Melanie's Mass Mailings: The 2007 Edition

date: Jan 3, 2007 9:30 AM
subject: Melanie's Mass Mailings: The 2007 Edition


Hola Family, Friends, Frisbees,

Many apologies for the long absence in updates—but don't fear—I'm still trucking over here in Europe with my backpack slung over my shoulder, my Frisbee in hand, and my eyes on the horizon. My hopes that all of you passed a healthy and happy holiday season and have emerged into January more or less unscathed. I have lots of stories to relate, so in case you don't make it to the end, I'll sign off here and just wish all of you a wonderful 2007 filled with lots of laughter, new experiences, and good memories. I'll be back stateside on January 27th and heading to Maryland hopefully the 28th, so I hope to see some of you soon!

THE RAIN IN SPAIN
Instead of stuffing myself with turkey in the beautiful state of New Jersey during Thanksgiving like all other years, I spent Thanksgiving weekend playing in the Spanish Frisbee Tournament in the Canary Islands. Though the islands are technically a part of Spain, their closest neighbor is Senegal, so I'm going to count it as Frisbee on the African continent, anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with my publicist. This means that in four months, I've played Frisbee on four continents: Asia (come on, Israel is basically Asia), North America, Europe, and Africa.
I played with my Sevilla Frisbee team, the Frisbillanas, and had the pleasure of witnessing their first-ever win, after three years of being a team. Flashback to Lexington Saturday soccer and entire seasons where we lost every game… Go Rockets!
First and foremost I'd like to point out that while we did not win the tournament (we came in 8th out of 11 teams), the Frisbillanas hands down no questions asked won the party, which is considered by some to be the true measure of a team's merits and abilities. Also at the party I ran into someone who looked a tad familiar who turned out to be an old friend from USY, my high school Jewish youth group. That's right—in a random bar in the Canary Islands, two New England Jews reunited. Oh USY, you can graduate any time you like, but you can never leave.
We awoke the first day of the tournament—all 150 players sleeping in a big gym—to the sounds of a torrential downpour. Rain! Rain in Spain, in Africa! I believe I am one of the only people that could manage to find an African Frisbee tournament that was delayed because of rain. No worries—the skies soon cleared up and we passed a wonderful weekend filled with Frisbee and black beaches with volcanic rock. And I went down in Frisbillana history for successfully telling my first dirty joke in Spanish (the true sign of fluency). OLE.

THE PARENT TRAP
December 1st was a date marked on the Lidman calendar (unlike most things in my life) with months of anticipation: the parentals come to Spain. I will admit, I was nervous, I was terrified, I was so grateful that my parents didn't trust me and relied on an agent for all the logistical details. Our itinerary, as my mom liked to say, was "typical American fashion," 5 cities in 10 days: Alicante, Barcelona, Sevilla, Cordoba, and Madrid with brief trips to Murcia and Toledo.
Barcelona was our all-around favorite, with special highlights including lots of Gaudi architecture, Picasso museums, and dancing the hora at Mt. Guell. Yes folks, I know some of the things I write about make you all scratch your heads in disbelief that these things actually happen, but I swear to you they do. At Park Guell, a park designed by the famous Barcelona architect Gaudi, we climbed to the top of a small hill to see a stunning panorama of Barcelona laid out before us, the Mediterranean sparkling in the distance. And at the top, along with couples holding hands and families picnicking in the sunlight was a harmonica player accompanied by a karaoke cd. And what else would he be playing, of course, than the traditional Jewish "Hava Nagila?" I'm not sure who was more surprised—the Lidman family, at finding a Bar Mitzvah soundtrack on a mountain overlooking Barcelona, or the musician, when my mom and I joined hands for the hora and started singing along. Wherever you go…
The entire trip was a resounding success, and we crammed more museums and exhibits and cathedrals into 10 days than should humanly be possible, while still leaving time for an occasional siesta or relaxing lunch. It really was a wonderful time, lots of family bonding and laughter. And I succeeded in my goal of getting at least one parent drunk the last night in Madrid (Dad, don't deny it!) after we sampled sangria in every city.

EUROPEAN WONDERINGS
After my parent's visit, since I didn't really do "school" or "classes" in the month of December and I still haven't bought my "books" (but at least I'm "registered"), I set off on my European Adventure.
(Including my parent's visit) I've clocked 32 days, 4 countries, 13 cities, two entire rolls of toilet paper for a constantly running nose, four kinds of currency currently in my wallet (pounds, euros, a random quarter, and a rupee, I have no idea where that one came from), only two loads of laundry the entire time, three passport stamps (the EU does not appreciate the sanctity of the passport), 4 crumpets in a 12 hour period, and the biggest miracle of all is that I didn't lose my wallet.
I went to Lille (north of France) to visit my French roommate from this summer in Israel, then stayed in Paris for a few days with two Frisbee players from the Sevilla team, and even got to go to a Parisian Frisbee practice! Could life be more incredible? My favorite things from Paris were the Eiffel Tower, the Musee D'Orsay (an impressionism museum that I LOVED better than the Louvre—real tranquility is to be in a room by yourself filled with Money paintings) and Sacha Finklestajn's Yiddish bakery where I had my first knish in almost a year.
After Paris it was off to Porto, Portugal with the New Jersey twins who were my Camino de Santiago colleagues. I fell in love with the city's windy, cobblestone streets and the people who were so warm and friendly. And let's be honest, the free samples of Porto wine at the 20+ wineries didn't hurt either.
I had originally planned to keep traveling until January 7th (it was December 21st at this point), but financial constraints and a few meltdowns as well as the urging of friends and family convinced me to hightail it back to Murcia on a 26 hour bus ride in order to recharge my batteries. With all of my Spanish and International friends in their various pueblos and countries, I had five days of intense introspection/isolation that mainly consisted of me watching America's worst Christmas movies dubbed over in Spanish and feeling sorry for myself that no one invited me over for Christmas dinner. Christmas Eve surprisingly, is one of Spain's biggest party nights, and I stayed out with Spanish friends until 8:00 AM Christmas day. A far cry from the American tradition of going to bed as early as possible so you an wake up early to open presents.
After my hermitage in Murcia, I visited an old kibbutz friend in London right before New Years. While it was so amazing to see her and remember all the wonderful memories, it was also bittersweet because it made us both realize that our kibbutz group will never be whole again without Mikey. In Murcia I've done a good job of completely separating myself from the events of this summer and seeing Laura brought a lot of what I've been trying to ignore crashing back. But it was the first time I've been able to talk frankly about what happened and that was good for me. And, as mentioned earlier, I had 4 crumpets in a very short time.

IN OTHER NEWS…
If this ridiculously out of control long email hasn't satiated your thirst for Melanie's flaky wanderings around Western Europe, check out this semester's columns on www.diamondbackonline.com (search for Melanie Lidman). My last column was also chosen by the Online Newshour with Jim Lehrer as an example of the opinions of my age bracket, whatever that means. The link is here: http://www.pbs.org/newshour/generation-next/blog/old_world_charm_12-05.html And, as a solution to the hole in my wallet rendered by my wanderings, I'm freelancing again for the Northwest section of the Boston Globe http://www.boston.com/news/local/articles/2006/12/28/a_history_lesson_on_grander_scale_in_spain/

AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT…
Well, if you've reached this point in the email you have my utmost respect, admiration, and gratitude. There are more stories, but we'll save those for another email on another day. I want to wish you all the happiest of New Years, and as they say here "May the worst of 2007 be better than the best of 2006." Amen, brother.

Love and European travels,
Meli

The parents at Sevilla's Plaza de Toros (Bull ring)

Mother-daughter moment in front of the Toledo skyline

Do not stick anything over the edge of the Eiffel Tower

Eating escargot... and the reaction

Porto, Portugal scenery

MMM: Palaces and Caves and Tuna OH MY!

date: Nov 9, 2006 3:35 AM
subject: MMM: Palaces and Caves and Tuna OH MY!


Hola Family, Friends, Frisbees,

Hope all is well on your horizons and November is going along as it should be. My apologies for not sending out more frequent mass mailings (although lets be honest, you don't want to hear from me too often!) Many things have happened in the past month, so I'll try to run down a summary. You can also see my last two columns for the Diamondback here:
Mi Camino
10,000 Fiestas
(if links don't work, go to www.diamondbackonline.com and search for Melanie Lidman)

HOW 'BOUT THEM CARDINALS?
At our International Halloween Party 2006 featuring food, drink, and merrymakers from all around the world, the only other three Americans dressed up as baseball fans (complete with plastic bats from the US...because that's an essential item you should never travel without). I dressed up as Bob the Builder for the sole reason that when I looked around my room half an hour before the party started the only thing I found was a bunch of stolen construction signs and a headlamp.




"So how bout them Cardinals?" the girl from Minnesota asked me. "Cardinals? In Murcia? That's weird!" I answered. "No, no--the Cardinals--they won the World Series."

Upon hearing this my mouth dropped open and I was rendered speechless. I FORGOT THE WORLD SERIES!!!!! What kind of American AM I? Ok, a season without the NHL, I can survive, and it's not like the biggest baseball fan, but WHO FORGETS ABOUT THE WORLD SERIES? Well, I bet I can name more Real Madrid players than you.....

THE PRINCESS AND THE TUNA
Not to sound jaded or anything, but it's really ENOUGH with the Spanish men playing guitar under my balcony and singing to me. It started one inconspicuous Saturday afternoon, when I was sitting in my room and s uddenly Baroque style Spanish music floated up to my window. I look outside, and lo and behold, there are 25 gentlemen below my window dressed in the height of 14th century fashion, complete with puffed sleeves and those funny pants that they wear over tights, sporting tiny round guitars and singing about lost loves.

My Italian roommate and I rushed to our balcony where we listened to a few songs, applauding wildly just the way damsels in distress on third story balconies are not supposed to applaud. The gentlemen turned out to be members of Tuna , the law fraternity at the University of Murcia, and the Engineering frat at the University of Cartagena. Before we knew it, they had invited themselves all over to our apartment that very same night for a party. Apparently this is a Tuna thing, they go around singing, find girls to host parties, and then come and sing below their balconies until the girls invite them up for rum and coke. After a few hours of "Your lips are like a rose" and "Beauty like the moon" then they move on to the next party. Now why can't frats at Maryland be more like this?

Our party was lamentably cancelled for a variety of reasons, but they keep hinting about coming back. And there's nothing to brighten up your day like a man wearing funny tights playing guitar for you.







UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND: 1, UNIVERSITY OF MURCIA: 0
No one is ever allowed to complain about UMD bureaucracy ever again. Time it took me to register for Spring 2007 classes: 15 seconds. Time it's taken me to register for Murcia Fall 2006 classes: 2 months and counting. I still don't even know exactly what classes I'm taking. Books? Riiiiight.

168 KM OF THE CAMINO
3 AM BUS STATION ARRIVALS
15 MINUTES AT THE ALHAMBRA
(and other reasons Melanie will never be a professional organizer)
My various logistical blunders have made me the butt of many Lidman family jokes, and is a major part of the reason why I'm not allowed to plan my parent's visit to Spain coming up in December. So I'm sure it will surprise few people that instead of hiking 100 kilometers in 3 days on the Camino de Santiago as we had originally planned, we hiked 168 kilometers in 4 days, causing me to miss my own informational frisbee meeting that I had planned. The Camino was an absolutely incredible experience that I am so lucky to have had the chance to do. I wouldn't change a thing about the experience except for my 27 blisters that provided a bit of an obstacle to my enjoyment. They also provided entertainment for an entire hostel our second night of the Camino as everyone there gathered round to watch two vetrinarians "explotar" mis "ampoyas" (blisters) as I writhed in pain and everyone shook their heads in disbelief at the stupid American girl rushing through the Camino and procuring more blisters than a barefoot banshee. But the Camino was really amazing, check out the article for a more in-depth explanation of how we dragged ourselves over mountains and through downpours to Santiago de Compostela.

Various other logistical mishaps and money-saving attempts have also led to confrontations with bus station security guards at 4:00 A.M. Really, is anyone hurt by two Americans saving 15 euros on a hostel by curling up next to the cafeteria?

But the most devastating logistical mishap thus far has been the Alhambra debacle. The Alhambra is a Moorish palace dating from the 1200's that has been occupied by quite a few international forces of different religions. The entire complex is absolutely huge, amazingly preserved and decorated in the height of Arabic opulence and beauty. It is Spain's Macchu Picchu, located in the mountains of Granada, with the breathtaking Sierra Nevada mountain range as a backdrop. In the words of the Rough Guide, "if you see one thing outside of Madrid, it should be the Alhambra." The most incredible part of the complex is the Nazaries Palace, which, according to the books, is just beyond words.

In order to protect this incredible national landmark, visitors are issued timeslots during which they can enter the palace. Aha, I guess you can see where I'm going with this. 15 minutes after our time slot closed, Allison from Oregon and I skipped merrily to the entrance, only to be firmly turned back by the burly moustached security guard. After two hours of begging and pleading with various authority figures the answer... was still no. Allison from Oregon is going back with her parents, but it looks like I'll be leaving Spain without seeing the palace. To make myself look a little better though, I've talked to four other Americans who had the same experience at the palace, so we're not the only ones.

The rest of the grounds were absolutely incredible, gardens and fountains and hidden plazas. We got back at the Alhambra by playing frisbee right next to the guard station. Take that backhand, Proseguridad! (If anyone is interested, I HIGHLY recommend Washington Irving's "Tales of Alhambra" for his incredible use of language in the descriptions of the Alhambra and its inhabitants, and also because it is an example of how bumming around in a castle four four months can win you international acclaim, an idea that brings warmth to my heart).

A picture from the beginning of our walk, at one of our highest points.

This is me at one of the most miserable points in my life when my picture has been taken. Day 4 of the Camino, 8 km from the end (I thought we were 5 km from the end, which at our speed translated into an hour more of walking). It was POURING down rain and I had no poncho. I was thoroughly and utterly soaked, every single muscle was screaming in pain, and my blisters were swimming in swamp-filled shoes. If a taxi had passed, no question I would have called it quits and gotten in. One of the twins I was hiking with, Lyndsy and Kelly from New Jersey, took this picture as I was coming up over a big hill, just livid at the world.

THE LAST TIME I WAS DRINKING SANGRIA IN A CAVE WITH GYPSIES...
...was in Granada in the Sacromonte neighborhood, where the best flamenco can be heard on Saturday nights. Our little cave bar had only one guitar that passed from hand to hand as the night stretched on and the music echoed into the mountain. It was one of those experiences where, even though we'd read about the cave bars in the Rough Guide, we felt one of those "This is soo Spanish! We are so authentic!" moments, feeling like you're seeing Don Quijote's Spain. The only downside to spending hours in a Spanish cave listening to flamenco? A cave means no windows, and the chain smoking Spaniards caused some throatal discomfort the following day.

WHERE THERE IS NO FRISBEE
Feeling the hole in my life created by not playing Frisbee, I might possibly join, yes, you guessed it, the University of Murcia's Waterpolo team. Funny how you become part of the strangest groups when you're in a new place. I've also befriended the Honors Law Student Government clique, don't ask me how that happenned. Having never played nor seen a waterpolo game before, I'll let you know how my first practice goes. Does this speedo make my butt look fat?

KEEP MEL OFF THE STREETS!
Through some surprising events out of my control, I have suddenly found myself without housing next semester (I know we've discussed my inability to make plans, but this one wasn't my fault). So if you UMD people know any cool houses looking for a cool housemate, please let me know. Tell them I'll bring everyone a gift from Spain.

Well, if you've made it this far, you're for sure on my good list, and isn't there something more important you should be doing? Thanks for caring, and keeping in touch, and for wasting time by reading my ramblings. Hoping you can enter all of your palaces, physically and spiritually, and that your plans go as planned but leave plenty of room for spontaneity.

Love and Tunas,
Meli

MMM: Greetings from Nebraska.... and a Sukkot Pilgramidge

date: Oct 10, 2006 4:19 PM
subject: MMM: Greetings from Nebraska.... and a Sukkot Pilgramidge

Hola Family, Friends, Frisbees,

Greetings from the Nebraska. Don't worry, I'm still here in Spain, in the state of Murcia, home to Spain's worst accents and a plentiforous amount of mayonnaise-based salads. Hoping all is well at home and you are enjoying life wherever you are.

So here I am, in Murcia, Spain. My choice to study in Murcia, designated by Lonely Planet as 'Spain's least-visited region,' was met with perplexed looks by everyone I met in Spain outside of Murcia. During my orientation in Sevilla, I didn't meet a single person who had been to Murcia or knew anything about the area.

I had two requirements for my study abroad locations: Jews and the ocean. I chose to study here in Murcia based on my in-depth Google research, which corroborated both of those points. But once I got here, the truth came out: Murcia is home to some world class palm trees (apparently they're famous in the botany world, but to me they just look like regular palm trees) and great motorcycling culture, but there are no Jews and no ocean.

Before I left Sevilla, a Spanish frisbee friend who had lived for a year in the states finally cleared it up for me. "Murcia is, well, it's completely random," he said, putting it gently. "It's like, it's like the Nebraska of Spain." I ask him about my second choice, the state of Alicante, right next door, hoping it's something worse, like Canada or Greenland or a trailer park. "Alicante!" he mused, his eyes lighting up. "Alicante is the California of Spain!"

Wouldn't you know what else? Alicante has the only synagogue on the entire southeastern coast of Spain AND the city is right on the ocean.

But Murcia's growing on me, and I'm beginning to like this quirky little city in a valley. My classes at the University are, well, a struggle. The scheduling system here was a bit of a challenge, as every class I wanted to take met at least once from 1:00-2:00 on Wednesdays. With all of the classroom changes and teacher changes and course changes, I only successfully attended one class my first week. And believe me, I tried very hard to attend more classes. Me and the information lady on the first floor are really good friends, which is also good to know I have at least one Spanish friend. The schedule that I finally concocted is a mix of Literature, Art and History from the 17th-18th century. All the other centuries met at conflicting times.

I'm going to like Murcia even more when I move to my new apartment and out of the suburbs with the host family I'm living with. I realized a while ago that haven't lived for more than three weeks in the same place since last April. So after a few weeks with my host family I'm packing my bags again, off to an apartment filled with Spaniards, Italians, multi-lingual dictionaries, and a lot of delicious pasta (courtesy of Franchi the Italian). You can read more about my host family adventures:
http://www.diamondbackonline.com/media/storage/paper873/news/2006/10/10/Opinion/Lessons.From.A.Seora.A.Spanish.Sort.Of.Life-2340276.shtml?norewrite200610101623&sourcedomain=www.diamondbackonline.com

Since the Spanish academic calender includes three-day fiestas about every two weeks, I'm heading off tomorrow for the exact opposite corner of Spain, Santiago de Compostela. Santiago is the end point for a 700 plus kilometer religious pilgrimage that follows a possible route the apostle Santiago took (he is buried in Santiago de Compostela), from France through Spain. I, along with two identical twins from New Jersey, am going to attempt the last 100 kilometers in 3.5 days because, according to my Spanish teacher, there is a belief that if you do at least 100 km of the walk, you will half your time spent in purgatory and G-d will forgive all of your earthly sins.

"Well, gee, I better do the whole thing," I told him, joking. "It's going to take a lot more than 100 km to forgive me for being Jewish!" He was not amused. Oh well. But it will be nice to celebrate sukkot (the Jewish harvest festival, celebrated by building a tent-like enclosure and sleeping and eating in it for 8 days) by being outside, appreciating nature and hugging trees.

I feel a little guilty because doing the end part of the pilgrimage is kind of like joining a marathon at mile 23. Speaking of marathons, while I was trying to register for classes, I accidentally registered for the University of Murcia marathon. I'm not sure if I'm going to do it, but hopefully I'll get a free t-shirt.

Hope all is well on the home front and you are enjoying a beautiful October. Best of luck in all of your endeavours and don't forget to keep in touch!

Love from Nebraska,
Meli

Happy New Year from Melanie's Mass Mailings...

date: Sep 15, 2006 3:07 AM
subject: Happy New Year from Melanie's Mass Mailings...

Dear Friends, Families, Frisbees,

Hola from the beautiful city of Sevilla, where the tapas are sizzling, the flamenco guitars are strumming, and winning the bull's ear at a bull fight instantly makes you a hero. I hope all is well wherever you find yourselves, enjoying life and looking for adventures.

I am nearing the end of my orientation in Sevilla and will be moving across the country to Murcia, Spain a week from today. I will ''convienently'' arrive in Murcia at the start of Rosh Hashonah, the Jewish new year and one of the most important Jewish holidays. I'm scrambling to find a place for the holidays and a synagogue to go to in the area. If only the Jews hadn't been kicked out of Spain 500 years ago, I wouldn't be having this problem locating Jews now. It is a little strange to try to acclimate myself to a city, make friends, find a frisbee team, and then a few weeks later do it all over again on the other side of Spain where the language and culture is completely different. Its like doing an orientation for rural Mississippi in San Francisco.

But yes, no worries, I did find a frisbee team. Picture the situation: I'm running late for class among the windy cobblestone streets of Sevilla, trying to dodge German tourists and horse-drawn buggies. But imagine my luck and immense joy at seeing someone on the street wearing a FRISBEE SHIRT! He was running for a bus but I grabbed him and wouldn't let go until I had all the details for the next frisbee practice. What are the chances, seriously, that out of 60 frisbee players in a country of 45 million people, I happen to randomly pass one of those 60 people on the street, who randomly just happens to be wearing his only frisbee shirt? Frisbee G-ds, I'm telling you. They're looking out for me.

Another amazing discovery: the Triana bridge, an old stone ridge rock climbers have claimed and turned into one of Spain's most interesting spots to boulder (climb low to the ground without ropes). Now that the temperature has dropped from an unbelievable 110 degrees to a more manageable 80 (in the span of three days), there's a group of people out there every day. Once we established the fact that we can all laugh at my inability to roll ''rrrrrrr's'' despite my years (read: minutes) of practice, they welcomed me into the fold. After a few days, I'm rock climbing better than I have in my whole life (which is to say, not much). Today we also established the fact that I'm the first Jew most of them have met. Isabella and Ferndinand: I hold you directly responsible for Spain's lack of Jewish climbers.

Melanie's Mass Mailings is crossing a new frontier with the publication of ''Turtilla on a Half Shell: Adventures of a Terp in Spain,'' a biweekly column I'll be writing for the Diamondback, my university's newspaper. You can read the first column here:
http://www.diamondbackonline.com/vnews/display.v/ART/2006/09/13/45077cff66cf9?in_archive=1

As I said before, I'm excited to be starting on a new adventure, but all beginnings are hard. My culture shock and sense of isolation were (are) very much increased as a result of what happened this summer. With the help of my parents and friends I'm getting through it, but it's been a bumpy and tough beginning.

I want to take this opportunity to wish you all a very happy and healthy new year. May you all be blessed with lots of laughter, love, new experiences, and the ability to appreciate everything you have. May we all take advantage of every moment in whatever twists and turns come our way. And may you all get to attend a bull fight at some point in your life, preferably with people sporting mullets.

Love and flamenco,
Melanie

P.S. note new cell phone below... ;)

Melanie´s Mass Mailings: En Espanol, Living La Vida Loca

date: Sep 5, 2006 11:30 AM
subject: Melanie´s Mass Mailings: En Espanol, Living La Vida Loca

Hola Friends, Family, and Frisbees,

Saludos desde Espana, hope all is going well on the home front. I am currently in Sevilla, living the dream of daily siestas, spanish tortillas, and bull fights on Sundays. To those of you starting new school years, or your last year of school, best of luck in the semester. I will be studying at the University of Murcia in Murcia, Spain for my fall semester. I'm excited and a little overwhelmed to be coming and going from country to country but I'm happy to be on another adventure, continuing my wandering around the world. Hi, Mel, this is your brain on culture shock.

The past few weeks have been quite a whirlwind, hence the fact that I haven't written another e-mail. I came home from Israel, cheered for the Israeli Youth Frisbee team at Frisbee Worlds (they did great and came in eighth… out of eight), got my wisdom teeth out, visited grandparents and uncles and aunts and Mike's mom in Philly, attempted to get a tan on Cape Cod, tried my hand at surfing with friends from Maryland who visited (I'm really good at sitting on the surfboard and looking cool not much else), ate lots of Anna's Taqueria, and packed my bags again.

I tried a few times to write an e-mail summing up my experiences in Israel but I stopped each time. Partly because I don't have words, and partly because it's hard to think about and here, outside of Israel , it barely feels real. Despite everything, I am still so glad I was in Israel this summer. I cannot imagine getting that news while being in the states.

What a summer this was—the bundle of contradictions that Israel always is, plus euphoric holy land highs and this time, more pain and hurt than I knew what to do with. Thank you again for all the support and e-mails all of you wrote back—it was amazing knowing there were people on all corners of the world pulling for me and worrying about me. And thanks, mom, dad, grandparents, for understanding that I was not going to come home and being supportive of my decision to stay when I needed it most.

My last day in Tel Aviv, just a day before the cease-fire was signed, I saw some amazing grafitti. "Know hope in limbo" someone had scribbled on a telephone pole, and all down the street was written "know hope" "know hope" "know hope" echoing down the block. As we start new years and new adventures and happier times, may we also know hope.
Chazak, chazak, v'nitchazek (strength, strength, and may you be strengthened).

I'll sign off here, getting ready to start my next adventure on a happier note, with another bumpy beginning, as my suitcases have been a little "tarde" (late) in arriving and I am still without most of my clothes after a week and a half of wearing the same thing every day (the upside of that was everyone learned my name very quickly because I always wore the same thing—thanks for that, US Airways). Sevilla is a gorgeous city—I am here for three weeks for orientation before I go to Murcia to begin my semester. This is the first year for my program, ISA Direct, which enrolls students directly as Spanish students in uni. There are only four students doing my program and I'm the only one going to Murcia. So life, as always, should stay interesting. Good luck to everyone and as always take advantage of every moment...


Love and tapas and sangria,
Meli (because Spanish people can't say Melanie, I've been rechristened with a new name)

P.S. You want to hear a logistical nightmare? Try building a subway in a 700 year old city and you´ve got Sevilla. Big Dig, you got nothing on this.

P.P.S. Melanie´s Mass Mailings first-ever contest: be the first to come up with the reason why so many Spanish guys are sporting mullets. Yes, that´s right, the mullets have taken to the streets and are returning from backcountry America with a vengeance. A VENGEANCE! Why, I ask, why?

Mikey's Red Sandals

date: Aug 6, 2006 9:48 AM
subject: Mikey's Red Sandals


Dear Friends and Family,
Thank you for writing back about the sad news of Michael Levin's death. People all over the states have been writing to me about it, so it's good to know that Mikey will be remembered and so many people have told me they are going to his memorial service in the states. Mikey's funeral, cleaning his apartment, and visiting with his parents were some of the most difficult things I've ever done. Seeing another friend's flag-drapped coffin, his army friends standing at his grave looking helpless and so sad; Mikey's parents and sisters...
And the situation in Israel is still worsening.... 10 people killed today in missle attacks in a northern village. What a crazy country this is; what a sad place to love.
Stay safe to all; I love you all and apologize for not keeping in touch as much as I'd like to and cluttering up your e-mail boxes with my musings. Please know that you guys are helping me get through a really difficult time by reading, commenting, and caring about my writing.
Much love,
Melanie

Mikey Levin's Red Shoresh Sandals

To understand Mikey Levin, first and foremost, you have to understand his red Shoresh sandals. Over and over these sandals popped up in stories about Mikey. "It was winter, absolutely freezing outside," one friend remembered, "and I opened my door and there was Mikey, chewing on his hoodie and wearing those stupid red sandals--his toes bandaged and bruised because he kept wearing those sandals when they made him do kitchen duty in the army." Mikey wearing those sandals to synagogue, to work irrigation in the kibbutz fields, to weddings, to bars.

To understand Mikey, you have to understand his stomping grounds--Kikar Tzion (Zion Square), and really all of Israel. Located just a few blocks from the last apartment he lived in, Kikar Tzion is the heart of Jerusalem and a crazy crowded mishmash of Jews from all over the world, where it's not at all surprising to run into your old kindergarten teacher or childhood neighboor by accident. But it was impossibly frustrating to walk with Mikey in Kikar Tzion because he invariably knew two thirds of the people he passed and you couldn't hold a conversation without him running off and saying "Wow! There's that girl I met on a plane six years ago! I have to go talk for an hour!" When we say that he was a friend to everyone, we were completely serious. He could talk his way into any security-guarded entrance and had connections everywhere, especially with the best ruggelach bakery in Israel where his kilos of baked goods always seemed to weigh more than ours. Mikey was the kind of person you could meet for five minutes and you would feel like his best friend. And he kept in touch with EVERYONE.

To understand Mikey, you have to understand this crazy dream he had of serving in the Israeli Defense Forces. I've rarely met someone so determined, so crazily idealistic, so proud to wear his uniform. I cried at his swearing in ceremony, held at the Western Wall in Jerusalem, because it's not every day you get to watch someone realize a dream they've worked for so hard for years.

But you have to understand, Mikey was a different kind of friend to everyone who met him. He could talk forever into the wee hours of the night, about everything and nothing. I saw him only two weeks ago, and I can still hear his voice and his funny laugh echoing in my head. Perhaps Mikey's thousands of friends will recognize the Mikey I knew, but Mikey was such a chameleon and he could fit into any situation and be friends with everyone.

To understand Mikey, you have to understand how he lived--"crazy, not stupid," his sister always told him. But you also have to understand how he died. On Tuesday morning, Mikey's paratrooper unit was in the village of Ayla al-Shaab in southern Lebanon. As they were searching a building used by terrorist operatives, a Hizbullah terrorist surprised them and opened fire at close range. Michael Levin was killed instantly, along with two other soldiers from his unit. He was only 22.

We found his red Shoresh sandals when we were cleaning out his apartment, trying to make it easier for his parents and roommate. They still smell terrible and they still have the imprint of Mikey's toes. It was only when I saw those smelly sandals, without Mikey in them, that I finally understood he was gone. Hearing so many stories about Mikey since we got the news made it seem like he was coming back from the army next week. I was still having trouble talking about him in the past tense. But seeing those empty sandals, you have to understand, meant I couldn't pretend any more.

Yesterday I bought my own pair of red Shoresh sandals. They're smaller, and cleaner, and they don't smell nearly as bad. Every time I look at them I think of Mikey and smile, remembering all the crazy stories and silly stories and stupid things we did together.

Because to understand Mikey, you have to understand his smelly red Shoresh sandals.

more sad news

date: Aug 2, 2006 6:08 AM
subject: more sad news

Dear Friends and Family,

I didn't think I'd have to write another e-mail like this for a long time, if ever. Yesterday afternoon Michael Levin z"l, one of my best friends from kibbutz ulpan at Kvutzat Yavneh, the guy we climbed the grain tower with and went hay jumping with and barbeques and nights out in Jerusalem and 4:00 in the morning talks about soul mates, was killed in southern Lebanon. He was only 22.

For the first time in my life I don't even have words to explain this... everything feels so surreal. To see another friend's face staring up from the front page of the paper (and a terrible picture because none of us would talk to the newspapers before we talked to his parents). Please watch the news in the states and tell me what it says about him. He was an oleh (immigrant) from Philadelphia. He was our friend.
http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?cid=1153292058280&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull

Those of you here in Israel and the states please stay safe and cherish every moment. I just don't know what else to say
-Melanie

why you, mikey, why of all people did it have to be you???