In The Giver, there is a powerful moment when 12-year-old Jonas realizes that it's possible that all the adults in his life might be lying to him.
Jonas is informed that, given his future career path, he is allowed to lie.
"He had never, within his memory, been tempted to lie. Asher did not lie. Lily did not lie. His parents did not lie. No one did. Unless ...
Jonas is informed that, given his future career path, he is allowed to lie.
"He had never, within his memory, been tempted to lie. Asher did not lie. Lily did not lie. His parents did not lie. No one did. Unless ...
Now Jonas had a thought that he had never had before. This new
thought was frightening. What if others--adult-- had, upon becoming
Twelves, received in their instructions the same terrifying
sentence?
What if they had all been instructed: You may lie?
His mind reeled. Now, empowered to ask questions of utmost rudeness and promised answers--he could, conceivably (though it was almost unimaginable), ask someone, some adult, his father perhaps: "Do you lie?"
But he would have no way of knowing if the answer he received were true."
Very quickly, the foundation of our sanity crumbles when trust dissolves, or even is questioned.
In my experience institutions illuminate the uncomfortable wheedling distrust that Jonas feels by making everything official- by having us sign a paper every time we say "yes," "no" or "maybe so." That's why I've been curious and pleasantly surprised by the way interactions and transactions of all types here are characterized by trust.
I went to the book printer to get copies made of The Giver. I was short 80 NIS (more than $20) and the man at the shop just waved his hand, handed me the books, and said come back tomorrow.
When Nour, the administrative secretary of Ramallah Friends School, needed to reimburse me for my visa costs today, I didn't have the change she needed, and she just gave me the 300 NIH and said to bring me the change later.
Vegetable prices are so reasonable that I have the feeling, for the first time ever when in a new place, that I am not getting a "tourist" price. There is no song and dance about there being a special price for me, which actually makes me feel much more special.
On the other hand, every classroom, office, closet and bathroom is under lock and key at school. My keychain quadrupled in size on my first day.
What if they had all been instructed: You may lie?
His mind reeled. Now, empowered to ask questions of utmost rudeness and promised answers--he could, conceivably (though it was almost unimaginable), ask someone, some adult, his father perhaps: "Do you lie?"
But he would have no way of knowing if the answer he received were true."
Very quickly, the foundation of our sanity crumbles when trust dissolves, or even is questioned.
In my experience institutions illuminate the uncomfortable wheedling distrust that Jonas feels by making everything official- by having us sign a paper every time we say "yes," "no" or "maybe so." That's why I've been curious and pleasantly surprised by the way interactions and transactions of all types here are characterized by trust.
I went to the book printer to get copies made of The Giver. I was short 80 NIS (more than $20) and the man at the shop just waved his hand, handed me the books, and said come back tomorrow.
When Nour, the administrative secretary of Ramallah Friends School, needed to reimburse me for my visa costs today, I didn't have the change she needed, and she just gave me the 300 NIH and said to bring me the change later.
Vegetable prices are so reasonable that I have the feeling, for the first time ever when in a new place, that I am not getting a "tourist" price. There is no song and dance about there being a special price for me, which actually makes me feel much more special.
On the other hand, every classroom, office, closet and bathroom is under lock and key at school. My keychain quadrupled in size on my first day.
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