The 11th Floor

A year back home, a year away from home.

2009-06-05T08:30:00.008+03:00

It's just a year and a few days past our leaving Jerusalem. The questions we get are as varied as you might expect. "Do you miss it?" Yes we do- but not everything about living in Jerusalem. Money can't buy everything, but being poor is no mechaiya either. "Do you want to go back?" Yes, but just not right this instant. "Was it hard to re-adjust?" No, not really. Jerusalem life is city life, and so is our life here. "What do you miss most" is a terrible question to answer. There are so many things that are precious to us from our two years, although we do have an answer for what is #1, and the place/person/people/food/substance/site in question knows how we feel about it. At least, we hope they do.

Yes, the places and sites are missed, and the food is something we pine for, but the people, Dear Lord, the people are what we miss the most. Friends and teachers and program people and so many others, to have them fade out of our lives is painful. The two years may have been low on cash, but we came into the lives of so many people, and so many people came into our home. Homes. Two apartments and two schools and a hundred other places in the Holy City. How can you meet so many people who step into your life as if they always were part of it, and not feel their absence when you part ways?

Being a more cynical person than most would believe, the question that haunts me the most is "Was it worth it?" I lost gainful employment I have yet to replace; and while my lady love is employed, I can't say "Yes!" with true and furious clarity. My Hebrew did not become fluent; I still can't follow the Israeli news or read "Ha'aretz" in Hebrew. Israelis on the streets here still speak too fast for me to follow. I still can't read a page of Talmud in the Vilna format, let alone understand Tosfot. I never met martial arts master Yehoshua Sofer. I never walked on the Temple Mount (that is, the parts my Rosh Yeshvia said were permitted). And there are two years worth of savings that are not in our accounts that would have been very comforting to have in this economy. There are lots of "didn'ts" and "nevers" and "couldn'ts" hovering behind me from those two years. Yes, it's haunting, and yes, it's damned annoying.

But those "didn'ts" and "nevers" and "couldn'ts" don't haunt me unopposed. There are angels of better memories that remind me that the year was not without triumphs and joys. I can't read the page of talmud like I wish I could- but I can read it better than I used to. Hebrew, likewise, is not where I want it, but its not as utterly awful when it comes out of my mouth in years past. I learned about new foods and saw amazing sights (excluding the Bahai gardens in Haifa, which were closed on the day we visited) and got to be a student again just for the hell of it. We brought back books, a few gifts, and a good deal of learning. And the people we met, my oh my.... the people. If we had not gone, we would never had met so many people who amaze us, who make us laugh, who love us and care for us and whom we adore. The "didn'ts" and "nevers" and "couldn'ts" aren't dispelled in the face of their friendship and love, but they cower back into the shadows when those faces of friends and teachers come near.

So the view from the 11th floor after a year? A bit clearer, with the dawning suspicion that some experiences in life can't be evaluated without time, and some choices in the past are harder to evaluate when the future is in doubt. But I mark this moment in time with a thought that supported me and put me in a thankful state of wonder day after day in Jerusalem. There is a legend in my family that we came to Sloka, Latvia from Herschberg in southern Germany in the 15th or 16th centuries. The legend notes that the family came looking for a better life to Germany from Bavel in the 10th century, when the community of Jews there had gone into decline after so many generations. The Jews of Bavel, of course, had originally come from Jerusalem as exiles, weeping on the shores of her rivers.

What made me worthy to be the one to bring the family legend full circle, to be the Jew who lived in Jerusalem once again after so many generations? What did I do that made me more worthy than my Great-Grandfather, who somehow had the wisdom to leave Lativa when he did, learning American English from a custodian he worked with? How was I more worthy than my Grandfather, who came to America at the age of 10, took care of his 7 siblings and raised 3 children, was a lover of the Shul and Bies Midrash? Or my father, who bucked the trend and visited Israel as a struggling state in '63 but never got to visit it these days of the Kotel and the Light Rail and Kosher Sushi? How did I merit to be the one? I have no idea, but I am thankful for having parents who helped me be the one who did go, and am thankful for each day I had in Jerusalem.

Revisiting the view from the 11th floor is enlightening- and it shows that the two years were probably all worth it, despite the troubles and rough spots. After all, how often do you get to overturn exile, tragedy, and the darkest parts of history, just by living in a city, albeit one reborn from rubble and ruin?

In memory of my father, Binyamin Velvel Ben Meir, and his father, Meir ben Moshe.

Going home, Leaving home.

2008-05-30T08:55:00.003+03:00

A bit of needed consolation....

2008-03-12T00:08:00.002+02:00

Isaiah 54:11-12

"You suffering, comfortless, storm-ravaged city! Behold, I will set thy stones in fair colors, and lay your foundations with sapphires. I will rebuild your towers with rubies, your gates with sparkling stones, and all your walls with precious stones."

We're okay... but we're not okay.

2008-03-06T22:21:00.003+02:00

Jerusalem has been safe and quiet, terrorism-wise, since before we arrived nearly two years ago. In that time there have been no shootings, stabbings, or bombings. Tonight that changed.

We still don't know how many students were murdered at the dining hall of the Merkaz Ha'rav Yeshiva, but this was not a small attack in Eilat or far way Dimona that we could ingore. Those, we could say "were close to the border." They were "just a slip of security- they got lucky." Tonight was not such an event.

This was a planned event. The Yeshiva was scouted out, targeted, and attacked. The murdered boys and men were trapped in a library with only one entrance- many tried to escape from windows- they didn't have a chance. These were students, not so different than the students at my Yeshiva. And yes, it could have been us, however a far less likely target we are. We also are Jewish students, studying Talmud, preparing for Puirm, and not so far from East Jerusalem.

( I just heard- My Couisin was on her way to deliver a weekly torah portion brochure to Merkaz Harav as the shooting started. She was only a block away when she stopped, having heard the huge number of sirens coming her way. )

I'm not angry or scared as much as I am horribly sad. These victims were young men getting ready for Purim, entering a season of joy and celebration- and always with a good dose of silliness. They were part of a community of people who delighted in learning and had spent months learning and growing together. All of that has been ruined, and families have been destroyed.

And with the tensions between Jew and Arab so high in Israel as it is, this act by man from East Jerusalem has made the lives of law-abiding Arab Israelis even more bitter. Come tomorrow Arabs who are good Israeli citizens will find their daily lives filled with more hassles, more angry glances, more discrimination. The terrorists claimed lives and destroyed chances for peace and co-existence all at the same time.

Yes, Hamas and its ilk are celebrating in Gaza, handing out candy to kids. That's obscene, but the thugs who run Gaza want children who celebrate death more than they do life, and those are the people we expect to try and commit these acts. But this was a resident of East Jerusalem. The consequences of that fact will continue to affect events in the days and months to come. For now, though, on the eve of Judaism's season of parody, costumes, humor and celebration- this month of Adar- the city is wounded and bleeding. We are okay- but we are not okay.

That's life in Jerusalem for now. That's why we have to pray and work to change it- but that change, that peace, has so very many enemies. . . .

There is nothing wrong with your scren.

2008-02-21T15:58:00.005+02:00

You are entering another dimension.
Not a dimension of sight or sound, but of Israeli-ness… in this dimension the familiar is unfamiliar, and what you think you know… is bright pink.

You are in the Yerushalmi Zone.

Look carefully at the picture:
Yes, that is a "Best Buy." Stereos. TV’s. Appliances.

Israelis love English. Some verbs: L’sabseyd (to subsidize). L’fakses (to fax). L’kombak (to have a come-back). Some stores: Mister Zol (Mr. Cheap), Supersol Deal, Supersol Big, Super Deal, and Mega. So naturally, there is a Best Buy in Jerusalem. Nifty, eh?

My God, its'a giant . . . giant . . . Come to think of it, I'm not sure.

2008-01-18T14:34:00.000+02:00

For several years there has been construction on a light rail system in Jerusalem, which has turned out to be fuller of graft and mismanagement than even Jerusalemites expected. That’s saying something, because Jerusalem’s government has so much corruption that even Chicago's Mayor Daley thinks it’s a bit slimy. Now scheduled for competition 2010, there are elements of the light rail visible, especially by the entrance to the city. Most notably, they are building this huge... thingy. (sorry it's sideways- just hold your monitor on a 90 degree angle until I can rotate it) I asked dozens of people what it was, and their reply as always the same: "Some thing to do with the light light rail."

I consulted the oracle of our day, Wikipedeia. Sure enough, it's a big public project with no practical benefit to anyone besides the artist and those involved in tis construction. There's no money for schools, but as always, there is money for a 220 million shekel (that's about $58 million bucks) sculpture. It’s called the "Chords Bridge." It has nothing to do with music and it’s not a bridge. It’s a monument to rest at the entrance to the city in a base of glass and local stone. It will be the highest feature of the city, visible almost everywhere. This is a nice thought- it is sure to be very pretty.

Jerusalem is a city with problems. It remains divided along racial and religious lines (I'm sure you're shocked) to begin with, and the city faces massive challenges to infrastructure. For example many homes still use sewer systems last repaired during the Ottoman Freakin' Empire.

Shamefully, on the fringes of the city of Jerusalem there are Bedouins - and Jews - living in squalor. There are schools without the supplies they need. Affordable housing is disappearing, as more and more luxury apartments go up. As more and more of this city becomes empty for 50 weeks of the year, the economy dies a bit more, and life becomes a bit more of anightmare for local retailers. The makolet down the block can not survive on the influx of jews from Teaneck who come in for Passover and Sukkot. Its getting too expensive for students and families to live here-- crisis is looming over the city's future.

There are all these real problems in addition to the fact that the light rail is several years (years, not months) behind schedule and several tens of millions of shekels over budget. Yet this thing can go up with no problem? Yes, art is critical to the development of a city. But if it was your house, you would make sure there was food and water and light before you went shopping for replicas of your favorite Picasso print. Massive civic artworks should wait when kids don't have what they need to learn and when families are hungry.

In the words of Tevye, "There is no other hand." This thing is a shameful waste, no matter how pretty it will look.

Is there a blessing... for the Tzar?

2008-01-09T23:25:00.000+02:00

President Bush canceled my Talmud class.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration. But not by much. After all, with all the security precautions in Jerusalem for the President’s visit, my Talmud teacher would not have been able to enter the city by car if he hadn’t left home at 6:15am. There are no trains that work from the suburbs of Jerusalem. Busses have been rerouted in ways so complex even the kabalah teacher can’t explain them. And if you are a reform rabbinical student, your Talmud class really was cancelled along with every other class you have; the authorities shut down the entire Jerusalem campus of HUC (Hebrew Union College). So things are a bit messy in terms of getting anywhere in Jerusalem while Mr. Bush is in town (until Friday).

The core of the city is shut down, even to pedestrians, with kilometers of blue metal barricades. Where are these things kept? These are not stackable wooden horses- these are metal gates with wide feet to prevent being tipped over. They have sealed off the streets with thousands of the things- they must have their own suburb. Oh, and there are 8,000 extra police in town, in addition to the local Jerusalem constabulary.

What are they all doing? First and foremost, they are freezing their buts off. It’s not that cold per se, but its’ been drizzling rain all day and they have to stand in place. And of course, most Israelis are made miserable by temperatures that would find most Canadians outdoors in shorts. So they shiver in place and perform and a few other tasks, some more obtrusive than others. For example my Hebrew teacher went home to her apartment across from the Israeli’s President’s residence between jobs. She found a policewoman waiting in the doorway to her building. When she wanted to leave, she had to wait for a police escort from the area. Note that when she came in, there were no questions, but to leave she needed to answer a questionnaire and then wait for two officers to walk her down the street. What was usually a 5 minute walk took her over half an hour. She didn't mind, though. I think the message is clear: most Israelis like Mr. Bush, and they don’t want anything to happen to him.

The center which houses us has put up a banner welcoming Mr. Bush (sorry mom, but I’m still going into the building to study). We get a side benefit from all the chaos. Normally our intersection is one of the most noisy and dangerous in Jerusalem. Part of that comes from the fact that it is a point where 6 streets come together. Also, on the east-west avenue, the middle of three lanes in both directions is the left turn lane. To review, the street works like this: right lane, ahead or straight; left lane: ahead; middle lane, TURN LEFT THROUGH THE LEFT LANE. Makes for a fun intersection and endless honking, no? But today, there was a delightful silence around the Yeshiva. Not a single honk could be heard, which I must say was great.

Also around the yeshiva are the products of the local side of the fight to release Jonathan Pollard. Kikar Paris (Paris Square), which is scheduled to have a 30 meter high replica of the Eiffel Tower built in 2009, has been renamed “Freedom for Jonathan Pollard Square” until he is released. Also, there is a 50 foot wide banner on the building across from the Yeshiva. Frankly, his sentence is so lopsided and unfair that even Caspar Weinberger, who as SecState made Pollard into a target of his patriotic wrath, is saying it is time to let the man go (which it is). People are hoping Bush will free him from prison, but I think that won’t come until President Bush is on his way out.

One of the most ironic parts of the visit remains the political polarization. Here, the left is welcoming Bush’s mission and his efforts (in general) , and the right wing is telling him to not say anything and please go home soon. The right wing only wants him to praise Israel; they are furious that he is saying that any settlements should be stopped or that Palestinian prisoners should be released. I’m not saying they are wrong or right- but it is ironic how much of the right wing of American Jews must be uncomfortable with the rhetoric from the right wing of Israel these days.

I’ve never heard of English being on the front page of Israel’s largest circulation paper “Yediot Achronot.” But today, this flagship of modern Hebrew placed a greeting for Bush on the front page in English. Hell, they didn’t just greet him, they called him “righteous among the nations.” That’s putting him on the same level as Oscar Schindler and Chiune Sugihara. 50 years ago, this would have been seen as the worst of heresy; a Hebrew paper wouldn’t have put English on the page even for Truman.

This visit is costing the Israeli government $25,000 every hour. It’s costing Jerusalem economically, as all sorts of stores and cafés are empty- nobody can get to them. Major bus lines are being re-routed all over. In what must be a nightmare for those running group tours for American kids, Pizza is not available for delivery, no matter how much money you offer. Nobody can enter King David street, with its high- end stores and restaurants. I hope that the trip is worth it, because Israelis are footing quite the bill. I fear that Israelis may come to feel about this visit what many Americans have begun to feel about Mr. Bush’s presidency- ripped off.

I wonder if they get a better connection OR When Judaism is the dominant culture #17

2008-01-05T23:19:00.000+02:00

From the land where Condaliza Rice's name has become a verb (l'kandel, to talk a lot and achieve nothing) we bring you this example of "signs you know it's a Jewish country." These things continue to surprise us, even after a year and a half. Of course, we did not go looking for something to remind us we are in a country where Judaism is the dominant culture. We went to get a phone line.

No, not a phone- a phone line. Without an Israeli ID number, you can't get a DSL line set up over the phone- you have to go in the store and get one. The store is in the bezek headquarters. After waiting in line, you set up the line, and then wait for the technician to come to your place in 2-5 days. Once the guys shows up (this time it was 7 hours early) then can you come back to the store and get the DSL modem- and and since the ISP in this country is a separate venture from the DSL line service in and of itself, you then can call the ISP.

But this is all an side- knowing just what we would have to do, we walked to the Bezek store. This is located in their main building just behind the central bus station. We were just in time for mincha at the Bezek synagogue.

Yep. Bezek, Israel's phone company, has a synagogue just inside the front lobby of their building. The minayn was pretty full, let me tell you. Feel free to bring up whatever jokes about phones and God you care for- but even at Bezek, the the sign on the shul door asks you to turn off your cellphone when you come in.

There you go: the Israeli phone company telling you to turn off your phone when in the official Bezek synogogue.

A strange treasure on Rosanes street.

2007-11-19T15:05:00.000+02:00

Not too far from the Shalom Hartman Institute is the kind of block that seems part of a bygone Jerusalem, as if taken from a short story by Amos Oz. About a five minute walk from the shops of Emek Refaim Boulevard,with its exceptional bakery (Pe’er) and immaculate butcher shop (Shoshani and Sons), Rosanes street is quiet, secluded, and drenched in greenery. The old stone buildings feature large lots with gardens and patios, fenced and walled in from noise. The street dead-ends, and it’s intersection is set far enough back that if on a bike or in a car, you could miss it easily enough.

As I have written before, Jerusalem is a city of hidden palaces, a veritable kingdom of secret gardens. Walls and fences are built thick or high to keep the world at a distance. On occasion, you will peer through an open gate and discover displays of horticultural skill that evoke dreams of garden oases and Mediterranean spas.

But on this street is a remarkable, perhaps singular treasure in Jerusalem: a water spigot for passers-by. The spigot is tarnished brass, the setting is done in a pale blue which leaps out at the eye from the limestone of the wall. "All those who thirst, come to the water,” reads the Hebrew (Isaiah 55:1, the start of one of the most comforting chapters in Tanach). The water gushes out with force, and the unused water trickles back behind the wall into a garden.

On one hand, the street dead ends, and this water is not along a known shortcut or regular path. Who would stroll by? There is no through traffic here. And yet, in this dusty mountain town, where water can be scarce and heat can be scorching, what a gift to a lost wanderer on foot. Which is, after all, how I found the place, when in the heat of an August day I was trying to find a shortcut home so I could get a drink.

The rest of the verse in Isaiah reads "and all who have no money; come, buy, and eat; yes, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price." If they had something in the wall for that part of the verse, I have a feeling Rosanes Street would be a horribly crowded place.

the next big update

2007-11-13T20:55:00.000+02:00

It finally got cold here. Cold by Jerusalem standards, I should say, because the weather that they call winter in Jerusalem is better known as Autumn in the parts of the USA that are not infested with fire ants. Even last week was a day with a high in the 70’s- and now that the days

only make it into the low 60’s Jerusalemites are wearing several layers. These are the layers
most northerners in the US have had on since
September, but would never bother to wear if it was still this warm back home. Please note I did not call it “Fall”, because leaves here don’t normally turn colors before falling off trees. They just turn brown and die.

Its not all bad, mind you. Flowers still bloom in riotous bunches, as pictured here.

Please don’t tell them that its November, and it's too cold. After all, they are Israeli flowers; if you tell them its too late in the year to be blooming, they might just glare at you, and say “And who are you to tell me how to bloom- and when?

Still, people feel colder here in December than they do in Milwaukee or Toronto. What makes a

Jerusalem “winter” so chilly is a three fold process.

Damp. It is rarely cold enough to snow, but it is usually humid enough to cause mold to grow indoors. Damp+ Dark= Bleeeeuch. It's also a windy time of year, so umbrellas are of little help when it rains.
No forced-air central heat. If you are lucky enough to have central heat and you are renting, heat is through radiators that warm up once a day. One corner of the room is always decent, and the rest of the room will keep your beer cold all day.
Stone floors. These damned tiles that make up the floors in almost every Jerusalem home are cold, cold, cold. Whatever heat you may get rises right up, leaving your tootsies clammy. There’s not a nice wooden floor in sight. Even gym floors in this country are on plastic or composite materials- but not wood. The best bet is a good rug- and a good rug costs big cash, so most students do without.

Of course, the first rain was cold and made big puddles, but it was not forceful enough to wash away a summer’s worth of plant debris and cat feces from the streets and gardens of Jerusalem. All this rain did was rehydrate stuff that had been desiccated for a long time, making a funky musty smell reach out at unexpected moments. Eeeech.

Israeli high school teachers and professors have been on strike for nearing a month or more at this point. They don’t picket the schools here, where nobody would see them. Teachers here stand on the corners of intersections with signs that read “Cheap Education is costing us a fortune” and “Honk if you support the teachers.” And people honk back, because as I’ve noted before, Jerusalem drivers will honk at anything, even signs that say, “honk you moron.”

The teachers stand with whistles and horns and beat out the same rhythm each day- ta-ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta ta-ta. People honk it back, shout their approval, and the strike goes on. One moring last week, the teachers were on a nearby corner. I could not see them, or even hear them all that well, but I knew it was teachers by the beeping and drums- ta-ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta ta-ta.

The latest tactic seems to be signs plastered on trash bins everywhere that read in clear black print “Olmert! Take [the] Education out of the trash!”

Ta-ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta ta-ta.

In close, I wish to share my prayers and best wishes to my cousin Phil, who just survived a heart attack. Refuah Shelaeymah.

Octoberfest! (includes free recipie)

2007-10-27T21:43:00.000+02:00

“What is going on with you two?” is probably the question some of you are asking, although some of you have also wondered “why aren’t they writing, posting, or at least shipping us back food?” The answer has to do with the fact that we only moved into this current apartment barely a week ago. Phone/DSL service is not set up, and getting the phone guy to come out at a reasonable hour is a tricky business. In that, Israel is not so different from the States- you have to wait all day to get a guy to take 30 seconds, plug his utility phone into a junction and make a computer switch the thing on. When DSL gets in place, updates will become more regular, but for now, we only have internet at school.

School has us very busy learning and setting up a new program for next year (our pet project). Part of a young adult education in the Orthodox world is a year in Israel learning the classical of Judaism. While a night watchching the hot-spots of Emek Refaim will reveal that many yeshiva boys and girls at “seminary” (women don’t go to places called yeshivot in most of the Orthodox world) are not pious young Talmud scholars only interested in learning, many are absorbing skills and texts that will be with them for the rest of their lives. The Orthodox world sees the education of teenagers as a matter of necessity; most non-orthodox congregations saw dealing with teenagers as pointless. Those that held on to such views long enough have often times “Greyed out” and aged into nothingness. Part of what we are doing is making that worthwhile experience for pre-college kids available to progressive Jews. This means setting up contact lists, designing a brochure, setting up people to attend program fairs and a whole list of other tasks.

We have been learning about the ethical and spiritual (and of course, the technical) aspects of the Shemitah year, which in the Torah is found as a year of the land lying fallow and the remission of debts, which I have blogged about before. But now, at long last, we are beginning our studies of Tractate Shabbat, and the whole school is giddy with glee to be beginning this new subject.

And of course we had to move. Twice. We left the holiday apartment we had rented just after Sukkot, and stayed at my sister-in-law’s place. She and her roomies were most generous. She lives on a street that becomes a pedestrian through-way for the block she lives on, a block according to every cabbie in Jerusalem does not exist. Of course, they can take you there and pick you up from there. They just will tell you that there is no intersection like that- and then they show up 2 minutes later exactly where they said there is no such place.

The holiday apartment we had was a treat- and a bit of a pain. It was a delight not having to take the laundry elsewhere and being two blocks away from school. Waking up for morning minyan is much easier when there is no 30 minute walk beforehand. We even went home for lunch a bunch of times.

We did not have our own sukkah, and the school sukkah which had been dormant for two years, rusting in place, needed a good deal of work. But with elbow grease and strong hands- and some decorations made from the same tinsel used for Christmas trees, it became a lovely space. It hosted several meals for the whole student body and a birthday party as well.

The holiday place also had cable, which led to our watching the BBC’s “The Mighty Boosh.” There is nothing like this on American TV. Perhaps that’s a good thing, but those who enjoy British humor at its weirdest should get a look at this show.

As for being a pain, construction work woke us up every morning in the holiday apartment- and set loose very large roaches from beneath the building. In an area that was once the YMCA’s athletic field, a new luxury condo complex is going up called “Keter David”, or David’s Crown. They are still drilling into the sandstone bedrock for foundations as the buildings go up. First the trucks with raw materials came in, around 5:30am. That was bad enough, especially as they backed up , and we all know how soothing the “Shbeeep! Shbeeeb! Shbeeb!” of a large truck moving is reverse is. Then the drilling started around 6:30am, and it was the kind of low, powerful drilling that you can feel even if you plug your ears. According to the guys who live in that apartment year round, the drilling stopped the day after we moved out. It resumed a week later, though.

We currenlty are not too far from congregation Kol Haneshama. You could call it Reform, but that might be a misnomer. This place is not like a Reform temple in the states (or in the UK, from what I understand). I think, to be honest, it would scare the hell out of many reform jews in the US- and while the Reform movement is vilified in Israel in terms that aren't even used for drug-dealers, the congregation continues growing and draws in Israelis from all walks of life- not just Russians of dubious ancestry or Reform olim from the US.

First of all, everyone speaks Hebrew. The whole service is in Hebrew. The announcements are in Hebrew. Second of all, the singing is in rounds, with glorious harmony. Third, the place has a beit midrash. Are the services touchy-feely? Sure- a bit, and there are the usual Reform alterations to the traditional liturgy. But the congregation is unified, active and their services are packed every shabbat.

Our landlord seems like an actually decent guy. Built us a special shower rod to fit the half-bath space we have. There is no heat, but also no va’ad bayit. Literally “building committee,” most Va’ad Bayit fees are spent on heating and groundskeeping. Paying for your own heat is not cheap, but it means you turn it on when you are cold, and not use it when you are not home. The apartment came with a powerful heater/radiator combo- we’ll see how it goes. We probably won’t have to use it for a week or two.

The stove in the apartment is very interesting. There are six dials on it. Four for the gas burners and two for the oven; but there are no numbers or markings to indicate what does what. Want to cook that lasagna at 400°F? Good luck! You may get it right, or you may be putting the oven on broil or setting the temperature at 363°F.

(photo: puppy on the beach at Cesarea)

We are still looking for how to do our laundry. There is only one such place in Jerusalem you could call a laundrymat. We heard that some places rent laundry machines-but we have yet to find such a place. We have managed to get our folding tables and chairs out of storage, along with books and some warmer clothes. We hosted 8 people this past Friday night, many of whom had provided us with meals over the past weeks. We served chicken drenched in rich paprika, and our guests brought wine, booze, and of course, halva. It was a delightful time. Here’s the appetizer we cooked up. Enjoy!

Double-Sun Phyllo Rollups ( Makes about two dozen pieces)

14 sheets phyllo, medium thickness (two will always tear, so there are extras)
10 washed, large sunchokes, a.k.a. Jerusalem Artichokes.
1 cup sun-dried tomatoes (not in oil) ½ cup basil leaves, fresh
1 cup roasted garlic "salad" (roasted garlic cloves in oil and thyme)
Garlic powder
Olive oil
Oil spray or melted butter
Pinch of Sugar, Ground pepper
Egg Wash
Pastry Brush

All measurements are estimated. This surprisingly tasty appetizer was made with mostly leftover items. Jerusalem Artichokes are in season here, and a popular local “salad” at markets is roasted cloves of garlic marinated in oil, thyme, and seasoning. There is no salt added in this recipie due to the fact that phyllo dough here has a good amount of salt, as do the sun-dried tomatoes. A pinch of sugar is needed to cut a bit of the sourness of the tomato. This recipie is untested, so Caveat Essor- eater beware .

1) Cut sunchokes into ½” thick inch rounds or slices. Toss with splash of olive oil, pepper and garlic powder. Roast at medium-high heat for 25 minutes or until browned and crisp at edges. Let cool until workable.
2) Slice basil and sun-dried tomato into thin strips.
3) Mash Garlic “salad” into rough paste with dash of sugar, then mix well with basil and sun dried tomato.
4) Cut full phyllo sheets into 5” strips (usually halve the sheets). Place 6 rounds or 2 strips of Jerusalem Artichokes at bottom of phyllo strip, and add a spoonful of the garlic/tomato/basil mixture. Brush exposed or spray lightly with oil/butter.
5) Fold up and roll into egg-roll shape. Place on greased baking sheet. 6) Bake in 375-400 degree oven for 10 minutes, brush with egg wash, bake for 5 more minutes.

He’s behind me, isn’t he? AND He lives next door.

2007-09-23T22:53:00.000+02:00

Look, it’s not that bumping into celebrities is uncommon in Israel. It’s the way it happens that is so strange.

After our pre-fast feast, a small number of the diners were walking together from the apartment of the host to the minyan for Kol Nidre. The host’s street in Jerusalem connects directly with “Hanasi” street. Literally “president” street, the street was renamed when the president’s official residence was moved from the elegant British-planned neighborhood of Rechavia to a new compound on the edge of nearby Talbieh.

We have nothing like the Israeli Presidency in the US- some people would say the Surgeon General is close, but even the Surgeon General has more power than the President of the State of Israel. After all, the Surgeon General can address the public and put warnings on things. Plus they get to wear that snazzy retired-Admiral suit. Being President of Israel is kind of like being first lady and trying to help your country, but with the president living in another house and never telling you anything- similar to the Roosevelt Presidency.

Unlike 1600 Pennsylvania Ave, where the main resident doesn’t mind having the whole world know he’s leaving the house, the Shabak staff watching the Israeli president these days takes a very different approach. Which is how the following occurred…

We all crossed onto the street just a few feet past the entrance to the residence. We kept walking down past the edge of the residence with it’s stylized fence.. There were a few dozen guards about, barricades and a receiving line set up opposite the street. One of our party asked what all the barricades were for. I ventured “that’s probably where the president will be davening.” The student at the head of our group, turned around to say to me, “well, why don’t you ask him? He’s right-“ “Behind me, isn’t he?” I turned around, and there was Shimon Peres in a Royal Blue suit, flanked by two of the tallest, best armed Jews in the world. Holding his tallis bag under one arm, a black velvet kippah on his head, and the very weight of the world on his shoulders. It was that expression that stopped me from greeting him- that and the two huge guards.

We must have walked 50 feet before any of us knew he was behind us. And he followed us for two blocks “Right. Well, he’s still behind us,” I mentioned to the group. “Maybe he’s coming to shul with us.” That’s when he crossed the street. You know, he’s shorter than I thought he would be.

Of course, we are still apartment hunting as our current location is just through the holiday season (Sukkot). The last place we saw tonight was a few blocks away from the Jerusalem theatre. As we look for the apartment (which turned out to be a converted garage or workspace), N. mentions that one my favorite teachers says a famous Israeli lives next door. We get to the end of the block, searching for street numbers in the cool of the evening. Of course, there aren’t any. I take a few steps down a lighted pathway to see if there is a number for the house on the side of the building, but there isn’t one. Lots of light and many voices are coming out of the house.

I duck back quickly towards the road. A cab is waiting in front of the home. A voice comes form behind me, warm and curious. “You have something for me?” he asks. I recognize the face of this man and try to explain, stumbling over my own bad Hebrew, that we are looking for an apartment at #4. That’s when my wife takes over, calmly naming the family we are looking for. “This is #4- you just want down at the corner.” Israeli style, he walks us down the block a bit. “Here?” we ask. “no, no a bit further down,” he adds. Having regained my wits, I wish the man a flurry of year-end greetings, and he heads back to his house.

“You know, our teacher said that he will be our neighbor if we get this place. I wonder if we could ever have him over ?” Realizing what didn’t click for her, I tell my wife "um… that was him.” “No, it couldn’t be,” she replies. I ask the cab driver, who has pulled over to make a call. “That was him, right?” He looks at me with a smile. “Yes, yes, he lives right there.” I’m not sure she really believes that it was him. She is still a bit sad that while the landlady was so nice, the apartment was a dump. I feel we did great; after all, how often do you get directions from Natan Sharansky while apartment hunting?

Gmar Chatimah Tovah

2007-09-21T14:00:00.000+02:00

In Israel on Yom Kippur, even cable stations go off the air, Russian-language cable stations included. Quite the thing to see- all those stations off the air. Except MTV, but since it's like one long commercial these days, who over the age of 16 would notice if it did go off the air?

To all those I could not call or write, and to all our readers, May you be sealed in the book of life for prosperity, health, security joy and hope.

We hope the coming week will show a start to a new season of blog entires of substance and with lots of funny. Oh, and new photos- if we can find the camera.

Shana Tovah!

No, no! That avocado is traif!

2007-09-17T21:24:00.000+02:00

The seven year sabbatical cycle, or Shmitah, has come full circle again. Consequently, one of the most bizarre quirks of Jewish life in the land of our Ancestors comes to the forefront: In modern day Israel, the meat is always kosher, but the vegetables can be traif.

Even Iwo Burger, the Jerusalem chain which serves burgers with bacon and blue cheese proudly lets customers know that only top quality kosher meat is served at their establishment. Of course, to get non-kosher meat in Jerusalem is a sysiphisian feat (yes, I went there), but the leading brands of Israeli cold cuts? Kosher. Army bases? Kosher. Wedding halls? Major café chains? You get the idea; Kosher meat is no big deal. But with the shmitah cycle, the Jewish dietary laws turn a circumlocutious eye towards the evil red bell pepper.

The Torah is explicit about this: every seven years let the land lie fallow. In return, God will give and abundance in the 6th year to see you through, and won’t that 8th year be an agricultural hootenanny (my spouse is forcing me to use that word lest people get confused). What grows on its own can be eaten, but no active cultivation or agricultural commerce is allowed. This has never been an easy mitzvah to observe in a land where rain is sparse, soil is finicky, and between the sun and insect world crops are often not long for this world without a great deal of human help. Even in mishnaic times the limits and loopholes surrounding this commandment were being tested.

There is of course a scale of how people react to this mitzvah in the modern world. On one side there are those for whom Judaism is never difficult enough as it is, and Israeli life is simply not stressful enough. For them, food can never really be kosher enough- especially if someone who does not go to their synagogue will eat it. These folks say that during shmitah there are no loopholes, no leniencies, no exceptions, no exemptions and no common sense. The literal law will be observed with its authority unabated, and there is no growing, buying or selling crops grown in the land. Fasting twice a week and public hangings are badly needed again in the mind of such folks, as for them Torah must be soul-crushingly difficult to observe, or its not the real deal. In their harts I am confident these halachic masochists would love to see people flogged for even looking at a bell pepper this year.

Are there those on the other side who say that if there is no Temple and no divine blessings over crops, the gig is up and for now we should only make symbolic actions and study the mitzvot for future implementation, as we do with sacrifices? Of course. The Rabbis of Provonce, whom we listen to for any number of Chumrot (stringencies) , said that to observe this law is midat chadisut, an act of peity, and not currently in force. As with anyone who says that there is an lenient way in the halakha, they are dismissed like the Reform, reconstructionists, Rav Moshe Finestein (when he ruled meikiel) and the Ringling Brothers, and therefore these rabbis are completely ignored. But we do pay attention to the crazies just mentioned.

Which leaves us in a right middle ground, saying that we only have to observe the law by rabbinic fiat. Every seven years, a loophole in this middle ground that makes growing and harvesting permissible, the Heter Mechirah, is supposed to be evaluated and implemented as needed. Naturally, it is besieged by that first group of “It’s not Torah unless it kills you” people. This year, the chief rabbi of a major city in the north was sued by the attorney general of Israel for refusing to allow people to work under this loophole as they have for the past number of decades.

I’m glossing over the fact that the loophole requires selling the land to a non-Jew for the year, and some people go nuts over that very notion. And there is another loophole called Otzer Biet Din, which is seen as preferable to the heter by many scholars. But the foods grown under heter exemption are still sacred and have some ritual restrictions on them. You can’t just waste them with impunity, use them in an abnormal matter, or dispose of their remains without consideration. So even with the heter, you still have to treat the produce of the land with added respect- and that takes time and money. Without allowing the heter, the economy of modern Israel would shatter. Furthermore, there is always reliance on imported produce from abroad and even more distasteful to some (but not us), buying from local Arab farmers. Without the heter, these two food sources become predominant, and both of these rile people up just as much as the notion of selling the land to a non-Jew.

And since elements within the Rabbinate seemingly wants to be more strict than Torquemada this year, no progress has been made on using the heter, and the markets still do not have signs saying where the vegetables are from, which standard or loophole is being used, and who is keeping an eye on the avocados. So at this time guacamole may be traif.

At least the chicken is still kosher.

Now introducing Rule #14

2007-09-16T19:20:00.000+02:00

The ad was for a place that was too expensive, but after some delicate negotiations, we were told we might get the price down to a cost we cold almost afford. And the ad listed a number advantages. All that remained was to see the place and the owner.

Before we met, she asked us if we had a TV. We said “No.” “Well of course you don’t need one,” she noted. “You’re newlyweds.” At first, we dismissed this under the experiences that show how many Israelis have no tact, and feel free to comment about your family life with impunity. But then came the follow-up which she dropped on us while we were looking around (and discovered the bedroom was bigger than the rest of the apartment):

“It’s such a beautiful apartment. You must have your first child here." When I said that our parents would kill us if we had a child so far away from them, she said, “No, no, but you should just conceive it here.” So as much as we wanted to finally have a lease for the rest of the year, we knew this was not the place for us, because we just couldn't rent from someone rather kind, but way too interested in our reproductive cycle. Which leads us to our new rule for living in Israel...

RULE #14: Never rent from someone who wants you to conceive children in their bedroom.

“Go. Bye.”

2007-09-15T20:25:00.000+03:00

Greetings 11thfloor readers! Wishing you all a sweet new year and a chatimah tovah, this will be a post-a-day week, we hope.

Our journey back to jerusalem finally began with a Jet Blue flight , which was fun and half an hour early into JFK. I recommend flying with them when you can.
Now the line at JFK had taken us two full hours to finally get to check-in counter- and we were there early. The line had formed at shortly after 7pm --for a flight due to leave at 12:20am. The airline recommends getting there 3 hours early, so naturally people were lined up 5 hours beforehand. Now the line stretched so far away from the check-in desks it seemed hard to believe that there were only 260 passengers on the plane. It doubled back upon itself so many times it cut off access to three other airlines including Kuwaiti Air, who welcome their first class and business passengers with fine rugs in the waiting area.

So after the interview by Israeli security staff, lifting, tagging, retagging, waiting in line and shuffling bags for two hours, we finally had our boarding passes, finished screening, and got ready to have the bags passed through the x-ray. This required standing in another line for 45 minutes. We finally got to the front of the line, and got ready to hoist the bags onto the conveyor for the X-ray. One look at us, and the Israeli security guy (certainly not TSA) takes the bags, gives them a swipe with a magic wand, and just says “Go. Bye.” No interviews, no searches, no question on the bag’s contents. No X-ray. It was almost comical. Other students were quizzed aggressively: “Yeshiva? But you are done with university! You are too old for yeshiva!” or to a young woman: “Girls don’t go to yeshiva!” But for us? “Go. Bye.” It made us wonder if we should have just skipped to the head of the line. Maybe next time…

Once more, with feeling!

2007-09-04T01:07:00.000+03:00

More adventures from the 11th floor are soon to come, dear readers! More Jews behaving badly! More essays on Jerusalem life! More.... long essays and entries that make little sense.

We arrive in Jerusalem, with God's help, in just over a day and a half, so stay tuned!

A farewell banquet and then some.

2007-06-04T09:37:00.000+03:00

Often, kosher consumers temporarily living in Jerusalem indulge in farewell (or arrival) dinner centered around meat. Considering just how cheap kosher meat is here -as compared the rest of the world- its no surprise that people seem to loose their minds and attempt to eat 3/5ths of a steer. After all, Israel is a land where wine is usually cheaper than beer and meat is less expensive by kilo than cheese. Compare that to the US where a kosher steak often costs as much as a semester at a big 10 college and you get the picture.

As a consequence, folks love going to the all- you can eat meat places, where there are scenes of kosher carnivores happily chewing through enough meat to give a vegetarians a massive fit of apoplexy with even a single glance. These are lovely places for such beef-based ogries (angry vegans, please post your complaints at intolerant-cullinary-phillsitnes.com) including the Red Heffier, El Gaucho, and Vaquiero. The latter two are modeled on churrascarias, where roving waiters bring endless servings of roasted meats, stews, and grilled cuts until customers have a coronary or leave to have one elsewhere.

With nothing against any of these, I’m going to suggest you try a radically different place for a farewell banquet- Eucalyptus. On the borders of fine dining and regional cuisine, the food is about as authentically “etertz yisrael” as you can think of. And their “Shir Ha’shirim Dinner,” which includes wine, house made lemonade, and as much food as an Israeli wedding banquet is a simply fabulous meal. When you leave, not only will you have learned a lot and be stuffed, you won’t feel bloated or ill.

Yes, there was meat- nicely done at that, but greens and vegetables were the early star of the show. And as a meat-eater, I assure you, this was damn fine food no matter what the ingredients. This all starts out with flatbread and a selection of salatim, but not the heavy, oily, salty ones were are used to getting in the supermarket. These are light and well seasoned. After his is when the chef comes out to talk Tanach with you- not a likely event at El Gaucho. He shows local herbs and produce warns you not to eat too much of the bread, because you won’t have room to enjoy what is coming.

He means it. Which is a shame, since the salatim are light, and the bread is just baked, and you feel cheated that you cant eat everything in front of you. But that quickly evaporates, because cold salads come out, including potato salad that is rich and creamy with nary a hint of mayonnaise. Then come warm dishes, most notably Khubeisa. This green, a relative of the mallow, was among what little that the Jews of the old city had left to eat at the end of the siege of Jerusalem in 1948. As with other forms of soul food, tasting this green makes you feel grounded and at home.

Of course, the chef’s story of the siege is interrupted by whole roast eggplant, and soon steak tips in a rich brown sauce made their way to the table, which I really can’t do justice to; lets just say I would eat the steak dish for dinner for a week straight ant not get that tired off it.

All this time, the fresh made lemonade and wine kept flowing. And a few dishes later…Ma’abula. Accompanied by a gong and much fanfare, the sous chef asked one of us to aid with the unmoulding of the dish. “If it unmoulds in one piece, that’s good luck, and if not… that’s also lucky!” With a cloud of fragrant steam, rice rich with spices and chicken were unveiled. Potato slices and eggplant were melt-in-your-mouth tender, and there was enough of it to feed a platoon of Golani infantry.

The dessert was called “Solet be’ulal b’shamen,” a phrase from the Torah regarding the cakes offered alongside animal sacrifices in the Temple. The moistest cake I’ve eaten in years, the simple sauce of tehina and silan (date honey) was rich and sweet, but not so much as to cloak the taste of the cake(pictured here). A carafe of herbal tea redolent with roses and herbs was provided. And after the bill, a shot of homemade Arak, far smoother and complex than the cheap clear stuff that has the subtlety of deck varnish.

While we still have a few meals here, this was a great send off for us. No deep fried dishes were served, and olive oil was used with a deft touch; only the lamb dish in pastry was heavy, and that came more from the strong flavor of the meat more than anything else. We walked away full but not bloated, and having leaned much about local cuisine and its ancient roots. As they say here in Jerusalem, “me’od mumlatz” — very recommended!

Shalom from Jerusalem and Btey-avon!

An update of sorts

2007-05-24T00:04:00.000+03:00

Things in the holy land? Up here in the small mountain town of Shalem, its quiet. The heat of the last Sharav has passed, and with last week's unexpected downpour of rain (the intensity of which stunned most natives) the landscape is still green with the occasional bunch of flowers. Last night, Emek Refaim was closed to traffic, and all the restaurants (including the two traif ones) had streetside booths, offering meats and treats of all kinds. There was Rikudei Am at the local arts high school, rock bands, blues performers, and all sorts of crafts for sale. A charming time with half of Jerusalem and every Seminary girl mulling about.

But the attacks on Sderot and the reprisals by the IDF are making everyone a bit nervous. Couple that with a Prime Minster that everyone loathes but that nobody wants to move out or replace, and a defense secretary too stupid to move the lens caps of his binoculars, and the Qassams are worrying (and killing) people. Thankfully, the west bank has been quiet- one of the few advantages to the pullout from Gaza is that the loonies in Gaza are cut off from their slightly less loony friends in the West Bank. It's kept the IDF out of more trouble, and the longer calm prevails in the West Bank, the better the chances are for helping people in that area find their way to the negotiation table

Lag B'omer found us in Peki'in, the home of R. Shimon barYochai's cave. Pekiin is a lovely town where until 1948, Jews had lived for 2000 years (the people of the town could not stop the arab mobs that came from elsewhere in the gallil to kill jews). When those jews that fled did not come back immedaiately, the town made sure the synagogue was kept safe for when their neighbors finally did return. It does not hurt that the whole village is mostly druze and that the whole down relied on a single well until well into the 1970's. A religion of tolerance and a single water source can go a long way to promoting tolerance.

When we returned to Jerusalem late that night, the smell of burning .... everything was in the air. Every corner had a fire of some kind, and Sacher park was more like a vision of Gehhenna with fires on the paths every 5 feet. It's a rather pagan event here in God's city, and if Rashbi saw it, he'd put half the city in cherem. he would have much more preffered Yom Mangal ( or should I call it Yom Ha'atzmaut?).

One hell of a qoute

2007-05-17T22:37:00.000+03:00

"Secular Israelis are the only people who think that secular Israelis are secular."

--- Sir Jonathan Sacks
Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth

Here the full YHZ address here. New posts coming next week!

"V'af al pi sheyitmameiha, im kol zeh ani ma'amin"

2007-04-30T18:23:00.000+03:00

What would you do if you only had one Sunday afternoon for the whole year? For those who live in the US and Canada, it's a strange exercise. What would you do if you only had one afternoon with no fixed obligations, no set schedule and no musaf? How would you handle it?

Welcome to Yom Ha'atzmaut, friends, the only Sunday on the Israeli Calendar.

There are plenty of Yomei Rishon, but that aint Sunday, folks. Yes, Thursday night/Friday morning here has some vague connection to Saturday night/Sunday morning overseas, but like a joint initiative in congress, the link is tenuous. When you finish brunch at your milchig restaurant in Manhattan on Sunday morning, you can go anywhere- at least until the kids are out of Hebrew school. When you finish brunch in your swanky Jerusalem eatery, you have Shabbat to think about. And don't start with the "Chilonim don't have Shabbat" crap. Over 2/3rds of Chiloni households still have some form of dinner *With Kiddush* on Friday nights. It might not be legitimate in the eyes of the Moetzet, but then again, in their eyes, neither is anyone who is not a) dressed only in black and white, b) supporter of Degel-Hatorah and c) a man. So even those who don't identify as dati still have Shabbat. And that means Shuk, Makolet, Doar, cooking, cleaning, and snacks for the kaduregel game after dinner.

As Judy Balint put it, "It's the one day in the year that feels like a Sunday. Pure recreation with no major religious obligations. No newspapers, banks or mail to take the mind off the all-important task of finding the best place to set up the portable barbecue."

Many people talk about the switch from Yom Ha’zikaron to Yom Ha’atzmaut. It is startling- mournful music on the radio evaporates and all of the sudden, its all classic hits, all the time. It is hard to imagine people can manage it- my ulpan teacher no longer has big parties. She and her husband spend the day at home- they’ve lost too many to go out and have a celebration. The number of people who feel that way, she tells me, is growing. Others still try to plunge from grief into celebration. For those who say hallel at night, it may be one key to transitioning. Starting with Ma'ariv and the Amidah can out one in a place where one can make an attempt at the inner work of packing away all the pain and loss that has been set out for the day, and Hallel can help bring a bit of joy back to the psychological forefront. That being said, I feel as if the party and the show are for kids and tourists, and the real Yom Ha’atzmaut is a day spent trying to rein in the grief and bitterness that is given reign to express itself the day before.

Of course, Israel is a country where patience is not a virtue (there has yet to be an Israeli Ieyasu Tokugawa), so profound mourning followed by fireworks at night and cooking over fire by day is not so incomprehensible. Maybe the shock of the transition is what lets Israelis be so relaxed and less cynical for the day. These classic happy songs of Israel that you hear on Yom ha’atmaut are normally poo-pooed the way a rock critic derides "Frampton Comes Alive.” Suddenly, these same songs are on the lips of those same people who the week before were calling them "anachronistic leftovers from an era of naiveté and groupthink." It is Israeli society gone crazy! Gone are the faces with hard edges, the grim glances, the impatience the aggressive driving- okay, the drivers are still nuts with honking and speeding uphill the wrong way, but the rest is gone. Romantics blossom for the day, and people bloom with love for their country. Its like the drunk guys at the bar. You know them- the macho guys who during their first game of pool were making the bartender make sure the shotgun under the vodka bottles was loaded. Suddenly they are now all leaning on each other's shoulders, say "I love you, man!"

Erev Yom Ha’atzmaut, we saw pre-teens roaming town unescorted, shaving cream in hand to spray targets immobile (stores) and mobile (everyone around them). There are two groups of parents who would never let this happen back home; the safety conscious, who would fear for their children's safety, and the good parents, who know that unsupervised teenagers are agents of mayhem, Satan, and the Republican party. In Israel, they are let loose by two groups of parents, those who belive that Israel is a safe country for kids to roam about in, and those who would never say no to their kids.

Yom Ha’atzmaut was picture perfect. Idyllic. Warm. Cobalt edged Turquoise skies. The scent of grilling meat was aloft. We hit three different BBQ's, and we could have gone to many more. The Americans finished with… well, they didn't really, they just kept eating. The Israelis, by contrast, put the leftovers away, brought out halvah, coffee, Turkish delight, and of course, a hookah.

Passover in Israel is remarkable because of the products and being part of the majority culture. Yom Kippur is so very moving because of the lack of traffic and the socializing that takes place after synagogue. But these days are not purely unique in Jewish experience; one can have intense spirituality and moving community moments outside of Israel. But Yom Ha’atzmaut is different in Israel- not because of the mangal, not because of the fireworks and flags, and not because of the parties. In Israel, grief tempers the joy. The most amazing celebrations are those held in the kitchen of a family that has lost an uncle and a son, or a mother to terror, and yet… and yet they still try and celebrate. A part of them still echoes the Hatikvah, dreaming of being a free people in the land.

Try it- you won't like it.

2007-04-27T01:25:00.000+03:00

Americans marvel at Yom Hazikaron – but we don’t want to have a day like it. Close stores and restaurants early? No theatres for 24 hours? No cafes? A near-obligatory nationwide moment of remembrance? We couldn't even make "Hands Across America" work. Getting everyone to stop for a second? Both sides of the political spectrum would complain:
The Right wing would complain about the limiting of free enterprise, the socialist overtones of the idea, and would demand the sirens be turned into a minute of prayer.
The Left wing would complain about the limiting of free speech and religion, the fascist overtones of the idea, and would demand the sirens be turned into a minute of interpretive dance to protest the war in Iraq.

Hence, the US has a memorial day that can only make us cry if we find out the clothes we wanted to buy are not on sale for %50 off, rather just %25. Only our veterans and citizens in uniform give a damn about the day in a manner with any emotional content. They deserve better, but Americans don't want Yom Hazikaron, impressed with it though we may be. We like our sales and day off of school, and we are quite happy not thinking about the soldiers who have died with the Stars and Stripes on their uniform- not even those who fought in the "good wars."

Can you imagine HBO having nothing on for 24 hours on memorial day? Long Island alone would riot and burst into flames. Yet in Israel, the radio, TV, even cable in Israel are behaving as if the day means something. Movies and kids programs are related to the day, and sad mellow songs are all that is on the radio. True, most people in the US don't even know someone who has served or is serving in the Armed Forces. In Israel, almost everyone knows someone who has been killed in action, and with every new war that "almost" gets smaller and smaller.

The numbers work against the US having a powerful and emotional day. But since most universities teach that patriotism is always questionable, the numbers aren't really the problem anymore. They teach the flaws of our founding fathers, and place their virtues in the trash can. Nobody can get away with saying "This is what it means to be an American" anymore. If you can’t say what Americans have in common, then you can’t have a day to honor those with the goal of defending that commonality.

And what does it mean to be Israeli? My guess knowing that even a person who is lucky enough to say "I have never lost anyone from among those who served in the IDF", will get out of their car when that siren sounds, stand at attention, and be still for the moment has something to do with it. Dalia Itzik has antoher part of it. During her speech at the Kotel which marked the start of the day, she said "Tonight, Israel weeps...We have no words of comfort, but we embrace you, the families, with endless love." Her own words? Perhaps, but she presented the fact that the sacrifice is understood. There are other parts as well, some based in the struggles of building a state, others in facing political and religious divides. To experience Yom Ha’zikaron is to gain insight into these and other aspects of what it means to be an Israeli.

There is nothing wrong with the fact we Americans want to shop and have fun on our memorial day; the shame is that we would not know what to say to the family of someone who died in service of the USA if given the chance. There was a time when Americans understood the small flags with gold and blue or silver stars that hung in front windows of homes across the country. How sad that there are more of those flags starting to appear again these days; how sad that those few that are in use are no longer understood. And in the state of Israel… in Israel there is no special flag for having a loved one in the service or lost in action; the flag of Israel is that flag for all families.

And to them will I give in my house and within my walls a memorial and a name

2007-04-21T23:24:00.000+03:00

Emek Refaim street is dark. Normally flooded with cars and restaurants flooded with young students and older residents, the street is empty and the cafes are shuttered. I’ve seen this at 5 a.m. walking back from a Super Bowl party or after 11pm on Friday night, but this was at 9 in the evening on a weeknight. This was the eve of Yom Hashoah, and by law restaurants are closed. Some civil liberties folks are sure to find such limitations of commerce ghastly, but there is a powerful metaphor here. This is a real day of remembrance, not just a few banners and flags but a situation that forces people to break from routine and think.

The night was filled with TV related to the day. Ceremonies were televised, and some stations on Israeli cable/satellite went “dark” to mark the day- see Robbie’s post here for some great pictures of networks showing a bit of class- the last one may surprise you.

As many times as you have heard about it, the sirens sounding on Yom Hashoah are still powerful and surprising moving . We left the Bet Midrash a few minutes before the set time, and wandered down the corner. We saw traffic flowing at its regular pace, messengers on scooters defying traffic laws and common sense, cabbies cutting through red lights- the usual. But as the time came near, matching clusters of people appeared on opposing corners of the intersection.

It almost sneaks up on you. The sirens where we were did not all begin at once, but they slowly became clear. And the traffic became still. The city was quiet beyond comprehension, excepting the grinding wail of the sirens. People stood by their cars, at attention, in contemplation, the ever impatient Israeli now suddenly still in thought. Of course there was one truck that kept backing up and two cabs that did not wait more than thirty seconds, but there are schmucks everywhere, and we did not think to bring eggs with which to pelt the vulgar bastards with.

Two days after Yom Hashoah, the Yeshiva went to visit the new museum building at Yad Vashem, the Israeli Holocaust museum. The use of architecture and design is devastating; the winding path in and out of the exhibits in the wedge shaped museum is so compelling that although there are washrooms halfway through the path, you have to really walk against the flow of people and concentrate to find them. The exhibits are presented in marvelous clarity; the museum does not require tour guides to be effective. Remarkable innovation fills the museum. There artifacts you can touch, videotaped testimony from survivors, and models (real and virtual) of camps and attacks. The museum begins with a digital video montage of life before the Shoah and ends with an exit from unfurnished concrete and steel to the green panorama of Jerusalem. The design is powerful on multiple levels; it is nearly impossible to avoid breaking down into tears at least once while working your way through the space. It is a remarkable place.

And now the city has moved itself away from the Shoah to more recent losses. Yom Hazikaron, the Israeli memorial day is fast upon us. Flags are everywhere in J’lem; schools, cars, balconies, supermarkets and new flagpoles just for the week. There will be more sirens, more ceremonies, and more speeches this week. It’s very intense week, and the transition from Pesach to Yom Ha’atzmaut is not an easy one. It is wise to recall Israel is still a young country making a great effort to remember and not to forget. These are two separate things, and if the efforts get muddled from time to time, that’s to be expected .

The Magic Words and From Seder to Shoah

2007-04-15T13:13:00.000+03:00

Some people would enjoy the life of a supermarket cashier. People come in weekly or daily, you get people what they need, and you know what is a fair price when it comes to food.

That being said, the average Kupa’it is not the most pleasant of women. Let’s be honest, most of them are downright surly. Who can blame them? Repetitive stress injuries, people trying to use expired coupons, folks who can’t read a label on a shelf, and management that… well, you get the idea. But there is a magic phrase that for a week will turn even the most grim of Kuapiyot into a woman happier to see you than your favorite aunt. “Aich Leyl Haseder?” How was your seder? This phrase, and various variations thereon will give you a feel of wizard- like power. Speak the incantation, and the grim sphinx who guards the way between your groceries and freedom turns into a aristocratic matron all too happy to speed you on your way.

The first time I used the magic, I was unprepared, and nearly brought the store to a standstill. “How was my seder?” Her expression transformed from wrinkled, prune like, in annoyance of having to deal with another American, into a beatific smile as she replied. Yes, it was lovely, 40 people, ended at midnight, what a delight. Then the chain reaction happened. “Shira! Shira!” she hollered to the next Kuapit, “How was it? Did Muki come in from the Army?” “Yes! And he brought this girlfriend!” “Dana,” called Shira, “how did the seder go by you?” Another kupait stopped scanning cans and boxes. “Everyone wore white, we sang and sang…” It spread like a wave of giddiness, and it took a few minutes for the lines to get moving again. Powerful stuff.

Supermarkets on Pesach are a trip. Wine is on discount, sold in bonus boxes and 2-for-one offers. Wine here is cheaper than beer, strangely enough. There are shelves full of K4P cakes (see the photo- each cake is k4p), other shelves covered over with butcher paper (shown above), just like at home- very amusing and enjoyable shopping. And now Passover is past. The initial clamor for all things Chametz has died down- bakeries are not running out of bread, schnitzel is available in all its manifold forms, and the magic phrase has lost its power. Try it out next year if you can.

*********************************

We are transitioning into the period of the “new” holidays, starting with Yom Hashoah V’gevurah. in Israel that last bit is stressed, unlike in the US where nobody uses it. That means that here in Israel people are not as likely to lament “Why didn’t they fight back?” In Israel, part of the day is remembering that people did indeed fight. Jews fought back in numerous ways- combat often came last. First came the greatest acts of resistance under Nazi oppression- remaining alive and practicing Judaism. When smuggling extra food or praying in a minyan are things that can get you killed, it is heroism to daven or to bring potatoes to your family. Not as flashy as binging bullets to bear on Nazi soldiers, but just as daring an act of heroism. We did fight back- and hence in Israel, the day has three words, ending with V’gvurah- and heroism.

Hasal Siddur Pesach

2007-04-09T22:39:00.000+03:00

We hope, dear readers, your Passover (or Easter) week was a joyous one. An update on our Jerusalem Passover will follow soon. Here's a shot of our living room, where we spent the first half of the seder reclining, nibbling on Carpas of many varieties (one spring of parsley? I think not!) and discussing in fine Greco-Roman style. Sort of.

Tables came later. The meal was delightful (sorry about that vegetarian entree, folks, but I did not know I was making it until 40 minutes before seder), our company was kind, and my in-laws were the warmest of guests. A great seder.

Next year- here.

Who burned the biscuts, Or, The long line at the car wash

2007-04-02T13:08:00.000+03:00

This morning, all of Jerusalem smelled like burnt bread. It's about as surprising a scent here the morning before Passover as incense would be surprising in a Greek Orthodox church on a Sunday morning. It may be the one day that pyromaniacs and people with an unusual hatred of baguettes have a ritual to celebrate together.

People heap leftover pita, dry challah and breakfast cereal into hastily made bonfires which let columns of smoke waft heavenward, if I may be so poetic. When it comes to some ultra-orthodox, the plastic bags these things come in also go into the fire, which makes the smoke change from the scent of burnt biscuits to the smell of a tire fire, which is not so poetic. Unlike parents in the US, israeli children are encouraged to poke the fire with sticks, get too close to the flames, and watch stuff burn at their leisure. Most of the bonifires are on empty lots, old train track lots and other public spaces, which allows one to see the cross-section of religious groups in J'lem. Everyone from Hasisim in gabardines and long side-curls to girls in jeans and university sweatshirts shuffle over to put their bread to the fire. Then they all shuffle away to leave the fire unattended by anyone. (I should contrast this with Baltimore, where all the Jews bring their chometz to one location and have it burned by people who know how to make a conflagration of dangerous proportions- the Baltimore Fire Department.)

There are only a handful of car washes in Jerusalem, and it seems that they are rarely put to task. This morning, they are getting a work-out as car owners here in the Holy City suddenly become neat freaks. Lines were long this morning, as Jews tried to vacuum out the chametz from inside thier cars- and wash three months of crap off the outside while they were at it.

Of course, bread may be burned, but few Jerusalemites have the stomach for wasting other foods that are not consumed on the holiday. Hence the artfully arranged heaps of lentils or mustard jars I saw set out on several fences, walls and driveways. Jerusalemites also don't throw out books; they leave them near trash cans or walkway fences in neat piles. You can also tell who is Sefaradi this way; those who can eat kitniyot don't have as much stuff piled up for the taking outside their homes before passover.

And now, your Jerusalem Moment for April:
You can buy Mezzuzot in the home supply store. They are at Home Center (pronounced "Ohm Senter"), just by the drapes and window dressings in aisle 8.
Hey, it's hardware.

Chag Sameach!

(photo: View of Jerusalem's Nachla'ot and Machne Yehuda from the Supreme Court Building)

Everything My Mother Told Me Was Wrong…

2007-04-01T09:37:00.000+03:00

. . . when it comes to going around barefoot. We spent the weekend at Kibbutz Keturah, situated about 40 km north of Eilat. It is smack dab in the east of the Negev, with majestic views of the desert awaiting you from the front and back door of each room in the guest house.
Keturah is not a secular kibbutz per se; nor is it a kibbutz dati (religious); it is the one of two kibbutzim in all of Israel that is open to both lifestyles (Chanaton being the other). The dining hall is kosher, but few people attend Shabbat services. Friday night dinner filled every table in the chadar ochel, but there was neither table songs nor communal bentsching (grace after meals).

The kibbutz is more of a classic socialist endeavor than most, with a greater emphasis on egalitarianism than most, and salary is still based on need, not work. There is still plenty of evidence of the kibbutznik lifestyle is alive and well. Communal meals in the dining room are one aspect of it, as is the informality of dress (There we no ties to be seen on Shabbat, but there were 3 men who wore Jalabiays (the long Egyptian tunic). This includes kids going barefoot. Going barefoot outdoors in the city may be a bad idea, but my mom always told me that even going around barefoot indoors was unhealthy. You’ll get sick or catch a cold- and Jewish boys don’t go around barefoot; these and other statements were regular mantras chanted during my childhood.

Well, Mom was wrong about the barefoot thing. I saw plenty of healthy, happy, charming, giggling children running around barefoot, indoors and out. If these kids are sick, people will pay to catch what they are suffering from. “Perhaps it was just a few of the kids, then. An indulgence, if you will, because Israeli parents spoil there kids.” Nope. Kids were barefoot in all sorts of places, as were, of course, adults. Grown men came to dinner without shoes.

So my mom was wrong about going barefoot. But she is still right about plenty of other things, including eating before you go swimming and watching too much TV, as well as some of life's more difficult promblems.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

Mommmmmmm! The TV's on strike again!

2007-03-29T13:28:00.000+02:00

While there are commercial stations in Israel and any number of satelite and cable providers, Channel One is still one of the mainstays of Israeli TV. But it is a government channel, and so, when a strike is called, the station lets everyone know. And that's all they do until the strike is over. Here in Israel, Unions actually have some power. Yes, that does lead to occasional abuses and bullying by the Histadrut, and can lead to a bad situation for new teachers and other workers who are unable to change their fields because union regulations protect kludges and insiders. Blah, blah, blah. What is amazing is that Unions still work here, and that occasionally, the whole nation can come to focus on a group of people who would otherwise be ignored- and in the united states would be fired or left working for nothing. Its a legacy left from Israel's formative socialist days, and it is a significant difference between life here and anywhere else.

On the other hand, I won't get to watch the Simpsons tonight if the government workers don't get paid. Bastards! Arrrrrgh!

TV Screen reads "Today, Thursday, March 29th, a strike has begun in all government offices for all national services. The strike has been approved by the Histadrut [of] Government Workers.

Halva break.

2007-03-23T11:17:00.000+02:00

With "Passover Madness" about to grip the city of Jerusalem, this shabbat is a calm before the storm. The whole city is a bit more quiet than usual, and from outside the school windows you can hear schoolkids (at the "dati" or religious schools) singing "Mah Nishtanah" and other seder classics.

While many products in the stores (photos to be posted soon) are already K-4-P, the real onslaught begins after shabbat. Matzot are in the stores, but not so much Matzo Meal. Soup mix but not cakes. Seasonings, but not dressings. That changes come sunday. Of course, for passover here the Salatim do NOT get made with cottonseed oil, which not only has to have a toxin removed from it to be eaten, but also has the most unhealthy balance of omega-6 to omega-3 you can find in an oil. Better you should eat butter. Of course since Israel is a Sephardi/Eydot Hamizrach kind of country, the Chummus is already marked Kosher for passover, as are cans of beans and other kitniyot-based dishes .

So enjoy a slice of Halva before all hell breaks loose. Marble Coffee? Mixed Fruit? There are so many kinds to choose from, but the regular favorite of many halva junkies is the layers of chocolate and vanilla halva separated and enrobed in thick chocolate icing. I think that one's a bit rich even for my sweet-tooth, but I haven't tried them all yet. It would take years.

The halva stand is run by a intimidating guy who has a LOUD voice (as so many hawkers in the market do); his head is clean shaven, he's all muscle and he does not smile when on the job. He has a giant 14" chef's knife in hand at most times, which is only one hilt away from a short sword. Put this all together and you would think that you would never want to buy from this guy. But he will let you try any flavor, he always has a plate of samples ready, and if you are a repeat customer, he will often shave you off a slice to wolf down as he carves out an order for someone else. What's not to love?

a case of Hamentaschen-itis

2007-03-06T12:48:00.000+02:00

Purim comes at the end of Israel’s version of winter (known as autumn north of the Mason-Dixon line), which means that all the “limited edition” chocolate bars are still around: Pesek Zman bars with orange or coconut, Elite chocolate with liqueur filling, etc. Rest assured these things find their way into Mishloach Manot. People in Jerusalem can be seen delivering their “shaloch-monis” the day before Sushan Purim, if not a bit earlier. People double park, have their kids run in, or just walk them to the intended recipients, costumes and all.

As I noted in a prior post, for all their prickly protests, Israelis really are sweet-at-heart sabras when it comes to Purim. The holiday has the mass appeal of Halloween in the US. But the tenor of Purim day is so different from All Hallows Eve; and I think part of that has to do with the joy – and frustration- of Mishloach Manot. In many ways, putting the little sacks and baskets of food are a lesson. A set of lessons, actually, some of which are annoying and others are very Jewish.

Having worked very hard with ribbon, fruit and cellophane, you often deliver your hard work to those whose reaction you will never know; your pride and joy quickly becomes another basket in the pile in front of the door. They are out delivering too (and sometimes you are at each other's doors at the same minute). You just leave it and hope that the friends you are giving a basket to are going to enjoy it.
Lesson: It is worthwhile to enjoy giving for giving’s sake, and giving without being asked is important.

Sometimes there is a knock at the door and you are given Shaloch-monis, and you are completely unprepared for it. Who would have thought they had you on their list? And because it is a surprise, you have to quickly assemble something for them. Its always under pressure, because they have 12 more homes to reach and need to go, and you just put in 3 oranges and a head of garlic in with the chocolate because its all you could think of…. Or you ran out of stuff, because you only made 4 extras and stand there sheepishly.
Lesson: Be prepared. Also, sometimes there are good surprises.

There are deliveries to an aged relative, or someone living alone, or new in town, or going through trouble. Then give your little plate of treats, and get you see their face light up, frowns are erased, and it can take 20 minutes to get out because they are so glad to see you. And you would never get to see this if you didn’t give without being asked.
Lesson: Sometimes there are good surprises- and sometimes you get to deliver them.

At some point in the day you will deliver to someone whose door is barricaded by bags of stuff. And not just a few small packages, but envy inducing towers, expertly wrapped and dressed. These are filled with good wine, an entire salami, hand made truffles and fluorescent tinged candies in imperial tiers of cavity causing glory. Next to those, your hard work seems to be nothing more than a dinky, ugly little bit of gournisht. And when you come back to your door, the collection of deliveries nestled there seems shvach and meager. But you do your best to be thankful, as you know that there are those who have gotten no baskets, bowls, or plates.
Lesson: Sometimes its hard not to be jealous or resentful. But you do your best anyway.

Sometimes people don’t think of you and it hurts; and sometimes you forget others, and they are hurt. Does it really matter that much you didn’t get another orange and two candy bars? Yes, it does. Is Uncle Leroy that hurt? Yes, he is.
Lesson: Details matter. Being forgotten by someone occasionally helps you not to do the same to others.

Halloween is oft compared to Purim, because of the Costumes and candy. But the resemblance is superficial. Halloween’s necrophobia aside, at the core of that day for most kids is the call of “Trick or Treat,” which in these days has devolved into a form of extortion. Give us a treat, or we’ll play a trick on you. But unlike the blackmail that is implied with “Trick or treat”, Mishloach Manot teach a complex set of life lessons. Sometimes you are surprised and sometimes you are disappointed; you will give to those who do not thank, and be unable to thank those who give; yet you try your best to share what you have with those you love and those you live near.

It is hard to teach a child all of that, especially since they know that you have to share the Mishloach Manot with everyone at home, but their Trick-or-Treat candy is usually theirs and theirs alone. Parents of Jewish children outside of Israel have a simple choice to make; emphasize modern Halloween with its fear, extortion, and selfishness; or give real effort to teach Purim’s charity, generosity, patience and thankfulness. You would think the choice would be a clear one for them.

Perhaps they never packed a car full of paper baskets (leaden with brownies and nuts) into the trunk of the car with thier dad, costume under coat to protect against the cold march air, racing in and out of the car's warmth to cram a bundle of generosity between the doors of a cousin or freind. The only thing more sad than the fact that so many Jewish parents grew up without Mishloach Manot is the fact that so many are unwilling to give the tradition a try. Perhaps next Purim will be different for some of them. Then they too can join in that happy refrain:

For the Jews there was light, joy, gladness and honor.
( So may it be with us!)

Hava Narisha? Rash-Rash-Rash.

2007-03-04T00:13:00.000+02:00

Its tempting to say “wow, look at all the crazy Purim stuff in Jerusalem! Its so zany! So wacky! You would never believe it!” But aside from the Lunar Eclipse tonight (which should reach totality some time around 1am), there’s not much going on that’s really unusual.

True, there are the fire-crackers. Unlike in other parts of the Jewish world, Purim seems to be a time when Jerusalem boys aged 11-15 are left alone to play with matches and M-80 firecrackers. You don’t need to have taught middle school to know this is a bad idea. The irregular bursts of bangs and explosions are ignored by everyone, include many police. The cops have their limits- one young pyromaniac set off a small detonation near a costume parade- he was shortly being frisked and detained in what was surely a moment of glee for his teachers.

Jerusalem is of course celebrating Purim one day later- a real “Sushan Purim” at last! This means a day off for most to shop, send mishloach manot, and try and find a costume that won’t dissolve if it gets wet (usually, it rains on purim). There are large community readings and parties, with information plastered on billboards and in the case of the Messianistic Chabaniks, screaming the info from Cars rigged with speakers.

Yes, there are carnivals and costumes in the area. It is a reminder that here Judaism is the popular/ majority culture; yet these bits of merriment do not produce the surreal sense of otherness that one gets on Yom Kippur, when major streets are flooded with white-clad residents, or when the adhan of the Mosques of Jerusalem comes flooding in at 5 a.m. It is a bit touching, actually, how even at the bakery people are into the spirit of the day, as are medical receptionists, staff at restaurants, and even security guards. Everyday people putting a bit of purim carnival sprit into their work. That’s not incredibly zany or wacky or crazy.

But it sure is fun.

Purim Sameach!

I'd like to tell you, but I don't know what it is.

2007-02-24T22:33:00.000+02:00

This shabbat morning dawned with what seemed to be light fog or a haze of a sort. But there was not the kind of humidity in the air one needs for fog. As the afternoon developed, so did a strange taste in the mouth, as if you had just licked a piece of school-room chalk. "Its the Sharav," one good friend on his third year in Israel explained. Sharav is often used as a synonym for Hamsin, but this storm is really a sharkiya, which is cool and dry. There's no sand involved, but fine white dust imported from Saudi Arabia.

It even reached Los Angeles air quality on a summer day with no wind and 95ºF temps. And then, it went past it. You can taste the air in any room now, and going outside is like entering a blues bar that has 200 chain smokers and no open windows. I'd show you a picture, but one it was shabbat and two, it just looks like white haze. For more details on this kind of dust storm, you can read this article from the forward.

Friday was warm and 70ºF; the forecast for tomorrow is more haze. Meanwhile in Chicago there's another blizzard coming, and Louisiana is getting hit by tornadoes. Between the three, I'm sure the tornadoes are the worst, but I'd rather have the blizzard than this sensation that I've just licked a blackboard. Bleagh!

Image: A popular target of graffiti are the Jerusalem pedestrian signs- always a man with a hat. This time, some unusual things are also crossing the road with him.

Ha'shkeydia Pora-- hey, that was fast

2007-02-20T15:21:00.000+02:00

A late post about an early spring and Tu Bishvat.

I led the Tu B’shvat Seder for my yeshiva at the recent shabbaton. I obviously must have lost my mind for a period of time, because normally I would have said NO. Unlike a Passover seder, where the leader has the power of “nobody eats until I say so,” Tu Bishvat seder leaders have no such power since you put the food down at the start of the damned thing.

I should know better. The last one I led resulted in non-stop talking, minimal thinking or praying, the throwing of many nuts and related injuries-- its not funny when somone gets a raisin in the eye. Okay, it is a bit funny. This seder was about the same, with the addition of the eager abuse of alcohol on the part of guests and students. I know it sounds great- unless you are the ringmaster of this circus, in which case you have to imagine working for three weeks on a class that is attended only by rude drunk liberal jews- I guess this is what its like to teach at Brandeis.

We were at Kibbutz Hanaton (more to follow on that) and after dinner they put out a Tu Bishvat spread the likes of which might only be possible in Israel. Halved organic citruses of gem-like clarity and color, verdant stalks of herbs, and of course candied fruits of fluorescent colors which have never been found in nature.

Grocery stores love Tu Bishvat. A whole day devoted to produce in a nation with a year-long gorwing season? You bet they love it. There are displays and stands with special fruits and nuts. No valentines day bins of chocolate, but every supermarket has enough dried mango to crush a man to death. And it’s the peak of strawberry season by the 15th of Shevat (the season is winding down, but its not done yet) which makes for even more good eating.

Temperatures have climbed into the high 60’s, with a high near 75ºF predicted for Friday. Fall, (what they call winter here) it seems is over, and spring is on its way. The bad news is with warmer temperatures comes the end of the rain, and drought is always a real threat here.

As for ha’shkeidia porachat, the almond trees really are in bloom. In fact, most are done blooming, the petals falling poetically to the ground. Every thing else is getting ready to explode in blossom. Israel remains green throughout the year, even if February is a bit grey and dull by comparison to other months. But one can tell, with the rains being soaked up by the earth that was so dusty and dry but a few months back, that nature is getting ready to put on a show.

As for Hanaton, the kibbutz that hosted our shabbaton, it was once the darling of the Conservative movement. Hebrew Schools did fund-raising to help them build homes back in the day (the 1980's). Synagogues had posters up proclaiming the “realized dream of a Conservative/Masorti Kibbutz in the heart of the Galil.” But after a few years, Hanaton faded off the radar screen of Ramah Camps and Hebrew schools. USY groups still stay at their guest center, but the Conservative movement in the US seems to have forsaken them otherwise. It’s a terrible shame. Why?

First, there is fantastic food. Everything made from scratch. Salads like you would not believe. Incredible grapefruit grown on the kibbutz. And then there’s great scenery. The national water carrier is on the plain below, and the ancient city of Tzipori is on a nearby hill. The place has room for more families, more projects, and more facilities. Its ready for people. The area is gorgeous, but its so close to Haifa you can get there in less time than it takes most Americans to commute to work.

Of course Jenin is only 8 km away- that’s less than a day’s walk. Katyushas fell on nearby settlements, and they had to close the door on their bomb shelter for the first time in decades over the past summer. No conservative rabbis are coming back to live here. And yet the place is still hanging on, with a dairy and fruit groves that are doing great.

I know there is a vet or other Jewish professional out there who is tired of the rat race, and would love to raise his or her kids in a decent place where there is no commute and there are neighbors you not only know, but eat with and work with. Steve, one of the remaining kibbutnikim said he hasn’t gone into a bank in 14 years. Can you imagine that? How many hours spent with family, outdoors, and enjoying life instead of zig-zagging through the common feeder line? This man walks to work- up a hill. That’s it. He only gets in a car when he wants to go shopping in Haifa, which is only 20 minutes away. There have to be a few conservative Jews with a Zionist heart that are looking for a real life where hours are not wasted. Hanaton is waiting for them, and just like the Kibbutzim of 45 years ago, the risks and the rewards are all there.

Where happy little bluebirds fly

2007-01-26T13:54:00.000+02:00

Sorry for the lack of posts- we've all been a bit under the weather. Here's a wish to all our freinds, family and readers for a healthy and happy shabbat.

King of - oh.

2007-01-26T13:46:00.000+02:00

Ah... Tel Aviv. The cultural capital, so to speak, of Israel.
Yes, its a stereotype, but this is the first thing you see when you leave the T.A. bus station.

And the ramparts we . . . eich omrim?

2007-01-14T23:28:00.000+02:00

A day on the Ramparts of Jerusalem: Notes and Impressions (gee, ain’t that creative?)

The ramparts walk in the Old City is not the most popular of attractions. There are no
souvenir stands along the way, no set events. Nary a falafel stand or Pomegranate Juice cart to be seen; just a rambling promenade where the old and new cities of Jerusalem meet. From Jaffa Gate, you can take a short spur towards the Zion Gate, or a long chain of steps and platforms all the way to the Lions’s gate. For a tourist, the ramparts are invaluable. The winding intricacies of the old city can make getting from gate to gate difficult in the extreme. The frustration can be avoided if you think of the Ramparts as your own private toll-road. The 16 shekels are worth it. And here are a few more reasons why….

A clear view of East Jerusalem- not a spot of Hebrew to be found aside from the busses and the post office. Bank names, cars, posters, all in Arabic. The post office, of course, has everything in Hebrew.

The ramparts let you peer into school lots, monasteries, backyards. Nestled between the ancient sanctities are laundry lines, porches and patios, and many satellite dishes. There are schools in the Old city besides Yeshivas.

The stairs were broad interpretations of the concept; uneven, steep, far from uniform, and lots of fun.

You can walk right over the gates- see shops and throngs hubbubing obliviously beneath you.

Unusual views of usual sites- new perspectives on the domes and streets of the city.

Anonymity.

Be an accidental voyeur as you look over the walls into the massive arab cemetery on the outskirts of the north-eastern wall, and find a funeral full of wailing mourners going on at your feet.

Military moments: These medieval walls provide more than enough cover for snipers and abandoned defense positions dot the walkway.

The mixed emotions of being on an incredibly crowded old city street and realizing on one hand that tourism is strong, and yet on the other hand if someone stole your wallet you would never be able to chase them since you can’t move more than a few inches at a time.

Pilgrims thronging on the Via Delarosa- and merchants trying to rip them off.

Arab children playing with toy guns- and shooting the Jewish cops in the back after they pass by.

Having reached the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, we decided to duck inside and explore its dark solemnity. On the way out, the most moving moment was when three people knelt down to kiss the stone of the anointing. Rarely do we get to see others in their moments of religious apotheosis. Jews in Israel are more than accustomed to our own rituals; and as for those that have epiphanies of great emotion at the Kotel, we know exactly what to do- we ignore them. Here, it can catch you off guard. A whole bunch of things on the Ramparts walk – and the old city- will do that to you.

Date in photos is incorrect- date should read about two weeks ago. Top photo from ramparts wtih freind Z looking south, bottom photo of Via Delarosa.

The long await post about the trip

2007-01-04T00:05:00.000+02:00

Athens- birthplace of democracy!
Athens- center of ancient civilization!
Athens- modern metropolis and embodiment of the New Greece!
Athens- Europe’s greatest treasure trove of archeology!
Athens- the kind of pollution that makes New Jersey seem like a 4-H garden!

There are many different cities named Athens. Each is unique and each is special… they all co-exist in a- in a-
What the hell am I saying? Having spent the first five days of Hanukkah in Greece, I assure you there is only one Athens. And while it is full of culture, history, archeology and ceremony, it is also a city of 4 million chain smoking, scooter riding, fashion conscious Europeans. It can be a noisy, haze-shrouded city. Like other major cities, it is has no small number of fashion stores, tourist traps and some very jumpy antiquities police. Should you go to visit anyway? Absolutely. I was lucky I got to go.

I say this even though the pollution is so bad that there is now acid rain that is eating away the very marble ruins that millions flock to see every year.

I say this even though the Greek Alphabet is a nightmare for many English speakers. Is that a P? Nope, its actually an “R” sound. Y is not a Y, but the I is. Is there an X? Yes. No. Well, it looks like an X, but it makes the same sound that many gentiles have such a hard time saying at the beginning of the word Chanukah. And don’t get me started on B.

I say this even though there are men who try to hustle you into their restaurants. “Good food, eat here, yes?” It was impossible to go through certain streets without being constantly intercepted by men holding a stack of menus and who know only two words in English: “Dinner, yes?”

I say this even though the affluent Athenian Jewish community is assimilating so quickly into oblivion that there will not be a second generation after this one. (photo: Beth Shalom Synagouge in Athens) The day school does not even teach Jewish texts, just a smattering of Hebrew, to which the children all ask “ why should we bother? We wont need this after we turn 13!” (To my fellow professional Jews: sounds familiar, neh?) Heartbreaking to know that this oldest of Diaspora communities is unwilling to save itself. American Jewry- this is your warning.

I say this even though some residents of Athens may explode into furious tirades that have no foundation in reason. Why did we have to leave the playground in the national gardens? I’m not sure, but it took 2 minutes of non-stop yelling in Greek to explain. Why did I have to erase 4 pictures of my family in front of the Parthenon from my camera? Again, I’m not sure, but some antiquities policemen in their 50’s sure didn’t like my camera angles.

I say this even though NOBODY ON THE PLANET EARTH smokes as much as the Greeks. Israeli Jews and Arabs at least stop smoking to eat. Greeks smoke right through the meal, a glass of watered down Ouzo in one hand, a fork in the other, and a unfiltered cigarette in the other. (Yes, I realize that makes three hands. I’m not sure how they do this). The Greeks smoke brands of cigarettes that are so clearly linked with lung caner that they are no longer even sold in the US.

So on the negative side, the city is congested, polluted, full of people who prey on tourists, and everyone smokes in every possible location except the subway and the synagogue. Plus everything is priced in the world’s most annoying currency, the evil Euro.

But on the plus side- There is history- important, palpable and tangible history. There are amazing views from the Lycabetta, a hill that rises more steeply and to a greater height than the Acropolis. Its covered in gardens and trails, and is an amazing green space. Also, as a rule, if someone doesn’t speak English, there is someone they know who does. Athenians really do try and be helpful. The subway is clean, quiet, and wonderful, with everything in English and Greek.

Chabad in Athens is amazing; the Hendels are a remarkable young couple, providing an outpost of Torah and community in Athens. Was there a large portrait of the Rebbe on the living room wall? Naturally. But the Torah at the table was noble and presented without any of the extremist language that has detracted from the great work Chadbad has done over the years. Rabbi Hendel has done amazing work in Athens. He ran a kosher restaurant for the two months of the Olympics; his children are learning Greek as well as French from their mother and English from their father. Hebrew and Torah they learn from both parents. Shabbat with them is a delight.

The Jewish Museum in Athens is beautiful and heartbreaking- an ever ascending spiral of a building which does a great job of explaining the richness of the pre-Holocaust community from antiquity to modernity, and just how remarkable the actions of the Greek clergy and police were in saving Jews during the Nazi occupation. Our tour guide for the day, Chaim, was a source of insight and information on the holocaust and all aspects of the Greco-Jewish community; His father survived Auschwitz, while his mother was saved by the efforts of her fellow Greek citizens. He made the obscure relevant, and even the smallest of details became clear and complete. A tour with him in the Greek countryside should be nothing short of excellent. Because of him, I have new heroes. Here are two examples.

The Archbishop of Athens, Damaskinos, worked with Chief of Police Evert (both righteous among the nations) and Athens’s Chief Rabbi to issue false documents for thousands of Jews. When the Nazis began deportations, Archbishop Damaskinos sent a letter of protest to the Nazis. Jurgen Struup, the monster who had liquidated the Warsaw Ghetto, had been given command in Athens and threatened to have Damaskinos shot by firing squad as a consequence of the letter. “According to the traditions of the Greek Orthodox Church, our prelates are hung and not shot. Please respect our traditions.” Now that’s courage.

On the Island of Zakynthos, Bishop Chrysostomos and Loukas Carrer, mayor of Zakynthos, were ordered at gunpoint to give a list of the Jews. The list was presented to the Nazis by Bishop Chrysostomos contained only two names: Mayor Carrer and Bishop Chrysostomos. He reportedly told the Nazis "Here are your Jews. If you choose to deport the Jews of Zakynthos, you must also take me and I will share their fate." The Jews were safely hidden in the interim, and nobody revealed their whereabouts, All 275 Jews survived. Remarkable.

Often we ask “why did so few survive?” when in reality, the fact that anyone survived the Final Solution is simply astounding. The Nazis had gotten very good at killing Jews by the time they got to Greece; and while more should have helped, the fact that there were 5,000 Jews left after the Holocaust is a tribute to the Greek people. Greece has over 260 people listed as “Righteous Among the Nations” at Yad Vashem.

The history of the Jewish community of Athens and Greece is as long as the exile itself; that history and culture is coming to an end before our very eyes. Brave the smog, congestion, outbursts of antiquities police, the ever-stronger Eruo, and learn what you can before it is but a memory.

***************************************
It was to our great sadness to learn about the death of Levi Hendel, the 14 year old brother of Rabbi Hendel, who was killed in an auto accident in Israel during the last day of our visit. It was difficult to learn of such sorrow being heaped upon the shoulders of such a generous and God-fearing defender of Torah and his family.

Sugar Frosted Coating

2006-12-28T12:05:00.000+02:00

Many places in Israel got snow over the past 48 hours- the Hermon should be full of skiers by this time. Even some parts of the Negev got snowed upon. Last night, it snowed in Jerusalem- not a common occurrence. It kept snowing into the night.

Panic accompanied the snow, with some restaurants closing down early, and traffic becoming slow and congested everywhere the flakes fell. In other cities, Taxis make a fortune when sidewalks are covered in wet slush. Jerusalem cabbies are hard to find when it snows- if only because they know Israeli dirvers loose thier minds in snow. I this may have to do with the following exchange (I can't prove it, but it's probably true):

Driving Student: Okay, I downshift. But what if it was snowing?
Driving Instructor: Snowing? What? It never snows here.
Driving Student: It did last year.
DI: No it did not!
DS: Yes it did... hey, do you even know how to drive in the snow?
DI: I'm sorry, our time is up for today. Get out.

That could explain the panic. Day Care? Closed. Pizza Shop? Closed. Scooter borne delivery messengers who spit in the face of death and drive the wrong way in rush-hour traffic to deliver pizza? Not to be seen.

The flakes actually did not stick to roads, nor did an amount fall that would faze Bostoners, Torontonians, or Chicagoists.

Enough stuck for people to play- and more than enough fell to confuse the hell out of the local cacti.

So this morning, Jerusalem stil had a lovely white coating. Hopefully it will melt in time for lunch; if not, I'm cooking at home.

A Hanukah miracle from the 11th floor?

2006-12-24T00:50:00.000+02:00

Leaving Israel for a family trip (post to follow) definitely generated mixed emotions. On one hand, its great to see other great cities in the world. On the other hand, to leave Jerusalem is difficult to do, especially during a holiday. Sure enough, before we left some of the streets of Jerusalem had displays of lights in blue and red hung from lampposts for Hanukah. Sufganiot have been available every where- including bagel shops and pizza places- since October.

What we would be missing would be the remarkable sight, we had been told, of endless blocks in Jerusalem were each window (or gate and doorway as is more common in Jerusalem) would have its own chanukiah. The whole city, it seemed, would be awash in the amber glow of Chanukah lights. We would only have one evening to see this after our trip; Thursday we would be free to wander, but the Friday after our return would see us at home with guests.

Thursday saw our exit from Machne Yehudah, the market to which Jerusalemites flock (for great produce, cheap wine, fresh baked breads and numerous treasures, edible and not) into the surrounding streets. We discovered some blocks where glass cases just outside the doorway held an array of oil lamps, one for each member of the family. These spaces were idyllic, small sections where the night was warmed by Chanukah lights, and no home was lacking.

Of course, the reality is that there are non-practicing Jews in Jerusalem, and many homes were dark, or lit solely with the actinic flash of the television to the exclusion of these ancient Hanukah lamps. Even in the areas with observant residents, there is variation among those who light. Who, when, where the lamps are placed; these things are not uniform.

So there was no great revelation in Jerusalem for Hanukah. We did not see the city unified with dancing flames shimmering in every window and doorway. We ourselves lit different sets of lights, some just for pirsumei nissah, the proclamation of the miracle of Hanukah. We lit ours up here on the 11th floor, facing another building, where it could be seen.

Thursday saw us lighting our small candelabra and enjoying the view, but then moving on to latkes and sufganiot and songs. But Friday night smuggled in a miracle right under our noses . Since on Friday nights, Hanukah lights must be kindled right before Shabbat, we looked out to see that the building down the way was dotted with lights at the same time we lit our own. In the shadowy time between day and night, when shadows fade but the sky is not yet dark, candle light shone out so clearly from those nearby windows. Those who did light a chanukiah in that building were lighting at the same time.

Then we looked down the block. Was that a street light? No, the hue was more amber than orange. More lamps of oil or paraffin. Two, three, four windows in that building- and was that one more chanukiah at the doorway? The next building had more. On the horizon- those other buildings- yes, their windows were full of tiny candle lights. Our view of the city was dappled and dazzled with the warm glow of olive oil and candles. It was impossible for us to find a building where there was no Chanukah lights. At dusk, the city was chanting blessings and lighting lights; you could almost hear the gentle murmur of these blessings washing over Jerusalem at that moment, rich with nostalgia. We really could see block after block, window after window, house after house lit with amber beacons to commemorate the freedom bought at so dear a price by those glorious brothers from Modin.

Traditionally the miracle of Hanukah is that the light lasted for eight days; but after this Hanukah, it seems somewhat erroneous. Apparently, the light of Hanukah has lasted for far longer, because we saw that light shining in unity in a myriad of windows just before Shabbat. How’s that for a Hanukah miracle?

Come here.

2006-12-20T23:45:00.000+02:00

Video stores count Friday and Saturday as one day's rental. After all, the store is closed for Shabbat. Don't watch on Shabat? Don't worry, you don't loose out.

A three day rental on wednesday night is due back... Sunday. Welcome to Israel, baby!

Don't Come Here

2006-12-20T23:23:00.000+02:00

"How long have you been a student here?!?" exclaimed the passport inspector?
Sleep deprived and slightly giddy, we are all happy to be back from a short trip out of Israel.
"Since august," replies my Sister-in-law.
"WHAT? Why didn't you take care of this before? You have been learning on a tourist visa all this time?" The guard is bitter and remorseless.
"Well, yes. I tried getting an appointment in November, but then the Misrad Hapanim [interior ministry] went on strike. "
"They were not on strike!" She looks up at all of us. 36 hours without sleep (sure, we'll take a discount flight at 2 A.M.) has left us all with a silly smile on our faces. "I don't know why you are all smiling. There is nothing funny about this."
"I have an appointment in January," she tells the guard calmly.
"January?" The woman is now all warmed up, and is just full of bile.
"That's the earliest I could get an appiontment!" says my wife's sister.
The inspector stamps her passport without looking down at her hands. "You have one month. You better get this taken care of."

Welcome to Israel.....

Rule Twelve Strikes Again! ( A late word about Thanksgving in Israel)

2006-12-02T21:41:00.000+02:00

Thanksgiving is often a tough time for Anglos (Israeli residents from the UK, Canada or the US). Students and recent olim from the U.S. in particular find the last weeks in November debilitating in a powerful way; we are used to the change of seasons and the short vacation that the end of the month brings. We find ourselves preparing internally for the homecoming that Thanksgiving usually brings. Instead, the weeks flow ruthlessly forward towards Hanukah. There is no X-mas shopping season, no parades, no red and green bunting, let along any pictures of turkeys and “Indians” or pilgrims. The only change is the appearance of sufganiot- beignet style doughnuts- in most bakeries.

The Hebrew University Hillel has held a Thanksgiving dinner for its students for a few years now. Endowed by a donor and the UJC, the meal is held in a hotel. It was a buffet dinner priced at 40 shekels. At that low price, my love and I decided that we could accept the invitation of our friend and have our own turn at cooking north-American autumnal foods for Shabbat itself. The HU Hillel has planned the evening to have some entertainment during the meal. We think it will be a decent time. We enter to see a drum kit and a some amps set up for later on.

Rule twelve: Never let Israelis plan it unless it is a war.

Rule ten: Never invite the French.

We walk further into the ballroom, and notice the large buffet of salatim, classic israeli salads that are laid out for dinner. Cabbage salad type one seems close to coleslaw, while version two is purple cabbage and three seems to be nothing short of Yemenite with cumin and turmeric. Cucumbers, tomatoes, babagannouj, and of course, huumous are all heaped up on platters. Only now do we realize that Rule Twelve may have been violated in a brand-new fashion, because nobody we know has ever eaten Yemenite cabbage salad for thanksgiving. Sure enough, we learn that the Hillel at HU left the planning to the Israeli UJC staff, who have the same command of the concept of the thanksgiving holiday as I have command over Yeshiva University- which is to say, none.

As I stare in disbelief, that cabbage salad with the cumin is saying “Mah? Atah lo rotzeh salatim? Lamah?” -What, you don’t want salads? Why not?

Our friend guides us to our table and introduces us to someone we met in our hometown. Also at our table are some young American students and of course, three Frenchmen. Each one could not have filled out the stereotype of a French man any better; first was the sleazy European making his moves on women right and left; speaking of left, the second was ranting about something philosophical the whole night, and finally, the fashionable Frenchman wearing a white suit long after labor day. All of them complained about the lack of wine (two bottles per table). So they went and took wine from other tables in this way:

“Bonsoir ! Are you, ehh, done avec du vin ? Jes? No? Okay, I will just take dees.” Six more bottles were brought to the table- and drained. Rule ten was broken, and all during the d’var Torah (yes, they had one, but God was not mentioned, so it may not even count), I was sure it was going to be a bad thing. But I forgot about rule eleven.

The salads were served. The bread was broken. We talked, the d’var was given. The hot buffet was served.

One man carving turkey for 250. A Thirty minute line results. Why? See Rule Twelve.

Sweet potatoes drowning in more oil than the Saudis. Why? That’s right, See Rule Twelve.

Schwarma and rice. NO, I AM NOT MAKING THAT UP. The buffet included schwarma and rice. Did that Israeli UJC team say in a meeting “No, they can’t want roast turkey only! Let’s give them a real taste of home. Let’s give them…Schwarma!!!” Yes, See Rule Twelve.

Cranberry sauce made with raisins. Why? See Rule twelve. Again.

No green beans. No green vegetables of any kind. Why? Rule Fifteen. Just kidding- See Rule Twelve.

No squash. No Pumpkin. They are in season here in Israel, but See Rule Twelve for an explanation on why they were not served.

No corn. See Rule Twelve.

No cornbread. See Rule Twelve.

No Cornbread Stuffing. No mushroom stuffing. No chestnut stuffing. No stuffing or dressing of any kind. Why? See Rule Twelve, dammit.

To review: Turkey? Yes. Other associated foods? No. And then, dear readers….and then… there are moments in life so bizarre, people will think you are making them up. But I promise you that I am not lying that as soon as people had their food and were digging in, out came the entertainment.

Three mimes.

That’s right. Mimes. White face paint, suspenders, top hats.

At this point, you might think I had lost my mind. But sadly, this was real. They came to the center of the floor and proceeded to do something; at times it could have been a play about the pilgrims, and at other times it could have been a woman trying to seduce an “Indian.” Or maybe it was a turkey. And then there was this thing with a carrot taking the place of an egg that did not hatch. What did it all mean? How in the hell should I know! It was a group of freakin’ mimes!!!

Apparently, said one HU Hillel leader, “Israelis think mimes are the most sophisticated form of entertainment. They did not believe me when I said this was a bad idea. I had to beg them to do without the stilt-walker.”

Rule ten: Never invite the French.

Rule eleven: Unless, of course, there are mimes.

As the rest of us sat in shock, the three Frenchmen smiled with delight, and began to cackle as the performance began in earnest. Nobody can mock mimes like the French! There comments seemed to be along the following lines:

"Sacré Blue! (Heavens!) ! Est-elle pour violer environ cette dinde? (Is she trying to rape that turkey?) C'est la chose dummest depuis les Américains élus cela débile de Bush ! (This is the dumbest thing since the Americans elected that idiot Bush!)"

Eventually, the horror passed and the mimes went away and the French stopped making rude comments. But then the band came out.

Two guitarists. One Drummer. And one Tuba.

Ladies and Gentlemen: I give you – BOOM PAM!!

They were very good- hey, we bought their CD- but greek-arab/ soulvakian/ klezmir fusion rock is not the thing for a thanksgiving dinner. I’m not sure what live music would have worked, but all of the sudden, there was a great band playing music your might hear at a Jewish wedding- in Kurdistan.

After the buffet of salads, after the d’var Torah, after the long line for turkey with raisin sauce, after the mimes, you would have thought the students would have been fed up. But instead of mocking the band, or ignoring them, people got up and danced like a bar-mitzvah re-enactment. It was the horah in circles, the trash compactor dance (two lines squeeze in and out, then two more), mayim steps and cherkezias to the rhythm. Circles formed inside of circles. The French were right in the middle of it, giving it their all. It may not have been pure thanksgiving, but the HU students acted with menschlikhiet, being thankful for what they had. And so they danced.

We hope your Thanksgiving day was one filled with foods that you love and the people you love. Ours was one where we learned a lesson: those kids showed that you can be thankful without turkey and paper pilgrims. That being said, we left before dessert, because any more Israeli Thanksgiving and we would have lost our minds.

THE ISRAELI WEDDING (CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED)

2006-11-20T23:28:00.000+02:00

“I've been to a marvellous party! We didn't start dinner ‘till ten.” -Noel Coward

In a Jewish state, you might think that the Jewish wedding has been perfected. A reasonable theory- you would be right, of course. And yet wrong. Horribly, terribly, wrong. Let’s look at the prevailing stereotypes about the Israeli wedding.

True or False: Israelis are so impatient that they don’t even sit down at the ceremony. “Israeli wedding ceremonies don’t usually have chairs…they wouldn’t know what do with them.”
Answer: True. For a crowd of 300, there were about 40 chairs, which served the purpose of making the crowd spread out. Everyone stood anyway, excluding a few pregnant people. Nobody stood up for the bride- they were already standing. At the end of the ceremony, the crowd rushed the chuppah like the victory celebration of a soccer tournament.

True or False: Wedding invitations in Israel are now sent by e-mail.
Answer: True. Asking if they would like “cream chiffon paper with gloss crimson ink and a double silk envelope” will make an Israeli couple ask you if you are some weird kind of Christian.

True or False: The bridal couple will often pick strange, bizarre music with which to walk down the aisle.
Answer: True. Kinda-sorta. Falsey. Oh, I don’t know. We heard Muppet music, something that must have been porky pig, and a few other weird things, but the moment the bride showed up, it was “Erev Shel Shoshanim.”

True or False: Israeli weddings never take place in a synagogue.
Answer: True. Israeli Synagogues are more modest affairs than their North American or UK counterparts, so there isn’t room for them anyway. Masada is a more likely venue for an Israeli wedding. than Congregation Moreshet Avraham. Dedicated wedding venues are very popular these days, like the one we went to. Thier motto: "Itzrubal- It's true love." No, that makes no sense to me either.

True or False: Israeli Weddings are incredibly informal.
Answer: True. At this wedding, the only person wearing a tie was a black-hat American. Plenty of people were wearing jeans. There were no suits. There were also no sandals, but after all, it is November, and it is a chilly (for Israelis) 14° Celsius outside. The groom wore a jacket- until after the chuppah, when the jacket sublimated and his shirt was of course, untucked. The mothers of the bride and groom were the only ones besides the bride wearing formal dresses. At least a few guys were wearing t-shirts. I don’t think there’s ever been a tuxedo at an Israeli wedding. In the 1950’s, Israelis were too poor. In the 2000’s, wearing a tux will provoke the following reaction: “James Bond! Boom-boom, shoot-shoot, keyn? Yallah, Bye.”

True or False: The influence of Americans on Israel is now being felt in the weddings.
Answer: False. Israeli weddings are more Euro than ever. People dance the electric slide to trance/techno music.

True or False: People dance with Sparklers.
Answer: True. I’m Sorry.

True or False: Israelis all speak Hebrew and know the bible, so secular weddings in Israel have more Jewish content than secular weddings in Canada or the U.S.
Answer: False. All the halachic aspects of this wedding were done out of sight, excluding the chuppah, the total time of which took no more than 3 minutes and 58 seconds. In fact, the wedding we went to was quite an anomaly. The bride had gone to a TALI high school, which is an innovation of the Masorti movement. Unlike secular schools that no longer teach Tanach (Hebrew Bible) or religious schools that teach there is only one way to practice Judaism, the TALI schools provide Jewish literacy without compulsion.

Usually, secular weddings have no religious content. Considering how hot the dance floor got (the mechitza came down after a good round of "chassid dances"- check the photo), it was amazing there was a ceremony at all. Israeli society is very polarized, and most Israelis are led to believe its all or nothing; you are either religious or secular. The bride was courageous for demanding the Chuppah, Ketubah, etc, alongside the DJ’s playing Tom Jones’s “Sex Bomb.” Cleary, more of the guests were more comfortable with the latter than the former. Not me though- I think that song is an abomination and the DJ should be flogged with last week's Ha'aretz newspapers until he cries.

True or False: Israelis go all-out for weddings in terms of bread and circuses.
Answer: True- when your parents don’t have to shell out 10 grand for a Bat Mitzvah, they have a lot more than that to throw at your wedding. Life in Israel is often laced with tragedy, and there is a live for the moment attitude that can be found across the spectrum. Hence parents that may get a second mortgage to pay for the wedding.

True or False: Israeli weddings start late and can go on into the dawn, where the staff brings guests breakfast.
Answer: True, although my friend Y swears that at his wedding, he will kick us all out long before it gets that late. While that’s reassuring, I’m almost disappointed…

True or False: Israeli weddings have incredible food.
Answer. True, oh dear sweet God almighty is this true.

A SHORT GUIDE TO EATING AT AN ISRAELI WEDDING

Step one: Arrive. Eat Appetizers.
Step two: Greet Bride and Groom. Eat other appetizers
Step three: Get a drink from the bar. Eat some other appetizers. Repeat.
Step four: Pause for the ceremony. Do not eat.
Step five: Go to table. Eat .
Step six: Dance. Eat. Dance. Eat formal appetizer. Sit. Feel Queasy. Dance. Eat the main course.
Step seven: Dance. Fight the crowd so you can eat dessert.
Step eight: Go home. Eat nothing for 36 hours.

And yes, all the food is Kosher (to those who complain about kosher food as lacking in any way, bite me. )
Let’s review the food at this wedding…
Upon entering there was a salad station. And a carving station where whole roasts were being consumed. And an open bar. And a stir fry noodle station. And a kebab/skewer station. All this was before we even got to the table.

At the table, there were 8 kinds of drinks, 9 salads and small plates (fried cauliflower, roasted eggplant, cabbage salad,) rolls, baba-ganouj, and of course, hummous. After that came a choice of formal appetizer- puff pastry stuffed with mushrooms and liver OR a thick tortilla stuffed with ground beef and topped off with a Mexican-ish tomato sauce. Then came the main course- your choice of steak or Cornish hen, which was accompanied by large bowls of rice, potato wedges, green beans with sun-dried tomatoes, a dinner salad, eggplant and other sides. Along side this was served large flatbreads with kefta (ground meat kabobs) and vegetables.

For those who remained conscious, a desert buffet awaited, which was consumed by a swarm that ate faster than the Locusts ate the produce of Egypt- although now I know what that plague must have looked like, minus all the buzzing.

All wonderfully strange and just plane strange things aside, it was an amazing time.
The bride was lovely- she never looked better. The groom was a champion among good hosts, and quite a dancer. The parents were kind and warm to all. To all the bridal party, especially M and Y, our prayers for long healthy years and much joy.

And to the catering staff- I think I’m in love. Call me?

They call me MISTER Neshek.

2006-11-15T21:03:00.000+02:00

This post is for those of you who have been saying "Where's the funny?"
Enjoy.

Before we begin, a note about neckties and the term "Adoni". Both are rarely used by anyone in this country. "Adoni", meaning "sir" is usually used only by people wanting money from you. If someone on the street says "Adoni" (not to be confused with Adonai, a name of God), you check to make sure your money is secure in your wallet. Occasionally it may be used by waitresses or the Israeli version of secret service. And the only people whom I have ever seen wearing ties are- well- a few of the more prominent Orthodox Jews and the Israeli secret service guys. Once I saw a guy on duty in front of the P.M.'s house a few weeks back. He was wearing a rather spiffy purple tie, so I smiled and said "Anivah Yaffa"- Nice tie. His reply to me was ""Yesh Le’cha Neshek?" Which brings us to our main subject.

Security checks are obviously part of life in Israel, and the corridor outside the PM's house is no exception. Be it entering Balfour street or entering a Mizrachi Restaurant, the question is always the same. "Yesh Le’cha Neshek?"- do you have a gun? "Neshek" can refer to many weapons, and there are specific words in Hebrew for rifle and pistol. Neshek is an umbrella term, and while Israelis are better armed than Americans, they also are more particular about permits and who can bring what weapon where. So people get stopped from time to time by security, be it at the supermarket or the mall, with the question "Yesh Le’cha Neshek?" A quick reply of "Lo" or "Ain Li" is all you have to say to say you are unarmed.

I wondered why I was getting asked a bit more than some of my friends. Was it that I was in a rush? I took my time as I came up to the guard one morning. "Yesh Le’chaNeshek?" he asked.

The sunglasses- maybe that makes me look like I could have a weapon on me. I entered with the sunglasses in their case. "Yesh Le’chaNeshek?" came the question.

Maybe it was the hair, or the clothes. I dressed as plain as possible and with a simple hat over my hair. "Yesh Le’chaNeshek?" asked the female security agent.

Its not how you look, or if you are rushing, and it does not matter if you are alone or with a group. Many nights, I exchange a friendly nod with one of the well armed guards and I go on my way without a word said. Lately, I have not been asked by anyone- not at the mall or anywhere else. Its kind of refreshing. I was getting used to not being asked. I started wishing the guards a "boker tov" or a "erev tov." I wondered "is this what it feels like to be a Yerushalmi (Jerusalemite)?"

Sunday morning I entered Balfour street and after about 20 seconds, saw a guard on the other side of the street. "Boker Tov!" I shouted to him.

He smiled and promptly shouted back "NESHEK?"

I no longer wonder what it feels like to be a Yerushalmi.

photo- Rainy Day in J'lem.

"We sell forbidden objects from places men fear to tread. We also sell frozen yogurt, which I call 'Frogurt!' "

2006-11-10T15:40:00.000+02:00

If you read friday's post, you'll see I predicted a dire day, but other events prevented us from having to see if the confrontation between the marchers and the Haredim led to bloodshed. And there would have been bloodshed: one Haredi teen had sacks of road spikes, which can slow a parade float- or cause it to loose control. Other teens were found with weapons of various sorts, includidng brass knuckles and one loaded pistol. But the conflict did not happen.

Sadly, what it took was the errant shell lauched by IDF artillery that took the lives of 20 Palestinians as they rested in thier homes. This horrible accident has triggered a wave of security alerts, and there was not the thousands of police needed to keep brother from attacking brother here in Jerusalem. So the parade was turned into a rally and the Haredim turned towards home and towards a shabbat of prayer, as is fitting.

The outcome, it seems to me, is worse for the members of the ultra-Orthodox world; even those communitites that thought no reaction was best, such as the Ger community, must now deal with explaining sexuality- and homosexuality to the children who are now asking about why people were so angry. The Haredi community must now also come to terms with the number of students who rushed towards violence and vandalism- and away from Torah Study.

And to what should be the shame of Jews in the United States, yeshiva students from the USA were found to be participating in the violence. Students sent to learn at yeshivot as prestigious as Mir were being sent out to burn and riot with impunity- see the section titled "Enjoying every minute" in this article for the distubing interviews.

The parade never happened- and there will be, in time, another parade. The steps must be taken now to make sure there is dialogue between the Haredim and those they find so abhorrent. The burden is thiers, and if they refuse to meet this challenge, then Jerusalem must take steps to do more than send riot police to be targets. If the Haredi leaders let thier young men embrace hatred again next year and do not hold them accountable to the laws of the Torah, Jerusalem must be ready to hold those who would burn her homes and streets accountable under the Laws of the State of Israel.

Felafel with a side of Pulsa D'nura

2006-11-08T23:51:00.000+02:00

Hey! Have you heard about Pulsa D’nura? No, its not a new skin cream, and its not a waterpark here in Israel- it’s a death curse. I didn’t know that you needed anything special in Aramaic; “I hope you die” seems to be enough of a curse. But there are people who claim to be representatives of Jerusalem’s ultra-Orthodox community who may have cast it against A.G. Shaul Mofaz for ordering the Jerusalem Police to allow the Gay Pride parade to go on. In addition, an interview with Israeli Army Radio quoted one Rabbi Samuel Papenheim who stated “The Rabbinical Court has held a special session and discussed placing a ‘pulsa denura’ on those who have had a hand in organizing the march.” But more about that in a second.

The lack of fresh blogs is from the “six week slump.” This is long stretch where winter begins, daylight vanishes, and routine goes from being a comfort to, well, a pain in the ass. There is a monotony to the days, even for those of us learning Torah. In Talmud, Sugya follows Sugya, page follows page, and other classes are no different from one day to the next, or so it feels. It is great to be making progress in the book of the Bible you are studying, or to move ahead in a book of midrash, but with nothing on the schedule until Hannukah, it’s a bit gloomy. You can get to feel like you just do the same thing each day, and not much is going on. Some schools have long trips schedualed to break up these grey weeks- mine does not.

Of course, this is just inside school. Inside the Bet Midrash, and in most parts of Jerusalem, you would never know about the vandalism and riot police. It is all to easy to ignore that portion of the ultra-Orthodox community that is bursting with violence due to the “Mitzad Ga’avah,” the gay pride parade. It should be known that the route does not enter any Charedi neighborhoods. For those of you who need stereotypes, that means hundreds of gay men will not be invading the small shops of Gilulah asking if there are talitot “in something besides black on white,” nor will, as far as I can tell, there be a wave of lesbians shopping for phylacteries .

In all seriousness, the parade route has been moved far from the ultra-Orthodox areas to the governmental district. But last year’s parade was marred when Yishai Schlissel, stabbed three parade participants (he is now serving 12 years), and the attack is still on everyone’s mind. The nights of rioting do not lead anyone here to think that things will be more calm this year. And there will be no discussion or encounters between these two groups aside from the parade, which is all the more sad when each night we see how the violence has escalated. Dialogue is what is needed here; when there is no dialogue, zealots gain control. And the zealots are the ones who murdered the citizens of Jerusalem and set fire to the food stores in Roman days; we can expect similar behavior from their spiritual inheritors.

Far too many Charedi Yeshiva and Kollel students between the ages of 18 and 25 are not immersed in Torah study at night, and instead they are acting as if they are on spring break, overturning cars and setting fires, hurling all manner of dangerous debris at police. The ultra-Orthodox leaders of these communities say they have no power over the rioters; this is of course untrue. The teachers of these young men are neglecting their duty. They could take attendance at Yeshiva and cut off stipends to those who are not in shiur each night, or they could place people in cherem (yes, excommunication would send a clear message). There are tools that can be used to clear the streets that are far more effective than the water cannon of the riot police.

Sadly, the reaction of these communities has been a long time in the making; when the street signs in Mea Shearim proclaim “Don’t let Jerusalem become an Ir Hanidachat!” three weeks before the parade, religious leaders are letting hatred ferment into violence when they remain silence. This is because the Ir Hanidachat is a town that must be destroyed- along with every living soul in it- because all the residents have turned to idolatry. It is never to be rebuilt. Using such a concept in a street poster is rhetoric of the worst kind, set to drive a pious Jew on edge. The posters are based on the fact that most of the citizens who see this will be so upset they will forget that:

Whatever the Torah may say about homosexuality, Idolatry is a different issue;
The Talmud says that there never was such a city, and there never will be (Sanhedrin 71a), as the law exists only to be studied for the sake of Torah Study;
The Talmud (Bavli Baba Kama82b) cites that the commandment to wipe out a city turned to Idolatry is only applicable to “your cities.” Jerusalem can never become an Ir Hanidachat, for Jerusalem is the property of God and not of any of the tribes of Israel.
That Gay and Lesbian Jews can be spoken to, that they are human beings who have fears and joys, dreams and needs, that they are people who study Torah and work for the betterment of their fellow Jew.

When all these things are forgotten from weeks of propaganda in Yiddish and Hebrew, there can be no doubt as to the effect. So how is encouraging Jew to hate Jew any different than the Arab governments’ anti-Semitism, which is used to distract those without power from the actions of those with it? Someone is putting these posters up, and it is not the pride parade organizers. Three weeks ago, most Charedim had never even thought about homosexual Jews. Now, hated of homosexuals is consuming their community. There are so many more serious threats to Israel and the Charedi community, yet this is now their sole focus, to the point of setting their own streets on fire.

I think of the generous and Torah-true souls I have met in the Charedi world who have shown me courtesy far beyond what I merit- I apologize to them for even the remote possibility that I could be seen as including them alongside those who have let hatred rob them of their Torah. Alas that these fine souls who have taught me so much are not leaders of the charedi communities here.

Friday will bring what I fear will be a day of Yei’ush (despair) for Jerusalem- cruelty, violence, and (God forbid) bloodshed will mark the day. I hope to be proved wrong, but I fear for this city, which once again has become a battleground.

Take your son, the one you love, Yitzhak.

2006-11-01T23:38:00.000+02:00

Tonight there was a televised memorial for Yizchak Rabin. With his assassin Yigal Amir in the news so much lately here (Amir won conjugal rights with his wife so that they can have children together), it was wonderful to see time dedicated to Rabin. It was not only a wonderful memorial for a decent man, but a window into the Israel soul. Here are some of the things you would have seen if you had watched with us.

• A chorus of the most average people looking you can imagine, yet voices and harmony of professional caliber.

• Simple accompaniment- piano, a few strings, drums, bass. Simple 3 camera coverage- no computer graphics, no complex lighting. A simple stage with a few decorations and a picture of Rabin.

• The occasional microphone too loud.

• In the audience and on stage, dress that is informal, even thought this is a televised memorial service.

• A simple arrangement of red flowers and a lone memorial candle.

• The head of the navy (does Israel have admirals?), sitting with his arm around his wife, both swaying in their seats to the song.

• The Audience full of the most important faces in Israel society – not the Paris Hiltons of Israel, , but soldiers, families, and poets.

• One man asleep next to his wife. A solider asleep next to his friend.

• Generals of the highest ranks, and near them young paratroopers and air force officers, and trainees of no rank at all.

• A family of children and grandchildren sit to remember their grandfather.

• Dan Chalutz, the Ramtka”l gives a formal speech on behalf of the IDF. After the formal speech, he leans forward towards the family- he said it was his honor to stand and speak to them.

• Almost everyone knows the words to each song. Some are crying, Others are holding back the tears.

• People of every age, and of many colors

• The official Army Chorus, each one of the young men and women talented and charismatic enough to be superstar in their own right.

• Rabin’s daughter spoke of his dreams- and how he loved to sing. It was moving, it was sad, and it lasted no more than 45 seconds.

• The closing song: “Shir L’shalom,” the song Rabin had sung just a few minutes before his death (he died with the lyrics on him) – this time an arrangement that went from blues to disco with soldiers dancing in the wings.

This was not a slick Hollywood production; only the most basic of elements went into the memorial. There was a simple large photo of Rabin, a few musicians from the IDF, and a few flags. If not for the quality of the music and participants, it could have been confused for a high school assembly. The voices and the tears, however, make clear that this is something remarkable. It was intrinsically Israeli in its informality- and in the tears shed as people sang along to songs about wars past and hopes for peace. It was a wonderful act of memory. And we need to remember.

We need to remember that Rabin was murdered by many men and women. Only one of them was imprisoned.

Each called him a traitor, and hid their hatred and cowardice behind words of Torah and Halacha. They called for his death and we did nothing. For the sake of the Holy Torah alone we should have acted then and called them out to shame and catcalls, letting them know that they shamed the Torah and the name of God by justifying murder. For if the Sanhedrins of our greatest sages found one execution in a lifetime one too many, how did these people have the wisdom to know who was worthy of death and who was worthy of life? How did we let them sit on the throne of Judgment in place of the Omnipresent One? Because they were heads of communities and Roshei Yeshiva, people of wealth and people of power, and we did not raise our voices against them.

May God bring comfort to the family of Yitzchak Rabin. He was a decent man, our grandfather, our friend, and a liberator of Jerusalem. Rabin was murdered by many men and women. Only one of them was imprisoned and we let the rest of his murderers go free. May God bring comfort to the family of Yitzchak Rabin, but may God also bring Judgment to his murderers, who sit even today in smug self-satisfaction, pleased with his death.

"I saw a gate in Jerusalem with two signs on it: Bruchim Habaim [Welcome] and Ayn Kenisah [ Do Not Enter]." — Yehudah Amichai

2006-10-29T22:36:00.000+02:00

“But I grew up in Poland, where it gets so cold, vodka freezes!”
“But I’m from Toronto, where it gets so cold, gas freezes! ”
“But I was raised in Minnesota, where it gets so cold, the snow falls out of your breath!”
“But there’s never any snow in Jerusalem!”
These are all the responses to “you can’t imagine how cold it is here in Jerusalem in the winter.” Second year students talk about the winter the same way Darth Vader talked about the dark side of the force. Sabras and olim alike note with the weary “just-you-wait” attitude that confidently tells you there is no form of cold like that which rushes through the Judean hills each winter.

This past week has been a very full one for all of us here on the 11th floor, including a serious shift in the climate. Blue skies that were unmarred for months are now shrouded in clouds of every variety except mammatus clouds (which often come with tornadoes).
And rain has come, along with temperatures in the 50’s and dampness. This, as most North Americans will tell you, is known as fall. There is little real winter in Jerusalem as most Canadians know it. It’s just that November is four months long.

Of course this was not just a long week because of the climate. We lost Thursday’s precious social evening (and shopping/Shabbat prep) hours because we all went on the “Masa Goes North” extravaganza. Thousands of young adults studying in Israel this year are getting funding from the Masa foundation. This past week found 2000 of them on a train to Acre (or Akko). The train was filled with people dressed up as characters such as Einstein and Herzel, as well as a drumming group and a small klezmir band. The actor playing Herzel wore a top hat and tails (a long tuxedo), and he led a rousing game of “Herzel says.”
“Herzel Says Hands Up!
Herzel Says Hands Down!
Herzel Says Lift Your Bag.
Okay, Sit Down. ACH!!! YOU ARE OUT!!! HERZEL DID NOT SAY!!!!”

My friend MK speaks German, and he spent a bit of time learning about relativity from the actor who played Eienstein- all in German! The train was decorated with flags (as in the bad photo), filled with 2000 students in their late teens and 20’s meeting and renewing friendships, and sharing three bathrooms. The train was a very scenic ride, weaving through Jerusalem suburbs, Tel Aviv, Haifa, and other towns along the way.

After the lovely train ride, it was a lot of hurry up and wait, mixed with mismanagement. Busses carried us distances we could have walked. Signs pointed to bathrooms with no toilet seats- or no soap. The participants all paraded through he streets of Akko; too bad the residents of the city were not warned, and found themselves unable to get about their business without warning.

“We forgot Rule 12,” lamented a long time aquaintance, “never let Israelis plan something this complicated if its not a war.” Did we know that we were supposed to bring some money? Yes. Did we know that it was to help the economically devastated town that missed an entire tourist season of over 1,000,000 visitors? No. Did we know we would be led right through the shuk (old market district) of the city, and that we were supposed to shop? No. Did half of the participants go on a tour of the Akko citadel instead of the shuk? Yes. Did we wait for three hours before the concluding ceremony and concert? I’ll leave that one up to you, dear reader (photo is of citadel walls as we waited).

The ending ceremony was a bizarre mix: dancers and singers performing Zionist classics in the style of “Up With People;” The Minister of European Felt Exports made a welcome speech; a heartbreaking memorial to Michael Levin, who fell in combat with Hezbollah not more than a few months ago; another heartbreaking speech from the mayor of Akko thanking us for coming, and a performance of the neo-hippy Israeli group Gaya.

After the fireworks and speeches, 2000 people all had to go home- by bus. Busses often had mixes of two or three groups (e.g. Young Judea, Bnei Akiva, et. al.) assigned to a single bus, which meant that some busses waited 45 minutes for people who never showed (remember rule 12?) and everyone else waited 45 minutes just for the dozens of buses to get out of a parking lot the size of an inflatable kid’s swimming pool.

Masa is still a worthwhile organization, and there are 8,000 students who are getting funding to study here- please support it. But maybe next time they will make sure those who plan the event are as good as the actors who made that train ride so much fun!

Preparing for Shabbat on Friday was a frantic rush, but Saturday lunch saw the 11th floor filled with guests. The day had dawned grey, and a dreay rain falling. But by noon, we were back in the relatively warm apartment. There was much food, drink, and singing in complex harmonies. Salads were crisp, the chicken was hot and spicy, and the kasha was delicious. Some napped on our couch, and some stayed until havdalah. The crowning touch: a rainbow appeared a few hours into lunch- the perfect symbol to mark the weekly parsha…the parsha of Noah.

Hmmm…. Two weeks ago we prayed for rain- and got it. This week, we talked about the rainbow, and one appeared. Its rather fantastic, but I hope this trend ends before we read about the 10 plagues.

"On that hill," God said, "I'll build the Kenesset."

2006-10-20T00:00:00.000+02:00

Like many Ashkenazi Jews, I grew up with rugelach, the semi-cylindrical pastries that are a rolled strip of sweet dough and a filling. Alas, Gittel’s bakery has been gone for many years now, (yes, there really is a Gittel, a saintly woman who speaks fluent Spanish, Russian, and 4 other languages) but hers were and always will be the best in my mind. They were the perfect blend of nuts, caramelized sugars and cinnamon. The dough she and her husband used was far more cookie-like than most. They were…sublime.

But no matter how I espoused the greatness of Gittel’s, New Yorkers and others who disparaged my home town always had a three word rebuttal for me: “Marzipan’s chocolate rugelach.”

People still bring them back by the KILOGRAM from Israel. Those waiting for them at home eat them as if they were manna from heaven itself. They do this even though they get smushed by baggage handlers, crammed into overhead bins (or stepped on when placed below the seat in front you), irradiated in the x-ray detector, and arrive 72 hours after they have been made.

Feh.

They are perfectly lovely pastries, but I think there are local Jerusalem Bakeries- not to mention bakeries in Canada- that do just as good a job as Marzipan when it comes to chocolate and rugelach. Mentioning this opinion in public has always earned me the same shocked reaction I am sure I would get if I said “Actually, I’m in favor of a 783 state solution to the Arab-Israeli Conflict.”

It has always seemed to me that people are afraid to say “Marzipan's rugelach? The chocolate? They’re OK,” as if the Shin-Bet can find a security threat just by seeing if people posses the proper pavlovian profile when presented with these preeminent pastries (my, wasn’t that illiterative). Recently, however, somebody confided in me a dark secret. “I don’t think they are that good there either,” he noted quietly, “but the ones filled with ******- those are incredible. Those you have to try.”

So today, I went with my chevrutah partner to the Marzipan bakery. I saw a tray of something coming out of the oven.
Something bigger than chocolate rugelach, but the same shape.
Something that people were all pointing at and ordering in large amounts.
Something with a filling that was not chocolate, but clearly sweet.
Something like... Halvah.

It was only by an act of love (and the need not to get any fatter) that I was able to save one of the two halvah filled rugelach I bought. I gave the other to my beloved wife, who came home with a tired and slightly grumpy expression- it had been a long week. The smile it produced with one bite was instantaneous- and worth every shekel.

Halvah Rugelach. Has there even been a confection that is more symbolic of the Israeli people? Halvah, that crumbly sesame and sugar concoction that you either love or hate, is truly at its peak here in Israel, thanks to both the influx of Jews from the Eydot Ha’mizrach as well as the influence of arab citizens. Ashkenazi Jews have brought to Israel the latest in rugelach technology. Combine the two traditions, and you have a culinary force that could topple a government. That and the pizza boureaka alone are reasons to work tirelessly for a just and secure State of Israel. But there are things here even more remarkable than the pastries, chances for a better future worth even more effort.

And if we still will it, it still is no dream.

The Quest for the Hand - Challa

2006-10-13T01:03:00.000+02:00

Last night at 2am the sky lent its blessing to the earth and I felt the rain from my room on the eleventh floor facing west. I might have heard the rain first, then felt its coolness. Unlike the common summer thunder storms of Baltimore, rain in Jerusalem is unheard of from May through October. One hardly has to think about the weather before leaving the house - always take a bottle of water and a hat. That's how its been since we've been here. While in Baltimore, Succot is a holiday of being outside in the crisp and cool autumn scenery, in Jerusalem it is a fairwell to summer and it is a prayer that the coming season will bring good rains and nourish the seeds of the earth. I noticed the first rain here, somewhere inside myself I had been waiting for it. And the soft tapping and splotches on my window sill were tiny gifts of reassurance, faithfulness, affection. May the rains this year fall as a blessing.

At 8am I walked to the neighborhood convenient store (makolet) in search of yeast. Shemarim. Shomer means to preserve/guard and when I saw shemarim in the supermarket yesterday I thought it was a package of preservatives so I didn't buy it. Oops. The convenient store didn't have shemarim so at 8:17am I borrowed some from a neighbor. At 8:25am I began making holiday bread. I was inspired by an exhibit at the Israel museum about bread in various religious communities; Jewish, Muslim, Christian. Bread for lifecycle events and holidays and rituals. There were breads for the high holidays and for hoshana raba (the seventh day of succot, considered the real day when the gates of repentence are closed - and you thought they closed on yom kippur!). Some breads were in the shape of ladders, symbolizing a connection between heaven and earth. Some were in the shape of hands - 2 hands spread open like God giving blessings or like people's hands open in prayer. (Insert other ideas of your own.) Some were round with hands embedded or overlaid on top. At 12:30pm I shaped the dough into 2 hands spread open to give, receive, plead, reach.

At 1:10pm I called my mom and told her about the bread project. She said, "I remember Grandma H used to make challa with a hand on it." She hadn't thought of it for years. I had to tell her about everything else I'd done that week and then go to the grocery store and get home in time to bake the hands before they rose too high. At 12:17am I called my mom again to get more of the hand-challa story. "It was round with a hand on top. It must have been for Rosh HaShana. Call Aunt S. - she made challa with Grandma H a lot." At 12:33am I called Aunt S. "The hand came out of the side, like it was blessing the dough. It lay over the top, the fingers were at the diameter." She gives me tips on how I might try to reconstruct it, but she never actually made this kind of challa with Grandma H. Anyone in our family who might have known how to do it is now dead. She thinks of another person to call. She'll e-mail me if she finds out the mechanics of the hand-challa. I wonder what else has been lost in the last twenty years.

This is the 21st century. I learn about my ancestor's traditions by paying 30 shekel to quietly browse through a multimedia exhibit and view chemically preserved poisonous bread WITHOUT TOUCHING, learning of its meaning by reading neatly typed, laminated cards in English, Hebrew and Arabic. I'm pretty sure that Grandma H's challa was number 9 (or was it 12?) in room 3, 2 tables to the right of the video about communion in a Greek Orthodox church. And directly in front of a gold-embroidered Sabbath table cloth from Iraq that depicted the menorah and ark and shewbread of the mishkan (tabernacle) and left six open circles for Sabbath loaves to be placed on the sacred table of a 17th century Iraqi home.

Great grandma H, I want you to know that tomorrow, at 8:30am I will try to shape a hand of blessing from dough that I can touch, that is not poisonous, and I will share it with family and friends at 10:30am and we will eat of it and think of you (the little I remember of you which is mainly that you had M&Ms in a tin cookie jar every time we came to visit). And maybe one day there will be an exhibit on grandma cookies. But I prefer learning how to make them from my mother, because it does not cost 30 shekel and I can touch them and they are not poisonous but sweet and buttery and full of love.

The little Jewish Grandma says "He had a hat!"

2006-10-10T22:56:00.000+02:00

The whole country is on vacation this week. Scattered across the country are art festivals, alternative art festivals, alternative performance art festivals, wine festivals, music festivals, and in addition thousands are flocking northward to spend shekels in regions devastated by the war with Hezbollah. Youth groups and yeshivot have programs where music with an Ashkenazi accent goes thudding into the night way past bedtime. The old city is packed with tours and tourists and street musicians (and riot police).

But it is still sukkot, and even a few reasonably secular jews have built the traditional four sided huts along with the observant. Plus, any restaurant that is kosher and has seating, has a sukkah for the week. And since we are in the Judean hills and not Minneapolis or Toronto, the weather is warm enough during the day to appreciate shade, but not so cold at night that you need a heater just to eat dinner. Note to Chicagoans: in Israel it is not customary to eat dinner in the Sukkah with your winter gloves on, mainly because you don’t need them.

No building represents Israeli Jews better than the sukkah. Laced together with twine and zip ties, it is an unsteady ramshackle compilation of sheets, planks, bamboo and palm fronds. Israelis love their sukkot- you put it together 1-2-3, and if an end doesn’t fit, WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!, it gets pounded into place. Halfway is the way. No building codes, no safety concerns. Balconies 4 stories off the ground have their railings unmounted so that the family can have a sukkah. If there is a balcony above them, they simply extend the sukkah outward off the balcony another 2 meteres- and this is even when the balcony itself is only 0.5 meters deep to begin with. Another sukkah may be built halfway up the wall of that one.

In fact, this week Jerusalem is the Mishnayot of Tractate Sukkah come alive. Sukkot are built on rooftops and in trees, in courtyards and over other sukkot. Half sukkot, round sukkot, and half-round sukkot are all about. They explode outward from windows, ledges, atriums and doorways. Half the sukkah is in the street? Its okay. Built it in front of the door that says “Do not block- emergency exit!” ? Of course. And to meet halachic requirements, they twist at odd angles, are shorter or taller to meet demand, can have 5 walls or be made up only of windows.

Israeli Jews are not the most patient among those of the Hebrew faith, and some of the sukkot are a danger to those who occupy them- or those who are in the space right below them. This should come as no surprise to those of us who know and love Israelis. As for Jerusalem, it is a mountainous city, and an old one at that- this means that back yards are a rare occourence, even for the rich. Gardens are what fill the space surrounding homes- fountains, vines, trees and flowerbeds. A big swath of space that is only grass or stone pavement is unheard of for any home that was not a consulate or monastery.
So Israeli Jews are inventive, building wherever the space allows. Many of the sukkot can not be easily seen. They are hidden behind fences and gates, behind laundry lines and trees. Some are studies or gazebos with roofs removed. Most are not on the ground floor and from street level they can not be seen.

All in all, the majority of Sukkot in Jerusalem are hidden.

These numerous hidden sukkot can only be found easily at night when lit up from the inside. The lights within illuminate the colored tarps and bedsheets that form sukkot walls, and what is invisible in daylight is revealed as glorious color in the night. Daytime vistas that reveal a handful of booths are transformed into a panoply of sukkot at night.

Consider this for a moment, that most of the sukkot in Jerusalem are best searched out at night, when along with the lights, you can find them by the sounds of family dinners and the smells of dining al fresco. This is not, I think just a matter of urban topography. There is something endemic to Sukkot that is represented by illumination from within. Unlike Hannukah, sukkot are not about the publicizing of a miracle, rather they are spaces for celebration and happiness. According to the Gemara (Bavli Sukka 26a) a person who is unable to be happy is exempt from dwelling in the Sukkah. Sukkot are supposed to be places of joy- of feasting, song, gladness and delight. How remarkable that in Jerusalem the sukkah serves as an echo of the human heart. When the human heart is full and glad, a person’s face shines and radiates that joy which they are holding inside- just as the sukkah lets the joy it holds shine out into the night. It is a remarkable festival, for it lets that is internal radiate outward.

I might suggest that it is not that the Sukkot of Jerusalem are best found at night: rather, they are best seen and understood at night. That is when their lesson shines the clearest.

The man says, "How can you tell?" The woman says, "You told me yesterday."

2006-10-02T22:54:00.000+02:00

What would it be like if the entire city went to shul with you, and then had a big kiddush?
No, seriously. Imagine for a moment if instead of a handful people trickling out of your building in the afternoon of Kol Nidrey, there were dozens. On the side street, your crowd flowed into a group of hundreds, and on the main boulevard, the crowd was larger than you could possibly count. Many were wearing white from head to toe – or suits if they were Americans. Kitels, Talitot, prayerbooks, strollers, all flowing to one place of prayer or another.

I can tell you are probably not impressed, especially if you are from a section of NYC, Baltimore, or Cleveland where plenty of Jews walk in large groups to shul on Yom Kippur. “Well of course there are lots of people going to synagogue- you are living in Jerusalem, for God’s sake! Tell us something we wouldn’t have guessed, Captain Obvious.”

Okay; The weather was great for first day of October?

“We can check the weather in Israel you know. Try again.”

Uh. Right. Everything is closed down- TV networks go off the air.

Even the little shops that are always open are closed.

“So what. It is a national holiday. We have national holidays outside of Israel as well. They even have them in Canada."

How about this: in Jerusalem, Yom Kippur is a happy festival day, just like in the Talmud.

“Okay, now you are just making stuff up to impress us.”

What do you mean- that the Talmud says Yom Kippur was a happy day, or that it’s a happy day again?

“Er….. both?”

Okay- we find the following in Mishna, Taanit 4:8 (and Gemara on Taanit 30b):
Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel said, Israel had no days as joyous as The Fifteenth of Av and Yom Kippur; for on those days, the maidens of Jerusalem would go out dressed in borrowed white clothing - borrowed, in order not to embarrass those who had none…. The maidens of Jerusalem would go out and dance [in a circle] in the vineyards. And what would they say? "Young man, lift up your eyes and see what you choose for yourself. Do not consider beauty; rather consider family, 'For charm is false, and beauty is vanity. A woman who reveres God, she is the one to be praised..' (Proverbs 31:30) ".
So there you go on the Talmud side. And what makes it happy here in modern J'lem?

Modern Jerusalem has an endless amount of hidden synagogues. While there are large congregations made of spotless white plaster and Jerusalem stone, there are also ground floor apartments made into hand built Mizrachi chapels, and school rooms and auditoriums rented out for Saturday mornings. Each one of these fills up on Yom Kippur, and after Kol Nidrey, they all empty out onto the street.

I could tell you that nobody drives on Yom Kippur in Israel. Or I could tell you that Jerusalem law only allows emergency vehicles on the roads. But the best way to explain it is this: the street signals aren’t working. Let me be specific: EVERY STREET SIGNAL IS OFF IN JERUSALEM. Not some, not just blinking red lights- there are no stop lights. No walk signals. They turn them off. And the street- the street becomes the domain of white clad yerushalmim, talking for hours on end. Chairs appear, and soon a street is blocked by circle of neighbors catching up on a summer’s worth of news. Porches are full of sheytel (wig) clad women of different generations sharing babysitting duties for a newborn.

It was, in effect, like the largest Kiddush you have ever seen; its just that instead of not being sure where the food tables are, nobody was looking for them. Thousands of Jews were talking, sharing, walking and wandering, blocking intersections that normally are more dangerous than 5 day old cholent from the local Chabad house. This goes on for as far as you can see- and although the business districts of the city were apparently silent, residential streets are filled with conversation and rambling groups of jews- secular, religious, religious for the day, going to no place in particular.

That is not to say the streets are completely safe. There are little kids on bicycles and scooters also enjoying the car-free roads. While they all come from different backgrounds, they all ride their bikes like Israeli adults drive- that is to say, like homicidal maniacs. But between their small size and the way they shout to teach other, they don’t rev up enough speed to really do more than bruise. A nickname of Yom Kippur is “Chag ha’ofanayim”- the bicycle festival. Since it is a day off, and there is no TV, secular families trek all over the city on bikes exploring, and the religious kids? They just bike around to annoy the rest of us. (I received no reports of bikes, scooters, or fun of any sort in the ultra-Orthodox areas of Jerusalem- but that does not mean that some fun did not happen when nobody was looking).

Between the streets all becoming pedestrian malls, the friends catching up with each other, the quiet that settles over the city and the welcome break from work taken by everyone, you can feel there is a quality to the day that can only be described as happy. When you see this in modern Jerusalem, history comes alive. And that is Yom Kippur in Jerusalem, where suddenly you can understand what Rabban Shimon ben Gamilel was talking about nearly 2000 years ago.

May we all have been inscribed for a sweet and joyous new year.

The man says, "I make a good living."

2006-09-27T19:26:00.000+03:00

Israelis self- empower themselves by creating personal space through the facilitation of the use of automobile alert klaxons. Or, for those of you who did not attend university after 2001: Israelis love to honk their God-damned car horns.

Cabs will honk at you. Out for a 6 am run with iPod in hand and ears, running shoes on, sweat pouring down your back, water bottle and fanny pack in place? Cabs will still honk. They will honk even as you enter your house, as if to say “Allo! Pay me 9 shekel for driving you the last 2 meters up the sidewalk to your door. B'seder?” Are they so fastidious in making sure their horn works? You might think so, because in fact, cabs will honk at your even when they have a car full of customers going to another city.

Cabs are just the warm-up. Regular Israeli drivers are the real masters of the honk here. Has that car in front of you been at the intersection for more than 0.32 seconds?
*Honk!*
Did a mail truck stop to make a delivery? How dare they!
*Honk!*
Is an elderly nun standing on the opposite side of the road? That’s right,
*Honk!*
Are you crossing against the light?
Are you crossing with the light?
Are you not even crossing at all? Just eating schwarma?
*Honk!* *Honk!* *Honk!*
Is the van full of Police not pulling halfway into the crowded intersection, just so (as I saw this morning) you can make a right hand turn? If your license plate is 90-342-0902, than the answer is *Honk!*

Now in the US of A, honking at an officer of the peace is a way of stating “Sir or Madam, I have far to much money! Please give me a citation for a traffic violation so that I may better the civic welfare by $235 dollars.” But here in the State of Israel, the Police van just pulls into the intersection, blocks a lane of traffic, and the car behind tears into the right turn like a student at a Chabad cheyder digs into the last pot of fleischig cholent at Kiddush.

If you put an Israeli in the driver’s seat of a car, take a way the keys and have him/her sit there, they will just honk at random within 30 seconds. Better make that 10 seconds. Which raises the question: are Israeli roads so dangerous because people are so busy honking at everything that moves?

HONK! Sorry, you took too long to answer.

---------------------------------

No Orthodox Siddur has Tefilah L’nahag - a Prayer for the Driver- something needed very badly here. The Masorti siddur, thank God, does have such a tefilah, by R. Michael Graetz.

Our God and God of our ancestors, God of Abraham and Sarah,
God of Isaac and Rebecca, God of Jacob, Rachel and Leah;

May we reach our destination in peace, and return in peace to our homes. Imbue me with the will to discern that every human is created in your image, and that saving one person is like saving an entire world.

Grant me the wisdom to understand that nothing is more precious than human life,
neither time,
nor money,
neither honor nor revenge.

(The full prayer- in Hebrew and English, is here.)

שנה טובה ומתוקה

2006-09-21T19:56:00.000+03:00

My lovely wife went to the large appliance store to get a plata, the name for the large electric hot plate (a.k.a. the bleeeeeech) that is used to warm foods on Shabbat. She was amazed to find the vast appliance store filled with workers strolling about, with drinks on the desks, cookies and cakes being shared, and a very informal atmosphere in effect. This is not what one expects from an Israeli store- except, she knew, that this is a store having a New Year’s Eve party. In Israel, Rosh Hashanah is the start of the new year for everyone- it really is a Jewish culture and calendar. Justinian and his calendar (as well Mr. Gregorian and his) are guests in this country in many ways, for in Israel January 1st is just another Monday in winter. Cliché it might be, but Judaism permeates life here; Rosh Hashanah is a holiday for secular Jews as well . . . although they don’t endure a 5 hour Musaf service, which may be why the ultra-Orthodox get so angry with them.

Agron Courtyard, CY, Jerusalem

We wish you all new year filled with joy and delight,
a year where war is diminished and peace abounds,
a year where success and prosperity replace doubt and shame,
a year of delicious fruits,
a year where diseases are cured and hunger is met with generosity,
a year of Torah, labor in the service of God and acts of loving kindness in the service of humanity.

I put it in your tefilin bag.

2006-09-21T19:36:00.000+03:00

Singles Party Erupts – And Not In Laughter

WARNING: THIS ENTRY IS ABOUT YOUNG AMERICANS BEHAVING BADLY. IT IS NOT MEANT FOR MORE SENSITIVE READERS. TO BE SPECIFIC, IN THIS ENTRY, PEOPLE VOMIT ON VOMIT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

“I’m throwing a party and you are not invited,” says Mr. S, a recent college grad and one time Ramah student of mine. “Its a singles party,” he explains without much remorse. Well, that’s fair enough, but I do wonder how well the party will go. Many single members of my yeshiva will be going; some of whom are recently out of university, and a few are younger than that. Mine is not a party school, but it was about damn time for students to get a chance to indulge.

Today, I learned that the event was a rocking good time. One student did not show up for class at all, and Mr. S. looks like he has a brutal workout with Dr. Matsaki Hatsumi, the last living ninja master. I don’t bother Mr. S. when he dozes off during the Rosh Hashanah shiur (even though it is being presented be the Rosh Yeshiva himself). When he gets too close to actual snoring, however, I wake him and hand him a note. “Up all night playing Super Mario again?” No, he replies, just wait until I explain. He manages to stay conscious until the shiur ends, and then explains.

“The party was awesome,” he says, “until towards the end.” In the last part of the evening, he explained, the last few guests were sitting amidst the dim lights and drinks, when someone asks Mr. S: “hey- is she puking?” In the dark, it seems that a girl may be getting a bit ill. “No, no she’s not,” replies the host- and then it becomes obvious that she, in fact, is getting sick. Host and his friend rush her to the small extra bathroom, where they discover that someone was already there. Someone , to be specific, who made it to the toilet under their own power, which ran out too soon. This prior visitor never got the toilet lid lifted up, and managed to get sick everywhere. Our host and guest have only a moment to register this before they realize that they have a more pressing problem- the young lady they have escorted to the toilet, who now is engaged in what my peers once called “the technicolor yawn.”

How can it get any worse? Glad you asked. The prior situation is hardly resolved when suddenly a second guest, on the balcony, is also getting ill from over-indulgence. Someone is now attempting to bring this next happy camper to the same toilet where our host is handling his first customer. It goes downhill from there.

For most of us everyday life gives us enough to atone for; however some young people seem to need something special for the 10 days of repentance.
May they find forgiveness- and something to soothe their stomachs. So may we all. Amen.

Gamble, sir? With whom?

2006-09-17T21:21:00.000+03:00

The most dangerous block in Israel

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is the address of the White House. Everyone knows where the president lives. It’s on maps of every kind for Washington DC, and you can walk right up to the fence. It’s a charming view. Balfour Street is just as clearly marked on every Jerusalem map- as is JTS’s Shocken library, which is right in the middle of the block. But the building right across the street- the Prime Minister’s house- is not on most maps. Its the reason why there are gates and hydrualic roadblocks at both ends of the block- and that's not all.

As you would expect, on duty are the Mishmeret Gvul, the border police in their forest green uniforms; they and their m16’s slung down to the ground are rather ubiquitous in Israel. But there are the other guards- guards not wearing uniforms. They have more advanced automatic weapons than m-16s, and unlike the M.G., they walk with their weapons chest high and their fingers on the trigger guard. The house itself is shielded by a stone wall at least 5 meters high- and on top of that are other sensors and devices. There are lookout stations and cameras at several points, as well as bomb sniffing dogs and cars that have nothing on their license plate except the emblem of the Prime Minister of Israel. I can’t show you any of that, but I can show you what it looks like when the entire block is cordoned off- as it was during Mr. Blair’s visit.

If you are not used to such open displays of weaponry, you would feel certain this is the most dangerous block in Israel. In time you would realize that this block is probably safer than Capitol Hill in DC, but you may still have that feeling of danger. And yet …this is a block where every morning school children pour out of buses to walk to school; where people parking in front of thier apartment have their car checked inside and out, with the same attitude as if it was the car wash; where countless Jerusalemites walk on their way back from the supermarket; where I occasionally walk when on the way to and from Yeshiva.

This is a block where you would have to be a monster and a lunatic to try anything. Israelis know that while there may be no monsters under their children’s beds, they know there are real monsters not too far away. Not all that far away are actual monsters that have the faces of human begins; monsters with an appetite for murder, monsters that have replaced love with hate and the cultivating of hope with the adoration of death. And that is why the men in non-descript shirts and slacks have automatic weapons ready to fire.

Balfour Street is probably the safest block in Israel. How amazing is the courage of Israelis, that not every block in Israel is like Balfour street, with its gates, guards and guns. For there are many so many other blocks in the cities of Israel: blocks with schools, houses and markets, blocks with theatres, clinics and shops. So which block is most dangerous one?

Don't worry, Mr. President, Arafat just grabbed my tallis bag

2006-09-14T18:37:00.000+03:00

Comments are now open to everyone! Please blog with us! And now, from the 11th floor, its

THE VOICE OF MRS. HELL

"Do you have something for apartment §£?" I ask the red-faced man with the big envelope under his arm. He's wearing a bright red shirt, and has just pulled up in his red Israel Mail mini-truck, bluetooth in one ear, a US Priority mail envelope in tow. "No!" he says, a reply in a tone as if I asked him if he would like throat cancer. I have been sitting at the doorway to our building for about 70 minutes, waiting for the Israeli equivalent of UPS to show up and give us the one box we decided to ship, a box with sefarim (religous texts), classic novels, and some essential DVDs.

A couple we are freinds with shipped this box to us two weeks ago, and we have been waiting, patiently, for it to arrive. First there was a slip with a package number. That was taken to the nearest post office, which naturally informed my beloved spouse that our package was actually at a different post office, which was located "near the theatre." Since there is nothing near the theatre but houses, we were skeptical.

So when a new slip arrived with a number to call, we were delighted. So, my dear wife calls, gets an english speaker on the line. She gives our name, which the mail agent repeats happily, and accepts. And they set up a time for delivery. Sadly, our intercom buzzer does not work- so we can buzz in, but can't be rung up from the doorway. So down I go to await the package messenger. This brings us back to the man in the red shirt with the red face, who has rung up an intercom number that works- so I know that its not ours.

(translated from the Hebrew)
"Hell?" I hear him ask?
"WHO IS THIS?" yells out an a voice.
"I'm from the Post [office], is this Geveret (Mrs) Hell?"
"I CAN't Hear YOU!" comes the reply from the intercom.
"HELL, " he shouts into the intercom microphone. "ADINA HELL- I have a package from abroad for you."
"I Don't know who you are." Click! She has hung up.
He rings again. "I Am from the POST!" He shouts. "Is this HELL?" I am, of course, thinking, yes, yes it is.
The lady's voice is now getting testy. "What do you want? SPEAK UP!"
"I have a package for HELL- can you hear me?"
"Yes, but I'm not going to let you in if I don't know who you are."
Click! The lady has hung up.

"Mrs. Hell?" he calls up again, "Can you hear me?"
"WHAT IS THIS ABOUT?
The mail guy now looks like he is about to explode- but he takes a breath, and like a man who has undergone serious anger managament, lowers his voice, brings his face to the microphone, and in a calm and patient voice, forces a smile and says "Geveret (meaning Mrs., or in this case, Ma'am), please. A moment. I have a package for you. Can you hear me?"
"I don't know who this is, but I am not letting someone up if I don't know who they are!"
Click.

That is enough for any man to take, the mail guy included. With a few choice words that I would love to learn (e.g. for when passed by a bus I have been waiting for), he storms away, and in a moment he is driving out of the parking lot at a speed that even Israelis would find excessive.

I wait for another hour. No other mail guys show up. Annoyed, I look for the contact number for the delivery service on the slip. It's on the front, along with the package number. As I wait for an english operator, I look over the slip in detail (this is the first time I have done so). And there, under the pacakge number is an illegible squiggle of Hebrew script that I suddenly can decipher. "Hell, Adina, " the squiggle now cleary reads (Hel is an arabic word for cardomon) . I look at the rows of mailboxes, which open to the outside. Mrs's Hell's mailbox is the one directly above ours.

Hell is other people- and the Israeli postal system.

Photo- an Israeli elevator. Here, ground floors are "0" and basements are "-1".

these feet are tired!

2006-09-13T23:18:00.000+03:00

this is a message from my feet.
We, the two palms two heels and 10 toes down here declare that we have become acquainted with many kilometers of this fine town over the course of many hours, in the bright sun and cool dark evenings of Jersualem. In particular we have participated in smoothing down the well-worn stones of the steps and alleys in nachlaot. (It is a little world of its own and its really miraculous to see cars and vans maneuver in the narrow "streets"!) We look forward to resting on a lovely mattress (recently acquired from a friend and transported via our new friend and savior, Elan, who drives a station wagon cab and rescued us two weeks ago when we were overburdened with groceries). The mattress is much more pleasing than the fold out chair we have been accumstomed to for 2 weeks; though it is a very comfortable chair, it simply does not rank high in the category of bed. We also report form the thighs and calves that the hills of Jerusaem offer an excellent, cheap alternative to stair master. Can't wait til the 5am hike in Arad on Friday!

I don't know what the flags said, I can't read Hebrew

2006-09-12T19:40:00.000+03:00

There is a phrase no newcomer to Israel can escape from hearing on a regular basis. It always comes unsolicited, and does not always come with help. You fill out a form at the post office, affix it to a box, and a voice from over your shoulder tells you (even though you did not ask for advice of any kind) “Zeh Lo Nachon,” which translates as “that’s not correct,” but implies “you’ve screwed something up.” Here are two stories from the “Zeh Lo Nachon” department that are hard to beat, courtesy of Fern and Jonathan, our hosts for this past Friday night dinner.

ONE- Fern goes to the Interior Ministry to renew her Visa. This is normally a trying and difficult process, but Fern is having a much better go of it this time than last. This time she knows what to put in each blank on the form- even the obscure ones. Name, date, passport, this time she can fill in each blank. She gets into the correct line, and this time it is moving. Soon there is only one person in front of her in line, who suddenly turns around and looks at her form.

“Zeh lo nachon,” says the lady in front of her.

Fern looks at the form. Everything is in order, she’s sure of it. And then she looks at the top of the form, and in tiny print in the top left corner, she sees it. “Teudat Meyt,” it reads- a death certificate. She had filled one out for herself- and it was completely in order- most likely, she would have been able to leave the country.

TWO – Jonathan takes their son D with him on the search for a used car. D is a cherubic young man who rarely wears a kippah yet usually has his tiztizt dangling out. Tzitzit, or a talit katan, is the 4 cornered garment worn by many orthodox men (and some unorthodox women) as an undershirt. Tzitzit are worn in a manner that lets the fringes on each corner hang free at the belt-line

In one of the most sleazy of the locations they went to, they waited for a salesman. Suddenly, in walks a man who would be completely at home at the annual Sturgis biker rally. Huge and scary, he is covered in leather riding gear. This is the kind of person that makes people in New York cross the street rather than get in his way. This is not the kind of person one would think is an expert in Jewish ritual or practice.

After a moment of staring at D, the biker begins to circle, pacing around him. Jonathan is of course startled and D is scared as the man circles closer and closer.

The man suddenly grabs a corner of D’s tzitzis. “Zeh lo nachon,” the biker states with some authority.

He lifts the fringes up to where D and Jonathan can see, and says “PASUL!”, a word that means that something is unfit for use in Jewish ritual. Sure enough, the tzizit were tied incorrectly, something that requires unusual expertise to spot.

So, when you are Israel, is your mailman just a mailman? The felafel guy just a felafel guy? Maybe, or maybe they will soon be telling you…

“Zeh lo nachon.”

Nobody hits on the Rebbetzyn

2006-09-05T22:18:00.000+03:00

The Quiet Shabbat –

Friday night found hosted for shabbat dinning by students from Pardes, and the rest of Shabbat was spent with close friends. The day was warm and quiet, but a very full week lies ahead. Be sure to come back by Tuesday, as we try a new adventure- to get a package from the post office! Shavua Tov to our families and friends- we miss you.

Photo: the panoramic view view looking east.

But first, you need to have your hearing checked.

2006-09-05T00:11:00.001+03:00

The blog for tonight was going to be about how I went to the nearby Kosher butcher, and there was good service, good quality, and an overall good experience- stunningly un-Israeli. And that was going to be all.

But fear not, good readers, for Behold! Our adventure in authentic Israeli living continued when our sink's plumbing exploded downwards right after dinner, covering our kitchen floor in icky drainwater. While our landlady has stocked the kitchen with every cleaner we could need (including a disturbing product that is a floor-wax /cockroach repellent combo [no, I am not making that up and no, I am not ripping off classic Saturday Night Live- just look at the photo]), we had to squeegee the floor, since there seems to be a Basic Law in Israel prohibiting owning or using a mop. Buckets, cleaners, fans and towels were used instead, and that is why we are all going to bed so late and the floor is slightly pine-scented.

Comments are now open to all

2006-09-03T23:54:00.000+03:00

Please read on, folks, and comment away- we have opened the comments to all, and it will stay this way as long as the junk comments don't pile up!

Photo: a lizard taking a break, probably from his talmud class at Yeshivat Sheretz (where else could he go?)

Rabbeinu Gershom's Opera

2006-09-03T23:15:00.000+03:00

After arriving Tuesday evening and surviving the amazing and breath-taking moves of the sherut driver, we headed to bed at the reasonable hour of 11PM to put ourselves on Israeli time. However, Wednesday morning, we woke up at 4AM from jet lag. We turned on the TV and noticed an Israeli opera sung in Hebrew.

We finally figured out the plot was about the Ashkenazic (Eastern European Jewish) ban on polygamy and a Sephardic (non-Eastern European Jewish—Spanish, Greek, Yemenite…a poor definition but one that works in general for now) male family head protesting the ban with his two wives. It was hard to tell who the villain was…the Ashknazic niece by marriage of the family head who took the case to an Ashkenazic court? Or was it the male head of the family (called Ben Attar) for having an ulterior motive of revenge on the Ashkenazic woman as his wife after she turned his proposal of marriage down years ago?

There weren’t really any catchy tunes, just a lot of dialogue, sung of course in opera style. Why would anyone want to dramatize this part of Jewish history? It is interesting, though, because Israel has such a large Sephardic population. A member of an Israeli group visiting America said that Israelis call America “Ashkenazi land.”

Well, we turned off the opera after about a half an hour, because although the sets were very creative (people being the waves of the sea all connected through their costumes), the lack of melody was grating. However, after searching online for the opera, we found out that it was based on an A.B. Yehoshua story with a very opera-like ending, which follows. After traveling from Spain, Ben Attar takes his case of polygamy to two courts, and the Ashkenazi court rules that he must dissolve one of his marriages. The second wife, whom he married later and has no children, commits suicide so that Ben Attar does not have to choose whom to divorce.

Wow. That is pretty sad, as all operas are. I sincerely hope this fate did not await all polygamous families back during the Decree of Rabbeinu Gershom, which did really happen in the 10th Century. The experts on the 11th floor say they don’t think people had to divorce wives to abide by this decree (people just couldn’t take any multiple wives in new marriages), and it also only applied to Ashkenazic Jews. That’s a relief, but I applaud A.B. Yeshoshua's focus on women's fates from a male-created decree. Who knew he was such a feminist?

The Story of the Crack(ed) Pot

2006-09-03T22:34:00.000+03:00

It was Thursday afternoon when the first pot was purchased. A tired gang of three, we meandered around the streets of Jerusalem, in the hot sun, in search of necessary house wares. As we walked down Agrippas Street, we peeked into a doorway to discover Japanese Lanterns hanging from the ceiling. This was one thing on our list and we crossed the threshold. I busied myself with searching for a pot - and discovered a lovely aluminum version with black plastic handles and top - it looked sturdy and held 5 liters and did not seem overly expensive. We bought it.

On Friday morning I busied myself with "kashering" our silverware so we could actually eat some of the excellent food we'd acquired in the past three days of hunting and gathering. This requires boiling the silverware in a large pot. With much excitement, I opened the cardboard box, and the plastic wrapping - only to discover a small crack in the aluminum on the rim of the pot. A decorative feature? No - this was indeed a defect! For now it was small but who could say how it might grow and cause troubles throughout a year of use. And it was not particularly cheap either. But what to do? We needed silverware - and the pot was unsellable anyway. I boiled the water and kashered the silverware, intending to return the pot later that afternoon.

Well, Friday went hurriedly along and there was no time to return the pot (nor was there time to take a bus so a five shekel (~$1.5) sketchy cab ride had to suffice) so it had to wait til Sunday. The pot had been washed and packed up in its plastic and box. I walked with my chin held high, reviewing the Hebrew and tone that would be necessary to achieve the desired ends. No, not this random house ware junk store, not this one... finally there it was on the left. I recognized the counter and the man who had sold us the pot, though there was a different woman behind the counter. I prepared for the attack.
"I bought this on Thursday and when I opened it, it was broken."
"Did you use it?"
"No," I say as I open the box to show her.
"It looks like you used it."
"I just used it for water. I had to boil water - but it was cracked right when I opened it. I'd like to exchange it."
"One second." She calls over the man who sold us the pot.
"It's dirty."
"I just used if for water - I had to boil water - but it was broken right when I opened it."
"Well, clean it and then I can exchange it." He walks away.
"It's clean! We cleaned it. It just had water in it. You can't sell it anyway - its broken!"
"Go home and clean it very well, then bring it back and I can exchange it for you."
"I live far away! I can't go home and clean it."
She calls him over again.
"Go home and clean it - then I can exchange it."
"I live far away from here - I can't go home and clean it! Besides, you can't sell it. It's broken!"
"Fine. Clean it in the kitchen here and then I'll exchange it." He points to a door in the back of the store.

So that is how I found myself washing dishes in the back of a houseware store, one of many similar houseware stores on Agrippas Street in Jerusalem. I didn't even know hardware stores had kitchens. I leave the pot to dry on a counter next to the sink and hope it won't get mixed up with the assortment of plaster and carpet pieces. And who knows if this sponge is even kosher?

He's put another pot on the counter and I tell him I'll check it to make sure it's ok.
"I checked it already but fine - you can check it."
I open the box and unwrap the plastic, take out the pot and look over the rim. Sure enough - there is a small crack.
"It's small, but it could get bigger. Maybe it's a problem with the company."
"No, it's not a problem with the company," he assures me. He wraps up the pot and brings me another one. This one is perfect. I leave feeling victorious, and almost more intimately connected to these houseware store owners because I've washed a pot in their kitchen. But I hope I don't have to see them again anytime soon. And I really hope they don't sell those broken pots to anyone else for 139 shekels.

Look Ron, A Talking Dog!

2006-09-01T11:53:00.000+03:00

Well, folks, its been a very full two days. Wednesday saw a visit to Pardes and its lovely 3rd Floor Beit Midrash, which is airy and wide. Wednesday also presented the joyfull discovery of ATM's that accepted our bank cards and then spat out brightly colored shekels (which unlike dollars use every color possible on each bill, even if it makes them painful to look at).

Thursday saw a visit to the Conservative Yeshiva and its small underground Beit Midrash, which is symbolic of the Conservative Movement; anything with great potential is always kept small and where it will not be seen. The shortest walk to the CY takes us right by the PM's house and the JTS research library. There is a lot of security on that block; it could be for the JTS library, but something tells me otherwise. We also had lunch in Independence park for a very lovely birthday girl! And after some other assorted tasks . . . groceries.

Grocery shopping in Israel reveals the following;
a) A variety of Asian ingredients can be found here that never have hashgacha in the US,
b) That Israelis have truly adapted the following words into their vocabulary: big, deal, and super.
c) That even the softest TP available in Israel can still be used as a fine grit sandpaper,
d) The “Mister Zol” supermarket under Hamashbeer does not have bathrooms,
e) Israelis only do discrete Math when it comes to milk- you get 3%, 1%, or cream.

Picture: our kitchen window's view, which looks west-ish. Nifty, eh?

Anybody Got a Peanut?

2006-08-30T14:06:00.000+03:00

Israir is an airline that any of my fellow Illini would feel at home with in light of the blue and orange color scheme. Flight attendants are wearing jeans- some of them very tight jeans, both men and women. The average age for the attendants seems to be about 35 years below the average US carrier. This is a big change from a mainstream airline like united, where sex with a flight attendant is probably something you would only do on a dare while very drunk- unless you are among those who date their grandmother’s friends.

It seems the jet was bought from Iceland Air, since there was a monitor showing altitude and airspeed in Icelandic. I’m glad to know that our airspeed is 632 Klümøøsten, but the term in Hebrew would be much more helpful.

The flight was like a shul dinner. People milled about at teach other’s seats; children ran around, and the smell of overcooked chicken filled the air (the food was acutally just fine). Was it the notion of national unity? The fact that 60% of the passengers were part of the same youth program? The relief that comes after having passed through security interviews and a screening 4 hours in advance? I am not sure, but a lot of people were wearing their Israir orange slippers and acting like the plane was their living room.

Egads! Or, will we ever move again?

2006-08-23T09:01:00.000+03:00

My longtime Physician, Dr. Ireland once said "the two most stressful things you can go through are moving and divorce." The work invovled in moving just two people out of a small apartment borders on lunacy. It dawns on me to think of the expulsions that so many of our ancestors had to endure. I shudder to think of what it would have been like to have to go against your will- and leave so much behind.

I also shudder to think of lifting another box. Oh well... now where is that packing tape?

8 days

2006-08-20T18:39:00.000+03:00

It's ADAR 1 just checking in. Eight days and counting til blast-off...
We'd appreciate any tidbits of advice on what to bring/not to bring on this one year journey in Jerusalem. I've got 8 packets of instant miso soup.

-ADAR1

Bruchim Ha'ba... wait, wait, hold on.

2006-08-20T05:23:00.000+03:00

Howdy, Folks. Nothing to be seen here as we begin our journey soon. Rest assured posts will follow once we are arrived and things are set on the 11thfloor. We hope you will enjoy sharing the view with us.

Kol tuv,
the 11th floor staff