Jerusalem

We stepped onto the streets of a forgotten city. The thoroughfares that were, only hours before, full of cars and buses, vendors and tourists, were empty. The wind could be heard whipping around the corners of the narrow alleys of the old city. The silence was deafening and the sun seemed not as hot without the buzz of the human element. The wind cooler on your forehead. We meandered down the streets of the Christian quarter within the old city walls, smoothed stones under foot. The shops were all open here but the shadowed labyrinth of pedestrian pathways were without any of the hustle and bustle we had experienced the day before. Then, as we turned a corner no different from any other, we entered the Muslim Quarter and as if suddenely overtaken by an angry mob or street parade, we were in it. Shoulder to shoulder we struggled our way past shops selling every color, shape and size. The disorienting hum of the place was astounding, people shouting to be heard as they struggled through the crowd, shoppers bartering with shop owners and the shouting of merchants to bring attention to their merchandise. As we passed a side street, I saw a group of Muslim women shouting at a tailor who was doing repairs for them on the spot. Some women on the street were wearing full body robes (jilbab), others with just headscarves and designer jeans and still others, though Muslim, went without letting their long dark hair fall over their shoulders. I am sometimes taken aback by the beauty of some of these women, even when only their eyes can be seen.  Occasionally, a young man with a cart laden with goods piled higher than I am tall would shove his way through the crowd, stop in front of a store and unload right there in the middle of the street. The crowd squeezed in whatever way they could around the cart. As we passed particularly luxurious shops, air-conditioned air billowed out into the street like an appetizing aroma to entice shoppers to come inside and take a look. The smell in this area was, in substance, no different from other parts of the city but it was more intense as the shops spilled out into the street so that the fresh fish, poultry, pork and beef, exotic spices, candy, fruits, vegetables and breads could not be ignored. This, I was told, was just another Saturday in the Muslim Quarter.

We began our tour of Jerusalem's old city, naturally, at the Western Wall. With a Chicago Cubs hat I covered my head, while most others wore black wide-brimmed hats or kipas (yamulkah). You come upon the Wall rather suddenly. A large open courtyard was built where, before 1967, stood low-income Arab housing. The Wall is smaller than you might imagine, one of the only sections remaining of Herod's Second Temple destroyed by the Romans in the 1st Century C.E. along with the rest of Jerusalem. I sat at one of the many desks on which people may pray or write and began to write a note to place in the Wall. Supposedly, such prayers will be answered if stuck in the Wall. While writing, I was suddenly surrounded by several Ultra-Orthodox men. One of them immediately held a book over my head and they all began to recite some prayers. I didn't know how to react so I thought that I should probably allow them to continue. After a few seconds, the man holding the book asked me my name and I told them. They continued to pray. Then he asked if I had any children and after I said no, they all groaned a little then continued to pray a little louder. They stopped again and asked if I had a wife and I said no. Another groan of disappointment and they resumed praying again slightly louder. After another little while they stopped and he said, "you are Jewish, no?" and resigned now to my fate I reluctantly said no. Sometimes, I guess you just can't win. They prayed for the last time. I stood up after they had finished and thanked them, nearly convinced myself that my life was of little substance. When I tried to exit their little circle, they didn't move out of the way and instead one of them held out his hand with a 100 shekel note tied to the inside of his palm. They were demanding money from me. This is viewed as extremely sacrilegious by the Jewish Orthodoxy. Even this most holy place is not free from such scams. It disappointed me greatly.

But this is just a small part of Jerusalem. The city growing up around the old city is more modern in some areas and yet is able to retain the traditions to which much of this city so desperately clings. We found a place to stay on couch-surfing.com where people sign up to allow fellow travelers to stay for free. It is an interesting group of people and I think one of the real benefits of the internet, where small communities of people around the world can connect not only on a cyber level but also allows them to meet and interact with people in the real and physical sense by sharing their home. Yair is a young man of about 25 who lives with his girlfriend who was travelling in Portugal at the time of our stay. His apartment is small and old, consisting of only a living room, bedroom, and a hallway that serves as kitchen with a tiny bathroom at the end. He lives in a neighborhood called Nahlaot just North of the Old City. It was one of the first residential neighborhoods built outside of the old city and was originally built towards the end of the 19th Century. However, since the 1970s, Nahloat, which had fallen into disrepair, increasingly began to be infiltrated by more affluent parts of Israeli society which realized the considerable value of such property, and so young professionals, hippies and other groups have diversified the community here. They literally live on top of each other and it offers this area of the city an eclectic feel. For example, Yair, Tina, my German traveling companion and I talked and listened to music while a large family of Orthodox Jews ate dinner, drank, sang songs, and recited prayers late into the night. Inside the narrow corridors and secluded courtyards of Nahlaot, many of the buildings are reachable only on foot, from which life on the ground floor apartments can be witnessed. And pervasive in this neighborhood and throughout much of the city are the voices of children. Even though they are rarely seen, their play and laughter is hard to miss. Many of the orthodox communities have a great many children and no matter how much they attempt to keep the outside world from infecting and corrupting them, I could hear them inside the homes and occasionally witness their carefree games in the streets. It reminds me of how little they know or regard the seriousness of the world which is thrust upon them in this place.

Nick

Rehov SoomSoom and Ghetto Fighters

I figured it's about time I wrote about my roommate Marcin. He's a funny little 34 year-old Professor of Political Science from Breslau, Poland. He is Jewish (a rarity in Poland) and only in Israel for the month to learn as much Hebrew as he can. For the last week, his fiancee Kasha has been visiting him. She earned her Master's in English and speaks fluently. Marcin's English is rather broken and so he relies heavily on Kasha to translate whatever he cannot express in his own words. He calls her his "little dictionary". The two of them are rather affectionate and when they are in the same room, it is unusual for them not to be touching in some way. The great thing about Marcin is how excited he gets over seemingly mundane things. For instance, when he's trying to come up with the right English word, he wiggles his tongue back and forth between his teeth and then if he comes up with it or someone prompts an especially apt term, he snaps his finger and points at you with a beaming smile on his face. He seems to get so much pleasure from merely putting the right words in order. I have a hunch this might come from the fact that he wants to prove to his future wife how much he enjoys English. She is very patient, petite and pretty, waiting for him to look to her for help and never jumping in before he finally gives up on those slippery little English phrases. I have spent many nights sitting with them talking at the kitchen table after a long day of studying.

Meanwhile, Hebrew class is moving along at a rapid pace. There is only one week left. I've been trying to hide the truth about Hebrew class to save the last morsel of self-respect I have left. In truth, it is one of the most embarrassing things I have ever done and also some of the most fun I have ever had. Hebrew class is a serious endeavor but it also involves lots of singing, dancing, play-acting and laughing. The most banal of phrases can turn suddenly into "I want to walk around in the bathroom and enjoy myself" or "I'm so hot (sexually) today!" In addition, I have relearned the beauty of Sesame Street, only here it is called Rehov SoomSoom. We sing songs with the kids who are learning about body parts or new words. Sara, our teacher, demands that we all stand up and wave our arms in the air for all of the refrains. Israeli pop songs are also learned which involve lyrics like "Every dream of my heart is fulfilled. There is a sea of happiness in your eyes." Blahhh. Nonetheless, you would see us all singing and dancing our hearts out to this superficial little ditty. At night, we create dialogues with partners using the words we have learned that day. I have portrayed drunks, little kids, women, part of an unhappy aging married couple. I can think of no better way to learn a language. They are fabricated scenes and the acting is horrible but seeing how the language works in an everyday way is an important lesson and the entertainment is invaluable.

Finally, yesterday we visited the Ghetto Fighters Museum, the first museum in the world to commemorate the Holocaust, in particular, the ghetto of Warsaw. The Museam was started as an extension of a Kibbutz (commune) that was created by some of the individuals that were involved with the Jewish Uprising in that particular city. It is an overlooked aspect of the Holocaust but not an unimportant one, especially from an Israeli historical perspective. Before the Nazi invasion of Poland, Jews made up about 35% of the population of Warsaw, comprising of about 500,000 people. When the ghetto was created, it included only 2.4% of the residential area and the entire 500,000 people. In the first year of its existence, disease, malnutrition and starvation killed tens of thousands. Then, the Jews began to be deported in 1942, about 300,000 in the span of two months to Treblinka Concentration Camp, which only operated for one year but saw the extermination of 900,000 people. Armed resistence first occurred when the Nazi's began the deportation of the remaining population. The resistence numbered about 500-700 fighters that had pistols, homemade explosive devices and a few rifles while the German troops numbered over 2,000 reinforced by artillery and tanks. The Jewish fighters proved resilient and resourceful, connecting a series of attics and tunnels to attack then quickly retreat. The Nazis stopped the deportation after four days and instead began the systematic destruction of the Ghetto and the annihilation of the remaining population. They began burning and blowing up the buildings until the entire Ghetto was levelled. I have included several pictures. A few of the fighters, including their leader, Yitzhak Zuckerman and his later wife escaped through tunnels, made their way to Israel and established the Kibbutz dedicated to socialist and Zionist principles and to the memory of the Holocaust. Their story was an important one at the beginning of the state because they represented the new identity of Israel--strong, resilient, militant and unbending to oppression. Holocaust victims were looked upon with contempt and suspicion within the nascent state because they represented the unconfident and subservient Diasporic Jew, which the state rejected completely. Not until the trial of Adolf Eichmann in 1961 did Israel begin to recognize the traumatic events that these people witnessed and survived. The Holocaust began to be seen in a different light thereafter.

Nick

Growing a beard (Big surprise)

Booth in which Adolf Eichmann stood trial (bulletproof glass)

Holocaust Artwork

Max bueno de mesquita artwork (completed while on LSD therapy)

A model of Treblinka Concentration Camp (the mounds at the upper left are the burial pits)


The crowded Warsaw Ghetto


Jewish Deportation

Destroying the Warsaw Ghetto

The only structure left standing

German Troops in the destruction

Sun and Rest

I arrived in Israel two weeks ago to the day.  Since I arriving, I have been attending 5 hours of Hebrew class each day plus doing a few hours of Hebrew homework each afternoon then beginning work to finish my thesis for my Master's program from last year.  So I've been working on that another 5-7 hours each night. I am proud to say that I have finally finished it and sent it off so I don't have to think about it anymore.  The topic of the thesis was the Israel-Palestine Conflict so it felt as if it was all part of the same learning process but now I can just focus on learning the language which comes as a huge relief.  In addition, I am looking forward to getting out and seeing more of the city.  Earlier today I was able to visit the beach for the first time, where a lot of the students have been spending their afternoons.  The best beach in this area is called Carmel Beach, which can be seen on a clear day from campus.  It is a very popular place for families to go on the weekend and it is not uncommon for them to spend much of their day there, especially for those families that do not have air conditioning.  (It is usually in the high 80's most every afternoon.)  Carmel Beach is also interesting because it is rather dangerous to swim there because of the ocean currents.  Several swimmers have died this summer because they stray too far from the beach and get pulled out to sea.  Therefore, many areas have been cordoned off from swimming.  Only small areas, about 50 to 100 yards wide, are spaced along the beach that are allowed for playing in the waves so that lifeguards can keep a close watch.  They do not refrain from yelling at the swimmers over loudspeakers to stay out of restricted areas.  Other than that, the beach is beautiful and the water is incredibly clear and warm.  I had a great time just laying out in the sun and playing in the water while trying not to piss off the lifeguard.

Tonight is Friday here.  This means that it is Shabbat.  As soon as the sun goes down the day of rest begins and only ends when the sun goes down on Saturday.  This is a strange thing coming from a place that considers the days to begin and end at 12 am.  It is a different concept of time, clearly much older and related to no modern sense of hours and minutes, only the time offered by the sun.  I knew this was the case before I arrived but the reality of living in it is something different.  All shops, restaurants and modes of transportation are closed or stop by Friday afternoon and only open either late Saturday after the sun has gone down or not until Sunday.  Therefore, the city is buzzing Friday with last minute errands and enjoyments that must be finished before Shabbat.  Surprisingly, it actually takes a considerable amount of planning to do nothing for a day.  Shopping, laundry, anything needed for Sunday morning, must all be finished by Friday afternoon.  In the United States, according to Christian tradition, Sunday is reserved for rest, but let me tell you "rest" is a relative term.  My first notion of this disparity was from "The Big Lebowski" when John Goodman's character, Walter Sobchak, a convert to Judaism, refuses to cook, eat, and "sure as @&?$ doesn't roll on Shabbat".  The day of rest was literally interpreted as meaning "no work".  However, the definition of work is rather strictly defined in the bible.  Thus, there are many forms of work traditionally forbidden in Orthodox Judaism, including turning on and off electronic devices, making edible that which is inedible (for instance making coffee or mixing foods together), and many other stipulations.  Many people continue to observe this ritual strictly while others do not.  I have found that each person has their own definition of what is acceptable, though there is rather strict guidelines outlined by the Orthodoxy.  Nonetheless, it is an interesting and, I think, sound ritual.  It forces one to stop, no matter what one is doing, no matter how important (though hospitals and other essential services do not shut down) and focus on rest and the spirit.  Knowing that many people's weekends can be busier than their week, and offers no real rejuvenating qualities, I think more people could use a little Shabbat in their life.

Haifa Panorama

A better picture from my bedroom window.

Battle Royale

Not sure what a blog should be like because I have never read one but here goes--Having settled quite nicely into my dorm room and, for the first time, falling asleep when it was dark, I awoke at 3am to the sound of scratching.  At first, I thought it was a rat in the wall but then I remembered that all of the walls were concrete.  I had heard a similar but softer noise earlier in the night but thought nothing of it.  This time it was much louder .  Then I remembered I had a bag of pretzels in the room.  I flipped on the light and peered into the corner from which the noise was emanating.  I couldn't see anything at first so I moved in for a closer inspection but not before grabbing a shoe for protection.  There, on the floor, was a massive cockroach, (4 inches long) trying his hardest to break into my bag of pretzels and from the looks of it, having little luck.  I slammed the shoe down on the bag, destroying my snacks but the cockroach was already hiding behind my backpack under my bed before my arm had started its downward motion.  I lifted all of my other luggage onto the desk and bed, creating a clear floor for the makeshift arena floor.  It was me or the cockroach.  I snatched the backpack and flung it on the bed and for a couple of minutes, all hell was loosed upon the room, totally by me.  I was jumping around, yelping, and pounding my shoe on the floor.  The thought of it running up my leg was more than I could bear and so my offense was not very effective.  Finally I finished the job but not before I had awakened my roommates and probably half of the building.  Mordechai (the name of the cockroach which my friend decided upon, post-mortem) has found his temporary resting place in my garbage can.  I didn't sleep for the rest of the night. Lesson one: no food in the bedroom.

I have just finished my second day of Hebrew classes and I have the alphabet down.  All twenty two letters and their corresponding sounds.  A small victory, but an important one.  Now, it's just the small task of learning all of the words.  The interesting thing about Hebrew is that it is more than 3500 years old so it has gone through several phases which means that some sounds don't exist anymore but the letters remain.  Therefore, there are several letters which have the exact same sounds and so the only way to know which letter to use in each case is to memorize them.  There is some help in that some letters are reserved for biblical words, others for Rabbinic hebrew (mostly the language of the Talmud) and now there is modern Hebrew, which was reinvented when Jews began immigrating to what is today Israel.  Thus, words like television, pizza, telephone, university and many others sound virtually the same as they do in english.

Finally, Israel is, frankly, a quite amazing place.  Those of us from the United States consider our country to be a sort of melting pot of cultures.  Not as noticeable in Iowa but Postville, the Amanas and the influx of spanish speaking immigrants is a testament to this.  However, if America is a melting pot, then Israel is an industrial blender.  This seems like common sense considering Israel is a young country and the 'in-gathering of exiles' was and is a process of assimilating Jews from all over the world.  But there's just something about running into people whose personal history is tied to places like Muldova, Spain, America, Macedonia, Greece, Finland, Czech Republic, Turkey, Canada, Austria, Germany, England, South Africa, Ethiopia, Russia, Poland, and Sweden.   Yesterday, for example, I met a fruit vender who fluently spoke nine languages.  This is not uncommon.  From what I can tell, there is a different mentality here.  It stems both from a sense of their place in the world and their connection to it; an interconnectedness not with just other people through blood and religion but to other lands and histories.  This is also the cause of much division within this country.

Shalom

Safe and Sound

I have arrived in Haifa safe and sound and found the campus dormitories where I will be staying for the next month.  I didn't realize it by looking at the website but the University is the highest point in the city, located on the top of Mount Carmel looking over the urban landscape below and the fields and the Medditeranean beyond.  The view from my room is pretty incredible.  

I spent a couple of sleepless nights in Tel Aviv in a very nice hostel, Munich Hostel, dedicated to the 11 athletes who were killed in 1972.  It was across from a park.  On Saturday, Shabbat, around dusk, after waking from a much needed sleep, I went for a stroll and was amazed at the number of walkers, bikers, dogs and families having picnics.  The park was full.  The next evening there was only a stray dog and the occasional walker to be found.

Just a little aside: in the Amman airport there is a Starbucks, a Pizza Hut, and a Popeye's Chicken.  Ah, the beauty and comfort of American chains are never far away.