It's New Year's Eve and low clouds came rolling in off the Mediterranean this morning. It truly seems like this holiday season has been especially cheerless in this part of the world, but it's got nothing to do with the weather. As I walked around campus, Billie Holiday's version of A Foggy Day immediately sprang to mind and I got a little nostalgic for a place I spent only one terribly rain-soaked afternoon. You could see no more than a hundred feet in any direction. Only the outlines of the buildings were perceptible and unfortunately for the pro-IDF demonstration that was to take place at noon on the courtyard, less than a hundred people showed up. Visibility is an essential ingredient to any good public gathering--otherwise the flags, banners, clever sayings hastily scratched on posters all come to naught. Instead, they are just angry voices in the mist, chanting muffled slogans and diatribes. I spoke to two friends who, in the hope of seeing some real public upheaval, had attended. They told me that there weren't enough people for anything exciting to happen. Sometimes I guess I don't mind a little inclimate weather around the holidays.
Yesterday, a friend gave me a Palestinian scarf for a Christmas present and today, the student organization was handing out Israeli flags to everyone that would take them. My American roommate asked me what happened to our little peacefully co-existent campus and, in turn, I asked him where all the good holiday cheer had run off to. I have stopped counting the number of conversations I have had on the recent Gaza War, not that it's not immensely interesting because war is exciting yet I just seem to be having the same conversation over and over. Instead, I have begun to count the number of times I hear the phrase, from either side, "I hate them," or "they don't make any sense" and "what did they think was going to happen?" Otherwise, life seems to continue on much as normal: classes attended, bars packed, movie theaters full, and to my disappointment my Finals week proceeds. Maybe it's that they have gotten used to wars in this part of the world? Surely, if I had gone to University in the South, life would be very different for me as rockets have hit Beer Sheva, Ashdod and Ashkelon. Israelis, rightly, are very concerned and angered by this but none of even my more dovish friends have ever once mentioned their misgivings about the numerous missiles killing innocent Palestinian men, women and children not supportive of Hamas' tactics. Collateral damage, I guess. Similarly, you hear very little outspoken condemnation of Hamas' behavior in the Arab street. But this is a bigger problem than just misperception and enmification. There are a small number of people on each side that are holding empathy and moderation hostage and through the use of violence, whether or not it's legitimate or illegitimate, seem to hold sway over the rest of their constituency. I like to think of it like our current weather on the top of this mountain: the clouds have arrived and no one can see very well so those with the loudest voices are the ones leading everyone blindly through the fog. Additionally, the short term is the only thing that anyone is concerned about. No one seems to offer any longer-term solutions. The really depressing thing is that many believe that there can never be peace in the immediate or distant future. So Israel, in the words of an editorialist here is "teaching them a lesson, again" and the government and many others say that this war will destroy the Hamas infrastructure and make them think twice before bombing the South. I'm not convinced. It's pretty apparent that this is exactly what Hamas wanted and the longer this conflict goes on, the more legitimate and popular Hamas will become. Some call this Israel reestablishing its deterrence against a terrorist organization but I think this grossly misinterprets how Hamas came to be in power and its role in Gaza. Others, like David Brooks of the New York Times claim that in this current conflict, violence does not necessarily beget violence but sometimes prevents it. I disagree. For a starving, unemployed, overpopulated 140 square miles in Gaza, killing and violence will almost always call for a similar response. What do they have to lose?
So the once cautiously integrated communities here at the University of Haifa are polarized and distinctly separated now, after powerful nationalist emotions have sprung forth. Racialization, already well embedded within society here, only becomes a stronger force as both sides seem to be saying you are either one of us or one of them. Many wear the Palestinian scarf or an Israeli flag. But I refuse to pick sides. I wonder what would happen if I put on the Palestinian scarf my friend gave me while waving one of the Israeli flags. Is this a contradiction? Can there be no middle ground? Looking out my window, the clouds appear to be settling in for the last night of the year. I hope the new year brings a break in the weather so that maybe, someday, the sun will come out.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Petra
For our last day in Eilat, we decided to travel into Jordan, (which signed a peace treaty with Israel in 1994 allowing tourists and citizens to cross over this border) and visit Petra, an ancient city carved by the Nabataeans in the canyons of the Jordanian mountains. The Nabataeans thrived from 600 BCE until the birth of Christ because of the overland trade routes through the Middle East (the most popular commodities were spices due to the Greco-Roman emphasis on incense and other spices for religious ceremonies). The Nabataeans were later conquered by the Romans and the civilization eventually vanished because of the rise of sea trade. Petra was rediscovered by the West in 1812. The claim to fame of this place for Americans is the fact that Indiana Jones visited this place on his last crusade with his father in what turned out to be, unfortunately, the penultimate movie of that series. You will recognize it in some of the pictures. The sight is no less breathtaking now that it was when I saw that film nearly 20 years ago. From the border, four of us took a cab, which turned out to be several cabs, because we were forced to switch drivers and cars for no easily discernible reason. We finally ended up with a man named Jamil whose English was proficient and showed us pictures of his daughter on his cellular phone. The cab ride took two hours on King's Highway, a winding two-lane affair that rose through the Jordanian plateau and stretched into the mountains. He left us at the gate only providing us with his number and said he would wait for us. The hike into the sight is a lovely one--a winding gravel path that leads down a rocky hillside with several carved tombs in the side of the hills. Arabs rode donkeys, camels and horses, proffering rides for wealthy tourists who didn't want to walk the mile down into the canyon. The tourists are almost exclusively from Europe, the US, Canada, or Australia, most of which are in large tour groups arranged from Israel. The canyon that leads to the ancient city was carved from rivers long gone and reminds me of pictures I have seen of the grand canyon, though much smaller. It is only 5 meters across at some points and usually no wider than 10. As you near the end of the canyon, it opens up onto a square of sorts that is faced by the "Treasury" one of the largest carved tombs. The square bustled with people and camels. I made sure to steer clear of the camels because I heard from the Genie in Aladdin that they spit. We made our way to the amphitheatre, then walked along a promenade with Roman columns before climbing up a mountain to see the biggest of the attractions, the "Monastery" which is more than twice as big as the "Treasury" and from which you can see much of the Jordanian plateau below. We stayed a little too long on top of the mountain speaking with some of the Bedouins who have shops there and descended the mountain as the sun was going down. On the way back, the place was left to us, alone. No little souvenir stands, no donkeys, no Arab children yelling at each other, or loud tourists. The four of us walked back and enjoyed the oddity of such a magnificent place in the quiet. When we entered the canyon, night had fallen and candles had been placed in bags to light the path. It was as if they were expecting us but in reality the candles were for the night crowd, which had not yet arrived. I'm not big on tourist attractions but this one ranks up there as most enjoyable.
Jamil was waiting for us when we reached the gate. We headed back along the King’s Highway, only this time at around 150 kilometers per hour (roughly 90mph) so that we could reach the border by 8 o’clock, otherwise we would have to spend the night in Jordan. Jamil was not pleased with us and was driving altogether too fast on the winding highway, making our stomachs lurch at every turn. As we headed down a mountain side, all of a sudden an animal flashed in the headlights (I could see very well from the front seat that it was a large dog), and the impact reverberated throughout the cabin as I yelled, “ohhh sh@!*&%$#t!” Jamil slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. Enraged, he stepped from the car, slamming his door. He moved around to the front of the car to look at the damage. Tucker, seated in the back and the eternal pragmatist, said very level-headedly, “Well, we’ll probably have to give him a tip now.” Colette, also seated in the back, was in a different place entirely, “Did we hit a person?” I explained that, no, in fact it was a large dog. Meanwhile, Jamil headed back up the highway to see if the dog was dead and probably finish the job if his bumper had not. Whether we all like to admit it or not, we were all thinking what this Arab man was going to do, and this is where our socialization comes into play. Talking afterward, we all shared what we thought Jamil was going to do: I thought he would turn us out of his cab and make us walk, Tucker thought similarly that he might try to extract more money from us, Miriam said she was afraid that he wouldn’t go any further without compensation, and Colette, unabashedly, told us that she was contemplating texting her mother for possibly last time. I think all of us would admit that Colette’s thought passed through all of our minds, however briefly, merely because this man was an Arab. Jamil, however, although transparently angry, got us to the border on time and asked us for no extra payment. Such is the accuracy of prejudice and stereotype. As was only right, we gave him a large tip.
-N
The end of the canyon opening up on the Treasury
In the canyon
Bedouin man's walk to work
Canyon walls
Westerners taking a ride through the canyon
Multi-colored sides of the canyon wall
Smiling camel
Treasury from Indiana Jones fame (the door opens onto only one small room)
Monastery (over 60 feet tall)
View from the top of the mountain
Placing a rock on the pile
Top of the mountain with the Jordanian flag
Jamil was waiting for us when we reached the gate. We headed back along the King’s Highway, only this time at around 150 kilometers per hour (roughly 90mph) so that we could reach the border by 8 o’clock, otherwise we would have to spend the night in Jordan. Jamil was not pleased with us and was driving altogether too fast on the winding highway, making our stomachs lurch at every turn. As we headed down a mountain side, all of a sudden an animal flashed in the headlights (I could see very well from the front seat that it was a large dog), and the impact reverberated throughout the cabin as I yelled, “ohhh sh@!*&%$#t!” Jamil slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. Enraged, he stepped from the car, slamming his door. He moved around to the front of the car to look at the damage. Tucker, seated in the back and the eternal pragmatist, said very level-headedly, “Well, we’ll probably have to give him a tip now.” Colette, also seated in the back, was in a different place entirely, “Did we hit a person?” I explained that, no, in fact it was a large dog. Meanwhile, Jamil headed back up the highway to see if the dog was dead and probably finish the job if his bumper had not. Whether we all like to admit it or not, we were all thinking what this Arab man was going to do, and this is where our socialization comes into play. Talking afterward, we all shared what we thought Jamil was going to do: I thought he would turn us out of his cab and make us walk, Tucker thought similarly that he might try to extract more money from us, Miriam said she was afraid that he wouldn’t go any further without compensation, and Colette, unabashedly, told us that she was contemplating texting her mother for possibly last time. I think all of us would admit that Colette’s thought passed through all of our minds, however briefly, merely because this man was an Arab. Jamil, however, although transparently angry, got us to the border on time and asked us for no extra payment. Such is the accuracy of prejudice and stereotype. As was only right, we gave him a large tip.
-N
The end of the canyon opening up on the Treasury
In the canyon
Bedouin man's walk to work
Canyon walls
Westerners taking a ride through the canyon
Multi-colored sides of the canyon wall
Smiling camel
Treasury from Indiana Jones fame (the door opens onto only one small room)
Monastery (over 60 feet tall)
View from the top of the mountain
Placing a rock on the pile
Top of the mountain with the Jordanian flagThursday, November 13, 2008
Yom Kippur and Eilat
For Jews Yom Kippur, the day of Atonement, is the most important Holiday on the calendar. It usually involves fasting for 25 hours, of which I took part, and private confessions of guilt after which you can be considered absolved by God. A number of fellow International School students and I walked (since there is not a single car or bus on the road) to a Modern Orthodox Synagogue. I have been to a couple of reform shabbat services but this was my first foray into the more conservative religious aspects of Judaism. Now, Modern Orthodox do not wear a specific type of clothing, like the black suits and hats of Haredi or Ultra-Orthodox, and engage in slightly more liberal lifestyles but try to retain the strict religious practices and belief systems of the Orthodox. Their Shuul, Temple or Synagogue (I'm not sure which terminology is preferred) is located in a brand new apartment complex that was designed for Modern Orthodox families. This was only the second service ever performed there and, like all synagogues that I have been to in Israel, the men and women are seated separately and kippah's were required by men. In this particular one, the men sat in front in a much larger seating area while the women were above and behind. Other more reformist synagogues sometimes have the men and women sit next to each other instead of in front of or behind. By the beginning of the ceremony all of the seats were filled in the men's area which meant that many women were standing in the back. I spoke with several of my female friends afterward and they all felt not particulary pleased with the situation. The service lasted about two hours, where traditional prayers were read but unlike other services, the Rabbi or prayer leader was not a gifted singer and so the prayers lost much of their rhythm and pleasing melody. In the middle of the ceremony, the Torah, housed in a large wooden cabinet in the front of the room and carried around so that the men could touch it with their tallits (a cloth woven from 613 threads, symbolizing the 613 commmandmants of the Old Testament, and tied in knots at the ends) Tallits are is usually given to men at their bar mitzvah and worn under their clothes by the more observant or else wrapped around them for religious ceremonies). Much of the time we spent standing and, if we had wanted, there was another 6 to 8 hours of prayer the next day. It wasn't particularly enjoyable and it isn't supposed to be. I am glad we attended though.
A couple of days later, a few friends and I rented a car and drove South to the very tip of the country that borders the Red Sea. It is called the Vegas of Israel and is full of tourists, hotels and shops. We drove through Tel Aviv at rush hour and got stuck in traffic for an hour and a half. As we finally exited the city to the South, I accidentally missed the turn and we ended up on a two-lane highway, which, much to my traveling companion's chagrin (and of course my parents'), dead-ended at a Gaza Strip check point. It was dusk and there weren't any guards around because the check-point had been closed as had all of Gaza for some time now. It is amazing how close Gaza really is to the heart of this country and that with one wrong turn, we were standing on those borders that have been scrutinized tirelessly for the last 60 years. We backtracked and continued South, entering the Negev Desert which makes up a majority of the country and reaches all the way down to Eilat. The drive is beautiful, even at night, and especially with a full moon. We drove along the Dead Sea for a bit where the sulfur and salt is almost palpable in the air. We stayed in Eilat for five days and swam and snorkeled during the day, hiked in the mountains (big hills) overlooking Jordan, Egypt and Israel, and listened to live music and danced by night. It was a true vacation experience.
On our last day in Eilat, we entered Jordan to visit the ancient city of Petra.
To be continued....
Tallit or Prayer Shawl
The gang before we left (Nick, Brian, Colette, Tucker and Miriam)
Lots of Camel tours
Tucker and I with the Red Sea behind and Jordan in the distance
The gang again
Barren landscape of the Negev
A couple of days later, a few friends and I rented a car and drove South to the very tip of the country that borders the Red Sea. It is called the Vegas of Israel and is full of tourists, hotels and shops. We drove through Tel Aviv at rush hour and got stuck in traffic for an hour and a half. As we finally exited the city to the South, I accidentally missed the turn and we ended up on a two-lane highway, which, much to my traveling companion's chagrin (and of course my parents'), dead-ended at a Gaza Strip check point. It was dusk and there weren't any guards around because the check-point had been closed as had all of Gaza for some time now. It is amazing how close Gaza really is to the heart of this country and that with one wrong turn, we were standing on those borders that have been scrutinized tirelessly for the last 60 years. We backtracked and continued South, entering the Negev Desert which makes up a majority of the country and reaches all the way down to Eilat. The drive is beautiful, even at night, and especially with a full moon. We drove along the Dead Sea for a bit where the sulfur and salt is almost palpable in the air. We stayed in Eilat for five days and swam and snorkeled during the day, hiked in the mountains (big hills) overlooking Jordan, Egypt and Israel, and listened to live music and danced by night. It was a true vacation experience.
On our last day in Eilat, we entered Jordan to visit the ancient city of Petra.
To be continued....
Tallit or Prayer Shawl
The gang before we left (Nick, Brian, Colette, Tucker and Miriam)
Lots of Camel tours
Tucker and I with the Red Sea behind and Jordan in the distance
The gang again
Barren landscape of the NegevMonday, November 3, 2008
Yom Kippur, the Golan Heights and the Galilee
The International School here at the University of Haifa organizes trips throughout the school year. Most of the tiyules revolve around the natural environment. There are trips to the Golan Heights, the Dead Sea and the Negev desert. Haifa is located in the northwest of Israel and following from Haifa a valley extends eastwards, which for ancient tribes, Bedouins, Arabs, Christians and Jews was part of the natural division to the land. Ancient trade routes extended from the Mediterranean in latitudinal lines. Thus, when the colonial powers divided the Middle East, combining several of these trade routes into one country, they corresponded to no previously existing demographic divisions. We started our trip early in the morning, destined for the Golan Heights, a plateau that Israel captured from Syria in 1967 in the Six Day’s War. We drove East through one the valleys stretching from the sea, seeing many olive orchards which are overlooked by little hamlets on each hill or mountain. The Galilee, the area West of the Golan Heights is the most heavily Arab populated area in Israel Proper. Israel attempted to populate the area with Jews so that the communities would further integrate, however, this initiative largely failed. Gradually, we climbed towards the plateau and away from the coast. Along the previous border of Israel and Syria, the Jordan River flows and is lined with fields of Syrian landmines where cattle now roam. Large yellow signs mark off these areas. They continue to exist because the Israeli Defense Forces have no idea where the mines are and it would cost many lives and resources to find them all. We were told that once in awhile a cow will be grazing in such an area and suddenly blow up. Our guide thought this was rather funny. Once up on the plateau, the scenery reminded me of the western part of Montana or Wyoming: rather arid, sometimes rocky, with rolling hills for grazing and agriculture, and the big blue sky. We stopped at an old Syrian military outpost with abandoned one story cement buildings surrounded by Eucalyptus trees, which they planted for shade (which allowed the Israeli military to easily identify outposts and part of the reason for their swift victory). These buildings not only housed the soldiers but their families as well. We descended into a narrow canyon and hiked along a small stream with waterfalls and cold and clear pools that we stopped to swim in.
That night we stopped at a Kibbutz and slept in Bedouin-style tents that fit around 60 people. In one giant room there are rugs and mats for everyone. Thankfully, I fell asleep quickly before, I was later told, several snorers began their music. The next day was another longer hike through a different canyon with waterfalls and scenic views. The last stop on the tour was a military lookout over Syria, on top of a dormant volcano. Our tour guide, a native of Britain had made aliya (Jewish immigration) twenty years before and has been in the army ever since, though on reserve for much of it. Having been on several tours already, I was not surprised by the biased and exaggerated Pro-Israeli perspective that we received from him. There are many tour guides in Israel and most are preaching to Jewish Zionist groups so such rhetoric is probably more easily swallowed. But I had a hard time biting my tongue, especially when he painted a portrait of Israeli Jews as modern, progressive and peace-loving while Arabs were backwards, violent and misogynistic. This is not an uncommon opinion here though not the majority. Even in some of my classes I have heard similar points of view from professors. It is a racialized perspective that can be compared to some older trends in the US for blacks and Hispanics, as well as in Europe for Jews, Romas, and even Irish. It is this perspective that I find most frustrating and which, I think, will prove the largest obstacle to finding lasting peace in the region. But Israel continues to surprise me in unexpected ways. The Golan is one of the most beautiful (and disputed) parts of this country. I had imagined this place as only desert and coast but it is much more. As are the people.
-N
Rosh Hashanah Dinner
Rotary Members
Abondoned Syrian military mosque
Tucker, Me, Kerstin, and Annelise
one of the many waterfalls
scenic view of Golan Heights
Tucker in the wind
Syrian outlook in the wind
The Sea of Galilee at sunset
That night we stopped at a Kibbutz and slept in Bedouin-style tents that fit around 60 people. In one giant room there are rugs and mats for everyone. Thankfully, I fell asleep quickly before, I was later told, several snorers began their music. The next day was another longer hike through a different canyon with waterfalls and scenic views. The last stop on the tour was a military lookout over Syria, on top of a dormant volcano. Our tour guide, a native of Britain had made aliya (Jewish immigration) twenty years before and has been in the army ever since, though on reserve for much of it. Having been on several tours already, I was not surprised by the biased and exaggerated Pro-Israeli perspective that we received from him. There are many tour guides in Israel and most are preaching to Jewish Zionist groups so such rhetoric is probably more easily swallowed. But I had a hard time biting my tongue, especially when he painted a portrait of Israeli Jews as modern, progressive and peace-loving while Arabs were backwards, violent and misogynistic. This is not an uncommon opinion here though not the majority. Even in some of my classes I have heard similar points of view from professors. It is a racialized perspective that can be compared to some older trends in the US for blacks and Hispanics, as well as in Europe for Jews, Romas, and even Irish. It is this perspective that I find most frustrating and which, I think, will prove the largest obstacle to finding lasting peace in the region. But Israel continues to surprise me in unexpected ways. The Golan is one of the most beautiful (and disputed) parts of this country. I had imagined this place as only desert and coast but it is much more. As are the people.
-N
Rosh Hashanah Dinner
Rotary Members
Abondoned Syrian military mosque
Tucker, Me, Kerstin, and Annelise
one of the many waterfalls
scenic view of Golan Heights
Tucker in the wind
Syrian outlook in the wind
The Sea of Galilee at sunsetWednesday, October 29, 2008
The Holiday Season
I’ve written a lot of my travels but I thought I should include more of everyday Israeli life at least for one posting. Don’t worry I’ll get back to the adventure in the next installment. As if anyone is actually sitting at home waiting for these things.
After only a week of classes, (which include Economics of the Middle, Dynamics of Conflict, Arab-Israeli Relations, and Iraq: Politics and Society), we began the holiday season. This is three weeks of vacation in which Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Sukko are the central holidays. For Rosh Hashanah (New Year), I spent much of my time with my Rotary Host Counselor, Yisrael Lazar. Yisrael has been a very gracious host to me through my first few months, involving me with all of the Rotary activities related to his club as well as inviting me to many extra-curricular activities that he and his family take part in. I was first invited to a Rosh Hashanah party with the entire club at one of the member’s houses that overlooks the Mediterranean. Most of the club was there with their significant others, which put the party around 50 or 60. Yisrael then read a story from the last book published by Jews in Europe before the Holocaust. Then a hired comedian entertained the club with a rather lengthy set. Throughout, Yisrael and his wife tried to keep me included by translating all of the jokes from Hebrew to English. This made me feel rather conspicuous, made worse by the comedian repeatedly glancing in our direction even asking once why we were talking. He thought we were heckling him. I was told not to worry, that he wasn’t funny anyway.
The next day I joined the Lazar’s at their home for a Rosh Hashanah meal. Along with a couple of Rotary Club members with their wives, Yisrael’s son, Asher, who had just returned from the US was present with his girlfriend. He had been discharged from the Army the previous spring after 3 years of service (like every other young man in the country) after which he visited his two older siblings that live in New York and New Jersey. Yisrael and his wife, Ruth, live in a rather small apartment by American standards but the furnishings are simple and elegant. The staircase winds up from the entrance foyer and as you enter the main living room that contains dark wood cabinets, a large leather couch and comfortable armchairs, it is impossible to not first notice the assortment or artwork covering each wall. They range in style from modernism to abstract to expressionism. There is even a Dali in one of the bedrooms. They are all originals. The other thing I noticed, being an American, was the lack of a television. An elegant table-setting, candles and a center-piece of pomegranate seeds (representing the 613 mitzvote or commandments in the Bible), had been carefully placed on the large dining room table. The men proceeded to be offered martinis then sat on the couches and spoke of the upcoming election and the current economic situation in the Middle East. After a few minutes, Ruth called us to the table and with little religious ceremony began the meal. First, slices of apple were passed around, which were then dipped into honey to welcome a sweet New Year. The other traditional food at a Rosh Hashanah meal is gefilte fish, popular among Ashkenazi Jews (literally German Jews but representing Eastern European traditions). The fish (usually carp) is usually ground into patties with eggs, carrots and onions then poached and chilled. They can be either sweet or savory and taste kind of gamey. It doesn't sound particularly appetizing and I think the taste does not come as any surprise. I took seconds, though not particularly enjoying either serving. The meal finished with cigars for the men and cigarettes for the women on the balcony overlooking Haifa Bay. Yisrael, in-between puffs from his Cuban, told of the Lebanese rockets which had landed just down the hill from their apartment two years previous. I looked down the hill where he pointed, at a cluster of bushes no different from the rest. At that moment, with my first Cuban in my mouth and a stomach full of traditional Jewish dessert, it was hard to imagine such a reality.
-N
After only a week of classes, (which include Economics of the Middle, Dynamics of Conflict, Arab-Israeli Relations, and Iraq: Politics and Society), we began the holiday season. This is three weeks of vacation in which Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Sukko are the central holidays. For Rosh Hashanah (New Year), I spent much of my time with my Rotary Host Counselor, Yisrael Lazar. Yisrael has been a very gracious host to me through my first few months, involving me with all of the Rotary activities related to his club as well as inviting me to many extra-curricular activities that he and his family take part in. I was first invited to a Rosh Hashanah party with the entire club at one of the member’s houses that overlooks the Mediterranean. Most of the club was there with their significant others, which put the party around 50 or 60. Yisrael then read a story from the last book published by Jews in Europe before the Holocaust. Then a hired comedian entertained the club with a rather lengthy set. Throughout, Yisrael and his wife tried to keep me included by translating all of the jokes from Hebrew to English. This made me feel rather conspicuous, made worse by the comedian repeatedly glancing in our direction even asking once why we were talking. He thought we were heckling him. I was told not to worry, that he wasn’t funny anyway.
The next day I joined the Lazar’s at their home for a Rosh Hashanah meal. Along with a couple of Rotary Club members with their wives, Yisrael’s son, Asher, who had just returned from the US was present with his girlfriend. He had been discharged from the Army the previous spring after 3 years of service (like every other young man in the country) after which he visited his two older siblings that live in New York and New Jersey. Yisrael and his wife, Ruth, live in a rather small apartment by American standards but the furnishings are simple and elegant. The staircase winds up from the entrance foyer and as you enter the main living room that contains dark wood cabinets, a large leather couch and comfortable armchairs, it is impossible to not first notice the assortment or artwork covering each wall. They range in style from modernism to abstract to expressionism. There is even a Dali in one of the bedrooms. They are all originals. The other thing I noticed, being an American, was the lack of a television. An elegant table-setting, candles and a center-piece of pomegranate seeds (representing the 613 mitzvote or commandments in the Bible), had been carefully placed on the large dining room table. The men proceeded to be offered martinis then sat on the couches and spoke of the upcoming election and the current economic situation in the Middle East. After a few minutes, Ruth called us to the table and with little religious ceremony began the meal. First, slices of apple were passed around, which were then dipped into honey to welcome a sweet New Year. The other traditional food at a Rosh Hashanah meal is gefilte fish, popular among Ashkenazi Jews (literally German Jews but representing Eastern European traditions). The fish (usually carp) is usually ground into patties with eggs, carrots and onions then poached and chilled. They can be either sweet or savory and taste kind of gamey. It doesn't sound particularly appetizing and I think the taste does not come as any surprise. I took seconds, though not particularly enjoying either serving. The meal finished with cigars for the men and cigarettes for the women on the balcony overlooking Haifa Bay. Yisrael, in-between puffs from his Cuban, told of the Lebanese rockets which had landed just down the hill from their apartment two years previous. I looked down the hill where he pointed, at a cluster of bushes no different from the rest. At that moment, with my first Cuban in my mouth and a stomach full of traditional Jewish dessert, it was hard to imagine such a reality.
-N
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
The Dead Sea and more Jerusalem Part II
We returned to the ancient city in the slowly fading light of a desert evening. The sunset comes upon you suddenly in this place, and then without warning, the street lights are on, the cool breezes of night begin to whip around the corners and Jerusalem, most of it, sleeps. There are areas, other than the old city and residential neighborhoods, in this town. There is downtown, the new capitalist-oriented section buzzing with modern restaurants, bars and shops. It was here that we stayed in an inexpensive hostel. We dropped our bags off and immediately headed for a grocery store for supplies. Ben-Yehuda is an exclusively pedestrian, broad, brick-lined street with a line of trees running down its spine. There are street-performers here, young men break-dancing, a woman playing a giant harp and other novelties. New women's fashions are stuffed into the glass fronts of the stores while the smell of schwarma, falafel, coffee and pastry shops is intoxicating. This is the new Israel: the modern, global, secular Israel. It reminds me of similar places in almost every other big city in Europe: Barcelona, Paris, Dublin, Rome etc. But the difference is that you know that this is just an oasis of modernity in a much larger landscape of religion and history, and not the general trend. This place seems almost anathema to what such a city represents. But it is also perfectly depicts the reality of Jerusalem. Just as the old city is divided between the Armenian, Christian, Jewish and Muslim Quarters, the neighborhoods outside those ancient walls represent more contemporary divisions: Russian neighborhoods, the downtown, the anglo-phone neighborhood where Hebrew is barely spoken, Arab neighborhoods, etc. And these places are just as strictly segregated. Jerusalem has been a divided city for thousands of years and nothing about its new developments tells me anything is going to change very soon.
We awoke in the middle of the night to the shouting of a woman from Trinidad and Tobago. Earlier in the night, she was very nice and talkative, speaking honestly about her perceptions of this country and its people, having a rather open mind, I thought. When she woke me up at 3 in the morning I had a less kind impression of her. She had, apparently, discovered bed bugs and was immediately packing all of her things. Everyone in the dormitory of eight was awake. After she had stormed out of the room and slammed the door after her, I leaned over my top bunk and asked Tucker if he thought there were any bugs. He replied no as did Annalise when I asked her. I took out my flashlight and inspected my own sheets, finding nothing alarming. I wasn't convinced. For the next two hours, every little sensation on my skin felt like a miniature bite and I couldn't convince myself otherwise. I didn't want to bother Annalise or Tucker but they were struggling with the same problem. It is such a difficult thing to control the sensations of your body when your mind is convinced of something, even if it is imaginary. There were no bed bugs after all but a nearly sleepless night made me think differently.
The Jerusalem International YMCA has been the home of the Jerusalem Rotary Club since 1921 when it was founded by the British in the first year of their mandate. The old and beautiful building resides directly across the street from the King David Hotel, which some of you may remember from the terrorist bombing of 1946, carried out by Irgun, a militant Zionist group, destroying much of the south wing. We joined the Rotary club for the weekly afternoon meeting, enthralled by their speaker that day, David Rubinger, probably the most famous Israeli photographer. His pictures have graced the cover of Time nearly a dozen times. He is now in his 80's and still taking photographs. He told us the story of how he got into photography, which I thought I would recount to you now because it has stuck with me. While in the British service, he was stationed for a month in Paris and one evening went to see the opera. He and his frined arrived late and unable to enter until intermission, decided instead on a bar around the corner. There he met a young Frenchwoman named Claudette who he immediately began a relationship with. When he left several weeks later on a train bound for Marseilles where he would board a ship for the Israel, she ran to the station to meet him. She kissed him and placed in his hands a new camera, which must have cost her several months wages. He had never before taken a photo. He was 21 and said that he never forgot that gift though unfortunately he forget about the girl.
We met a young Palestinian man at the Rotary meeting who was a pharmacist in Jerusalem but lived in the West Bank and he offered to show us around Bethlehem. We readily agreed. The checkpoints at the security wall, which I have heard much about, were a breeze for us Americans, though much more rigorous for Palestinians. On the other side of the wall, we hopped in one of the dozens of cabs waiting and sped away toward Bethlehem. There are five churches that now reside on the spot where Christ was supposedly born. The Christians came in droves, hoping to glimpse that sacred spot. The line to go under the altar of the Armenian church where 2008 years ago the most pivotal moment in the history of Western civilization took place was more than an hour and so we decided to move on. Although I must say that I was stunned how patient everyone in line seemed to be, compared to the mobs I had experienced trying to merely get on a bus. We moved through the other churches, catching snippets of Italian, French, Arabic, Hebrew, German, Hindi, and some African dialects which I couldn't pinpoint. After fighting our way through the mobs of pilgrims, we walked through the deserted streets of this Palestinian village. In the distance we could see the security wall snaking its way North and the pristine Jewish settlements just on the other side. I thought how difficult it must be to look at that landscape everyday, a constant reminder of the losses which this culture suffered over the past few generations. Our guide gave us a particularly one-sided perspective, which surprisingly was Pro-Israel. I had my doubts as to the motives of such rhetoric coming from a Palestinian but I said nothing and forced myself not to make any remarks. The return to Jerusalem was as easy and swift as the exit and before long we were back at the hostel. Tucker and I decided to sleep on some mats on the roof of the hostel instead of the dormitory. The sky was cloudless and I slept peacefully in the cool desert night and not a thought of bed bugs entered my dreams.
-N
King David Hotel from YMCA Tower
Annalise, Tucker and I atop the YMCA Tower
Peace sign hanging from the security wall
Roman Catholic Church service in Bethlehem
Bethlehem Courtyard
Crowd waiting to see Jesus' birthplace
Minaret in Bethlehem
View of Jewish Settlements (newer white buildings) from Bethlehem
Mural on the security wall
We awoke in the middle of the night to the shouting of a woman from Trinidad and Tobago. Earlier in the night, she was very nice and talkative, speaking honestly about her perceptions of this country and its people, having a rather open mind, I thought. When she woke me up at 3 in the morning I had a less kind impression of her. She had, apparently, discovered bed bugs and was immediately packing all of her things. Everyone in the dormitory of eight was awake. After she had stormed out of the room and slammed the door after her, I leaned over my top bunk and asked Tucker if he thought there were any bugs. He replied no as did Annalise when I asked her. I took out my flashlight and inspected my own sheets, finding nothing alarming. I wasn't convinced. For the next two hours, every little sensation on my skin felt like a miniature bite and I couldn't convince myself otherwise. I didn't want to bother Annalise or Tucker but they were struggling with the same problem. It is such a difficult thing to control the sensations of your body when your mind is convinced of something, even if it is imaginary. There were no bed bugs after all but a nearly sleepless night made me think differently.
The Jerusalem International YMCA has been the home of the Jerusalem Rotary Club since 1921 when it was founded by the British in the first year of their mandate. The old and beautiful building resides directly across the street from the King David Hotel, which some of you may remember from the terrorist bombing of 1946, carried out by Irgun, a militant Zionist group, destroying much of the south wing. We joined the Rotary club for the weekly afternoon meeting, enthralled by their speaker that day, David Rubinger, probably the most famous Israeli photographer. His pictures have graced the cover of Time nearly a dozen times. He is now in his 80's and still taking photographs. He told us the story of how he got into photography, which I thought I would recount to you now because it has stuck with me. While in the British service, he was stationed for a month in Paris and one evening went to see the opera. He and his frined arrived late and unable to enter until intermission, decided instead on a bar around the corner. There he met a young Frenchwoman named Claudette who he immediately began a relationship with. When he left several weeks later on a train bound for Marseilles where he would board a ship for the Israel, she ran to the station to meet him. She kissed him and placed in his hands a new camera, which must have cost her several months wages. He had never before taken a photo. He was 21 and said that he never forgot that gift though unfortunately he forget about the girl.
We met a young Palestinian man at the Rotary meeting who was a pharmacist in Jerusalem but lived in the West Bank and he offered to show us around Bethlehem. We readily agreed. The checkpoints at the security wall, which I have heard much about, were a breeze for us Americans, though much more rigorous for Palestinians. On the other side of the wall, we hopped in one of the dozens of cabs waiting and sped away toward Bethlehem. There are five churches that now reside on the spot where Christ was supposedly born. The Christians came in droves, hoping to glimpse that sacred spot. The line to go under the altar of the Armenian church where 2008 years ago the most pivotal moment in the history of Western civilization took place was more than an hour and so we decided to move on. Although I must say that I was stunned how patient everyone in line seemed to be, compared to the mobs I had experienced trying to merely get on a bus. We moved through the other churches, catching snippets of Italian, French, Arabic, Hebrew, German, Hindi, and some African dialects which I couldn't pinpoint. After fighting our way through the mobs of pilgrims, we walked through the deserted streets of this Palestinian village. In the distance we could see the security wall snaking its way North and the pristine Jewish settlements just on the other side. I thought how difficult it must be to look at that landscape everyday, a constant reminder of the losses which this culture suffered over the past few generations. Our guide gave us a particularly one-sided perspective, which surprisingly was Pro-Israel. I had my doubts as to the motives of such rhetoric coming from a Palestinian but I said nothing and forced myself not to make any remarks. The return to Jerusalem was as easy and swift as the exit and before long we were back at the hostel. Tucker and I decided to sleep on some mats on the roof of the hostel instead of the dormitory. The sky was cloudless and I slept peacefully in the cool desert night and not a thought of bed bugs entered my dreams.
-N
King David Hotel from YMCA Tower
Annalise, Tucker and I atop the YMCA Tower
Peace sign hanging from the security wall
Roman Catholic Church service in Bethlehem
Bethlehem Courtyard
Crowd waiting to see Jesus' birthplace
Minaret in Bethlehem
View of Jewish Settlements (newer white buildings) from Bethlehem
Mural on the security wallMonday, September 29, 2008
The Dead Sea and more Jerusalem Part I
At the conclusion of the Hebrew language Ulpan, which is now a month ago (apologies), I found myself at a loss with three weeks and absolutely nothing to do. It has been quite some time since I haven't had something on the quickly arriving horizon. So I decided to take a week and a half just to relax and see what each day brought me. For the most part, it was nothing. Not that I was disappointed. I ended up reading quite a bit and spending a few afternoons at the beach. I am constantly compiling lists of books to read and never quite get around to them so I decided to cross off at least a few of them: Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver, Nine Parts of Desire by Geraldine Brooks, Pride and Prejudice (I owed it to Jane being an English major and never cracking one of her books), A Woman in Jerusalem by A.B. Yehoshua, Smilla's Sense of Snow by Peter Hoeg, and The Book of Laughter and Forgetting by Milan Kundera. I would highly recommend the Kingsolver and Hoeg followed quickly by Brooks. It was a very enjoyable 10 days after which I was ready for a little more adventure.
Tucker, a Rotary Scholar who attended the University of Georgia, has quickly become my closest friend here. A very intelligent guy, he is studying Arabic and the politics of the Middle East and hopes to become fluent in written and spoken Arabic within the next three years, which is no easy task. He is what you might call fanatical about his love for his alma mater to the point that he wakes at 4 am, accompanied by a few beers to watch their football games with a grainy reception on the internet. You will find no more soft-spoken and kind person other than if you are talking about any one of Georgia's competitors. He has even gone so far as to admit that his love for UGA borders on an unhealthy obsession to which I replied, "only if you denied it would I be worried." The two of us along with Annalise, another Rotary scholar from California, transplanted from New York, decided to go for a little trip to the Dead Sea, Masada (a mountaintop fortress overlooking the Dead Sea), winding up in Jerusalem.
We woke early and climbed a bus packed with soldiers, their uniquitous dull green fatigues lining most of the back rows. Being idealistic and rules-oriented Americans we are, we hoped that the semblance of a line to board the bus would not merely be another desert mirage in this country. Unfortunately, we were the last to board after being shoved and pushed to the back by grandmothers and teenage girls. Thus, the only place available for yours truly was in the middle of the very back row snuggled between two disgruntled IDF (Israeli Defense Force) soldiers. At a glance, I judged them to be in their late teens at the most. I don't think either had ever really needed to shave. (FYI- every Israeli citizen upon graduation from high school must serve in the military: boys for three years and girls for two.) The butts of their M-16s sat on the floor, barrels pointing to the ceiling. I immediately envisioned a bumpy ride to Jerusalem and a few stray rounds popping off through the ceiling. The nap I was hoping for wasn't going to be happening. It must be said here that the IDF holds a particularly important place in not only the defense of the country but also its personality and upbringing. The IDF is seen as when children turn into adults and although nearly all Israelis loath the experience they believe it to be the most formative experience of their lives. It is impossible to go anywhere in this country without seeing numerous soldiers. I should feel safer having this standing army ready at any moment to take out would-be terrorists but somehow I don't.
The road out of Jeruslem towards the Dead Sea descends quickly through rocky hills, strewn with the random goat-herding encampment, comprised of small huts made of corrugated metal. A more desolate landscape I cannot imagine. Barren rock as far as the eye can see aside from a few perfectly lined groves of palm trees beside the highway that seem ridiculously out of place. The highway winds its way down through the Occupied Territories until it turns a corner and comes immediately upon the Northernmost part of this lake, which is the lowest point on the surface of the planet at nearly 1400 feet below sea level. We descended from the bus and stepped into one of the least hospitable environments I could think of. The temperature is about 100 degrees on a cool September afternoon. The smell reminded me of traveling to Yellowstone and visiting sulfur geysers. The first stop on the trip would be Qumran, the place where the Dead Sea scrolls were discovered. They were found by a goat-herder who in an apocryphal story went to Bethlehem to get them made into a new pair of sandals as they were supposedly written on animal skins. They were actually found by a goat-herder in the mid-20th Century but are written on parchment and papyrus and are the only remnants of the Hebrew Bible written before 200 BCE. We moved quickly onto Ein Gedi, where there is a public beach where we could swim, or rather float, and hoped to get some respite from the heat of the day. The custom is to rub mud found on the shores of the lake, let it dry then wash it off in the Sea. It is such a strange sensation to be in a body of water that it is impossible to sink in. In a strange way it almost feels like flying. I must warn you, however, that if you spend too much time in the the water, which is over 30% salt compared to 3 or 4% in the Ocean, you (both men and women) might feel some rather uncomfortable side effects in rather sensitive places. Not to worry, there is no long-term damage. We moved onto Masada Guest House, one of the nicest and biggest hostels I have ever seen, which resides at the base of the Masada mountain fortress, and managed a few hours of sleep before an early start the next day.
We awoke at 430 to get hiking by 5am in order to get to the top of the mountain by sunrise at 630. We were guided by a full moon and climbed the 450 meters to the top in 80 degree heat. Needless to say, I was uncomfortably warm. Sitting on one of the ancient ledges of the fortress where 900 Jews had taken their own lives rather than be submitted to enslavement by the Romans in the 1st Century CE, we waited patiently for the sun to rise. The sky was alive with oranges and reds for a half an hour before the first sliver of sun peaked its head from behind the mountains in Jordan. The sight is truly awe-inspiring. This hike to watch the sun rise at Masada is a rite of passage for all Israelis and a must for any tourist. The fortress itself is one of the more incredible building achievements I have seen, with store rooms, several palaces, baths, a large quarry, and a complicated network of cisterns and channels that garnered what little rainwater the area provided for the inhabitants to survive in such a harsh environment. The Romans spent six months building a ramp of earth and rock to bring the last of the Jewish rebels under Roman control. When they finally broke through the walls to revel in their victory only to find corpses, their spirits were broken. A handful of survivors who had hid in the cisterns told the story of how 10 soldiers had been assigned the task of killing every man, woman and child then one soldier had killed the other nine before taking his own life. We came down the mountain and quickly headed to the large pool. In the shadow of this ancient place, we sunbathed and splashed in the cool water while the oppressive heat of an afternoon on the banks of the Dead Sea surrounded us.
To be continued...
Dead Sea Scrolls cave
Chillin' in the Dead Sea
Tucker and Annalise with Katja (German friend)
Tucker and Annalise waiting for the sunrise
Sunrise from Masada
Perspiring at sunrise
Masada building
Tucker, a Rotary Scholar who attended the University of Georgia, has quickly become my closest friend here. A very intelligent guy, he is studying Arabic and the politics of the Middle East and hopes to become fluent in written and spoken Arabic within the next three years, which is no easy task. He is what you might call fanatical about his love for his alma mater to the point that he wakes at 4 am, accompanied by a few beers to watch their football games with a grainy reception on the internet. You will find no more soft-spoken and kind person other than if you are talking about any one of Georgia's competitors. He has even gone so far as to admit that his love for UGA borders on an unhealthy obsession to which I replied, "only if you denied it would I be worried." The two of us along with Annalise, another Rotary scholar from California, transplanted from New York, decided to go for a little trip to the Dead Sea, Masada (a mountaintop fortress overlooking the Dead Sea), winding up in Jerusalem.
We woke early and climbed a bus packed with soldiers, their uniquitous dull green fatigues lining most of the back rows. Being idealistic and rules-oriented Americans we are, we hoped that the semblance of a line to board the bus would not merely be another desert mirage in this country. Unfortunately, we were the last to board after being shoved and pushed to the back by grandmothers and teenage girls. Thus, the only place available for yours truly was in the middle of the very back row snuggled between two disgruntled IDF (Israeli Defense Force) soldiers. At a glance, I judged them to be in their late teens at the most. I don't think either had ever really needed to shave. (FYI- every Israeli citizen upon graduation from high school must serve in the military: boys for three years and girls for two.) The butts of their M-16s sat on the floor, barrels pointing to the ceiling. I immediately envisioned a bumpy ride to Jerusalem and a few stray rounds popping off through the ceiling. The nap I was hoping for wasn't going to be happening. It must be said here that the IDF holds a particularly important place in not only the defense of the country but also its personality and upbringing. The IDF is seen as when children turn into adults and although nearly all Israelis loath the experience they believe it to be the most formative experience of their lives. It is impossible to go anywhere in this country without seeing numerous soldiers. I should feel safer having this standing army ready at any moment to take out would-be terrorists but somehow I don't.
The road out of Jeruslem towards the Dead Sea descends quickly through rocky hills, strewn with the random goat-herding encampment, comprised of small huts made of corrugated metal. A more desolate landscape I cannot imagine. Barren rock as far as the eye can see aside from a few perfectly lined groves of palm trees beside the highway that seem ridiculously out of place. The highway winds its way down through the Occupied Territories until it turns a corner and comes immediately upon the Northernmost part of this lake, which is the lowest point on the surface of the planet at nearly 1400 feet below sea level. We descended from the bus and stepped into one of the least hospitable environments I could think of. The temperature is about 100 degrees on a cool September afternoon. The smell reminded me of traveling to Yellowstone and visiting sulfur geysers. The first stop on the trip would be Qumran, the place where the Dead Sea scrolls were discovered. They were found by a goat-herder who in an apocryphal story went to Bethlehem to get them made into a new pair of sandals as they were supposedly written on animal skins. They were actually found by a goat-herder in the mid-20th Century but are written on parchment and papyrus and are the only remnants of the Hebrew Bible written before 200 BCE. We moved quickly onto Ein Gedi, where there is a public beach where we could swim, or rather float, and hoped to get some respite from the heat of the day. The custom is to rub mud found on the shores of the lake, let it dry then wash it off in the Sea. It is such a strange sensation to be in a body of water that it is impossible to sink in. In a strange way it almost feels like flying. I must warn you, however, that if you spend too much time in the the water, which is over 30% salt compared to 3 or 4% in the Ocean, you (both men and women) might feel some rather uncomfortable side effects in rather sensitive places. Not to worry, there is no long-term damage. We moved onto Masada Guest House, one of the nicest and biggest hostels I have ever seen, which resides at the base of the Masada mountain fortress, and managed a few hours of sleep before an early start the next day.
We awoke at 430 to get hiking by 5am in order to get to the top of the mountain by sunrise at 630. We were guided by a full moon and climbed the 450 meters to the top in 80 degree heat. Needless to say, I was uncomfortably warm. Sitting on one of the ancient ledges of the fortress where 900 Jews had taken their own lives rather than be submitted to enslavement by the Romans in the 1st Century CE, we waited patiently for the sun to rise. The sky was alive with oranges and reds for a half an hour before the first sliver of sun peaked its head from behind the mountains in Jordan. The sight is truly awe-inspiring. This hike to watch the sun rise at Masada is a rite of passage for all Israelis and a must for any tourist. The fortress itself is one of the more incredible building achievements I have seen, with store rooms, several palaces, baths, a large quarry, and a complicated network of cisterns and channels that garnered what little rainwater the area provided for the inhabitants to survive in such a harsh environment. The Romans spent six months building a ramp of earth and rock to bring the last of the Jewish rebels under Roman control. When they finally broke through the walls to revel in their victory only to find corpses, their spirits were broken. A handful of survivors who had hid in the cisterns told the story of how 10 soldiers had been assigned the task of killing every man, woman and child then one soldier had killed the other nine before taking his own life. We came down the mountain and quickly headed to the large pool. In the shadow of this ancient place, we sunbathed and splashed in the cool water while the oppressive heat of an afternoon on the banks of the Dead Sea surrounded us.
To be continued...
Dead Sea Scrolls cave
Chillin' in the Dead Sea
Tucker and Annalise with Katja (German friend)
Tucker and Annalise waiting for the sunrise
Sunrise from Masada
Perspiring at sunrise
Masada building
Maybe the grey shirt wasn't such a good choice
Friday, September 5, 2008
Jerusalem Pictures
Marcin, Kasha and Me
Israel's climate is perfect for growing olives
Jewish Market outside of the Old City
View of the Temple Mount (Western Wall in foreground)
Coca-Cola in Hebrew
Armenian Quarter market in the Old City
Muslim Quarter Market
Just outside the city walls
Mural on the wall of a municipal building
In front of the Western Wall
Western Wall
Nationalistic mural on the side of an apartment building
Christian Quarter
Jewish Quarter
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