OY VEY

One of the most common phrases in my lexicon is "Oy vey." It simply pops out whenever I'm rendered utterly reflexive by benign disappointment. It just happens. I grew up surrounded by Jewish people in my family and in New York City. It's safe to say that of the major religions, Judaism is the most pervasive in my life. And, while I am not Jewish (my mother is not of Jewish descent nor was I brought up in synagogue) religiously speaking, it is more than clear to me that I am Jewish culturally speaking. In fact, most of my Jewish family and friends have said that they have never thought of me as goyem but rather as one of the tribes... though my particular tribe may be the lesser-known (outside the Upper West) Zabaar's.

The friend of my Brazilian Angel's who I happen to want as my Mentor invited me out for lunch a few weeks ago. My Mentor, my Brazilian Angel and I all went out to lunch at one of the thousands of malls downtown.

We took our seats with my Brazilian Angel and Mentor facing me. Just as we were about to start eating, my Brazilian Angel looked up over my shoulder.

"Oooh, look at those American girls," my Brazilian Angel said in the tone of voice that teases the recipient about the fact that they look sexy.

My mentor looked up at the women behind my back and raised her eyebrows. "Oooh, yes. Look at those American girls!" She exclaimed.

I, being one to rile against presumptions that anyone is from any country given the state of history and how bloody it has been, was about to get all riled up and lecture my two friends on how "It's not nice to presume someone is from somewhere! What if they're Canadian? They wouldn't appreciate your assumptions very much." To make my case, I turned around to take in what I knew would be a myriad of visual cues that might imply another country.

At which point I saw precisely WHY my girlfriends thought the girls were American. They had "Paris Hilton" scrawled all over them.

Defeated, I turned around and said, "Oy vey." I didn't think about it. I just said it.

"What did you say?" My mentor asked.

"What," I said, not realizing I had spoken outside of my disappointed sigh.

"Did you say 'Oy vey'?" She asked, determined.

I paused and replayed the moment in my head. "Yes. Yes, I did."

"Why did you say 'oy vey'?"

"Because those girls are SO American. I mean..." I spoke and was cut off.

"How do you know 'oy vey'?"

"I'm from New York. My mother's first husband and their son, my older brother, are Polish/Israeli Jews. My brother's grandma was in New York when I was growing up so I think of her as my grandma too. Not to mention, that whole extended family was there too. I never went to synagogue but all the holidays we celebrated with my grandma."

"So, you are Jewish."

"My mom's not. So, no. I'm kind of a proud shiksa."

"But your grandmother is Jewish. You practice the customs, so you are Jewish." My mentor said in the inclusive, familial way that my Jewish family has always embraced my mother, my brother and me despite what should be outsider status.

Shyly, I smiled. It is how I see myself- a secular Jew or "Jew-ish" as many of my friends say- and it was really nice to have someone else who understands the rules see me like that too. "Yeah, that's true."

And then we had the inevitable Shoah discussion.

After that, my Mentor apologized to me about not having included me in the past year's worth of Jewish celebrations and she promised that I would be invited to anything happening during Rosh Hashanah.

Reflexively, I was about to demure when I thought how nice it would be to have those customs back in my life. I had figured all references to religion, no matter how secular, were simply to be checked at the door in China. Now, I not only had the chance to re-embrace the cycles I grew up with but I would be re-embracing them with nomadic, secular, Polish/Israeli Jews; my kind of Jews. What can I say? It's family to me. "Okay, that would be really great. I would really like that." I said and smiled, really, truly happy.

We talked a little more about family and history and then my Mentor laughed.

"What?" I asked.

"All because of 'oy vey'!"

I smiled too. I used to get teased that it made me sound like an old rabbi when I said "oy vey" but it's always just felt natural. It has always served me in good stead and now it has even served as some sort of secret handshake.

Having discovered a Jewish circle in China felt really good and I have since been making friends within that circle that has been marked by one distinctive trait; we are all very similar. It's amazing to have so much in common with foreigners. I've been out to lunch with several of the Israelis and we've all just clicked. I never knew how much of my temperament I owed to New York, my extended family and the Torah in general but my god, it's a lot.

The day before the sunset marking the beginning of Rosh Hashanah, I texted my Mentor to wish her a happy New Year. She called me right back and invited me to dinner to celebrate. I immediately accepted, finished work, hopped in a cab and did my best to find the restaurant.

My cab driver didn't really know the area so he dropped me off on the right street but with a street with several different restaurants on it. I had the exact address but there were no numbers on the buildings and no one around (it was a busy street) knew the numbers to the buildings either. Unfortunately, my instructions were in pinyin, not characters, which narrowed down my search to three different restaurants on the street.

I ended up walking back and forth on the street once and then I called my Mentor. We tried to sort out where I was and finally we got me found. I went into the restaurant and up to the room where we were to be seated.

Upon entering the first room that had been reserved, I was met with a flood of gorgeous twenty-something men who were all Western of varying countries but all of whom were "single." I was introduced as "the girl from America I have told all of you about" by my Mentor. It was really lovely and I was in heaven surrounded by all those single men curious about me.

And then, about thirty seconds after I was introduced to one man from Turkey, he looked at me and said, "I saw you outside, on the street" with mild surprised.

I took one look at him and all I could think was "I fucking hate meeting single men so far out of my league." My mouth, however, said, "Yes. I was lost. I wasn't sure which restaurant and I couldn't find my way."

He looked at me in that way that made me realize he wasn't really talking about the logistics of my finding the restaurant, more that I had struck him. "Yes, you were outside," he said again, more to himself than me.

Tearing myself away from a man I'd never have a chance with, I turned to meet the other unbelievably gorgeous men. We all greeted each other warmly and I settled into the comfort of common social rules.

It was just about then that the man from Turkey's large, warm eyes and steady gaze struck me. He had not stopped watching me since we shook hands. He was watching me to take me in, not simply to see me. "Shit. It's that gaze again," I thought and knew immediately that I was in trouble.

I flushed and looked away. I'm not very adept at handling these sorts of things at first blush so I just sort of avoid them. Usually, my nerves assure that he will quickly lose interest.

Not so much this time.

Our party, having grown too large to be accommodated by the original room was switched to another room. I made the conscious effort to speak to the people other than the man from Turkey because all I wanted to do was talk to the man from Turkey. I always figure my desire will be more than self-evident and that I should make every effort to counteract my selfish drives. I'm also terrified of being labeled "that girl" you invite to parties and always spends her time hooking up with some dude instead of being social and entertaining. My social life is so fragile and new and this social circle is so precious to me that I don't want to ruin it by turning myself into some brazen hussy on the first major get together with everyone. However, it would appear that you can't fight your own nature.

When we got to the new room, the Turk immediately gestured for me to sit by him and I did, out of pure reflex. We sat down and started talking. He informed me he was starving as he was in the middle of a fasting.

"Really? How long?" I asked, as it seemed odd to me that a Jew would be fasting during Rosh Hashanah being that Rosh Hashanah is sort of like Mardi Gras before Yom Kippur and Yom Kippur being the time of fasting.

"29 days" he told me.

"29?!" I know some Jewish people fast for more than a single day but that, to my knowledge, is all around Yom Kippur, not Rosh Hashanah. "That positively Catholic," I declared, teasing him.

"Really? Are you Catholic?" He asked clearly ignorant of all things Catholic.

"No," I said, confused how a Westerner wouldn't get the overly-self-punishing Catholic reference.

"Are you Jewish?" He asked.

"Secularly." I said. "And you?" I asked, suspecting there might be more to this conversation that I originally thought.

"I am Muslim," he said smiling.

"You observe Ramadan?" I asked, inanely, trying to cover my surprise at having just met a Muslim at this Zionist feast. I can't help but have the somewhat inappropriate question, "Why is this boy different from all other boys?" pop into my head.

"Yes," he answered, smiling again at my curiosity.

I was stunned, nay FUCKING FLOORED, that he was there and that he was neither arrogant nor apologetic about his religion. Clearly an observant Muslim as he was refusing to eat meat or drink beer once the sun was down, I was left to wonder how on earth it was that he didn't find anything amiss in a sea of Israeli Rosh Hashanah.

"Yes," my Mentor said. "When is Ramadan this year?"

The Turk answered her as I drifted out of the conversation. Here I was, amongst the Chosen people and my company was a Muslim who actively chose to sit with those of us with intimate ties to Israel. He had said, "I am Muslim" like Allah and Yahweh are brothers whose kids love to hang out together. I glanced around the room, uncertain why he was completely unaffected by the room full of Israelis. Rationally, I know that the Qu'ran is quite supportive of the Chosen people; most commonly treating them like cousins. However, that is not quite how things have played out in the current political climate. And yet, this man was there, hugging and kissing and embracing like family, Israeli Jews. In fact, our Chai-wearing hostess was his adoptive mother, declaring, "he is my son" and the Muslim who lost his own mother at 13 gratefully accepted with a big hug. He even went so far as to explain "I can eat meat killed by Jewish people or by Muslims. Both are okay but if the animal is not treated the way the Jews and Muslims do, then I cannot eat it." His comfort with the fluidity of religion while remaining comfortably, clearly in his own just amazed me.

"I have so much left to learn." I thought.

As my Turk and my Mentor finished their conversation he turned back to me and smiled the sort of smile that makes a girl's toes curl. We went back to talking and joking with each other. He is quite the prankster and he told me about several of his hilarious pranks.

A few moments later, the waitress showed up to add one more seat to our circular table, placing the chair right between the two of us. Before she managed to get the chair in place, my Turk deftly took the chair from her and planted himself in it.

"May I ask for your phone number?" He then asked quietly, not five minutes into our sitting together.

"Sure" I smiled, probably a bit to eagerly but dear god, I'm only human.

As I dug into my bag to hand him my cell to have him call himself because I never remember my phone number, we started talking about the ways we learn. Quickly, I learned that he knows a multitude of languages and can learn a language quite fluently in a single year. He speaks Turkish, Arabic, Mandarin, English (all quite fluently) and starting next year he'll learn Russian. It's been a long time since I've met someone whose brain I just wanted to crawl into and poke around for a bit but every time he opened his mouth, that's all I wanted with increasing urgency.

Unable to think of anything but him, I made the conscious effort to occasionally engage the table in conversation. At one point, I had a cross-table conversation with one of the wives about my history. She asked the usual what-do-you-do-in-real-life questions and then she dropped a bit of a bomb.

"And how did you two meet?"

I paused for a moment. "Huh," I asked as she gestured to my Turk and I. It seemed an odd question to be aimed at Turk and I. After all, we had just met. I was quite certain she must have meant my Mentor who was sitting to my Turk's right while I was to his left.

"You two, how did you meet? I was wondering what the story behind you two meeting was." She made it very clear she meant Turk and I.

Surprised, I turned to Turk wide-eyed. I was pleased by the notion that people were certain we were a couple but also a bit nervous because as soon as I think things are going well, that is precisely when they fall apart.

He smiled broadly, not taking his eyes from me as he answered her, "Here. We just met tonight." Had he not been projecting his voice, I would have thought he was talking only to me.

It was just enough to pull me from my nervousness and regain my composure. "Yes, we've only just met." I said, smiling and returning to the lovely woman.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you two came together."

Smiling I shook my head, "No."

"Oh." She said and then promptly turned to her husband to let us have more time together.

After that, the evening was a blur of intimate conversation and jokes with Turk. Every once and a while, I would turn back from an outside conversation to see him check me out. And I must say, there's nothing like a cute boy's attention to boost a girl's ego.

At some point he took of his jacket to reveal that not only is he smart, kind, handsome and funny but he has a body to end all bodies. It's not so much that he's very well muscled naturally (which is nice, I gotta admit, but it never last much beyond the momentary, "Dear god, look at that!") but that his bone structure is broader than mine. My hands disappear in his and his hands are stronger than mine. His shoulders are broader than mine and he's not appropriately sized by Chinese standards. Seeing the breadth of his shoulders was breathtaking and as he slid his jacket off, he spoke.

"I should be a gentleman and give you my jacket but I don't think you're cold."

I smiled and shook my head. "No, but thanks for the thought." Though, rest assured, had the room not been sweltering, I would have taken him up on it just to be wrapped in his dizzying scent.

After a year of being surrounded by beautiful works of art that I would worry about my capacity for hurting them if I ever really let go, here was a man built larger than I. There's nothing delicate about him. He's all sorts of rugged and for the first time in a very long time I felt distinctly, physically feminine even with my tomboyish tendencies. It was the first time in a long time that I didn't feel like I was looking at an equal but at someone who could keep me safe, even if he's five and a half years my junior.

What a lovely thing.

He made lots of self-deprecating jokes and lots of comments about how I "will see" about various aspects of his life. It was such a relief to once again be around a man taught to be aggressive. I'm so tired of the men here demurring at the slightest suggestion that I won't commit to marriage upon the first conversation. The women in China really need to be the aggressors, hacking themselves to bits in order to prove their willingness to marry even before the first conversation. I'm just not built for that. Hell, I'm not built to make the first phone call much less lay myself out to prove I'll do anything to marry him before I know his full name.

"Have you ever been married?" He asked quietly and awkwardly towards the end of the evening. I got the sense that he knew he might be crossing a line but his desire to know overcame his sense of propriety. It was, in fact, the first really intimate question he had asked me all night.

"No." I answered, laughing at the absurdity of me having done something so profoundly monumental as get married. I can't commit to a career; how on earth could I have committed to a man on such a grand scale? My relationships all nose-dive long before romantic whisperings of commitment have had a chance to take root. Frankly, I'm such a fucking mess and far too willful for my own good that it's not a surprise that I haven't gotten it together enough to be married/significantly coupled/whatever before 30.

I then thought how much I thought about myself in that answer. I have not reflected on my relationship state in public for quite some time. To be fair, it was the first time in a long time that question was about me. No one here wants to know about me; they want to about the opportunities I will provide them. It is literally the second question asked of me by everyone here. (The first being, "Where are you from?" People only get around to learning my name after extensive, intimate questioning aimed at me, followed by a solemn swear that I'll knock myself out to be friends.) That he waited until he had laid a fair amount of groundwork, waited until I was comfortable with our conversation and then even had the tact to be nervous about prying made the question feel far more intimate than it should have been.

Then he nodded, followed by the smallest, warmest smile for reasons I have no interest in guessing but I do know it made me glow.

At that point dinner had wrapped up and people were moving about to talk with each other and I had to use the restroom. I excused myself, found the restroom, splashed some cold water on my face, fixed my hair and tried to regain my senses. I did the usual stare-at-yourself-in-the-mirror-in-order-to-will-your-reason-back thing.

It didn't work as well as I had hoped but I figured it was time to get back to my seat before they sent a search party looking for me.

As I came back to my seat, Turk was surrounded by my Mentor and our Hostess. They were smiling broadly and patting his shoulder happily. I was curious to know the conversation so I checked in as soon as my Mentor and our Hostess saw me. I was, however, to Turk's back.

"eh... dui... wo gao xin" ["Well, yes... I'm happy"] He replied in Chinese as Chinese seems to be the most comfortable language for he and our Hostess to use.

As I sat down, I caught Turk's attention. "Hello," I said to break the sudden silence that fell over them.

"And look at you! Now you're blushing!" Our Hostess proclaimed in English as my Mentor pinched his cheek. Nervously, Turk nodded and for the first time he didn't look at me but focused on the table.

We all talked a bit more and then he leaned over to whisper into my ear, which, let's be honest, made me swoon. I was actually glad I was sitting. I have a thing, a big thing, about my neck. It just makes me stupid when the right man (hell, even a not-too-wrong-man) puts his lips anywhere near it. My head spun so much it took me a moment to realize the hand he was using to support himself on the back of the seat of my chair was definitely pressed against my rear.

Ah, demonstrative action, how I have missed you!

"Do you think it would be very rude of me to leave now?" He asked as were finishing the end of dinner conversation. "I have to get up at 3 for prayers and food and it's already 10 and I have class tomorrow."

"Don't be silly. Go! You have class and have to get up very early. Go." I insisted.

"Really?" He asked, unsure.

"Really! You need your rest, especially if you're fasting." I pushed, making him smile.

He took one final look at me and then turned to our Hostess whispering that he needed to leave.

She looked at him and stroked his face, "Yes my love. Go. You must get up early tomorrow." It was such a lovely gesture between the two of them. I really wanted to hug them both right then and there. Turk stood to leave and I stood to say goodbye.

As I'm American, everyone shakes my hand at first blush so Turk took my hand and shook it. He then shook his head to himself and leaned in to bisous me and was met with my eager reception.

And then he said a fond farewell to the table. After a brief explanation for his need to leave posthaste, that's exactly what he did.

I sat down again to lots of conversation with my friends as our Hostess's husband came over to me.

When our Host finally had a moment alone with me, he spoke. "Welcome to the Middle East," our Host said to me quietly, as he looked at me knowingly. For a moment, the notion struck serious fear into my heart.

Nothing scares me like the Middle East because I, and all of us, have so much to lose there and I have seen what the horrors of the Middle East have to offer the people I love. But then, I realized what was going on at dinner was precisely what needs to be going on; a laying aside of differences and a sharing of life. The Rosh Hashanah feast was dictated by Turk's Muslim dietary restrictions. Turk's first food after sundown was my apple dipped in honey with the wish for a happy, healthy New Year; the symbolic food of the Jewish New Year. That tolerance and blending is precisely what the Middle East needs to be. Granted, it's rosy and idealistic but the future needs to start somewhere.

"L'Shana tova" I said to him in Hebrew. It is the traditional blessing of the New Year. It is a hope that your name shall be written in the book of life, as is what happens to all people who lead a good and exemplary life. Having the Jewish and Muslim faith break bread during the mutual New Year certainly seems like a monumental step in that direction.

As my Mentor and I were leaving the restaurant with her arm around my waist and my arm around her shoulders, she laughed, "All this because of 'oy vey'."

I laughed too. "Yeah, who knew?"

"You should write the story of how this was all because of 'oy vey'."

And so I did.

SCHOOL’S NOT SO OUT

Yesterday was the first day of school. This week, I’m going to work seven days straight and, to be totally honest, I’m perfectly fine with that. I mean, I’m not FINE with that but I’ve come to a grudging but peaceful resolution with my time here in China. I came home from work yesterday thinking about the fact that I did nothing but sob big, heaving sobs this time last year. I was so overwhelmed by the enormity of what I had done that I was completely wrecked.

However, this year, the worst that happened was that I was mildly annoyed at all the 35-year-old housewives who lectured me on the value of “young people working” when I told them why I couldn’t join in on their weekend plans. Women who’ve never known a day of work in their life feel that they can lecture me on the value of working hard at my young age. You know, because being thirty seconds older than me and never having had to do it themselves makes them infinitely wise in the area of work. Frankly, women who feel that having a child will “intrude” on their relationship rarely have little more than patience to teach me.

Desperate, foreign housewives aside, I’m quite content with my relationship with Xi'An. I came here in crisis over the politics of my homeland and I have come to see how truly not-bad things are at home. Yes, never before have we needed vaster improvements in our political shenanigans but the sentence “America is my home country” no longer strikes a disturbing array of “He’s my ex husband and she’s the mistress he left me for” emotions. In fact, I now occasionally introduce myself as “American” and not always “New Yorker.”

Last year, I was shrieking at the top of my lungs in each class, to no avail. This year, I merely need to look at my students and they quiet up. Last year I was trying to sort out how to get the airport every night; wondering what I could leave behind because I couldn’t manage getting all my stuff to the airport. This year, I’m trying to sort out how to fit Chinese and Gu Zheng (the 21-stringed Chinese lap harp/piano) lessons and their requisite studying into my gym routine. Last year I was afraid of most of the people I lived around; dreading their gossip and prying eyes. This year, they seem to be intimidated by me. Last year, I was quickly in love with China and her men. This year, I seem to have grown and affinity for French men. I’ve come to see just how well they do romance and how poorly they do reality here. This year, I’m relieved to be a foreigner. Yeah, this year will be infinitely easier.