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.

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.

Traveling in the North, Part III: To the sea!

On Friday morning I had to get from Kibbutz K'far Gil'adi to the central bus station in Kiryat Shmona.  There were no buses around the kibbutz so my only realistic option was hitchhiking into town.  To my American friends and family this will seem an absurdly dangerous idea, but in Israel hitchhiking is a perfectly viable means of transportation.  My fellow shvistim, hikers, also had to get a ride to the beginning point of the next segment of the trail, so the three of us stood at the side of the road just past the kibbutz entrance, one of us with our finger pointed to the street, waiting for someone to stop.

Before too long a middle-aged woman stopped and though she didn't have room for all three of us, there was plenty of space for me alone.  So I quickly said goodbye to the friendly shvistim, hikers, got their phone numbers, and got into the car.  The woman driving was incredibly kind and we had a pleasant conversation for the entire ride to the bus station.  Even though it was a bit out of her way, she dropped me off directly in front of the station, then I said many thank-yous, wished her a Shabbat Shalom and Chag Pesach Sameach (happy Passover), and was on my way.  No exchange of money, no unnecessary formalities.  Just a simple trading of the honest goodness of two strangers.  (That is also now on the list of "Things I wouldn't be able to do in the U.S.")

Jezzar Pasha Mosque, Old City, Akko

I got on a bus to Akko, labled as Acre on most maps, spelled thusly I'm sure because of the French influence.  In 1799, the French army under Napoleon's leadership failed an attempted siege of the city which was heavily protected by a moat and other barriers, plus artillery.  Today, the Old City of Akko remains as part historical site, part tourist attraction, and part living space on the edge of the greater city of Akko.  When I got to Akko I walked to the Old City and was impressed with its great walls hiding loud, bustling streets filled with Israelis, Arabs, and foreign tourists alike.  A great green-roofed mosque caught my eye immediately with its stately placement in the midst of such touristic chaos.

I browsed some shops a bit before going in search of Humus Said, a hummussia that had been described to me as having "the greatest hummus in Israel."  By the time I found it in the middle of the shouk (market), I had little doubt that the claim had truth to it.  The small, humble restaurant was filled to capacity with hungry people of all backgrounds, and Muslim waiters slid swiftly between tables and chairs carrying stacks of pita and hummus plates to the customers, then balancing even taller stacks of finished plates back to the kitchen.  I patiently waited in "line" (because such things do not truly exist in Israel) for what may have been more than 20 minutes before getting into the door.  Once in, a man asked how many and when I told him it was just me, he quickly sat me at a table for four already occupied by two guys.  Didn't matter - there was an open seat and that was a precious commodity in such a lunch-hour rush.  I sat and, having no menu to even pretend to read, asked for the basic hummus plate - hummus with chickpeas on top and olive oil, served with a plate of vegetables and warm pita.  It arrived within minutes and I dug in.  Now, I realize this may be a point of contention, but I actually enjoyed the hummus at the kibbutz slightly more.  Blasphemy, I know, but I think I might be entitled to the opinion.  Still, it was a wonderful meal.

Humus Said: Putting the "mmm" in "hummus"

After paying the 15 shekel and squeezing my way out of the tiny hummussia, I wandered the Old City some more.  Walking along the wall I had a beautiful view of the azure Mediterranean Sea, and I calmly took in the majestic view.  As I walked and observed, the Muslim Azan, Call to Prayer, began emanating from the minaret of the green-roofed mosque.  The call was stunning to hear, strong and significant as its melody lilted over and among the crowds.  I know Muslims do not consider it music, but for someone outside their religion it was impossible to overlook the musical beauty in the call.  It also reminded me that though Israel is a Jewish country, there are many of differing religions, creeds, and ethnicities living within its borders, none of whom should be forgotten or lost amidst the Jewish majority.

After having spent a few hours in the Old City of Akko, I found my way back to the central bus station where I got a bus north to Naharriyah, from where I got on a sherut (shared taxi) to my friend's kibbutz in Beit HaEmek.  She made aliyah less than a year ago and joined the Israeli army; when she's not on the base she lives on the kibbutz with a group of other Israeli "lone soldiers."  Lone soldiers are characterized as those who's family or parents do not live in Israel, whether because they are not Israeli by birth or because their Israeli families have moved to other countries.  Most of the soldiers at the kibbutz had moved to Israel from the U.S., and it was fun spending Shabbat with all of them.

Perhaps the most enjoyable part of that Shabbat was seeing the camaraderie among the soldiers.  They really were a family of the strongest kind, strangers thrown together but sharing in a singular experience that is new, exciting, and absolutely terrifying for all of them.  They took care of one another, and for a day I was welcomed into that family with open arms.

I felt as if I had been traveling non-stop for over two days already, so it was a welcome reprieve to relax and do nothing with yet another group of strangers-turned-friends for Shabbat.  And Kibbutz Beit HaEmek is also a beautiful kibbutz with old gnarled olive trees at every turn.  It's a shame I didn't take pictures at the kibbutz.  I guess I'll just have to return sometime!

P.S. Don't forget to check out the Facebook photo album on the Photos page!

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."

Jewish Mommies

After yesterday's excitement, I decided a fun Shabbat (with a more light-hearted blogpost) was in order.  I could dwell on the politics of Wisconsin, or even more pressing, the recent catastrophe in Japan (which kind of puts things in perspective, don't you think, Wisconsonites?)  But this is not a political or current events blog nor do I want it to turn into such.  That being said, I feel at least a few words about Japan are in order:

I heard about the tsunami a few hours after it occurred, and I was utterly shocked, to put it mildly.  I simply don't know how to react in such circumstances.  What can you possibly say?  Then tonight I watched video footage on the chadashot (news) which left me utterly speechless and horrified.  To know that so many people's lives were so immediately and definitively altered, even destroyed, is beyond comprehension.  Let us all pray or hope or wish for a return to normalcy and safety for those in Japan and the Pacific, and let us further count our innumerable blessings.

Tonight I went to services and, as I have begun to expect, was invited to dinner.  However tonight it wasn't to be at my Israeli mom's house (her name is Shoshi, by the way), but at her friends' whom I met last week around her table.  But after services and before going to dinner we stopped at Shoshi's house where she insisted I put on warmer clothes.  Apparently a calf-length skirt, long-sleeved shirt, knitted poncho, and fleece jacket isn't enough in "winter" (or what passes as winter in Israel.  Psh.  They don't know what they're talking about).  So I came back tonight with a pair of socks, thick winter leggings, a sweater, and a winter jacket, all of which she told me to keep.  Despite the fact that I told her I really wasn't cold, she refused to believe me.  "You know, a mother can sense how a child feels," she told me.  "And you need warmer clothes.  I don't care if you're used to colder than this."  And that was that.  End of discussion.

Dinner at her friends' house was pleasant, with warm food and friendly company, as always.  We left early because Shoshi has a busy day tomorrow, and in all fairness I wanted to take a nap before going to the club tonight.  Yes, I'm going.  A couple girls here have convinced me to go, seeing as I haven't been there since the first weekend.  But upon returning to the Ulpan I discovered that a nap is absolutely out of the question since the Ulpan has apparently been overrun with Latin Americans.  I'm not sure who they all are, but I'm under the impression they're friends of today's birthday girl (one of the students from Argentina).  And if the students here are any indication then Latin Americans love to party and make noise, which means no sleep for me!  I guess that's what Saturday will be for.

I'm actually looking forward to going to the club tonight.  What with politics and a few other things, I've been getting a little bogged down in heavy thoughts and I need a night of dancing to horrible, loud music with a good beat and lots of people around me.  But don't worry, Mommies and Daddies everywhere, I'll be safe.  I promise.  And I'll make sure to wear a warm jacket.  :)

Sabbath-induced Zen

In an effort to find a better Internet connection, this post is coming to you from outdoors in the middle of the kibbutz after dark, where I have found a previously undiscovered FOUR BARS OF INTERNET CONNECTION!  Now you know where I will be for all future Skype dates.
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Growing up, Shabbos was always about going to shul (synagogue) on Saturday morning, hoping to make the minyan (quorum required for certain parts of the service), then relaxing the rest of the day while my parents took their requisite Shabbos Afternoon Naps.  When I was at camp, it was about dressing up on Friday evening, taking pictures and giving every single person on the machaneh (camp) a Shabbat Sha'hug.  It was also about singing extra loud, enjoying the extra long Shabbat menuchah (rest time), and writing a few extra letters to friends and family.

In the last few years I have gradually ratified my personal meaning of Shabbos.  I began to refuse to do school work or check my e-mail in order to better sanctify this one day of rest.  I have also started to avoid handling money or riding in cars so that I know - and everyone around me knows - that this day is important to me.

 In Israel, Shabbat has added significance: for many people, Friday afternoon through Saturday is the entirety of their weekend, which means that for some, Saturday is their only opportunity to travel, go somewhere fun, or just get away.  This explains why even though public transportation does not run on Shabbat (per Jewish Rabbinic law), there are still plenty of cars on the streets.

Last night I went to services and had dinner again at my adopted family's house.  After the other guests had left, I stayed up with my Israeli mom and found out that she actually came from a very religious family.  In fact, she's the only one of the four daughters who is not still religious.  I shouldn't say she's not religious, though.  She's just not Dati, orthodox.  She does keep Kosher, and she still has a very strong connection to G-d and her religion.  She just firmly believes that there is more than one way to be a Jew.  And I love her all the more for that.

Today I went to the morning services on the Kibbutz for the first time.  I'm sorry to say, but I don't know if I'll be going back.  I felt more like a spectator at a men's private function, allowed to sit in the back row only if I promised to be quiet (which wasn't too much of a problem since despite the fact that I know the service very well, I was lost half the time).  For the first time in my post-Bat Mitzvah life, I actually kind of wanted to leave the service early because I truly felt I wasn't getting anything out of it.

After services ended around 10:00 am, I went back to my room, grabbed a book, my crochet project, and a towel, and laid out in the sun for a few hours.  Then I made myself a quick lunch, tuned a guitar, and found the perfect place to spend the rest of my afternoon: underneath a young olive tree, surrounded by waist-high grass (or thigh-high for you tall people) and clover with yellow flowers.  With no one around, I could focus intently on the sounds of the veritable menagerie of birds hidden nearby while basking in the mottled sun peaking through the olive branches.  I read some more, serenaded myself, and possibly napped.  Or meditated, I'm not sure which.

We are told that Shabbat is a day of rest where we should not do any work.  By rabbinic standards some of my activities were, in fact, work, but quite honestly, I don't remember the last time I was this relaxed.  It was a beautiful day.

Days like this make me wonder about what all those rabbinic laws really mean, and what G-d actually intended.  There are days when I can't help but notice all the things I do that would be considered a breach of the Sabbath in a more religious home.  Then there are days like today when I am fully immersed in nature and Creation and I am, for a moment, convinced that this is what is meant when we are told to "keep the Sabbath holy."

I suspect that with each week, month, and year that passes, my interpretation of Shabbat will change to fit ever-changing circumstances.  I hope that I am open to that change and am always able to come away from my Sabbaths feeling energized and refreshed for the week to come.

Souvenirs

The French verb se souvenir means "to remember."  From this comes the noun souvenir, used in both French and English.  The English use of the word souvenir describes an object, which is essentially a physical representation or manifestation of a memory, and often taken from a faraway, exotic, or unique location.

It is interesting that these souvenirs -- rememberances, if you will -- should always be so concrete.  But what about when we have no tangible object to represent an experience?  To this the 21st century masses shout "Take a picture!" or "Video!  Audio!" but even these are not always options.

It is in these moments where no palpable souvenir can be found that we must return to the true meaning of the word and simply remember.

I spent last Shabbat with some acquaintances of my Mom in Rehovot.  The family is Dati, referring to a the general population of religious (Orthodox) Jews in Israel.  However, as I found and as was explained to me, the labels are less significant here, as the people themselves are more chromatic, representing a more inclusive spectrum than I have personally observed in the United States.  But I digress.

I was delighted to find the siddurim (prayer books) at the synagogue with which I am most familiar.  Same publisher, same translation, everything.  Other than the new melodies and the d'var torah (sermon) which was completely in Hebrew, I was entirely comfortable and "at home."

While listening to the d'var torah, it became increasingly axiomatic that the person speaking was not Israeli.  The accent had none of the guttural depth of a native Israeli, and I turned to my hostess to ask where he was from.  "The United States," she replied matter-of-fact.  "Most of the people here are Americans or others who have spent a lot of time abroad."  She explained that generally-speaking, synagogues in Israel are less of a community than elsewhere around the world.  You go, you pray, you leave.  Why form a community with the people in your synagogue when all the people around you are part of the Jewish community?  But Americans, well, some of us like that once-a-week community, like being part of something special to make a true distinction between Shabbat and the rest of the week.  So this synagogue grew with that in mind, built and cultivated by a predominately Ashkenazi (Eastern European) English-speaking congregation.

As with most Jewish services I've attended, song played a primary role throughout it all.  My Jewish friends and family will understand what I'm talking about, but I'm not entirely sure if everyone else will.  You see, in Judaism we do not sing from Psalters or other notation.  We are not told when we will sing what.  With a few exceptions, what we are singing are not songs but melodies put to the requisite text.  Everyone in a given community knows the melodies, knows the variations, may even know alternate melodies.  And though many are found throughout the world, many more are unique to each community and region.  And of course, each community's interpretation of the melody is as individual as the people themselves.

It's always comfortable to go to a new synagogue and hear the same melodies with which you're already familiar, but it's even more exciting and impressive to go somewhere and be introduced to something entirely different.  It's as if each new melody brings new meaning to the words we are proclaiming, creating a sense of ruach and kedushah that otherwise gets lost amid the monotony and regularity of the service.

It is impossible to describe exactly how I felt upon singing with this congregation, but it is a feeling not entirely foreign to me.  The opening notes are like Pavlov's bell to my musical mouth.  I feel a sense of awe coupled with excitement as I try to train my ears and voice to the rise and fall of this new current.  As I am swept along the melody with the rest of the community, I begin to listen for the splashes of harmony and counter-melody - the old man's inspired cry here, the woman's dolce soprano voice floating gently above the others there - and I try to mimic them or add my own to the growing stream.  Soon, I am singing confidently with them, enjoying the music we are creating but knowing full-well I may not be able to recreate this precise moment.

I wish I could have a camera inside the synagogue to show you the joy, the sincerity, the pomp, the variety.  I wish I could record the sounds and spirit of these moments, but alas, I am forbidden.  Yet while I might momentarily bemoan the circumstance, I remember just as quickly that I must enjoy it that much more.  In order to create my souvenir, I must live in the moment as fully, as completely as possible, to ensure the memory remains not only in my mind, but in my eyes, my ears, my body, my soul.

There was another such moment, albeit more subtle, before dinner on Friday night.  It is customary among religious Jews for parents to bless their children before the Shabbat meal.  There is a particular blessing one says, though I imagine most parents add their own words, private prayers and supplications.  So Friday night, I again witnessed this prayer for the children.  The children that evening were not so young - ages 19 to 23 - and yet this custom was carried out as it had for their entire lives.  I watched as my host's 19-year-old son stood in front of his father.  Tenderly, his father placed his hands on either side of the boy's head, touched forehead to forehead with eyes closed and uttered words that only they and G-d could hear.  After the prayer had been said, the father kissed his son's head.  I watched their profiles in this ritual and again thought how beautiful it would be to photograph.  But I caught myself mid-thought and instead focused intently on what I saw to impress the image on my mind.  And I'll tell you:  This image is better than anything my camera could have taken, because the image I keep to myself contains not just color, hue, line, and texture, but memory, emotion, spirit, and the essence of love and life.  It is the greatest souvenir I could have taken.

Home away from home

No matter where you are in the world, a Jewish mother is a Jewish mother to everyone regardless of familial affiliation.  For those who are unfamiliar with Jewish mothers, here are some basic rules and guidelines:

1.  Never say no to an offer for a meal.
2.  Never say no to an offer for more food at said meal.
3.  Never say no when offered a ride home at night because "It's dark out and I'll  never forgive myself if something were to happen!"

Last night I went to Friday night Shabbat services where I sat next to the same woman from last week (whose name I've only heard once and have since entirely forgotten).  Middle-aged and very kind, she asked me about my week, told me about her husband who works in China and had just returned home for the week, mentioned her job as a lawyer, and invited me for dinner, all before services began.  After services she introduced me to her husband and we walked to their house on the kibbutz.  I talked with the husband for a bit and he told me about his job in pharmaceuticals and how he recently started working in China - four weeks there, two weeks here.  He seems to like it, though.

At their house we found their daughter and son-in-law with their own adorable six-month-old baby who was apparently fascinated by me.  "Ani chadashah!  Mah?  Mah?" I said to him while he continued to stare at me with the most intense and inquisitive gaze I've ever seen on an infant.  We waited patiently for the other guests to arrive while Mrs. Kind Israeli Woman finished the salads.  Her daughter told me that as a student of the current Ulpan, I should consider myself adopted.  Apparently with every Ulpan (and there are two per year), this woman brings home at least one or two students and "adopts" them into her family, offering them a meal any Shabbat they don't have other plans.  One of the other guests coming that night was adopted from last year's Ulpan at this time and had since made aliyah (moved to Israel and become a citizen), and the daughter told me about one of the first adopted girls who, fifteen years later, has a husband and child and still keeps in touch with this family.

By the time we sat down for dinner there were nine of us, including another couple (another daughter and son-in-law?) and their son (not the adopted one).  Dinner itself was a spectacular feast of various salads, two rice dishes, stuffed peppers, beef, chicken, and probably a few other things that I didn't see across the table.  We sang Shalom Alechem, made kiddush and hamotzi, then dug in.  It was glorious!  I didn't realize until that moment how much I was missing a good home-cooked meal.

I was thankful to have the ex-Ulpan guy there since he grew up in Australia and thus had no trouble speaking English with me.  Meanwhile, everyone else spoke Hebrew and despite the whole five days of classes I've had so far, I could barely understand a word.  That's alright.  It was enough for me to be in their presence.  On Shabbat.  In Israel.

After dinner I helped clear the table with everyone else, then we sat down for a dessert of fruit salad, nuts, cookies, and rugelach.  Per Israeli custom on Shabbat, the TV was turned on.  I watched a couple news segments in between talking to Mr. Australia-turned-Israel, who told me some fascinating things about Israeli politics, social structure, and customs.  And he told me about the amazing phenomenon whereby Christmas and Easter go completely unnoticed.  He's making a convincing case for making aliyah. ( But don't worry - my degree would be worthless here, so I'm not really considering it).

My attention back on the TV, I noticed how wonderfully strange it was to hear news casters signing off with a Shabbat Shalom on national television.  Once the news was over, the channel was changed to the Israeli version of Saturday Night Live.  I thought "Oh goodness, everyone will be laughing but I won't have a clue as to what's going on."  Wrong!  Sure, maybe I couldn't understand the words, but the make-up, music, backgrounds, characters, and mannerisms were hilarious in and of themselves.  If Israelis know how to do anything, it's make fun of themselves, and they did a fantastic job.  There is also no such thing as being "Politically Correct," which means they have no problem making fun of their Arab neighbors as well.  I can't wait until I can understand it!

Even though I was less than a ten-minute walk from the Ulpan and the worst that could happen to me is to be jumped on by a large dog (which happened the other night with a dog twice my size), I couldn't back out of being given a ride back.  I also have an open invitation for any future Shabbat dinner, so I'm sure I won't be a stranger in their home.

I'm told that of all possible landings in Israel, landing on a kibbutz - and this kibbutz in particular - is one of the softest.  I'm thankful for that.  I'm thankful for the community, the strangers who quickly become relatives, the watchful eyes and helpful hands, and the knowledge that whenever I really miss home there are many in close proximity that are willing to take in an extra daughter.

Shabbos - Kibbutz style

I'm writing this Saturday evening after having spent a relaxing shabbos sleeping and walking around the kibbutz - with my camera this time.  I met a lovely kibbutznik who made aliyah not long ago and is originally from L.A., and she showed me and Esther around a bit.  I'm sure she'll read this, so I'll make sure not to say anything bad about her.  Haha, don't worry, I don't have any bad words to say about her!

Going from L.A. to Kibbutz Naan is a significant change for her.  Things here are at a much slower pace, much more intimate, and also a little more invasive.  But she did talk about all the wonderful aspects of the kibbutz and even put its privatization in a very positive light.  Up until now, I've regarded that shift as a negative thing in the history of the kibbutz movement, but she said that without it there is no room for entrepreneurship or, to an extent, significant personal fulfillment.  She finds that the option to work outside the kibbutz and live for oneself is appreciated, not only by her but by many in the kibbutz.

She had some wonderful stories to tell as well, and I learned things about the kibbutz (both good and not-so-good) that make it seem even more alive.  For instance, as we walked through her neighborhood, she commented that the architecture of the buildings is indicative of the many layers of Israeli and kibbutz history.  Case in point:  Many of the older homes have newer kitchens that have been added at the back because 30-40 years ago everyone ate together in the cheder ohel (dining room), so there was no need for private kitchens.  In addition, many only had one bedroom because all the children on the kibbutz would live together and raised as such.  It is not to say that the kibbutzim are deteriorating.  Far from it; they are thriving and changing with their people, adapting to new necessities as they arise.

She also told us about many of the Francophone kibbutzniks that will undoubtedly find Esther and even said she'll try to get me in touch with the music director here.  YAY!

But enough about today.  Undoubtedly it is last night that will interest you the most.  

I went to evening services and heard a speed of Hebrew that rivals a Chasid's conversational English, put within complex rhythmic and metrical patterns for melodies I've never heard.  I could barely move my eyes quickly enough to follow along, much less move my lips, but it was a lovely experience.  There weren't many there - we just barely had a minyan of men plus six women and a couple children, and in many ways it reminded me of the small congregations I know and love.  Inside jokes, respected elders -- a small but loyal family.  I might be reading too much into it, but hey, nobody's stopping me.

Afterward we had dinner with some of the gang from the Ulpan, then I went to sleep at 8:00.  Why would I sleep at 8:00, you ask?  Because I had to prepare myself for the mother of all parties.  

Kibbutz Naan is home to one of the largest and most popular clubs in all of Israel.  It has two dance areas, one with hip hop and an awesome light/strobe system, the other with rock music of Israeli, American, and some Latin descent.  Both areas have bars, and there are guards and security personnel to be found in each area.  At the peak of any Friday night there may be upwards of 700 to 800 people there, dancing, smoking, and some passing out.  I have also learned that Israelis give a new meaning to the phrase "Jewish Standard Time" (the phrase that explains why Jews are usually late by 30 minutes or more to any event).  Our Ulpan director told us that if we got there at 11:00, nobody would be there.  So we planned to leave our rooms around midnight.  When we arrived it was already busy, but by 2:00 a.m. I found myself dancing on the edges of the thickest, most dense crowd I've ever been in, with the possible exception of the lines to the women's bathroom at Summerfest concert.

I finally left with a few of my friends around 3:30 a.m., exhausted and sweaty but content.  Those of you reading this who are above the age of 35 will be happy to know I consumed very little alcohol and it was easily matched, if not outweighed, by the water I drank.  This is certainly not something I'll do every week, but it was definitely an experience worth having.