said, 'Son, wherever you go in this Church there will always be somebody to stand by you. That’s part of what it means to be a Latter-day Saint.' And then he stuffed into the pocket of his calico shirt the name of a bishop he had taken the time to identify from sources at Church headquarters. If the boy had troubles, or became discouraged and afraid, he was to call the bishop and ask for help."

Well, the boy did have troubles in Chicago and did call the bishop and did get help. And that story has always stuck with me. Wherever I go in the world, if there are Latter-day Saints anywhere nearby, I know that there will be someone to stand by me.

Later in the talk, Elder Holland gave this epic statement: "In the gospel of Jesus Christ you have help from both sides of the veil, and you must never forget that. When disappointment and discouragement strike—and they will—you remember and never forget that if our eyes could be opened we would see horses and chariots of fire as far as the eye can see riding at reckless speed to come to our protection. They will always be there, these armies of heaven, in defense of Abraham’s seed."

And today I want to talk about help from both sides of the veil.

The auditorium of the Jerusalem Center, where church is held. District Conference filled almost all of those seats, including the 88 BYU students that are here on study abroad and live at the Jerusalem Center. And don't be jealous, but the chapel here has the most beautiful view in the church (although you can't see it in this picture--this overlooks the Old City, the Garden of Gethsemane, the Kidron Valley, etc), with the view out the window of the Galilee branch building (which overlooks the Sea of Galilee) coming in as a close second.

Today we had District Conference in Jerusalem, with members of all three branches in Israel (Tel Aviv, Galilee, and Jerusalem) participating. And I was reminded once again that no matter where you are from or what language you speak or what you are doing in life, there is a place for you in the gospel of Jesus Christ. From the three branches in Israel, we had Spanish, Russian, Arabic, Tagalog, and English speakers. The program was translated into four languages. Headsets were handed out before the meeting started and local members worked as translators so that everyone could hear the message in a language they understand.

This is help from our side of the veil.

But sometimes translation of the words is not the only thing needed. I believe that the Spirit is necessary to translate what the speaker or the scripture or the song says to what we personally need to take from it.

As we sang the opening song today in District Conference, I had one of those translation moments. I'll admit it straight up: moving to Jerusalem for a year of graduate studies was not the easiest decision in the world to make for so many reasons. Even after coming out here the doubts still occasionally surface. Questions of money, safety, purpose, and ability often hamper my ability to move forward with what God has asked me to do. But today's opening song, just a week after I arrived in Israel, was "How Firm a Foundation."

Each time I have questioned my decision to go to Israel (starting back in 2005), this hymn has come up in sacrament meeting, a BYU devotional, sung as part of our repertoire in Women's Chorus, or as a General Conference hymn. The second verse always hits me the hardest: "In every condition, in sickness, in health, in poverty's vail or abounding in wealth, at home or abroad, on the land or the sea, as thy days may demand so thy succor shall be."

I have found this to be true. According to what our lives demand, God succors and helps us. And often it is through help from our side of the veil.

Let me tell you two stories to illustrate.

When I first got to Jerusalem I didn't have an apartment lined up. I wanted to be able to look at them and meet the roommates before agreeing to anything, which was great. It just left me homeless for a couple of days while I found a place to live. My kind friend (whom I had never before met but had emailed her two days before I arrived. She is Mormon and graduated from BYU, and because we shared these two factors she offered to let me stay at her apartment for as long as I needed) had let me sleep on her floor. This was miracle #1. A week later, when I found an apartment, I needed to find a way to cart my luggage across town. I considered the bus but I wasn't sure if they would be ok with me and 3 suitcases. I thought about a taxi but didn't really want to pay that much money just to cart my suitcases across town.

And then I remembered. I'm a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and there are people here who can help me. I emailed my Relief Society president (I don't have a phone yet) and asked her if she knew of someone who could give me and my suitcases a ride to my new apartment. And boom. Within 4 hours I had a ride arranged for the next day.

When my Relief Society president found out that my housing situation is only temporary and I will be looking for another apartment come October 17, she said, Oh, I think the Walkers were looking for someone to housesit and watch their dog in October. And boom. Within 4 hours I had arranged with the Walkers to stay at their house for the three weeks they will be in the US, providing me with housing until November 19.

There are several points to my story. First, my Relief Society president is an absolute angel and so willing to help anyone in need. Second, members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints all over the world are willing to help and serve when others need a hand (or 20!).

And third, in the gospel of Jesus Christ you have help from both sides of the veil. And today helped me see those armies of heaven riding at reckless (I love that word) speed to my protection and aid.

Isn't God wonderful?

My Own Testing Center

For some reason, my experience with college campuses in the Middle East makes me feel like I am back in high school (or junior high!), but it's about 40 degrees hotter and they are speaking another language.

In my opinion, BYU has one of the most beautiful campuses in the world. The landscaping is gorgeous, there is never trash scattered throughout the halls, the bathrooms are clean and are continually stocked with toilet paper and soap, and the air is clean and cigarette free. And let's not forget my own home on campus--the JFSB, with its beautiful courtyard and the rock water fountain and the 3rd floor where I spent 80% of my life in college and the basement with its lack of wireless (and windows) and the individual desks. The kind that you could move across the floor if you wanted. The kind that I could walk into class and move the desk in front of my forward several inches and turn the desk behind me sideways so I had more room and so no one would sit behind me.

I love moveable desks.

This is not a movable desk; rather, it is a picture from my office window at BYU. Because let's be honest, thinking about mornings like these make me feel just a little bit colder. Imagination is everything when it's 100 degrees.

My classroom at Hebrew University does not have moveable desks. I am sure I will post something about the architecture at Hebrew U later, but in addition to their, umm, interesting architecture and decorating schemes the classrooms are small and are permanently set up the same way: three rows of desks, set up in a half circle, and connected to each other and the floor. The plastic chairs are orange and are nailed to metal rods that are screwed in to the floor.

The desks are about 7 inches wide and 10 inches long. Yep. Not even big enough to fit a whole piece of paper. And they are stuck so close together that there isn't enough room for a normal person to feel like s/he has enough room to breathe, let alone someone as claustrophobic as I am.

For the first few days this wasn't a problem. I sat in the back with an empty chair on each side of me. One chair was for my purse (with my laptop in it), one desk was for my book, my desk was for my notes, and the other desk was to give me space to breathe.

However, recently our class size expanded slightly and people in the class have started sitting in my chairs. The chairs that I clearly staked out with my purse and my textbook. The chairs that have "Breanne's space" written all over them.

It's kind of disturbing.

Before you go thinking that I am just overreacting (who needs three desks anyway?), let me tell you about these people that sit next to me. On the right has been 3 different people, one girl and two boys, all Palestinian college students from Jerusalem. On the left is a college-aged male from Germany. Instead of giving their names, I will just call them by nationality to protect identity. The Palestinians on my right must also feel that their personal space has been compromised, because they always put their arm on my desk. I think that all three of them have done this, but I know for sure that if either of the guys are sitting next to me, their arm will be resting on my desk, taking up about 1/4 of the space.

My 7 x 10 inch desk.

Yeah. Where's my arm supposed to go?

And then Germany, on my left, has a left-hand desk. This is great when my purse is sitting there because I have easy access. This is not so great when a person is sitting there because there is nothing between me and them, and Germany is always leaning towards me.

Yep. The queen of claustrophobia and protected personal space has Palestinian arm on her right and Germany on her left.

It's killing me.

To make matters worse, the air conditioning is controlled with an on-off switch. Which gives the students way too much power to veto the air conditioning. And half of the students in my class feel like it's "always cold" and continually turn the air conditioning off.

What's the purpose of having air conditioning if it's always off?!

So we have these air-conditioning wars. At first I tried to be a passive witness, but when it got so hot I thought I was going to pass out, I started speaking up. Usually what happens is the air conditioning will be on and someone will get cold. And they will either get up and turn off the switch or ask someone to turn it off. And after about 15 minutes I feel like I am melting out of my skin and I stand up (I sit right next to the switch for good reason!) or someone else stands up and turns it back on. 15 minutes later it is turned off again.

Every day this situation provokes arguments. "It's always so cold in here!" those wearing shorts and t-shirts (or worse, a strapless dress that stops above the knees!) say. "Put on more clothes!" I say. I'm not very sympathetic. "I can't really take anything off but you guys can always put on a sweater. It's hot in here!"

And so the battle rages. And whether the air conditioning is on or off, the teacher keeps the door closed and the windows covered with blackout drapes.

No air conditioning. 20 students crammed into a small room. Windows and doors closed. Palestinian arm on my right and Germany on my left. And 5 hours of intensive Hebrew a day.

Just thinking about it makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

So today we had a 90 minute test. And right before the teacher handed it out, someone switched off the air conditioning. The door was closed, the drapes were shut, and I was supposed to take this test with Germany on my left and Palestinian arm on my right? In the heat? For 90 minutes?

No.

"Excuse me," I asked my teacher. I was close to tears, or maybe it was just sweat. "I'm so hot. I'm going to die or pass out or something dramatic. Can I go and sit in the hallway (where there is airflow) and take this test?"

She looked doubtful. Why would I want to sit on the floor in a breezy hallway when I could sit in a teeny desk in a stuffy hot classroom? "These Americans," I'm sure she was thinking. But I guess my look was desperate enough, because she checked the classroom next door.

Empty.

"You can take it in here," she said.

And guys. It was amazing. I had my own classroom, no one sitting on my right or left, and the air conditioning was on high.

It was my very own testing center. No one to kick the back of my chair (this made me crazy at BYU's testing center), no one to put their arm on my desk, and no one to turn off the airconditioning.

And you know what? I bet I got 40% higher on this test than the one I took on Thursday in the hot classroom.

I'm going to give the credit to the air conditioner.

"I think it's mosquito!"

I think we have already established the fact that I have absolutely zero drawing skills. I can draw circles (and even ovals!) with lines coming out of them for legs and call it any animal you can think of, as demonstrated by my pig drawing skills at work.

Anyway. Yesterday I was sitting in my Hebrew class and we were supposed to practice the verb "to give" by saying "I give you this [fill in the blank]" with the blanks provided to us by the teacher. She had little cards with pictures of animals, gifts, cars, etc on them.

Except me and my two partners got a whole stack of dogs, which doesn't make for very good vocabulary practice.

So the girl sitting next to me, from France, decided to take matters into her own hands and started drawing simple pictures on the back of the cards.

I thought I would help out, so I drew a cat. It didn't look much like a cat, so I wrote "meow" next to the mouth. And the Arab girl sitting on my other side wrote "cat" in Hebrew at the top.

It was sitting on my desk just waiting there while my teacher was giving instructions, and all of a sudden the French girl looked over at my cat drawing, gasped, and said in a heavy French accent, "Oh my gosh, that's a cat? I think it's mosquito!"

Yep. I laughed about that one for hours and hours.

Crash, Boom!

While I was in Houston my sister and I visited an aquarium with sting-rays that you could pet. I fell in love with sting-rays when I visited just such an aquarium in Virginia, and I think it's easy to see why:

The stingrays are just so friendly! They come up wagging their tails like dogs and want to be petted. It makes me laugh every time.

My nephew Talmage clearly did not share my love for stingrays. He was terrified!

Don't worry, though. After some coaxing he did finally pet one or two of them.

Aren't they cute? This one has come over to the side to get fish.

Talmage was also terrified of this fake gorilla. It made noises and moved around when you got close (and let's admit it, I was a little terrified too--it was kind of creepy!) and he wanted to run away every time we took him near. Despite his mother's enthusiastic efforts to get him to make gorilla noises, he just looked terrified.

We went to Kema, which is a nice little waterfront area with shops and rides. I don't know if it was from the extreme heat or the fact that it was the middle of the day on a Monday, but it was deserted! It was a cute place but definitely a better idea to go when it's not quite so hot.

That night, instead of letting my sister put Talmage to bed, I distracted him (and her) by pulling out my camera. Talmage is so so skinny and in his pajamas he looked especially teeny. Isn't he cute?

We put him on the top bunk (he usually sleeps on the bottom) and he had the grandest time playing "Crash, Boom!" on the bed--a game in which he stood up, said "crash!" and then jumped in the air and sat down. "Boom!"

Apparently Talmage likes paparazzi pictures as much as everyone else...

We also stopped by the Houston Temple, which I have been waiting to see since I was in 4th grade and they started building it. I did a current events report on it and everything, but unfortunately we moved before it was finished. And now I finally got to see it! It was closed for cleaning, but we sat at the gate for at least 4 minutes in the heat and I snapped a couple of pictures.

This trip to Houston was another dream trip--no 56 hour road trip this time, but as a stop in the middle of my trek across the world, I'd say it was pretty awesome (orange-show type old town included)!

Travel Adventures

The journey from Washington DC to Jerusalem was quite an adventure, fraught with natural disasters, lost items, heat waves, and seven different stops along the way. And with that cryptic opening, here's the story:

First of all, it was a miracle that I was able to leave DC when I did. My original flight was scheduled for 5:40 pm the night of the 27, putting me in Salt Lake at 12:10 am on the 28th of August. I had a flight out of Salt Lake at 6:10 am on the 29th, and I was really hoping for more than 30 hours to see my family and put my affairs in order in Salt Lake.

Unfortunately, however, Delta has a $150 flight change fee. And paying $150 to change my flight by 8 hours is against my principles.

But guys, I just want to tell you that prayer works. I had been praying for weeks that I could get an earlier flight home without paying the fee. My plan was to go and sit at the airport early Saturday morning and ask every attendant to help me out until I got an earlier flight.

And then there was a hurricane. It was scheduled to come Saturday afternoon, and most airlines cancelled all flights.

And let passengers change their flights without a change fee.

You know what that means! I got an earlier flight home without a plane change fee.

Yep. Prayer works, even if it needs to be answered with a hurricane!

My first flight of the marathon was from DC to Minneapolis. As I sat down the man next to me started talking to me. And I'm just gonna say, I totally pegged his accent as Kenyan. And when I asked him where he was from, guess what? He was from Kenya.

I also guessed that I wouldn't have a minute of quiet the whole two hour flight, even though he was at the tail-end of 25 hours of travelling. And guess what? I was right.

Somewhere, though, in the midst of telling me about Kenya and intercultural tolerance, religion came up (the fact that I'm from Utah and went to BYU usually makes an easy segue into questions about Mormons) and I told him about prophets, the Book of Mormon, and revelation.

And guess what? He was super interested in learning more about the church. I gave him a pass along card with the website, he said he'd call for a free Book of Mormon, and we exchanged emails. I'll let you guys know if anything happens.

As we parted ways, I told him, "You know, I think God wanted us to meet today. Because I wasn't supposed to be on this flight! I only changed because of the hurricane." Good thing he didn't think it was an accident either!

My time in Salt Lake (kindly extended to 35 hours instead of only 30) was a flurry of activity. Somewhere in the middle of meeting my new niece, taking family pictures for my sister, repacking my bags and buying everything I needed, and seeing my family for the last time in a year (and the first time since April) I lost my jeans. Of the three pair I had, I lost two (and I just bought them before I went to DC!). That left me with--that's right--one pair of jeans. This was perhaps the most traumatic incident of my entire journey--and I later realized that I had left them in Washington DC!

Jeans or not, I had to fly out early morning to Houston to visit my sister. The second I walked out of the airport and walked to my sister's car, I asked her, "Do you mind if we go to Maurices so I can buy some jeans?"

And guess what, guys. Miracle of miracles, there was a Maurices close to the airport and they just happened to have the very jeans I needed (they have discontinued the line of jeans I wear, which was a huge part of my stress since they are the only jeans that fit me right) on the $10 rack. They only had one pair and they just happened to be the size I needed.

Yes, I do believe in miracles.

Houston was like a dream. A 108 degree fahrenheit dream. It was so hot. SO HOT. I thought DC was hot, and there was no relief in Salt Lake because they were having a 95 degree heat wave. But seriously. I thought I was going to die in Houston.

The air conditioning in my sister's car works about as well as a fan placed in front of a hot oven, which meant hours and hours of sweating misery for the both of us. For the last few hours before she dropped me off at the airport, we decided to go to an "old town Main Street" out near the airport.

We should have known what to expect from "old town Main Street" in Houston, but I think at the very least we were hoping for some air conditioning and relief from the heat.

We heard there was a Civil War museum, so after searching for 30 minutes in the 108 degree weather, we finally found it. Picture this: a tiny trailer with the paint peeling sitting on overgrown grass next to an empty lot with trucks parked on the grass in front of it. And the steps were sagging and almost rotted through.

Kaitlyn and I weren't looking for classy, though--we were just looking for air conditioning! We staggered inside the "museum" and were met by a very orange-show-like experience: the trailer was filled with piles of keepsakes from the Confederate side of the Civil War. They had little displays of armies shooting at each other, with the smoke from the guns made of q-tips or cotton all stretched out and glued in place. And guess what? Trailers, of course, don't have central air.

It was awesome.

I was over by the Confederate flag section, holding my nephew and trying not to die in the heat, when I see Kaitlyn motioning me over. She was standing right in front of the swamp cooler, pretending to be interested in the bullet collection, but really just trying to cool off. We both stood there as long as we dared and then snuck out before the other patrons, who were talking to the docents (? those guys who were sitting inside the trailer and watching the stuff) left. We didn't want to get stuck in there talking to the owners, as nice as I'm sure they were.

All in all, it was a very memorable way to leave the States!

London was awesome, but it will get its own post. The best part about my trip to London, though, was definitely my plane seat: the window seat on the exit row at the front of the section. I had at least 4 feet of leg room for the 7 hour flight. And it was awesome. It was the first pleasant overseas flight that I've had since, well, ever.

And guess what else? Since it was British Airways, among the many options for movies and music they had Adele's album 21. The whole thing. The soundtrack to my sleep on that red-eye flight was her spectacularly soulful voice.

The point of this post is to say that I do believe in miracles, air conditioning changes lives, and I love random experiences because they make awesome stories.

First Day of Class

Naturally, I am behind on my blog. I still need to write a trip about my exciting adventures on the way to Israel. Don't worry--pictures of London and stories of intrigue and adventure (as well as all those DC posts!) are coming.

But I just finished my first day of classes (I have class Sunday-Thursday, Friday is like Saturday, and Saturday is the Sabbath here in Jerusalem), and naturally I feel the need to record some thoughts I have about studying intensive Hebrew in Jerusalem.

*I feel so old here. I am in one of the lower levels of Hebrew, along with recent high school graduates and those who haven't yet finished high school. I thought I would be safer by attending an ulpan in September, after school started, but I forgot that the school year starts at different times around the world. I thought maybe I was just being judgmental when I walked through the hall and thought that everyone looked like they were in junior high, but then I found out that one of the guys in my class is 14. 14!!  The rest are 18 or 19, but that doesn't make me feel much better. I'm not ready to go back to high school!

*I have long wondered how to handle harassment in the Middle East. I don't really get harassed in the States, so I never struggled with how to handle it there. But in the Middle East it is almost a given. When I lived in Jerusalem the first time it shocked me. When I lived in Jordan it angered me immensely. I felt proud that I restrained myself and never attacked anyone--I just ignored them unless it was really bad, and then I gave them "the look" (that said, you look at me one more time and I will break your nose. It worked every time). But this time I think I have figured out a solution. Instead of just ignoring them, I think I'm going to call them out on it. Like today, when these two guys were walking next to me in the hall of the university and started harassing me (in English). I'm not so used to native-sounding English harassment (I don't think they were Americans though) and, not knowing what to do, I just ignored them. But if it happens again, I think I'm going to turn to them and say, "Is that really necessary? What are you trying to pull?" or something equally brilliant. I'll let you guys know how it goes.

*I did pretty well in my class, considering that I have never actually taken a Modern Hebrew class and it was all in Hebrew. (I asked if I could test into a higher level because of my Biblical Hebrew and Arabic background and then studied every day on the Metro to get into a higher class. If I didn't, I would have to repeat the level in the Fall, and I really didn't want to do that!) My main problem is speaking, seeing as how I have never spoken Hebrew before. Today was a struggle and I thought about calling it quits (or at least dropping to a lower class level). But I just kept reminding myself that for the first day ever in a Hebrew class, I was doing pretty well!

*I have class for only 5 hours a day, so I was expecting a ton of homework. But I asked the teacher how much to expect, and she said she assigns 30 minutes to an hour each day! This was a shocker to me, since when I took intensive Arabic we did 4 hours of class and 8 hours of homework a day (and I was working 4 hours a day too!). I guess I will have to find a way to fill up all the extra time with my own homework!

*I am studying at the "Rothberg International School" at Hebrew University. Which means that students have come from all over the world to learn Hebrew here. My teacher was shocked because there are 10 Americans in my class. "10 Americans! We should call this the 'American class'! Why are there so many Americans?" The others in my class are from France, Germany, Italy, Russia, Mexico, and then a few Arabs from Jerusalem.

*My roommate (who is kindly letting me sleep on her floor while I search for an apartment) said that I should make a "Chinese-Arabic-Hebrew only" vow while I am here. It sounds a little overwhelming, but yesterday I was typing Hebrew and emailing my friend in Chinese and reading Arabic--all within one hour. My goal for this year is to increase my skills in all three languages. Does anyone think I can do it (without going crazy from the effort)?

*The littlest things have made me really happy here. Like flushing toilets, and drinking fountains, and soap and toilet paper in public bathrooms, and stores (and vending machines!) that take credit cards. It is such a contrast to my last university-in-the-Middle-East experience, and each time I see an amenity like this I get a little bit giddy. "I don't have to buy my own toilet paper? What a dream!"

*I found myself studying in the Asian Studies section of the library today. It's a strange feeling to feel comforted surrounded by Chinese books at an Israeli university...

*I was walking out of my apartment (aka the dorm room at which which my new-found friend is kindly letting me crash until I find a real apartment) the first day I got to Jerusalem and this man gave me a flyer and asked (in English) "Are you a graduate student?" When I responded in the affirmative he said, "I could tell. Where did you do your undergrad?" When I answered "BYU," he almost fell over with excitement. "Are you Mormon? I know lots of Mormons! Do you sing with the choir? I know people in the Mormon choir! There's this black guy..." "Alex Boye?" "Yeah, yeah! I know Alex Boye!"

He then proceeded to pull out his phone and prove to me that he knew several people in the choir because they were in his phone. He was shocked when I didn't know any of the several people he just named. "But they live in Salt Lake! Don't you go to church?"

I had to remind him that there are hundreds of thousands of Mormons in Utah, and there was no way I could know each one. Even after all this, he asked, "Should I tell my friends that I met you?" and asked me to tell them hi next time I see them.

Ok. Next time I see Alex Boye, I'll tell him hello from the man in Jerusalem.

Well, friends, more will come, but my first impressions are that I'm crazy, that studying Hebrew and Arabic at the same time just might kill me, and Hebrew University has a pretty nice campus. And just as a last bit of randomness-I ate a cucumber, tomato, and goat cheese sandwich today, and it was delicious. I've missed Israeli kosher sandwiches.