Plane ride musings

In some ways, a long plane ride is a perfect way to transition from one experience to another.  As the plane gained speed down the runway I wanted to scream “slow down!” like I did the first time I rode the log ride in the Wisconsin Dells.  I distinctly remember us in our little fiberglass log, slowly climbing, climbing, higher and higher, ever nearing our impending fall, and all I could think about was how terrified I was of falling, so I tried desperately to plead with anyone who would listen to stop the ride!  Let me off! 

But the plane was cleared for take off and in the air we went. 

So many miles in the air, so far away from the cities and fields and streams and deserts of either of my homes, it’s easy to feel disconnected from them both.  Sitting in this metal cocoon shooting through the sky, distance is created for me, an ending made and a different life renewed.  I am leaving Israel.  I am going to the United States.  I left one life behind and am on my way to continue the one I put on pause five months ago…

…from before I fell in love.

I’m not that old, so it goes without question that I remember the first time I fell in love.  I remember how terrified I was to utter those words to that boy but how satisfied I was once I heard it and how I silently let a tear or two drip down my cheek when he said it back that night over the phone.  I remember how, for the first time, I really trusted my gut and let myself express what my heart was trying desperately to tell my brain through its pulsing Morse code.

Now I’ve fallen in love a second time and not with a single person but a whole society, a country.  In five months (or more if you include my first trip there), I fell in love with tall, dark, and handsome men.  I fell in love with wide-eyed black-haired women.  I fell in love with frolicking care-free children.  I fell in love with old, wrinkled, smiling faces who’ve weathered war and peace and cared for so many children as their own.  I fell in love with strangers on the street and taxi drivers and produce sellers and security guards.

And I think they love me, too.

I suppose it doesn’t matter how or with whom you fall in love because the feeling itself comes from the same place – somewhere deep and secretive, rarely revealed but always waiting to be seen.  So why don’t we let it free more often?  Because it’s terrifying.  Just when you think you have it all figured it out, Love sneaks up on you and messes things up, puts thoughts in your head to which you never paid heed, and shakes your world just enough to make you lose your balance.

Then again, common sense should tell me that like any new relationship this is just infatuation, pure and simple, and when I get home I’ll realize where my heart really lies and leave it at that.  I’ll continue living my life as I’d planned it originally: become a high school music teacher, marry a nice Jewish boy from a suburb with a strong Jewish community, have a few kids, and spend all the major Jewish holidays and celebrations with my family.

Then again, man makes plans and God laughs.

A whirlwind end to the trip of a lifetime

In the spirit of full disclosure and record-keeping, I present to you a summary of my final travel experiences in Israel.  I’m not even going to pretend to lie and label it a “short” summary.  Hah!  Brevity has never been my strong suit.

Friday morning I finished packing and met a friend for a goodbye lunch then left the kibbutz around 1:30 pm.  A man stopped for me outside the kibbutz and brought me straight to the train station, talking to me in Hebrew the whole way and complimenting me on my own apparently-impressive command of the language (“Five months?  How wonderful!”).  My distant cousin (second cousin once removed, to be precise) picked me up from the train station, along with her mom and brother who arrived on the same train.  Her mom and brother live in the U.S. but had come to visit in Israel, and that night for dinner we were joined by the other sibling and his boyfriend.  As it turns out, not only do I have family in Israel but they have three adorable children whose grandmother lives close to where I go to school.  Needless to say the distant family is not so distant anymore.

I spent Shabbat with my family, playing Monkey in the Middle with the young girls (which is called “hamor b’emtzah” – “donkey in the middle” - in Hebrew), spending some time at a nearby kibbutz’s pool, and sharing a mix of Hebrew and English with them all.  Saturday night we all went to a bookstore then got ice cream and I took pictures of the kids. 

Sunday morning my cousin took me to the bus stop and I rode a bus PACKED with soldiers going back to their bases after the weekend.  Now, when I say packed, I mean there was only enough room for me to stand in the middle of the isle.  Thank goodness Israeli bus drivers can’t go longer than an hour and a half without a break; instead of spending all three hours standing in the middle of a mass of sleeping soldiers, I was able to get a new spot sitting in the isle next to the bus driver – much better situation for my motion sickness.

I got to Kiryat Shmona where an exuberant lady from the busy rushed me around and helped me find what bus I needed next then sat me down where I needed to be and told me to wait, the next bus would be there in 45 minutes.  When the bus came I found five other girls who were going to the same state park as me – known as “The Banias” – and I tagged along with them from the kibbutz that was our starting point.  From Kibbutz Snir we walked the three km to the Hermon Stream Nature Park and Reserve, rested a bit and ate some lunch, then went through the park where we saw a most beautiful waterfall.

After leaving the park I hitchhiked back to Kiryat Shmona.  Again, the man who drove me was incredibly nice (if not a little sketchy), and before dropping me off exactly where I needed to be he gave me his phone number with the strict instructions to call him should I need any help at all.  I didn’t, but the offer was appreciated.

I spent the night with a guy I found through CouchSurfing.  He is a 27-year-old student, hiker, traveler, and mountain climber, and greeted me at his door with a hug.  I made myself at home, took a shower, we talked, then I took a nap while he studied for his exams this week.  We prepared a stir fry to share for dinner, talked some more, then I passed out from exhaustion.

Monday morning I took an 8:00 bus from Kiryat Shmona to Tel Aviv (three hours, this time with a real seat) and walked around the city for seven hours.  I went to a hummussia and hung out there for about an hour since I got into a conversation with a young guy from Darfur who recently came to Israel to go to school.  I also spent some time in Shuk HaCarmel where I bought a touristy t-shirt, helped some non-Hebrew-speaking women buy a ½-kilo of figs, and met a guy who just came back from a couple years in Lebanon teaching history and who will be going to the same university as me in the States next year.

When the train landed me back in Rehovot last night I was absolutely exhausted and I called the couple who I’d planned on staying with that night, the son and daughter-in-law of a couple I know on the kibbutz.  Well, they were all going to their parents’ for dinner and betach (of course!) I was invited, so I went there and feasted on homemade pizza and cheesy potato salad with one of my adopted families.  Since all my luggage was at their house anyway (his son hadn’t picked it up since I dropped it off there on Friday), I stayed with his parents instead.  His mother kissed and hugged me and took plenty good care of me, his dad gave me practical advice on traveling around the globe, and when I left they made sure I knew that if I’m ever in Israel with my own family we are all invited for dinner at their house.  You hear that, Mom and Dad?  You have a dinner invitation in Kibbutz Na’an.

Finally this morning, after a hearty breakfast and last goodbyes, my favorite taxi driver and friend picked me up and drove me to the airport where we exchanged thank you’s and I’ll miss you’s and tentative plans to get together when he’s vacationing in the U.S. next month.  That one might actually come to fruition!  Either way, we’ll be friends on Facebook and I know that the next time I’m in Israel he’ll be the first one I call when I need a ride.

And that was that.  I got in the airport, through luggage and passport control and security, and I got on a plane.  And miraculously, the plane is not over capacity even with all my memories and emotions from the best five months of my life.

I'm not alone

I recently discovered a blog written by a women named Maya who made aliyah (moved to Israel) and writes about "How to be Israeli," giving tips and stories and fascinating insights into life in Israel and all its quirks.  (This is the blog that had a post about Israeli pickles which I referenced in my last post.)  She started the blog in 2009 and unfortunately hasn't written since last December, perhaps because she finally feels completely Israeli.  Congratulations to her!

I find her blog hilarious and intriguing because she writes about many of the same things I've either written about or thought.  When I read a post about how to drive like an Israeli entitled "Everyone ELSE on the road is an idiot," I kept mentally pointing at the computer screen while my inner dialogue shouted "That's so true!  That's exactly what they do!"  I may have even legitimately laughed out loud.  Her list of Things *NOT* to do if you want to seem Israeli made me chuckle and then feel a little sheepish as I realized I've actually done some of those things (ignorant American tourist that I am), and her post entitled "How do you pronounce שופרסל?" seemed to read my mind as I, too, have been wondering how to pronounce the name of the giant grocery store chain for five months.

In addition to her sense of humor and fluid, conversational writing style, I love her blog because when I read it I feel like I'm sharing an inside joke, laughing and wondering about all the curiosities of Israeli life from that unique perspective of an outsider spending some time as an insider.  It also gives credence to the things I've been noticing and questioning as if to say "Yeah, I saw that, too.  And I totally know what you're talking about!"

Hers is not the only blog of this sort.  A number of months ago I came across comedian Benji Lovitt's blog that makes a very similar commentary on Israeli life minus the "How to."  His yearly list of things he loves about Israel is especially hilarious to me.

Unfortunately, I realize that many of these things I'm finding hysterical and spot-on are things I may not be able to share with my family and friends who haven't been in Israel, much like how people outside Wisconsin simply don't get what's so important about cheese curds and bubblers (talk about a couple things I definitely can't get in Israel).  In coming here, temporarily living here, and finding my way around this vibrant, hilarious, and confounding culture, I feel as if I have been initiated into a not-so-secret society.  And with that membership comes access to all its inside jokes.

The thing I wonder, though, is if Israelis recognize this or if this is one of those things that only visitors and olim chadashim (new immigrants) talk about.  Do Israelis joke about their own tempers and lack of customer service?  Do they laugh about things that seem inherently funny to me, like English words and names adopted by Hebrew and used in their signs, like the Israeli fast-food chain Burgeranch?  (Never mind the fact that Israelis probably don't know what a "ranch" actually is, and they certainly don't have them here.)  There is no doubt that Israelis have a sense of humor and are constantly making fun of themselves and their lives, but I wonder if, for instance, a native Israeli would read blogs like Maya's and Benji's and find the same humor that I do.

If the blogosphere is any indication then there is a fairly significant community of non-native Israelis who like to comment on Israeli culture.  Apparently I'm not the only one who finds this country fascinating and worth writing about.  Little did I know that when I came here I would not just be joining the community that is Israel, but also the community of non-native Israelis and foreigners who love this country and notice all its faults, foibles, and feats with a loving and accepting eye.

I also wonder if this kind of community exists for new immigrants to other countries.  Are Hispanic immigrants to the U.S. laughing in Spanish about all the funny things in American culture?  Have Americans living in Europe created online communities to discuss and commiserate over those things that are shocking to the American system and psyche?

Or is Israel just that awesome?

The Many Faces of Israel

Just when I think I know what Israel looks like, I travel to some new corner of this unbelievably tiny country and discover some new facet of its incredibly varied landscape.  I love those moments!

Today the Ulpan had its last day trip, this time to the furthest reaches of the country.  We left the kibbutz shortly after 6:00 AM and drove north, stopping once for a picnic breakfast before arriving in Metula, the northernmost moshavah (like a moshav but even more closely resembling a small town).  In Metula, which is essentially nestled in the borders of Lebanon.  Not necessarily the most comfortable situation, but at least they've got border patrol to help make sure no unsavory people wander into their pretty moshav (and I'm not talking about the Lebanese - there are unsavory Israelis, too).

Nahal Hatzbani

We spent very little time there before heading to Nahal Snir, also called Nahal Hatzbani (the latter is the Arabic name) where we hiked along and through the river on a short path.  I think it took us less than a couple hours but it was fun and absolutely beautiful, yet again.  This time the river was much larger and stronger than the ones I've been on previously, and had a number of small waterfalls feeding it from the sides. This was the kind of place I would love to see with a little more solitude.  Maybe someday...

Jordan River

After taking a dip in the river at the end of the trail, we went back to the bus, changed quickly so as not to drench the seats, then made the short drive to the Jordan River for kayaking.  With the exception of one itty-bitty little fall of about a meter, the river was wide and calm and rather forgiving when most of us had no idea how to paddle the large rafts.  I'll admit, I thought my paddling skills were pretty decent considering my experience paddling canoes from my camp days, but a raft is not a canoe and four people in a boat is different than two.  Alas, we did get turned around a couple times.

Upon reaching the finish line we piled out of our rafts and kayaks and enjoyed a lunch buffet of salads and fresh pizza cooked on-site.  Our Ulpan director is all about surprises and we were all content with this day's tasty surprise.  So we sufficiently stuffed our faces, changed into dryer clothes, then got on the bus and fell asleep for the three-hour ride back home.

Jump in!

In an effort to get as much out of my last few weeks here, a friend and I went on a great trip Friday afternoon through Saturday to the Nahal El Al (El Al Stream) in the southern Golan Heights, near the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee).  On Friday we rented a car, drove to a campsite near the hiking trail, pitched a tent and enjoyed a dinner of grilled hot dogs and peppers with a bottle of wine and a loaf of challah (it was Shabbat, after all), and copious amounts of conversation ranging a wide variety of topics both erudite and mundane, philosophical, introspective, and just plain fun.

Mapal Shachor

The next day we had a light breakfast then packed up and headed to the beginning of the Nahal El Al trail.  Being a weekend the trail was packed with hikers and families seeking a dip in the cool waters of the stream.  We started by descending into the river's ravine then hiked along its bank - fighting thistles and reeds the whole way - until we reached the first of two waterfalls, the Mapal Shachor (Black waterfall).  The area surrounding the pool was crowded with people and we eagerly joined them, though had to scale a rock wall to do it (thank goodness for metal handles driven into the stone).  My friend wasted no time in wading into the frigid water, and I hesitantly followed him.  Finally he convinced me to jump in, so I stripped to my swimsuit, left my camera at a safe distance from the water, and after a little more convincing, submerged.

It was freezing, but absolutely wonderful.  Do you know, this is the first time I have ever swam in a waterfall-fed pool of fresh water?  It was amazing!

I made the jump!  (Even though my
friend couldn't get evidence
of the jump itself.)

We got out, dried off a bit, then continued on our hike until we reached another deep pool further along the river.  Here, the best way in was to jump from the rocks on the side directly to the middle of the pool which was just deep enough to do a decent cannonball.  Again, it took a little convincing, but I managed to add yet another first to my growing list of experiences in Israel: jumping into a natural pool from a rock ledge.  Not very high, but still an accomplishment and worthy of comment in my mind.

After drying a bit on the hot, white stone ledge and talking with an Israeli hiker, we picked ourselves up and kept going until we reached the Mapal Lavan, the White Falls.  This was a significantly more impressive waterfall in terms of its height, but had less shade surrounding it in comparison to the Black Falls.  To reach the pool below we had the convenience of stairs that had been carved into the descending path, and when we got to the bottom we found a spot to enjoy a lunch of peanut butter, fruit, granola bars, and tuna.  A lovely combination, don't you think?

Mapal Lavan

After the White Falls we turned around the way we had come and without stopping the return hike was very short.  But we were tired and we had a three-hour drive ahead of us (which turned into more because of heavy traffic).

The entire weekend I couldn't stop thinking about how happy I was to be experiencing all this.  Hiking, swimming, seeing waterfalls, road-tripping - all these things I never do at home.  Why is it that it isn't until I travel halfway around the world that I push myself to have these experiences, many of which I could have at home?  I can only hope that I continue to push myself to explore more of my own home once I return and discover similarly wonderful things.

Kol chatan v'kol kalah

Wow, Israeli weddings are crazy.  Colorful, extravagant, boisterous, full of amazing food, and crazy.  That is, if the one I went to on Thursday night is any indication of the norm.

Quick back story:  I met a guy last Friday who invited me out with him, and when we were trying to set a date I said that I was free on Thursday but he told me his best friend was getting married that evening.  Lucky for me he invited me to come as his date, and I'm very glad I accepted!

The moment I saw the bride and groom in their waiting/green/pre-wedding room (really don't know what it should be called) I knew this would be quite an experience.  The bride's dress was replete with sequins and Swarovski crystals (real or not, don't know) and the groom - also dressed in traditional white - had eye-catching designs and silver embroidery throughout his outfit.

The rabbi was late and the ceremony didn't start until after 9:00 pm, but once we got the word that everything was ready we made our way to the roof of the banquet hall where a giant chuppah (wedding canopy) and stage were set up on the Astroturf-covered ground.  Food was being grilled and heated around the perimeter and people milled about, talking and shmoozing contentedly.  I was incredibly thankful for the gold and black dress (from a friend), black and silver shoes, and gaudy earrings I sported because the guests were dressed to their best.  Women had their hair done, sparkles and shiny things were nearly blinding, and I don't think the word "cotton" could be found as a primary fabric on a single person's outfit.

What happened next is utterly inexplicable to me, which means it will be impossible for me to explain to you.  Jewish wedding ceremonies by their very nature are short - typically 15 minutes at minimum - and additional length is dependent on whether or not there are speeches or other additions to the standard ceremony.  This particular ceremony was on the shorter side, but what it lacked in length it made up for in special effects and pomp: giant shofars, sparklers, synthesized background music, their own talented Mizrahi singer (Middle Eastern vocal genre), the whole nine meters (totally getting into this whole "metric system" thing).

Me with the bride!

Once the small wedding party was situated where they should be under the wedding canopy, guests who were standing alongside the stage jumped onto it and stood right alongside the cameramen whose large lenses were only a couple arm-lengths away from the couple.  We all had our cameras and phones out, taking pictures and video as the ceremony hectically progressed.  Occasionally I looked out at the rest of the guests and noticed that many were not paying attention to what was going on with those two people dressed all in white.  Thus I came to the following conclusion about this particular wedding:  The ceremony, the actual marriage was not the most important part of that evening.

Following the ceremony we departed and regrouped on one of the floors of the banquet hall where we were greeted by the newlyweds and their families, along with music, lights, cameras, and tons of tables laden with an extensive variety of salads and appetizers.  We sat and started digging in, then when we saw the couple dancing some of us joined them on the dance floor.  I ate, I danced, came back and ate some more, went to dance again, and sometimes went back to the table to rest or talk to my date's friends.  Surprisingly, even though I had already eaten salads and fish and chicken kabobs, more food was brought to me every time I sat down!  It just kept coming!  And it was all incredibly delicious.

We danced and enjoyed ourselves until the DJ stopped the music around 1:30, at which point we were all far more exhausted than we let ourselves believe.  I left with my date, the newlyweds, and the bride's sister, dropped them off at the bride's apartment in Ramla, then got a ride back to the Ulpan.  What a night.

I was told that if I ever had the opportunity to go to an Israeli wedding I absolutely had to and I'm very glad I went, but I must admit that this is not the kind of wedding I would ever want for myself.  In telling another friend about it she aptly described it as more of a "production" than a celebration, and she was absolutely correct.  The focus was not on the joyous marriage between two people in love but rather on the experience, the music, the lights, the special effects.  I didn't feel there was anything innately intimate about the wedding and, most significantly to me, I didn't feel the emotion I thought I might.  I always get teary-eyed at weddings, but aside from a moment or two during the ceremony I felt nothing of that sort.  I was a little disappointed in that respect.

Of course, I understand that weddings are different for everybody and Israel is also not the same as the U.S.  I would love to see more weddings in Israel to get a better feeling for the traditions of the general populace and see how they compare to one another.  Some people told me that this wedding is standard in some ways among the Sepharadim in Israel while others said it was more over-the-top than most, and I know that it's impossible for a single wedding to be an example of all the weddings in a particular country.  As such I ask that you do not form an opinion of all Israeli weddings based on my recounting alone.

Overall, I'm incredibly happy I went and had that fun, exciting experience.  Add that to the long list of things I've done in Israel that I never expected to do!

Israel- Defying the Odds

I fully admit this video is entirely about bragging rights. Feeling pretty proud of this country I'm in :)

The New and the Old - Tel Aviv and Yafo

In case I hadn't already figured it out, I have firmly come to the conclusion that it is impossible to see even a single Israeli city in one day, let alone two, even if it is meticulously planned out and run by expert Israeli tour guides.  On Tuesday we had our third tiyul - trip - this time to Tel Aviv and the neighboring city of Yafo (Jaffa - like the oranges).  We went to Independence Hall, saw many "firsts" of the area and the country (first kiosk, first train station, first Jewish neighborhoods, first movie theater, etc.), went to Yafo and walked through the Old City, saw remains of an Egyptian tomb (Egyptian dude moved to Yafo a long long time ago), learned about Greek, Jewish, Christian, and Arab influences on the city, ate at Doctor Shakshouka (awesome!), shopped in the Shuk HaPishpeshim (flee market), saw Rabin Square in Tel Aviv and learned about assassinated Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, then got on the bus and came back to the kibbutz.

Whew.

Here are some of the basics that you should know about Tel Aviv and Yafo:  Tel Aviv is the second largest city in Israel but is the most cosmopolitan.  Similarly, though Jerusalem is the capital city, Tel Aviv is the artistic and economic center of Israel.  It is home to skyscrapers, beach-front hotels, markets and malls, theaters and concert halls, corporate offices, R&D centers, and a vibrant 24/7 social atmosphere for Israelis and tourists alike.  It was built on the outskirts of Yafo (Jaffa, in its common English transliteration), a predominantly Arab city, and today Tel Aviv and Yafo are part of a single municipality.  Tel Aviv-Yafo population: 404,000 (5% of the total Israeli population).  Population of greater Tel Aviv Metropolitan Area: 3,206,400 (about 42% of the total Israeli population).

Forefront: Old
Background: New

Tel Aviv's name has an interesting etymology combining the old and new in a couple of different ways.  The name was chosen in homage of Theodore Herzl's book Altneuland - "Old New Land" (Herzl was the founder of modern Zionism and a primary figure in Israel's modern history).  When the book was translated to Hebrew, the translator opted for a more symbolic rather than direct translation of the title and chose the name of a city that also happens to be mentioned in the Bible.  The name itself is difficult to translate to English because although "Aviv" is simply "spring," a "tel" is a formation that is unique to Israel.  It is a hill that has developed from the recurring construction and destruction of civilizations built one on top of the other - new on top of old - in layers.  Thus it was a fitting title for the translation of Herzl's book because the antiquity of ancient civilizations is juxtaposed against the youthful revival of spring.

Tel Aviv and Yafo are almost complete opposites in a variety of ways including history, religion, and architecture.  While Tel Aviv is a bustling metropolis, Yafo maintains its old winding alleyways and stone buildings, vast flea market (another skirt and pants for 75 shekel!  Woo!), and slightly slower-paced life.  Yafo also has a strong Arab population as it has for much of its history.  History, too, is a significant difference between the two cities; Tel Aviv was founded in 1909, but stories of Yafo go back to antiquity in both the Bible and Greek mythology.

I could talk a lot more about the tiyul, but I have to admit that while I do enjoy Yafo, yesterday's trip wasn't quite as enjoyable for me as our two previous ones.  Yes, Tel Aviv has a lot to offer (like the Victor Wooten concert I went to on Monday night), but I'm not much of a city girl and I prefer the art galleries and winding stone roads of Yafo.  And I can't quite put my finger on it, but for some reason I have something against touristy destinations and the tour groups of foreigners that frequent them.  Nevermind the fact that I am a tourist and was part of a tour group yesterday, nevermind that I love Israeli tour guides, and let's forget entirely that were it not for tourists, non-Hebrew speaking Anglophones wouldn't be able to go to restaurants around the country.  Yes, I realize I'm being a big ol' hypocrite, but I suppose I'd just rather be surrounded by the natives than people like me.

Still, despite the plethora of tourists and the inevitable "sheeple" (sheep + people) feeling I get whenever I'm in a tour group, I really did have an enjoyable time.  Like I said, lunch was amazing, I bargained for some more Israeli clothes, and I got to see and learn about one of Israel's most interesting cities.  All in all, a pretty good trip.  :)


P.S.: The Photos page has been updated with a link to the album featuring my pictures from our trip.  Enjoy!

Do you hear the people sing?

I’ve already written extensively on Israel’s Memorial Days, both for the Holocaust and members of its military.  Obviously, Israelis have raised memory to an art form.  After all, what other country gets the vast majority of its citizens to completely stop in unison at a given moment?  But with so much mourning you might wonder if people in this country have anything to celebrate.  Well, a person can only wallow in self-pity for so long before he simply tears off the shroud and throws a party.

And that is precisely what Israelis do.

The day immediately following Yom Hazikaron is Yom Ha’Atzmaut, Israel’s Independence Day.  In a single day the tone of the country changes completely, moving from sadness to utter joy with the swiftness and seeming effortlessness of replacing the Tragedy mask with that of Comedy.  Melancholy songs and stillness are replaced with concerts, fireworks, and barbecues (not unlike our own Independence Day), and the country suddenly overflows with celebration.  Our own kibbutz ceremony was filled with song and dance of a more cheerful tone, and sanguine laughter and applause erupted after every performance.

For as talented as Israelis are at remembering, they are equally talented – if not moreso – at living in the moment and celebrating it for all it’s worth.

It is worth pointing out the curious timing of all of this.  Independence Day is when it is because it is the anniversary of the date when David Ben-Gurion announced the Proclamation of the State of Israel in 1948.  But Yom Hazikaron could be any day of the year.  It could just as easily be in January as August, so why should this solemn, even depressing day directly precede the most joyous political holiday in Israel?

Jews have long understood the concepts of sorrow and joy and the intricate relationship between the two.  As a people we have experienced destruction and expulsion time and again throughout our long history.  In some instances – namely the destruction of the temples – we are taught that we brought the tragedies upon ourselves because of our own failures.  However, there is one hardship in our history that, as a young teenager in Hebrew school, made me wonder.  In discussing the various punishments the Jewish people have endured, I asked the rabbi “But what about the slavery in Egypt?  We hadn’t gotten the Torah yet and weren’t technically Jews.  So what did we do to deserve that?”

At the time he didn’t give me an answer, but as I grew up I divined that it wasn’t a punishment; rather, the generations spent as slaves in Egypt served to teach us and prepare us for freedom, for who can truly appreciate freedom unless they have experienced captivity?  And how can a people have compassion for those who are not free unless they themselves have suffered the same injustice?

Thus the concept of suffering begetting joy is born into us, both individually as Jews and collectively as a nation, and Israel’s decision to celebrate their independence only after remembering what it took – and continues to take – to earn it seems to reflect that.  The timing is, in and of itself, a metaphor for Israeli existence and survival: that sorrow and ecstasy are both present in life, that neither should be forgotten or ignored, and that often, one leads to the other.

If you will, permit me one last metaphor:  The timing of Israel’s Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha’Azmaut appears to have a Biblical connotation as well.  In the first chapter of Bereshit (Genesis), each day of Creation is marked by the phrase “It was evening, it was morning, the [first, second, etc.] day.”  Again, darkness precedes the light, and we continue that tradition when celebrating all Jewish holidays, starting at sundown one day and concluding after sundown the next.  With that order in mind, we should never take the light, the joy, for granted, and though we should not dwell on the negative, we should recall the night that preceded the day to make it that much more worthy of celebration.  In so doing, let us hold onto that memory of darkness to remind us of what not to allow in this world in order that we might reach an era of everlasting light, endless joy, and universal peace for all.

Traveling in the North, Part IV: A perfect end

After traveling throughout Northern Israel for a few days and relaxing at my friend's kibbutz for Shabbat, I was ready to move again on Sunday morning.  I had plans to meet with a friend and see the Baha'i Gardens in Haifa before going back to my kibbutz and I was excited to get on my way.

My friend's host mom and grandma from the kibbutz drove us both to Akko where my friend had to run some errands and I had to catch a train to Haifa.  By this time I was feeling somewhat of a pro on Israeli public transportation and feeling a little more comfortable asking for directions in Hebrew, so hopefully I didn't seem like quite so much of an ignorant tourist when asking which platform I needed to be on.  Upon walking through the turnstile at the Akko train station I was hit with another small dose of the uniqueness of Israeli society: on the other side of the turnstile stood a female employee of the Israeli rail system, handing me a small piece of chocolate and saying "Chag sameach" (Happy holiday) as I accepted it.  The chocolate was wrapped in paper displaying the Israeli rail logo and a printed wish for a happy Pesach.  My first thought was "Wow!  How cool is that?!"  My second was "Pesach starts tomorrow night.  What are they going to do with all the leftover chocolate?"

I got to Haifa and called my friend who walked to meet me at the station.  As I waited for him, impatient and greedy taxi drivers watched me with an air of discontent, perhaps having hoped I would accept their outrageous prices and let them whisk me off to wherever my heart desired.  But my friend showed up and together we got on a bus to get to the top of the hill where the entrance to the Baha'i Gardens was situated.

I first met this friend two years ago when we went on the same Birthright trip.  With the exception of a few Shabbat weekends the following semester, I hadn't really seen him since then.  He had graduated that same year and moved around a bit, working at jobs and internships, until he moved to Israel last September to do a Kibbutz Ulpan program on a kibbutz in the North.  Following the Ulpan he decided to make aliyah (become an Israeli citizen) and join the army, which as of last Sunday he had been in for a week.  The most exciting part of it all? Free public transportation, courtesy of his army I.D. card.

I've never been to San Fransisco, but I imagine bus rides there must feel similar to our ride  through Haifa - up and down and left and right, traversing a city built on the slopes of Mount Carmel.  For someone with a history of motion sickness, I was incredibly thankful to get off the bus, even though it meant stepping out into seasonally uncharacteristic temperatures of 35 degrees Celsius (that's about 95 degrees Fahrenheit for my American readers).  Apparently this is what I have to look forward to.  Joy.

We walked around, talked, and relaxed a bit before joining a rather large tour group to actually go into the gardens, which I already knew were magnificent and pristine, having seen them from a different, closed gate.  And truth be told, despite the fact that I was surrounded by families of tourists that sometimes make me a little embarrassed to be one, too, I was happy to have a guide to tell me some of the secrets of this religion.

The Baha'i Faith is a more contemporary monotheistic religion developed in the 1800s in Persia (modern-day Iraq).  It follows in the footsteps of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam and claims to be a continuation and perfection of those faiths.  However, unlike its religious predecessors, the Baha'i Faith teaches that most of the world's religions are valid and as such, it supports a peaceful and non-judgmental outlook in which true harmony can exist among everyone, regardless of belief or background.  In fact, its primary goal appears to be universal unity.

The Gardens were built to beautify the surroundings of the Shrine of the Bab, a prominent teacher in the early history of the Baha'i Faith.  The Gardens are filled with symbolism, the most obvious of which is the great use of symmetry - a metaphor for perfection and harmony.  The Shrine is located in the center of 18 terraces with nine on either side, representing the 18 disciples of the Bab.  Because the Shrine is a holy place and pilgrimage site within the Baha'i Faith, all the elements of the Gardens are meant to promote feelings of peace, harmony, and tranquility.  I imagine had I been there without my large backpack and not surrounded by a tour group, I would have felt similarly.  Still, its magnificent beauty did have something of a calming effect, even in the middle of the third-largest city in Israel.

I think that's a salient point - that this shrine of a minority world religion is in the third-largest city of a decidedly Jewish country.  And what a sight to see!  Eighteen terraces of pristine gardens flowing down a mountainside smack-dab in the middle of a city.  And to think: New York City couldn't get over the idea of a small Muslim Community Center being built in its midst.  Priorities, people, priorities.

Because we got there a little late we weren't allowed to the Shrine or go past it, but I was happy to have seen as much as I did.  So I went to the bathroom (thank goodness for tourist attractions with clean public restrooms!), refilled my water bottle, and got on the bus again to take us back down the mountain.  We went in search of lunch and eventually settled on a little shawarma restaurant (where I conversed entirely in Hebrew!), then walked back to the train station and said our goodbyes.  It was only 2:30 in the afternoon, but I wasn't terribly interested in walking around a city after having hiked through such beautiful landscapes - would have paled in comparison - so I got on the train and headed back "home."
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As I spoke with friends in the days that followed and compared notes of our travels, it was hard for me to believe that I'd done so much.  Me, who has done no significant amount of traveling even in the United States.  Me, who has never done something quite like this, and certainly not alone.  Me, who always wants everything planned, who wants details and time tables and maps and lists.  Before coming to Israel, I never would have guessed that I would travel across a country on buses, trains, and by hitchhiking; hike with strangers; hang out with soldiers; and spend time with long-lost acquaintances.  People told me Israel would change me, but I never realized quite how much.

And to think, I was just hoping for a tan!

Traveling in the North, Part II: Im tirzu, ein zo agada

Officially being added to the list of things I would never have done at home and thus make Israel seem that much more amazing is the following story:

I arrived safely and uneventfully at the northern town of Kiryat Shmona with the intention of proceeding to Kibbutz Snir or the Banias National Park as a bus would allow.  Somehow I found out about this beautiful park with waterfalls, streams, and the ruins of an ancient pagan temple, and decided I must absolutely see this while in Israel.  But plans changed when I happened upon two young backpackers at the bus platform who were going in that general direction.  I told them I was planning to hike in the Banias, they explained they were embarking on a multi-day trek following portions of the Israel National Trail, and - surprise of surprises - they invited me to join them!  Despite how much I wanted to see waterfalls in Israel, a part of me urged "This is a great opportunity!  Screw your plans!  LIVE!"  And so I joined them.  The bus came and we were off.

The day's plan was to hike from Kibbutz Dan (the "Dan" of NaanDanJain Irrigation Systems) to Kibbutz K'far Gil'adi - 12 km and approximately six hours of fairly easy hiking on roads and through fields.  Unfortunately, my two hiking buddies were maybe a little too anxious, seeing as we got lost within the first couple kilometers.  Luckily, what they lack in navigational skills they make up for in kindness, perseverance, and optimism, so we only jokingly complained about the extra few kilometers we undoubtedly walked.

Though the roads and paths were often blasé and uninteresting, the scenery was anything but.  Fields and groves of wheat, avocado trees, orange trees, and more; hills and valleys with a few grazing cattle; mountains to the North and West with small clusters of homes nestled amidst them; and two streams to occasionally break the silence of the land.

As our shadows grew longer behind us we stopped more frequently in an effort to appease our increasing fatigue.  By the time we were within a couple kilometers of our destination we paused at a bus stop, happy to see a bench.  Thank goodness for that alluring bench, for had it not beckoned to us and had we not stopped, we might never have seen the car stop to drop off a hitchhiker, might never have considered our tired legs, might never have asked the driver for a ride, and might never have made it up the hill to their kibbutz -- and our goal.  Then, as if luck were not already generous enough, we were offed a room with beds and a shower for the night - all for free.

(This was incredibly fortunate for me because though I had planned to go to Akko after the Banias and possibly stay with a friend who lives nearby, it wasn't certain whether or not I'd be able to use her couch.  Thus, in accepting this random offer from a couple of strangers, my sleeping arrangements for the evening were magically secured.)

Having carried many a kilo with us all day, we were beyond blissful to put our stuff down and dine at a hummussia, a specialty hummus restaurant, for dinner.  Having never been to such a place before, I was amazed at this menu featuring a variety of tasty meals served in a plate of hummus alongside a heaping stack of warm pita.  I ordered hummus with fresh sauteed mushrooms and onions, and it was possibly the best hummus and mushrooms I have ever eaten.  Meanwhile, my friends ordered hummus shakshouka (remember when we made that?) and hummus with beans and other tasty things.

We went back to our room (though not before getting lost yet again), cleaned up and digested, then set out for the pub at which we lasted approximately 29 minutes before deciding we were far too tired to stay there.  So we left the pub and made our way back (without getting lost!), and promptly collapsed, each of us on a much more comfortable surface than any of us had expected for that night.

Throughout the day I kept wondering about this rather uncharacteristically spontaneous decision I had made to change my plans so drastically.  In some ways I was upset I didn't get to the national park which looked so beautiful and breathtaking in the photos.  But with every thought of the trip I missed, I came back to pleasant thoughts of the company I was with, the sheer experience of making friends out of strangers and doing something I would certainly never have done on my own.  Where did that little, urging voice come from at the bus station?  Surely that was not me.

"If you want it, it is not a dream"

While we were at the restaurant, I noticed a quote painted on the wall.  It was originally written by Theodore Herzl -- father of modern Zionism and one of the primary reasons for Israel's existence as a Jewish country.  "Im tirzu, ein zo agada" - If you want it, it is not a dream.  I remembered it from my days at summer camp where we always sang it after lunch on Friday afternoons.  And as I sat in that restaurant on a kibbutz in Northern Israel with two people who did not exist in my life 12 hours earlier, after having hiked nearly 15 kilometers on the Israel National Trail, after making a decision that was so utterly unlike any decision I would normally make, I looked at that quote and felt an understanding of it.  Total and complete comprehension.

"If you want it, it is not a dream."  It is the Optimist's Creed, a call for action and strength of conviction, and something we should all remind ourselves of daily.  For myself, I have always wished I could be more spontaneous, less uptight, and generally more willing to move with changing circumstances instead of fighting the universe.  And for years I thought "This is just how I am.  I cannot change that.  I will simply accept it."  But among the many things Israel has taught me, I have learned that oftentimes, what we deem impossible is simply our fear putting artificial constraints on a perceived reality.  Anything is possible.  I believe that is what that little voice in my head was telling me - that I need not be so certain of my plans and that I should take opportunities as they present themselves instead of caching them and perhaps inadvertently putting them out of reach forever.

Here in Israel, I am living the dreams I never even knew to want.

Traveling in the North, Part I: Take my breath away

Note: I have added a Maps section where I have posted maps of the various kibbutzim and towns I have visited in Israel throughout this program.  It will be updated as I travel and should serve as a reference for the places I mention.


Another note:  I have updated Flickr with some photos that are also posted on Facebook albums, and the Photos page has a link to the newest Facebook photo album from my trip to Northern Israel.
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Last Wednesday afternoon I excitedly embarked on a self-organized journey in Northern Israel where I planned to spend my few days of chofesh, vacation, before Pesach (Passover).  I have a few contacts in the North and figured it would be a wonderful way to see them and some of the country, and it would cut down on expenses since I wouldn't have to pay for hostels.  After riding on a multitude of trains, buses, shared taxis, and strangers' cars, and hiking through kilometers of roads, fields, paths, and city streets, I can confidently say I had a wonderful - albeit exhausting - time!

I planned first to stay with a woman whose number was given to me by a member of my synagogue.  I contacted her and she was more than happy to host me at her house, even though it was a couple days before Pesach and she was hurrying to finish cleaning and preparing.  Of course, that didn't stop her from being a wonderfully gracious hostess, yiddishe mama (Jewish mother), and personal tour guide from the moment she picked me up near Tiberias.  As we drove to her moshav (explanation to come), she pointed out all the mountains, valleys, and explained their history and significance.  "You can see Tzfat on that hill, that's the Upper Galilee over there, those two cliffs are like that because they separated when the tectonic plates shifted.  Oh, let's stop here so you can get a picture!"  You get the idea.

She also told me all about her moshav on Mount Arbel.  For reference, a moshav is a uniquely Israeli type of community or settlement developed in the early 1900s during the Second Aliyah, a period of time when a large number of Jews immigrated to Israel.  Moshavim share many qualities with kibbutzim such as their agricultural traditions and close, supportive environment.  However, land and homes on traditional moshavim (plural) are generally privately owned and operated unlike traditional kibbutzim which share everything.  As we drove through the moshav, she pointed out her neighbors' olive groves, orange trees, almond trees, and other crops. Some families had livestock as well, and she told me about how her husband's parents had had a dairy farm on the moshav which they'd sold ten years prior.  Today, many on the moshav do work outside in nearby towns or cities but the community maintains its unique and comfortable atmosphere.

We drove into one section of the moshav that had been developed by and for the second- and third-generation moshavnikim (moshav citizens).  How beautiful it was to drive down the quiet road lined on both sides by quaint houses tucked behind tall trees and blooming gardens!  Behind my hostess's house were a line of fruit trees - pomegranate, pomelo, shesek, orange, clementine, and - of course - a grape vine.  The house itself was of a comfortable size with large windows letting in morning sun and a magnificent view of the Arbel and Nitai mountains.  Can you imagine a more perfect way to wake up?

The adjective "breathtaking" is often used to describe views of beauty, but rarely have I experienced something truly breathtaking.  In the past I would use the word because it seemed appropriate but without ever knowing that something could, in fact, take your breath from you.  Upon looking at the amazing views surrounding the entire kibbutz, I was stunned at how suddenly the word "breathtaking" became the most accurate description of what I saw.  Soft rolling hills of green speckled with the yellow and pink of Spring, larger heights and mountains to the North and East proudly standing guard over this precious land, the white stone city of Tzfat sitting serenely atop a mountain in the distance and sparkling with light as Day imperceptibly gave way to Night . . . all was breathtaking.

Needless to say, I was incredibly excited to see more of this part of the country on my hike the following day.  Little did I realize, though, that my plans might change so dramatically . . .

Breakfast - Israeli style!

Limonana - Israeli-style lemonade made from fresh
lemons and mint leaves

In French class throughout junior high school, high school, and even college, food was used as a way to learn about the culture, and what better way to teach?  Teenagers, food, and school - it's a win-win situation for everyone involved!  Except perhaps the custodians. . .

As I'm sure you can imagine, hungry students in a Hebrew Ulpan are no different - food is just as alluring, even if we have to make it on our own and -gasp!- clean up after ourselves, too.  That is why today our teacher declared Yom Bishul, Cooking Day, where we were put into groups, given recipes in Hebrew, and set loose in the kitchen with plenty of raw ingredients in hand.  Two hours later we had a most magnificent feast!

Our taphrit, menu, included shakshouka, falafel, vegetable salad (Israeli salad), tehina (sesame) salad, eggplant and mayonnaise salad, fresh lemonade with mint, and brownies (for no reason other than we're addicted to anything containing chocolate).  I worked with three other students on preparing the shakshouka, a main course made with poached eggs in a tomato-based vegetable stew.  All of these dishes were fairly simple to make, and I've included recipes as possible, and a link to one recipe that would be a little too long to include in the list.  Enjoy!

Finished shakshouka.  We made a huge batch for 17 people,
but it is easily adjusted for any number of servings.

Authentic Israeli Foods:
1. Shakshouka

2. Falafel - We used a prepared falafel mix that just needed to be prepared then fried in a giant pot with lots

of oil.

3. Tehina - This comes as a sesame sauce that we mixed with water, fresh lemon juice, garlic, parsley, and salt.

4. Eggplant and mayo salad - Roast eggplants on an open flame if available (gas range works), peal them and scoop out the innards, mix that with some mayonnaise, lots of garlic, parsley, lemon, salt, and pepper.  Other sources suggest preparing this with tehina instead of mayo. (Don't worry, Mom, I still much prefer your baba ganoush!)

5. Lemonade - melt a bit of sugar into boiling water, mix that with fresh lemon juice, and add fresh mint leaves.  Can also be pureed together with the mint leaves to create limonana, which is the Hebrew name combining limon (lemon) and nana (mint).

6.  Brownies - two girls made these from scratch, but there's nothing intrinsically "authentic" about these in Israel.  They're just good, ol'-fashioned brownies!

Who says learning Hebrew can't be tasty?

P.S.  Pictures of our cooking exploits are linked to the Photos page!

Adventures of a polyglot

For those of you who know me, it will come as no surprise that language fascinates me.  In English, I consider myself a LEA: Language Enforcement Agent (a much better designation than "Grammar Nazi" and synonymous to the male title, LEO: Language Enforcement Officer).  I hold proper use of the language in the highest esteem and though I cannot explain English grammar, I love the sound of it.  Additionally, I am constantly searching for new words to add to my lexicon like spices in a kitchen; I like to mix and match and turn and twist sounds and syllables in my mouth, and as my fingers tap the keyboard or wield a pen I am thrilled with the opportunity for prose.  I like to experience life through language, narrating in silent monologues to reinterpret my experiences, thereby turning a pretty tree or a bumblebee into a superfluous metaphor.  In this way, my world is rearranged.

But I digress.  What I really want to talk about is Hebrew.  My classmates must think I'm nuts with how excited I was to begin learning the past tense yesterday.  It was like learning how to read all over again, but this time with the profound understanding of what this knowledge would do for me.  I was actually giddy to watch the past two months of learning fall into place for this moment.

Say it with me now:  NERD.

Hebrew is a captivating language to study for a few reasons.  First, it's the only language whose modern version was adapted directly from its ancient version instead of undergoing hundreds or thousands of years of linguistic evolution.  Second, Modern Hebrew is highly influenced by German, Russian, Yiddish, English, Spanish, Ladino, and Arabic, among others, and though this influence is primarily noticeable in the vocabulary it has also shaped some of Hebrew's structure and pronunciation.  Third, Hebrew has an astoundingly systematic structure.  Despite the few requisite exceptions (because no language is complete without some exceptions to the rules), Hebrew's grammatical structure is so crisp and pure that it's almost mind-boggling.

In comparison to English whose exceptions outnumber cases of adherence to the rules, or French with its fourteen tenses and large variety of verb conjugations for each, Hebrew is blissfully simple in terms of its structure.  (It should be noted that while English only has two "true" tenses, there are actually twelve collective tenses when modals and compound tenses are included.  We just never learn them as such.)  Perhaps "simple" is the wrong word; certainly it has its complications.  But it is structured, and almost mathematically so.  How wonderful that my love of language can be combined with my love of analysis!

One of the fascinating things about Hebrew is its system of shoreshim, roots.  Each noun, verb, adjective, and adverb is constructed around a three- or four-letter shoresh which connects it to all the other words with that shoresh.  So for instance, the word עבודה, "work," shares the root letters .ע.ב.ד with the verb עובד and its infinitive לעבוד.  From those root letters derive the past tense of the word in the third-person singular, עבד, and though we haven't gotten to future or imperative tenses, I can assure you they are all permutations of the same shoresh.  Similarly, and perhaps more interestingly, the shoresh for the verb "thinking," חושב is also found in the word for computer, מחשב.  Makes sense, no?

There are also binyanim, "buildings," which are classifications of verbs that all follow specific patterns and rules of conjugation.  In addition, each binyan identifies the voice - whether it's active, passive, causative, reflexive, or any combination thereof - and each verb can be adjusted based on the title of the binyan to adopt that particular voice.  We haven't gotten that far in the grammar yet, but I've learned it's possible.

When we were first learning how to form the infinitives based on the verb (seemly backwards from other languages), our teacher kept telling us to "listen to the music!"  The music?  It took me a while to realize that she was talking about the vowel sounds of the verb groups.  Generally-speaking, it's not the consonants that create the groups but their uniform vowel sounds.  Once we put it all together in a grand table identifying five of the seven binyanim, I fully understood what she meant.  And knowing that makes it astoundingly easier to pronounce new words without the dots and dashes that usually designate the pronunciation.

All of this is interesting in and of itself - this system of roots, verb classifications, and precise rules in gender and quantity that permeate throughout.  But the most fascinating?  That all the grammar has been adapted from the ancient Hebrew of the Tenach, the Old Testament.

As young students in Hebrew school we were taught that Hebrew is not only the language of the Torah but the language of Creation, that of G-d Himself.  And while that does make for a nice, simple explanation to an inquiring 10-year-old, its strength lies in the myriad connections and seeming perfection of the language.

Regardless of the genesis of this language (ha, Genesis, get it?), this was not a language that was created or developed willy-nilly.  There is attention to detail as found in its ineffable structure and plethora of correlations between words and ideas.  There is utter simplicity, confounding interplay, and brilliant mechanisms built into the language in ways that both French and English lack.  There is nothing superfluous, nothing wasteful about this language.

(Except that one darn preposition unique to Hebrew that I just can't quite figure out.)

I don't ask you to agree with me, but there is almost something divine about it all.

Day trip to the North, Part II: Druzi Dancing

NOTE: Check the Photos page!  Link to pictures from Monday's day trip!

After our long and slightly arduous hike, we returned to the bus and drove up a mountainside to the village of Usfiya to learn about the Druzim (plural for Druze), a religious and cultural minority in Israel.  Though their roots are Arabic (having began in Egypt), Israeli Druzim do not consider themselves Arabic, and today an astounding percentage of the Druzi population are active in the Israeli military, protecting and defending their country as zealously as a Jewish Israeli, if not moreso.  In fact, many Druzim serve in the highest ranks of the Israeli military and air force.

We were welcomed at a Druzi man's home where he gave us a glimpse at the life and belief system of the Druzim.  Among the interesting details:

1.  Druzim do not accept converts.
2.  There is a belief in reincarnation (human to human).
3.  There are secular and religious Druzim, and among the religious they lead very strict lifestyles.  There seems to be little to no middle ground between the two lifestyles.
4.  Women are highly respected and honored within the religion/culture.  In fact, according to our host, some men are even jealous of the status of women among them.

After a very brief talk, giant platters of food were brought out and musicians (a lutist and drummer) set up their equipment.  We ate with the sounds of Arabic music in our ears, and once the food was cleared we were encouraged to get up and dance.  With so many Latin Americans among us, we didn't need to be told twice!

Despite the feeling that the experience - the talk, the food, the music, the dancing - was well-rehearsed and oft-used, we greatly enjoyed ourselves and left wishing we had learned more.  But there was no time for that since it was time for the requisite shopping trip!

Off to another Druzi village we went where we were let loose along a short street lined with touristy Druzi shops.  The shopkeepers were kind but aggressive, eager to make a sale to these wide-eyed, unsuspecting foreigners.  A bunch of students with shekels burning in their pockets?  The shopkeepers needn't have feared.

I also learned the secret to haggling:  Don't say anything.  At one point I entered a shop which had a wide selection of Israeli/Arab clothing.  To one side of me were the wrap skirts I love so much, and to the other side was none other than the pants I love!  Of course I was going to buy something, and a girl who worked at the shop stood there staring at me as I picked through the colors and patterns.  I'm sure she was impatiently thinking "Pick something, already!" and occasionally she commented on the price: "One for 40 shekel, three for 100."  A little while later, after I'd commented a little on this skirt or another, she said "I'll give you one for 35.  Take one."  When I expressed interest in the 35 shekel pants, she eventually lowered it to 25 without me even offering another price.  Apparently if you just have more patience than the other person, they'll keep lowering the price just to get you out of the store!

In the end, I bought a skirt and a pair of pants for 55 shekel (down from 75!).  I'm happy :)

Day trip to the North, Part I: Another trip, another mountain

Yesterday the Ulpan had its second tiyul (trip) and this time we ventured north to the Carmel Mountains where we toured a historical immigrant detainment camp, hiked up and around a mountain, briefly peered into a cave, dined and danced in a Druzi village, then had our requisite hour of shopping in the Druzi shook (because your trip is not complete unless you've done some shopping).

Machaneh Ma'apilim - Illegal Immigrant Detainment Camp
In 1939, the British decided they could not possibly accept all the Eastern European Jews who wanted to immigrate to the Palestinian Mandate.  As such they granted certificates for legal immigration to very few of the many thousands who sought refuge and new life in Palestine.  That didn't keep people from coming, though, and those who made it there without a British-sanctioned certificate were moved immediately to detainment camps in Cypress and places like Machaneh Ma'apilim in Atlit, a northern town directly on the sea.

Though Machaneh Ma'apilim was built before World War II fully began and certainly before anyone knew anything about death camps, it bears a strikingly terrifying resemblance to Nazi concentration camps.  With barracks, watchtowers, barbed wire fences, and a large "Disinfection" building, there was little to distinguish this place from the terror many of the immigrants had left behind in Europe towards the end of the war.  Quite simply, it was built with efficiency in mind - after all, how do you absorb hundreds of new people, get them and their clothes clean from parasites, and get them into barracks as quickly as possible?

Most of the people who arrived in Palestine did so by way of large ships of all sorts which had been converted to transport immigrants.  An example of such a boat had been brought to the current Machaneh and converted into an entire multimedia presentation for visitors, providing an idea of the cramped and uncomfortable conditions full of terrified runaways hoping for a brighter future in this land of Zion, of Jews.

How horrible, then, that the moment they arrived they were immediately imprisoned?

Most people were detained less than a year and eventually found freedom in the country.  Their struggle is a significant part of Israel's history as about one fifth of Israel's Jewish population in that generation had gone through one of these camps.  It is absolutely astounding, though, to see in the films the sheer determination apparent in these people's faces, the pride they had in making their way to a country with hopes that it would become their own.

Har Carmel - Mount Carmel Hike
"It'll be a nice, easy walk," Ilan told us. "No rush, very nice," he said.

Psh.  Yeah right.  Apparently not all of us climb mountains on a regular basis, but this was not exactly a "nice, easy walk" by our standards.

There are many hiking trails throughout the Carmel mountains, and I should have known when we arrived and I saw the many coach buses lined up at the base of the trail that we were not going to have the area to ourselves.  The hike started out calm enough though I found it difficult to keep up with the group after stopping frequently to take pictures of the flowers and scenery.  We soon happened upon another group hiking together, then another, and another.  As it became a little more crowded, the terrain also became much more challenging to traverse.  Our legs got a workout as we climbed over jagged land and down rocky slopes.

I really should send a Thank You note to the orthopedic surgeon who repaired my knee last year.

Just before reaching the base on the other side, some of us chose to peak into one of the  many caves along that stretch of mountains.  It might have been a little neater had we not been completely surrounded by a huge group of third-graders on a field trip, but seeing as it was my first time spelunking it was still fascinating!  The cave wasn't very deep, but it was tall, moist, and completely black within.  I can't believe I forgot my flashlight on the bus!

In between carefully watching my step and making sure I was still with my group (and hadn't accidentally mingled with any of the other non-English-speaking groups around us), I managed to take in a great deal of the nof, view.  From the mountain you could see the Mediterranean Sea to the West, majestically azure and calm on this fresh, spring day.  Fields and towns lay nestled between the sea and the mountains, quiet and content.  The mountain itself featured a wide variety of flowers, small and unassuming individually but strikingly beautiful as a mass, as if painting the hillside.  Looking at all the flowers, I almost missed the dead, blackened trees around me.

Last December, there was a huge forest fire that raged through the Carmel mountains, the biggest fire in Israel's history.  It destroyed over 10,000 acres of forest and killed over 40 people.  It was devastating and terrifying and prompted responses of aid worldwide.  Yet despite the fact that the cause of the fire was likely human error and disregard, forest fires are part of the natural circle, as evidenced by the way Spring found its way into and among the charred remains.  Flowers and grass are growing well amidst the black bark of undefinable trees as a testament to Nature's strength and perseverance.  As one person in our group put it, "Nature wins."

Reality is sobering

Maybe it's because I'm American and have grown up with an expectation of health and security.  I've been raised to believe, wholeheartedly, that as long as I don't talk to strangers and I don't walk in a city alone at night and I don't drive while intoxicated then I need not fear for my wellbeing.  Like a simple equation, I was taught that your own actions have their own consequences and that as such you can be the master of your own destiny.

Or maybe it's because I'm currently living on a kibbutz, surrounded by friendly, caring people who go about their daily lives without superfluous concern.  The perimeter of my temporary home is innocuously lined with a fence of barbed wire (surprisingly commonplace in this country), and I am lulled into the security of this sheltered community where I can walk freely day and night without fear of harm.

But the bombing at a Jerusalem bus stop on Wednesday has shaken me in ways I do not quite comprehend.

At 3:00 PM Israel time (8:00 am Central Standard Time, USA), a bomb hidden inside a bag exploded, injuring about 40 people.  The bag had been left at the bus stop and remotely detonated, and thanks to witnesses, police and Israeli Defense Forces have at least some idea of the terrorist they're tracking.  Among the people wounded, four were critically injured, five moderately, and the remaining were treated for minor wounds and shock.  One of the women who was seriously injured died later that afternoon due to the injuries she sustained.  She was a British tourist.

In class that afternoon our Ulpan director came to tell us the news.  When he left the room, leaving in his wake a shocked silence and unnameable tinge of fear, our teacher simply said "Welcome to Israel."

With the exception of a bombing in 2004, Jerusalem has been quiet and relatively peaceful for the past decade.  But despite the silence in the national news Israel at large has not experienced peace.  Just last week a mom, dad, and three of their five children were slaughtered in their home in the West Bank.  Near Gaza in the South, non-explosive rockets are continually lobbed into Israel, hitting nearby cities such as Sderot, and even Beersheba and Ashdod.  For people who live in those corners of the country, that threat is simply part of their reality, a constant warning that hovers in the air, becoming part of their breath and life.

To a larger extent, that threat exists everywhere in Israel, and for the first time I think I'm beginning to recognize it.  The question is:  How do you function with that fear?

It seems the secret to living in Israel and, more specifically, as an Israeli, is to recognize what you can affect and what you cannot, which dangers you can avoid and which you should simply ignore because you have no control over them.  You need to trust and have faith in whichever power you choose, whether it be the government, the military, G-d, Man, or the balance of the Universe at large.  Following events such as the bombing in Jerusalem or the rockets in Sderot, people learn quickly that the healthiest way to react is to move on, to continue with life as you did the day before.  בלי פניקה  - without panic.

The amazing thing is that you never actually see any fear in the people around you.  Maybe it doesn't exist.  Maybe this is all a psychological projection of my own insecurities and American sensibilities.  But regardless of whether or not the fear is present it is a testament to the Israeli psyche that life can continue, and joyfully, too.

The reality is that despite threats of violence, life does go on.  Traffic flows, stores open and close, the vendors at the shook still yell and bargain and loudly advertise their choicest merchandise.  Children still ride the bus to school, parents still go to their offices, and teenagers still try desperately to vainly promote their individuality, just like everyone else.  Palm trees remain standing tall, birds still sing, and flowers still look on, demurely adding color and joy to the lives of people who pass them by.

Fear has no place in a world such as this, and people who fear cannot possibly enjoy the plethora of goodness that does exist.

So as a temporary kibbutznik and resident in this tiny country, I, too, will not fear.  I'll still make sure not to walk alone in the city at night, and I won't dare get behind any wheel, but I will not waste time in useless contemplation of what is beyond my control.

After all, life is meant to be lived.

Purim Weekend, Part II: Lo lefached klal

Friday night I slept comfortably at the hostel with more than a dozen other girls, all of us well-fed after Friday evening's dinner at various family's homes.  Saturday morning I awoke and quietly ate a breakfast of pastries and juice while I waited for the other girls to get up.  I had a pleasant conversation with one of our madrichot (like a counselor or RA) for the weekend, an orthodox girl who, two years earlier, barely knew the aleph bet.  I joined her to hear the special Torah reading for that weekend, then we passed the time before our lunch placements.

The nonchalant, carefree atmosphere of Saturday morning set the tone for the rest of Shabbat.  All was pleasantly calm as we had our lunches, walked around and relaxed in the afternoon, and joined the men's hostel for the third Shabbat meal.  I drifted between small groups of people, joining conversations here and there as I was interested.  In the afternoon I had a wonderful song session with Batya, a beautiful African American kallah (bride - she's getting married in June!) who, despite her Baptist roots, is now an Orthodox Jew.  She has a gorgeous singing voice and I thoroughly enjoyed making up harmonies and countermelodies with someone who shared my passion and fervor for music.

Of course, as was indicated by Friday night's festivities, music played no small role in this Shabbat.  Every meal was seasoned with our voices, our clapping, and our raucous percussion on the tables.  Per Orthodox custom the women generally remained rather quiet while the men sang at the top of their lungs, but their spirit and joy was so overwhelmingly persuasive that I couldn't help but sing, even if it was mostly to myself.

For the third Shabbat meal, we were led in song by the evening's guest, a recently married young rabbi who spoke about Divine Providence.  There, the women sang more openly because there were few married men who needed to be concerned with hearing the beautiful voice of someone other than his wife.  We repeated the melodies until the tables shook with our percussion, and it was so much fun to see the guys so fully swept up in the spirit of the moment.

After dinner I went with another girl to the Kotel in hopes of catching Havdallah, the closing service for Shabbat.  I had heard that Havdallah at the Kotel is an amazing experience, but alas, we were a few minutes late and missed it.  So instead we sat and talked, learned about each other, and developed a friendship faster than I think I have ever experienced.  She had recently come to Israel on a two-week trip and was spending Shabbat in Jerusalem because her brother is a student at a yeshivah (religious school) in the Old City.

I went to Jerusalem not knowing what I would do on Saturday.  I figured I might walk around, see the city, get lost, and enjoy the day.  Little did I realize I would be entirely immersed in a Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) community in the Old City.  I'm glad I didn't have other plans :)

Purim Weekend, Part I: Am yisroel chai!

Last weekend I went to Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, and throughout it all I frequently thought about how I would attempt to describe it in a single blog entry.  My conclusion is that I cannot: it is utterly impossible.  From the moment I left on Friday noon to the moment I returned on Sunday evening, every moment seemed worthy of repetition, description, and prosaic musing.  Every person I met, conversation I had, song that I sang, and bit of joy I experienced seems deserving of notice in my mind, and yet the Blogosphere is already inundated with enough public cogitation, so I will refrain from writing a book about my single, wonderful weekend.

To begin the Reader's Digest version of my fantastic weekend, let me proclaim that I must be one of the only people who can travel to Israel and entirely avoid the holiday of Purim.  I intended to go to Jerusalem to celebrate Purim, thinking that a party in Jerusalem would be just as much fun but slightly less crazy than in Tel Aviv.  However, I found out upon arriving in Jerusalem that because it's a walled city, it celebrates Purim a day later, on Purim Shushan, because during the war in the story of Purim, the capital of Persia, Shushan, was a walled city and thus was the last to be attacked.  As such, walled cities celebrate Purim Shushan, and though I'm sure I was taught that in some Hebrew school lesson years ago, I promptly put it out of my mind as useless information.  (Walled cities in the U.S.?  Yeah..... no.)  So while I had hoped to celebrate Saturday evening, Jerusalem was celebrating Sunday evening, when I had to be back at the kibbutz.  Darnit.  But, I still had a great time.

I stayed in the Women's Heritage House Hostel in the Old City, which together with the men's hostel are owned and operated by Orthodox Jews.  They don't expect their visitors to be religious, but they do offer many opportunities for food and learning for those who are interested.  Free food?  Count me in!  Free home-cooked meals with families and lots of guests?  Even better!  Oh, and they all speak English.  Slightly detracts from the Israeli experience, but wonderful nonetheless.

I knew my weekend would be wonderful when the moment I entered the hostel I was immediately treated not as a guest, but as family.  Among the girls who were already there I felt welcomed and accepted as if I'd already been there for a week.  I had the impression it was normally like that, in one way or another, but it was such a fantastic way to begin my weekend.

Before getting placed with families for dinner on Friday night, we went to the Kotel (Western Wall), and I was utterly taken aback by how many soldiers I saw!  Apparently it's common to see large groups of soldiers going to the Kotel on Friday nights with their units/brigades/sections/whatever-the-classification-is.  It seemed as if I wouldn't even be able to get to the Kotel due to the large mass of soldiers and other people.  Luckily, that evening, touching the Wall became much less important than being in proximity with so many other people.

I began to hear vibrant singing from a large group of girls in front of me (keep in mind, men and women have separate sections, so I was completely surrounded only by women).  Not knowing exactly who was singing, I added my voice to the beautiful mixture just before loud, rhythmic clapping erupted behind me.  The group of female soldiers had formed a circle and started dancing, singing, and clapping to a variety of Hebrew songs.  Before long, the upbeat tempo of the soldiers had affected the girls' slow, moving singing and what ensued was the largest, most joyful impromptu singing and dancing session I have ever experienced.

Nearly the entire women's side was converted into large circles, one inside the other, of women young and old, soldiers and common citizens, religious and secular, all singing and dancing as loud and triumphantly as we could.  When we suddenly forgot the words to one song, someone would shout the opening melody of another one and off we would go, joyfully celebrating in one another's company and ruach (spirit).

I'll admit, there was a point before I started dancing when I was just absorbing the scene and imprinting the souvenir that I nearly cried out of sheer joy at what I was seeing.  Here, at the Western Wall in Jerusalem, were groups of Jewish girls from all different backgrounds and lives, dancing together and sharing in a singularly perfect moment which stemmed from nothing more than happiness and thanksgiving.  This improvised display of Jewish sisterhood was almost more than my emotions could bear.

And the same thing was happening on the men's side.  I'd like to think we had more fun, though ;)

That evening as I sat with strangers-turned-friends at a large Shabbos dinner table, I described this scene in all its glorious perfection.  We had been talking about how some Jews don't like Israel or even its existence as a Jewish state, and after experiencing what I did at the Kotel, I said "I feel that Jews who are against Israel simply haven't experienced it, because where else would you see so many Jews of so many different backgrounds and affiliations dancing and singing together unannounced?  This is Israel.  This is what it's all about."