Game On

There have been few occasions when I have felt that I was a part of something truly special, something truly selective, something truly elite. Today was one of those occasions.

Winning a state championship in baseball, being a Wendy's High School Heisman nominee, and Chairman for one of the nation's top College Republican chapters are all honors that I deeply cherish. But the third day of September in 2009 will forever be a day that I regard as confirmation that I have a niche on this planet. God willing it will be used for His purpose.

Two dozen students gathered at the Carter Building following the end of the Ulpan session and a week of pure Hebrew hell (no pun intended). Some of the students I knew. Others I did not. My roommates Ryan and Dominique (the Quebec Cowboy!), Dustin (Big D aka Delta Charlie), Huoshin, and Titus (former Marine and all-around badass) were among those present.

The Master's students for Tel Aviv University's MAMEH program had been assembled for lunch and orientation. After five weeks, we were finally being shown the true nature of the journey we had embarked upon. It could have easily been mistaken for the General Assembly of the United Nations. The United States, Germany, Canada, the Netherlands, Australia, Taiwan, Denmark, and Lithuania were all represented. And that was just the people I had met. There is little doubt that other nationalities were also amongst us.

From the United States, the full spectrum was brandished and on display. Missouri, Oklahoma, Iowa, New York, Washington, and Alabama represented the "stars and bars." The gravity of this achievement foisted itself into my mind as we were led to a hitherto unknown and exceedingly nice restaurant on campus.

The Overseas Student Program (OSP) directors escorted us inside. As we sauntered into the dining area, it became apparent that it had been set up exclusively for our arrival. The tables were set with an assembly line of waiters and waitresses ready to take our orders.

Dustin, Huoshin, and I took seats at the middle table. We were joined by a trio of other students: a guy from New York, a girl from Lithuania, and a girl from Denmark. The head of the OSP and the head of Tel Aviv University's Iranian Studies department, Dr. David Menashri, also sat down at our table. The lunch had already been fully paid for, but we were able to select from items that included glazed salmon with pecans (sold!), leg of lamb, and beef kabobs.

Introductions were made. The New York native, Jared, was quick to inform us that he was working with FOX News' Middle East bureau. My interest was immediately piqued seeing as how his bosses are Mike Tobin and Reena Ninan--familiar faces to anyone who routinely watches FOX.

Tal, the head of the OSP, and Dr. Menashri introduced themselves. Little did I know that one of the world's leading experts on Iran was literally sitting right across the table. A quick Google search gives one some 9,000 returns on the man, articles he has had published in Foreign Affairs, and his myriad of books to be found on Amazon.

"I've stepped into an inter-dimensional time rift." I thought.

Not a moment after that the conversation took a decided turn for the worse. As they began to serve our food, Jared steered the conversation toward the South, Brown v. Board of Education, and the usual ignorant mantra and questions aimed at those with the "funny accent." Dustin was pretty immersed in his meal, shoveling it down as if it was his last one. Huoshin seemed content to talk with the girl from Denmark. So for the better part of five minutes, I was left to fend for myself. Even Tal seemed to have preconceived notions divorced from reality.

I'm not one to claim that prejudices don't exist back home. I know better. But I have a very difficult time listening to people pretend they know better when they haven't even been to the South. And I have an exceptionally difficult time listening to people pretend they have the moral high ground when they come from places with "Little China," "Little Italy," and barrios. This wasn't so much Jared's commentary as much as the implications of the conversation itself. When I raised this point, Tal suggested that because the South has fewer minorities than the North (uh...what?) that explained why such monikers and divisions existed in the North.

Perhaps a better explanation is that the South is no more prejudiced than anywhere else? Or, perish the thought, perhaps the South is LESS prejudiced today than the "cosmopolitan" and "cultured" East and West Coasts?

"Let me just put it like this. I enjoy perpetuating the stereotype. Anytime I travel outside of the South, people make assumptions based off my accent."

"How do you perpetuate the stereotype?" Jared inquired.

"Why do you perpetuate it?" Tal fired on his heels.

I paused for a brief moment, reflective of the fact that I was speaking with the head of my program.

"Because if I talk slow, throw in a drawl, and act like I have a narrow worldview, then people instantly assume I'm stupid." I looked at Tal and smiled. "And I'd rather people assume that than know the truth."

He seemed puzzled. The irony was amusing. And that was the end of that discussion.

Dr. Menashri excused himself from the table as one of the program directors asked him to stand up and say a few words about the coming semester. He was followed by two other professors. What transpired from these three men was a brutal truth that I had heard weeks earlier from Dustin who had in turn heard it after tapping into the grapevine.

The truth was that the sheer intensity of the program, especially the first semester, would separate the wheat from the chaff. Most of us, we were told, would not make it. The last batch of students in the MAMEH program had a ten percent graduation rate. That meant that of all of us in the room, only three would walk away in two years having acquired our degree.

"That's a higher attrition rate than the Navy SEALS..." I mused silently. "And the SEALs are a helluva lot cooler."

I looked around the room and immediately wondered who the other two graduates would be. I then turned to the syllabus and saw where the "metal hit the meat."

Mondays: Hebrew from 8:00-10:00 a.m., Selected Topics in the Modern History of the Middle East from 10:15 a.m.-12:00 p.m., Arabic from 12:15 p.m.-2:00 p.m., and Selected Topics in Islamic History from 2:15-6:00 p.m.

Tuesdays: Hebrew in the morning and History of the Ottoman Empire from 10:15 a.m.-2:00 p.m.

Wednesdays: More Hebrew. Middle East History. Arabic.

Thursdays: More Hebrew. More Arabic.

Dr. Hakim, our Arabic instructor, smiled darkly as he discussed his class.

"You will be crying on my shoulder and then I will teach you Arabic. You will break your teeth in this program. You will have to." He then promptly pulled out a cigarette and walked outside to light up.

And that was pretty much the orientation.

The lunch wound down over coffee, dessert, and dampened conversation about the future. Dustin looked excited and ready for the challenge. Tal bid us farewell and promised we'd be seeing plenty of him after the end of the Hebrew Ulpan. As he walked away, I found myself unusually tense, realizing for the first time that I was not just representing myself over here. The level of bigotry, disdain, and dismissal toward Southerners was beyond anything I could have imagined.

Jared handed out his business card to Dustin and I as he discussed life working at FOX. Admittedly, I wasn't listening. We were the last three students to leave the restaurant. I thanked the waitress in Hebrew and strolled toward the door doing my best not to grin as I gathered my thoughts on all that had occurred during lunch.

I stepped out into the sunlight as the topic switched over to George Carlin. During our "discussion" of the South, Jared had asked me if I was on a mission over here. Images and words of President Bush's joint address to Congress following the 9/11 attacks flooded my mind.

"...we will not tire, we will not falter, we will not fail."

Yea, Jared. You could say that.