"Sex, Love and Other Drugs" = Movie with an "Outsider" and Universal Theme

In the critically acclaimed movie, "Sex, Love and Other Drugs," Maggie (Anne Hathaway) has a terminal illness (Parkinson's). She relies on sex as her ticket in with spontaneous and flirty male relationships. Drugs are the answer for prolonging her life.

She knows that because she's sick, the chances of men committing to her is less than none. (thus the sex part)

Until Jaimie (played by Jake Gyllenhaal) comes along and tells her that she is the first person who has ever cared about him and he is willing to be THAT one who will "carry her." (Thus the love)

All three of these issues came together on a plot level when I thought "is there really hope for Maggie? I wasn't too worried about Jaimie, because it was clear he was on the mend. It was Maggie who was weak, vulnerable and in a very precarious position.

Will she ever find love despite her feelings that she is not good enough for someone? And will Jaimie listen to the voice inside that tells him that this women is truly for him and to go beyond the "lip-service and call of duty?"

What resonated with me so strongly with Maggie's character was her feeling as an outsider which seemed to be inked all over her throughout the movie.


1.She was deeply misunderstood.

2.She coped with her illness by putting on a bravado front - especially with men.

3.She didn't want people to feel sorry for her, so she coped with her fears, insecurities and isolation alone ...silently. (For me, this part reached its climax when she struggled opening one of her pill bottles, only to find that it was empty.)

She especially didn't want men to be privy to her pain. That's got to be a difficult thing for anyone... Afraid to let someone in for the sake of showing what is really there and maybe that person won't love him/her.

Well, if you can't tell by now, I fell in love with this movie and not just on a plot level, but, because I could see 'pieces' or 'slivers' of my own life as a returning immigrant. Maggie's journey reflected that.


Here's How

At the very beginning

I came to Pittsburgh in 2007 straight from Israel. I felt I was making a grave mistake. I spent the first hour of my arrival crying in front of Ivry's new teacher. I was scared to death. When the feeling of newness finally simmered down, I kept a bravado front to both Israelis and Americans (even to those who tried to understand me) by keeping a distance, not sharing too many details about motivations for leaving - Israelis like to get into these things and I gave just the facts.

Teaching



After one year of working on my book, (sabbatical) I started to teach English to ESL community college students. During that first semester, I announced to the dean of the department, “I love teaching these ESL students. I feel as if I found my home in the cultural classroom.” In Israel, I was special because I was a native English speaking teacher teaching English to Israeli schoolchildren who mainly spoke Hebrew. But in Pittsburgh, none of this mattered. I had to now find a different kind of cultural classroom.

Again, I felt like a stranger to teaching even though I had been teaching for 13 years.


**I was on my way to NOT becoming a stranger.**

Writing

When I would first describe in English certain teaching and educational concepts and objects enmeshed in Israeli emotion and imagination, I became more aware of how the “right” word would resonate in both Hebrew and English even in simplest written and verbal expressions. The words “authentic” and “educational” seem to be simple enough for a native English speaker. Yet, unless an American had heard these words in an Israeli context, his or her cultural understanding of the sentence would be different. Even when I read email responses in English, I imagined how the words would sound and look in Hebrew.

Social Interactions

In daily conversations with people, I felt something uniquely missing. New friends would sympathize with my loneliness and isolation. Still, that didn't compensate for the connection with "Israel" that deeply missing from the emotional, social, and political landscape of Pittsburgh. And it wasn't enough to want to go back to Israel.

Again, I felt like a stranger to English even though English is my mother tongue. I can't imagine what an immigrant to America must feel trying to learn English...

Family Life

On the weekends, I would go to Steelers and Pirates games with my then, three year old son to feel connected with the "Americana" I had missed for the last 19 years. In-between lessons at the community college during the week, I would talk with other professors, and from our conversations, I could see that between their Pittsburgh upbringing and my New York City and Israeli roots, we had very little in common.

**Even though this is still true, I no longer feel vulnerable by it...**


So as you can see, Maggie and I are both on the mend even if we felt and still feel like an outsider from time to time...

Speak Hebrew? מדבר עברית

In 1997, I rented a car with my then boyfriend, Sharon, in New York City on a three week trip. Me - a former Manhattanite - renting a car??

Anyhow, while waiting for a red light to change, we both turned our heads and looked at the driver to our left. We both knew he was undoubtably Israeli judging from looks.

I was never one to speak Hebrew when I visited America. It was like... a secret. I didn't want Israelis who lived in New York City to know that I came from their tribe. I wanted to still be in a position to choose the identity of what I wanted when I wanted it. If I was in Israel, then I could speak anything because I didn't grow up there. But in America, well, I had to be a bit more careful - I had fidelity to my homeland and mother tongue. At the time, I didn't think it was necessary to mix the two languages, cultures, histories and mentalities I had been straddling for so long. That should indeed show a weakness.


So back to our excursion... Sharon shouted aloud so the Israeli driver could hear, "Ze lo yachol lihiot Yisraeli...- that person can't be an Israeli!"

And the passenger shouted with a smile, "Lama lo? Why not?"

I bend my head so low enough so the driver can't see me. As if he's talking to me. And I want to cringe.

***

Fast forward to March 2011. I walk into Starbucks and it's obvious the server is Israeli. So blatantly obvious, but of course, nobody else figures it out. It's just a server with an accent - just like others with multicultural ethnicities - after all, this is America!

And so... I put in my request in Hebrew. In HEBREW!

He looked at me with a kind of funny look, but with an understanding that I, yes, I...was part of the TRIBE.

So now I'm feeling more comfortable in my Israeli/-American shoes wherever I go.

It seems that there are no cut rules for what language to speak and when. When I first arrived in Pittsburgh, I used to think I was an American and then Israeli. But now I think there are no cut rules for that either.

I guess acquiring a multicultural voice helps the fluidity of transitioning from one hat to another.

And the good news is... I'm not a spy!

Sharing My Life Story for a Presentation for ESL Teachers

It's always nice to share face to face parts of my life story than just writing about it in this blog.

Last Saturday, I gave a two hour presentation on "Teaching differentiated writing strategies to ESL students in the mainstream" to a group of English/ESL teachers at CCAC -Allegheny Campus.

It was the kind of intimately workshop where you'd feel comfortable in your own shoes presenting to teachers you had already known and a campus you had taught at for a few years.

However, I never make the assumption that teachers know who I am just because I teach ESL or just from a casual conversation in the hallway. I believe in the power of sharing life stories, both as a learner and as a teacher. So I started my presentation with an anecdote about about how, I felt like an outsider for many years in Israel. There is an outsider in every one of us and if we want, we can find those life stories and I have found that ESL students connect best to those kinds of stories.

I told my students from the point of serving in the army where officers would laugh at my American accent and how I struggled to teach EFL (English as a foreign language) 4th graders in the development town of Afula despite their agressive and direct personalities.

It is so easy to teach from an "autopilot" hat and forget the life lessons of perserverance and patience that these stories can teach us and others. You don't have to have experience living in another country;

I read a snippet of my story, "Taking Charge of the Cultural Classroom," from the book of anthologies, My First Year in the Classroom (Adams Media) that showed how I tried to get the attention of my Israeli students.

In short, anything we can do to bring participants closer to feeling "their pain" is always a good thing.

Pigua in Jerusalem

In the teacher's room, someone flicks on the television.
Noises of sirens, ambulances and the newscaster Yigal Alon.
Pigua - A terrorist attack.

Deep groan. Deep sigh. Why?

I can say goodbye to my lesson plan, "normal" lessons.

Students saunter in and out of the teacher's room, looking for teachers.
And then they lift their heads to the direction of the television.
They don't need to ask, "what's going on? They have already figured it out. Only they don't have the decisions of what and how to teach.

Like the other piguim, (plural for terrorist attacks) is this one also worth mentioning for the sake of discussion?

Will I still be a 'good" teacher if I decide to go on with the lesson?

The principal comes into the teacher's room with her cup of whatever.

Teachers crowd around her and I stare and watch and wonder.

Food Glorious Food: Falafel, Shishlik and Krembos!

Yesterday, we all decided to eat for the first time at "Sababa," the Middle Eastern bar and grill restaurant just a few blocks away from our house.

Now I don't need to tell you how food can bring cultures together. There was a delightful mix of Chinese, African Americans, Europeans eating falafel and shishlik, but I am also very much aware how Israeli food is very much a part of my identity and who I've become.

While we were munching over eggplant and Israeli salad appetizers, our chef came over to us.

Even though it was only a Tuesday, I said to him while picking through the falafel bits of my teeth using my tongue (a bad habit, I know), "Eating falafel brings back memories of Thursday shopping in Kiriyat Shmona. Let's go shopping at "Zol Poh" and then we'd swing around and eat a falafel." I laughed and I instantly knew that the chef understood because he smiled.

That's when I think we both came out as Israeli profoundly soaked in (food) memories; it was a moment that we could only understand. Suddenly, I didn't feel as an outsider in a restaurant that represents a lot of "insider elements." As Israelis living in the Diaspora, we are all craving to feel insiders again no matter what our journeys are.


Well, isn't that the purpose of eating in a restaurant that is indigenous to one's culture?

Our kind chef, (bless his heart) said something that also deeply resonated with me after four years of living in the Diaspora: "Only an Israeli can make a falafel "cmo she tzarich, like it can be done" and how true that is. He told us how he uses only meat that comes from Israel (that is shipped from New York City) and no American meat comes close to taste.

As we chatted in Hebrew, I slowly became aware that the older couple next to us was aware that we were speaking in Hebrew as they quietly ate their food in demeanor. We however let the "meat and spices" of our words soak through the flavoring. Through falafel bites and bits of Hebrew, I blocked out everything around me and focused on the little mini Israel that we created in a few moments.

But the surprise came when I saw the Chinese girl eating a.....(drum roll, please!) Krembo! Krembos are Israel's most popular winter snack foods - a chocolate covered marshmellow treat, which you can read more about here. I was overjoyed and delighted - I haven't seen a Krembo in over 4 years! And what a treat that was!

Now I fully understand how Israeli food easifies Israelis and their acculturation in the diaspora.

Part 1 - Geula

It was sometime during the first three years of arriving in Israel. idon't know exactly when that Savtah, my grandmother, introduced me to Geula, who would later introduce me to her 20 year old daughter, Liat - my cousin.
I walk into Savtah's apartment and immediately see a woman, sitting on a chair, with wavy locks, with hospital and a scrubbed forehead that shone of moisturizer

"Ah, Dorit" Unlike Savtah's Iraqi accent, Geulah really enunciated the "r" sound of my name. My name sounded just like everybody's else's - Israeli and plain.

She sounded suspiciously chirpy but friendly and stood up to greet me and have a closer look.

I hesitantly got up - the tone and accent of her voice was outside the "Iraqi" tribe. For one, her skin was much blushier and lighter than Savtah and not half as wrinkled and pretty.

Ah, Geula.

Your blue eye - how I curiously watched it move up, down and all around as if it had a life of its own. Your other eye looked straight at me. Symbolically, I could be half-funny, witty and not tell you everything I was thinking because I thought you couldn't see well.

"Yesh li bat b'gil shelach - sh'ma Li'at, I also have a daughter whose name is Liat."

What other treasures and secrets was Savtah hiding from me? I knew Savtah had a lot of brothers and sisters, but I never really met any of them.

"Now, let me get a look at you - ze bat shel Ahron. You're Ahron's daughter.

"Ah, bat shel Ahron."

"At m'artzot habrit - you're from the United States."

"ken, yes," I say.

"V'ma at osah kan? - and what are you doing here?"

"I'm just passing through Givatayim. It's been a while since I've been here."

V'efo at gara?"

"Bakibbutz."

"Ah, kibbutz. Yoffi. V'yesh lach haverim shama? And you have friends there?"

"Ken, yesh li haverim."

"V'ma at osa ba tzavah? And what do you do in the army?"

"Ani b'Nachal - I'm in the Nachal Movement."

"Im od olim hadashim - with other immigrants."

Geula tilts her head even more at a slight in order to full digest this new American cousin who has miraculously appeared at her sister's apartment.

All the while, Savtah is eyeing me as if we are an anticipated match made in heaven.

I'm waiting for Geula to initiate a meeting with Liat, but instead, she fires more questions.

I look at Savtah's face as if to say, "Mercy! Mercy!"

I look again at Geula' face. But it's now Savtah's I only see. Maybe it's better this way.
****

Geula wasn't there in 2007 when I visited Savtah for the last time before we left for the States. I went down Katznelson street to the corner where I would walk all the way down pass the Tel-Aviv highway to Arlozorov street and catch the 842 or the 845 bus back up north.

There was a time when I tingling with excitement to meet Liat. The fact that I had such good chemistry with Liat made me feel like I didn't feel like an outsider anymore. I had a best friend!

That was at a time when I had cut off communication with Geula - she was too gossipy; the excitement of being together with Liat had worn off.

Going to Israel

After four years of not seeing our families, we have finally bought plane tickets for our trip in June. Ever since our purchase, my brain has been overflowing with just thinking about the trip. I take visual breaks from work which makes the day worthwhile. "OH, I'm going to Israel - Yippee!" The thought of seeing all our family members pulls me out of my isolated shell. For four years, we've tried to create a sense of family with the limited family resources we had. No complaints here - it's just been an incredibly challenging time.

It may sound strange, but I feel a very deep need to see our kibbutz house, just like a child needs his/her mother.

We've unwillingly separated from our kibbutz house - once during the second Israeli-Lebanese war and now.

It has not been easy to get used to the obnoxious sqwaking of buses down Wightman street heading downtown; the sight of concrete all around instead of the Jordan river and the Hermon Mountain - and since we willingly decided to leave lush and picturesque for the uncertain, we've had to compromise.

I know the four weeks will pass by in the blink of an eye. I'll begin to feel more comfortable in my surroundings again; I won't need to try so hard to make it because I'll be in familiar social surroundings.

It will be interesting to see my perspective will be after not being in Israel for so long - I intend to bring a journal and record.