2009

Feeling Random

moocowinthecity 2009-12-15 No Comments

The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade

Perhaps ironically, I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for the Marquis de Sade. I’ve had that cushy special space reserved for him ever since I first discovered who he was, which was around the time I was fifteen and exploring my sexuality textually. He’s one of the few people in history that is actually misunderstood, and that’s not for lack of trying to be understood: he wrote prolifically.

While I’m an existentialist I do hold the fundamental belief that most things in life relate directly back to sex, fetish and the pursuit and eventual fulfillment of that desire. Simply put: the vast majority of the human population wants to be laid and they want to be happy (and there’s nothing wrong with wanting either).

However, by rote of the fact that we cannot change our orientation (the existentialist’s lament that there’s something out of our control) it places limits on existentialism that will forever be outside of the domain of change.

No matter how much we can and do redefine ourselves, the world around us, and how we relate to it and interpret both it and ourselves, the universe does come with some default settings that we don’t have the ability to toy with. However, this hardwiring is also why I believe that human nature – while not necessarily good or evil – attempts to move away from war and towards peace…because in times of peace sexual gratification is easier (war is a very different kind of fetish).

Certainly there have been some great and grand retellings of wars (both non-fictional and fictional) that have been fought for the honor of a lover (The Iliad perhaps the most well known) but for every battle that’s been fought for the heart there’s thousands more that have never been fought on a grand scale, and certainly over the lifetime of our planet millions that have never even shed blood. Perhaps one brave soldier fighting against a windmill as he gets up the courage to fight the spinning dragon and ask the boy out on a date gets a paper cut on his way to hand his heart’s desire a note that he hopes will change the outcome of the rest of his life…but frankly, it’s a lot easier to get laid when you don’t have to worry about the rockets that are flying above you, when you don’t have to worry about where your next meal is going to come from and when you have secure shelter over your head.

“Cool town, evening in the city/Dressing so fine and looking so pretty/Cool cat, looking for a kitty/Gonna look in every corner of the city/Till I’m wheezing like a bus stop/Running up the stairs, gonna meet you on the rooftop”

– Summer in the City

So I am the proud new owner of a C.F. Martin & Co. Backpacker Guitar…apparently it’s a good brand (I know nothing about Guitars…I just know that I want to learn how to play one really well).

I told my Boss today while we were in a meeting about getting Guitar Hero for the office that I bought my Guitar the other day and she asked what brand and I went “C.F. something” and she went “YOUR FIRST GUITAR IS A MARTIN!?” (she plays guitar)…so I guess it’s good. All I know is that it’s the only backpacker guitar that I was able to find, it was on sale, and I’m ready to learn how to jam.

Now before anyone jumps on me and goes “Why in the name of Moses would you ever need Guitar Hero for the office?” it really is a valid purchase. Aside from feeding the hungry, giving condoms to students, hookers, and druggies (and sometimes a student does fall into all three categories) part of my job is student engagement which means bringing students to the office, letting them know it’s a safe space that they can all claim as their own and that the space is there for them to chill out and have their voice heard. It’s a place where they can eat lunch (bring their own or partake of our food if they can’t afford it), where they can take a nap, study torah, not study torah, party, dance, bring their own instruments and make some actual noise or sit and read in quiet, cuddle with friends…and if students want to jam on guitar hero (and we’ve gotten the requests) then guitar hero they’ll have…the only reason we would ever say no to a reasonable request is if we couldn’t afford it…but anything that brings students to the office is a plus in my book…and when they’re done playing Guitar Hero then they’ll help make a sandwich for someone who’s hungry, they’ll wrap tefillin, plant a tree, build a house for someone or do another Mitzvah.

As part of Chai Line we’re also providing free hot chocolate M-F to anyone who needs to warm up a bit. This is in addition to our Matzah Ball Soup program where we deliver free Matzah Ball Soup to the dorm of any student who requests some. I think of all the jobs I’ve ever had, this will be the one I’m most sad to leave.

I also really need to find a successor at the meeting this Sunday to take over my program…I’ve spent a long time creating and developing it…now someone else needs to take the reigns and bring it to the next level.

…I’ll have to go grab some of the Matzah Ball soup myself this week, I’ve seem to have come down with a cold (which is okay, given that it’s my first of the semester and comes with just enough time to get rid of it before Finals).

“Gotta make a move to a/Town that’s right for me/Town to keep me movin’/Keep me groovin’ with some energy/Well, I talk about it/Talk about it/Talk about it/Talk about it/Talk about, Talk about/Talk about movin/Gotta move on/Gotta move on/Gotta move on/Won’t you take me to/Funkytown…”

– Lipps, Inc.

I move to Israel in 26 days…and it can’t come soon enough…I’m tired of the cold wind beating against my skin, whipping past me as I walk to the bus stop each morning and as I walk to my apartment each night…I’m ready for another extreme…a different extreme

I’m ready for an extreme that lets men walk around in next to nothing, letting us extol every sweat glistened muscle rather than forcing people to bundle up…bundling up in layer after layer: starting first with bikini briefs, then boxer briefs, then jeans, then a t-shirt, then a button down shirt, then sometimes a sweater or a hoodie, and then a coat, and then a scarf, and then gloves, and then a hat, and then the hood from the coat on top of that hat…it’s enough to drive any minimalist nuts…too much shit to look after and bring with you everywhere you go so you can be comfortable with the climate as you go throughout your day.

I really need to do the final clean up of my apartment before I move out. My friends come to pick up the last three small pieces of furniture on Saturday…then the only thing that’s left is my Bed, which will go to Charity a few days before I move out.

Zum gali gali

He was a hard-headed man/He was brutally handsome, and she was terminally pretty/She held him up, and he held her for ransom in the heart
of the cold, cold city/He had a nasty reputation as a cruel dude/They said he was ruthless, they said he was crude/They had one thing in common, they were
good in bed/She’d say, ‘Faster, faster. The lights are turnin’ red.”

– Life in the Fast Lane – The Eagles

Today is World A.I.D.S. day.

I went and got HIV tested the other day (I get tested every three months compulsively). I’m negative – not that I was expecting anything different – but there’s no such thing as safe sex…there’s only safer sex.

Not that I’m expecting some kind of party with a banner reading “CONGRATULATIONS, YOU’RE NOT INFECTED!” (what a messed up Carvel cake that would be) but it’s amazing how life circumstances can effect speech…I don’t use the word ‘positive’ anymore in spoken discourse, it’s become a kinehora, a pejorative, something to avoid using regardless of whether it’s in context or not.

I am not one for going to the movies…as a matter of fact, I normally have to be dragged (the fact that I saw Stardust 8 times is nothing short of earth shattering…the only other movie I saw more was Titanic and no I’m not embarrassed to admit it). This also applies to shows. I love reading plays (actually going through the script) but I don’t often go and see them. When Evan had his final exams at New Paltz a couple of years ago I went down and enjoyed the Theatre Departments festivities.

One of the productions was ‘can of soup’ and in a one act play, I saw my worst nightmare (literally): the rich and successful older brother goes to ‘visit’ (read: check up on so he can report back to the family) his younger, AIDS infected, poor, never made it, gay younger brother who lives in the city…his boyfriend dead…leaving him alone.

The theater was dark which I was thankful for, as tears ran down both my cheeks…tears not only because the acting was good (actually, it was fantastic), but because I was thinking of how many time that scene had played out in reality.

A piece of latex saves lives: wear one. AIDS is not curable, but it can sure as hell be prevented. The excuse of “well I have to have fun too” as a reason not to wear a condom is bullshit…and just because it isn’t making headlines the same way it did in the 80s isn’t a good thing…it means we’ve moved from activism to apathy. Fight AIDS, not people with AIDS…but for the love of God…wear a fucking condom.

Thanksgiving & Bed

I’m probably not going to make it to my first class tomorrow (it’s an 8am class) since I’m feeling slow and groggy, but I will make it to campus for Phonetics (we should be getting our grades back on the Spectrographic Analysis which is exciting) and Grammar & Lexicon (less exciting). I have a staff meeting at 3pm and I’m supposed to have dinner with Scott and his Girlfriend since this week Hillel isn’t holding Shabbat Services but we’ll see given that my taste buds are presently on vacation.

I’ll blog about Thanksgiving later :o)

Feeling Random

moocowinthecity 2009-12-15 No Comments

The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade

Perhaps ironically, I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for the Marquis de Sade. I’ve had that cushy special space reserved for him ever since I first discovered who he was, which was around the time I was fifteen and exploring my sexuality textually. He’s one of the few people in history that is actually misunderstood, and that’s not for lack of trying to be understood: he wrote prolifically.

While I’m an existentialist I do hold the fundamental belief that most things in life relate directly back to sex, fetish and the pursuit and eventual fulfillment of that desire. Simply put: the vast majority of the human population wants to be laid and they want to be happy (and there’s nothing wrong with wanting either).

However, by rote of the fact that we cannot change our orientation (the existentialist’s lament that there’s something out of our control) it places limits on existentialism that will forever be outside of the domain of change.

No matter how much we can and do redefine ourselves, the world around us, and how we relate to it and interpret both it and ourselves, the universe does come with some default settings that we don’t have the ability to toy with. However, this hardwiring is also why I believe that human nature – while not necessarily good or evil – attempts to move away from war and towards peace…because in times of peace sexual gratification is easier (war is a very different kind of fetish).

Certainly there have been some great and grand retellings of wars (both non-fictional and fictional) that have been fought for the honor of a lover (The Iliad perhaps the most well known) but for every battle that’s been fought for the heart there’s thousands more that have never been fought on a grand scale, and certainly over the lifetime of our planet millions that have never even shed blood. Perhaps one brave soldier fighting against a windmill as he gets up the courage to fight the spinning dragon and ask the boy out on a date gets a paper cut on his way to hand his heart’s desire a note that he hopes will change the outcome of the rest of his life…but frankly, it’s a lot easier to get laid when you don’t have to worry about the rockets that are flying above you, when you don’t have to worry about where your next meal is going to come from and when you have secure shelter over your head.

“Cool town, evening in the city/Dressing so fine and looking so pretty/Cool cat, looking for a kitty/Gonna look in every corner of the city/Till I’m wheezing like a bus stop/Running up the stairs, gonna meet you on the rooftop”

– Summer in the City

So I am the proud new owner of a C.F. Martin & Co. Backpacker Guitar…apparently it’s a good brand (I know nothing about Guitars…I just know that I want to learn how to play one really well).

I told my Boss today while we were in a meeting about getting Guitar Hero for the office that I bought my Guitar the other day and she asked what brand and I went “C.F. something” and she went “YOUR FIRST GUITAR IS A MARTIN!?” (she plays guitar)…so I guess it’s good. All I know is that it’s the only backpacker guitar that I was able to find, it was on sale, and I’m ready to learn how to jam.

Now before anyone jumps on me and goes “Why in the name of Moses would you ever need Guitar Hero for the office?” it really is a valid purchase. Aside from feeding the hungry, giving condoms to students, hookers, and druggies (and sometimes a student does fall into all three categories) part of my job is student engagement which means bringing students to the office, letting them know it’s a safe space that they can all claim as their own and that the space is there for them to chill out and have their voice heard. It’s a place where they can eat lunch (bring their own or partake of our food if they can’t afford it), where they can take a nap, study torah, not study torah, party, dance, bring their own instruments and make some actual noise or sit and read in quiet, cuddle with friends…and if students want to jam on guitar hero (and we’ve gotten the requests) then guitar hero they’ll have…the only reason we would ever say no to a reasonable request is if we couldn’t afford it…but anything that brings students to the office is a plus in my book…and when they’re done playing Guitar Hero then they’ll help make a sandwich for someone who’s hungry, they’ll wrap tefillin, plant a tree, build a house for someone or do another Mitzvah.

As part of Chai Line we’re also providing free hot chocolate M-F to anyone who needs to warm up a bit. This is in addition to our Matzah Ball Soup program where we deliver free Matzah Ball Soup to the dorm of any student who requests some. I think of all the jobs I’ve ever had, this will be the one I’m most sad to leave.

I also really need to find a successor at the meeting this Sunday to take over my program…I’ve spent a long time creating and developing it…now someone else needs to take the reigns and bring it to the next level.

…I’ll have to go grab some of the Matzah Ball soup myself this week, I’ve seem to have come down with a cold (which is okay, given that it’s my first of the semester and comes with just enough time to get rid of it before Finals).

“Gotta make a move to a/Town that’s right for me/Town to keep me movin’/Keep me groovin’ with some energy/Well, I talk about it/Talk about it/Talk about it/Talk about it/Talk about, Talk about/Talk about movin/Gotta move on/Gotta move on/Gotta move on/Won’t you take me to/Funkytown…”

– Lipps, Inc.

I move to Israel in 26 days…and it can’t come soon enough…I’m tired of the cold wind beating against my skin, whipping past me as I walk to the bus stop each morning and as I walk to my apartment each night…I’m ready for another extreme…a different extreme

I’m ready for an extreme that lets men walk around in next to nothing, letting us extol every sweat glistened muscle rather than forcing people to bundle up…bundling up in layer after layer: starting first with bikini briefs, then boxer briefs, then jeans, then a t-shirt, then a button down shirt, then sometimes a sweater or a hoodie, and then a coat, and then a scarf, and then gloves, and then a hat, and then the hood from the coat on top of that hat…it’s enough to drive any minimalist nuts…too much shit to look after and bring with you everywhere you go so you can be comfortable with the climate as you go throughout your day.

I really need to do the final clean up of my apartment before I move out. My friends come to pick up the last three small pieces of furniture on Saturday…then the only thing that’s left is my Bed, which will go to Charity a few days before I move out.

Zum gali gali

He was a hard-headed man/He was brutally handsome, and she was terminally pretty/She held him up, and he held her for ransom in the heart
of the cold, cold city/He had a nasty reputation as a cruel dude/They said he was ruthless, they said he was crude/They had one thing in common, they were
good in bed/She’d say, ‘Faster, faster. The lights are turnin’ red.”

– Life in the Fast Lane – The Eagles

Today is World A.I.D.S. day.

I went and got HIV tested the other day (I get tested every three months compulsively). I’m negative – not that I was expecting anything different – but there’s no such thing as safe sex…there’s only safer sex.

Not that I’m expecting some kind of party with a banner reading “CONGRATULATIONS, YOU’RE NOT INFECTED!” (what a messed up Carvel cake that would be) but it’s amazing how life circumstances can effect speech…I don’t use the word ‘positive’ anymore in spoken discourse, it’s become a kinehora, a pejorative, something to avoid using regardless of whether it’s in context or not.

I am not one for going to the movies…as a matter of fact, I normally have to be dragged (the fact that I saw Stardust 8 times is nothing short of earth shattering…the only other movie I saw more was Titanic and no I’m not embarrassed to admit it). This also applies to shows. I love reading plays (actually going through the script) but I don’t often go and see them. When Evan had his final exams at New Paltz a couple of years ago I went down and enjoyed the Theatre Departments festivities.

One of the productions was ‘can of soup’ and in a one act play, I saw my worst nightmare (literally): the rich and successful older brother goes to ‘visit’ (read: check up on so he can report back to the family) his younger, AIDS infected, poor, never made it, gay younger brother who lives in the city…his boyfriend dead…leaving him alone.

The theater was dark which I was thankful for, as tears ran down both my cheeks…tears not only because the acting was good (actually, it was fantastic), but because I was thinking of how many time that scene had played out in reality.

A piece of latex saves lives: wear one. AIDS is not curable, but it can sure as hell be prevented. The excuse of “well I have to have fun too” as a reason not to wear a condom is bullshit…and just because it isn’t making headlines the same way it did in the 80s isn’t a good thing…it means we’ve moved from activism to apathy. Fight AIDS, not people with AIDS…but for the love of God…wear a fucking condom.

Thanksgiving & Bed

I’m probably not going to make it to my first class tomorrow (it’s an 8am class) since I’m feeling slow and groggy, but I will make it to campus for Phonetics (we should be getting our grades back on the Spectrographic Analysis which is exciting) and Grammar & Lexicon (less exciting). I have a staff meeting at 3pm and I’m supposed to have dinner with Scott and his Girlfriend since this week Hillel isn’t holding Shabbat Services but we’ll see given that my taste buds are presently on vacation.

I’ll blog about Thanksgiving later :o)

Do you have Prince Albert in a can?

moocowinthecity 2009-12-05 No Comments

I’m alive, and behind on email (shocking…I know)…anyway, blog post tomorrow morning after I edit it, email tomorrow morning and tomorrow night, guard duty on Monday…and lots of things in between.

How’s everyone hanging?

Do you have Prince Albert in a can?

moocowinthecity 2009-12-05 No Comments

I’m alive, and behind on email (shocking…I know)…anyway, blog post tomorrow morning after I edit it, email tomorrow morning and tomorrow night, guard duty on Monday…and lots of things in between.

How’s everyone hanging?

Thanksgiving, Guard Duty, Legumes, Tekens, and a Year and a Half Left

moocowinthecity 2009-12-05 No Comments

Two Weeks Ago

Sunday was a usual Sunday, most of it was sent finishing my summary for the recent group of examinees.

Tuesday nights I teach in Tel Aviv. I taught and after I went to see Shirah. I went snack shopping for guard duty (which I was supposed to start at 0900 on Wednesday by picking up my rifle and then reporting in at 1600hrs to begin guarding).

Wednesday I arrived on base at 0843hrs and I went to my office, dropped some things off and headed to pick up my weapon. For whatever reason, security asked me when I last re-certified at the range (I was a bit shocked…mostly because I’m not used to the security office actually doing their job). I checked my firing card, turns out I’m two months expired. Shit.

In theory (very…very…very…theoretical theory) it’s our Company Sergeant Majors job to keep track of all this, since he has to find an officer to take us shooting every six months…but in neither in theory nor in practice does it work…

What those of you who are not in the IDF need to know is that the IDF uses words like CSM and Non Commissioned Officer in ways that make the US Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine Corps cringe…because they don’t mean the same things here that they do in the US (…or in any other army, anywhere)…and we’re an egalitarian army too…which means that the level of respect afforded to someone is almost entirely based on their position in the army and their thoughts on Bamba…not on their rank.

As I was saying…I went back to the base commander (who I was then sure would wonder why this ‘problem soldier’ keept coming to his office) and I explained to him the situation. He told me to find an officer in my branch who can take me shooting. I walk to find one. Turns out I have no officers in my branch who can take me shooting, they’re all busy. I walk back to the base commander. He tells me to call my direct commander (a Lt. Colonel) and have him come from HQ to take my shooting. I walk out of his office and call my commander, prefacing it with a “don’t shoot the messenger” and am promptly told that he has a meeting and can’t come and take me shooting (which I knew). I walked back to the Base Commanders office and explain the situation. He managed to find a driver to take me and another soldier to a basic training base and I’m told to find an officer there and have her see me let off five rounds and to call it a day!

Now…I have pins on my uniform…I have rank on my uniform…I am very much not in basic training…this, however, didn’t stop a low-level 2nd Lieutenant (who was pretty confused when we told her all she had to do was visually confirm that I shot five rounds) from flipping her shit when she realized I was carrying more than five bullets (whenever I’m walking around with an M16 I always have at least two clips on me)…after some explaining that no, I am not in fact in basic training, she demanded to call my commanding officer…I told her she was more than welcome to call the Lt. Colonel to let him know that I was – as I’m supposed to – carrying the requisite number of clips…she said that she’d rather just sign the form and wished us a good day.

So, back to base we went!

I was on “single patrol” (פטרול יחיד) on Wednesday night/Thursday morning. At around 0100hrs I heard something crash, so I called it in on the radio and waited with my M16 at the ready for an officer to come and check it out with me.

Sure enough, about two seconds after the officer arrived, a man dressed in black sweatpants and a black t-shirt comes out of a room. As stoicdaydreamer said, all he needed was a ski mask. As it turns out, he was a soldier (just out of uniform), who was on turn-duty that night to man a war room…he was lucky I didn’t shoot him on general principle.

That morning I did “Trampiada” where you make sure soldiers don’t hitchhike or get kidnapped, and then I was on rapid responder until noon. Fortunately, by 1300hrs I had returned my weapon and was comfortably back in my office.

Thursday night my commander and I were invited to take part in a Thanksgiving dinner by an American Lt. Colonel that we sometimes find ourselves working with and I was thankful to have the chance to enjoy some stuffing, traditional pumpkin dishes, and a festive holiday environment.

Friday night I crashed at Shirah’s apartment and woke up and made my way to Ashkelon in the early afternoon (I’ve had a cold that’s been following me so Jerusalem been postponed by a few weeks). As I was waiting for my bus a security worker came up to me and told me to move, there was a suspicious bag at the end of where I was sitting.

In Israel, you learn to never – ever – leave your bag or package somewhere unattended (not for lack of reason) and so I quickly complied.

What I found shocking was that some of the younger children were arguing with the security detail, and someone in their 20-30s tried to shove the police officer out of his way when attempting to find his bus (which wasn’t there, due to the bomb scare).

I noticed that crowds were building (since Sunday and Friday are notorious days for travel in Israel) and didn’t like that if something were to happen, there was lots of glass around (and metal poles that would make it difficult to leave). Taking a lesson from a family friend of ours, who’s father was a Marine, I kept my head down and made my way out – her father had seen quite a few guys not make it out because they wanted to see what was going on.

I called my Kibbutz and asked them when the next shuttle would be in Ahsqelon and was happy to hear that I only had to wait another hour. I made my way home and slept, woke up for dinner, came back and slept…and sleeping, resting, and drinking fluids is what I’ve been doing most of the weekend.

Last Week

So we’re currently in the budget planning phase, what this means is that I should have my answer soon as to whether or not we’ll receive the line item which will allow me to be promoted to an Academic Officer. If not, then in 1 year, six months, and 18 days I’ll be heading to teach High School in Israel while working on my masters degree. My teaching options are right now an offer to teach in Jerusalem, the potential to teach in Ashkelon, the

I am rediculously behind in email…I cannot wait to buy a desk this month so I can have a place to sit for more than five minutes that doesn’t send my back into fits while hunching over a keyboard.

Today

Thanksgiving, Guard Duty, Legumes, Tekens, and a Year and a Half Left

moocowinthecity 2009-12-05 No Comments

Two Weeks Ago

Sunday was a usual Sunday, most of it was sent finishing my summary for the recent group of examinees.

Tuesday nights I teach in Tel Aviv. I taught and after I went to see Shirah. I went snack shopping for guard duty (which I was supposed to start at 0900 on Wednesday by picking up my rifle and then reporting in at 1600hrs to begin guarding).

Wednesday I arrived on base at 0843hrs and I went to my office, dropped some things off and headed to pick up my weapon. For whatever reason, security asked me when I last re-certified at the range (I was a bit shocked…mostly because I’m not used to the security office actually doing their job). I checked my firing card, turns out I’m two months expired. Shit.

In theory (very…very…very…theoretical theory) it’s our Company Sergeant Majors job to keep track of all this, since he has to find an officer to take us shooting every six months…but in neither in theory nor in practice does it work…

What those of you who are not in the IDF need to know is that the IDF uses words like CSM and Non Commissioned Officer in ways that make the US Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine Corps cringe…because they don’t mean the same things here that they do in the US (…or in any other army, anywhere)…and we’re an egalitarian army too…which means that the level of respect afforded to someone is almost entirely based on their position in the army and their thoughts on Bamba…not on their rank.

As I was saying…I went back to the base commander (who I was then sure would wonder why this ‘problem soldier’ keept coming to his office) and I explained to him the situation. He told me to find an officer in my branch who can take me shooting. I walk to find one. Turns out I have no officers in my branch who can take me shooting, they’re all busy. I walk back to the base commander. He tells me to call my direct commander (a Lt. Colonel) and have him come from HQ to take my shooting. I walk out of his office and call my commander, prefacing it with a “don’t shoot the messenger” and am promptly told that he has a meeting and can’t come and take me shooting (which I knew). I walked back to the Base Commanders office and explain the situation. He managed to find a driver to take me and another soldier to a basic training base and I’m told to find an officer there and have her see me let off five rounds and to call it a day!

Now…I have pins on my uniform…I have rank on my uniform…I am very much not in basic training…this, however, didn’t stop a low-level 2nd Lieutenant (who was pretty confused when we told her all she had to do was visually confirm that I shot five rounds) from flipping her shit when she realized I was carrying more than five bullets (whenever I’m walking around with an M16 I always have at least two clips on me)…after some explaining that no, I am not in fact in basic training, she demanded to call my commanding officer…I told her she was more than welcome to call the Lt. Colonel to let him know that I was – as I’m supposed to – carrying the requisite number of clips…she said that she’d rather just sign the form and wished us a good day.

So, back to base we went!

I was on “single patrol” (פטרול יחיד) on Wednesday night/Thursday morning. At around 0100hrs I heard something crash, so I called it in on the radio and waited with my M16 at the ready for an officer to come and check it out with me.

Sure enough, about two seconds after the officer arrived, a man dressed in black sweatpants and a black t-shirt comes out of a room. As

stoicdaydreamer said, all he needed was a ski mask. As it turns out, he was a soldier (just out of uniform), who was on turn-duty that night to man a war room…he was lucky I didn’t shoot him on general principle.

That morning I did “Trampiada” where you make sure soldiers don’t hitchhike or get kidnapped, and then I was on rapid responder until noon. Fortunately, by 1300hrs I had returned my weapon and was comfortably back in my office.

Thursday night my commander and I were invited to take part in a Thanksgiving dinner by an American Lt. Colonel that we sometimes find ourselves working with and I was thankful to have the chance to enjoy some stuffing, traditional pumpkin dishes, and a festive holiday environment.

Friday night I crashed at Shirah’s apartment and woke up and made my way to Ashkelon in the early afternoon (I’ve had a cold that’s been following me so Jerusalem been postponed by a few weeks). As I was waiting for my bus a security worker came up to me and told me to move, there was a suspicious bag at the end of where I was sitting.

In Israel, you learn to never – ever – leave your bag or package somewhere unattended (not for lack of reason) and so I quickly complied.

What I found shocking was that some of the younger children were arguing with the security detail, and someone in their 20-30s tried to shove the police officer out of his way when attempting to find his bus (which wasn’t there, due to the bomb scare).

I noticed that crowds were building (since Sunday and Friday are notorious days for travel in Israel) and didn’t like that if something were to happen, there was lots of glass around (and metal poles that would make it difficult to leave). Taking a lesson from a family friend of ours, who’s father was a Marine, I kept my head down and made my way out – her father had seen quite a few guys not make it out because they wanted to see what was going on.

I called my Kibbutz and asked them when the next shuttle would be in Ahsqelon and was happy to hear that I only had to wait another hour. I made my way home and slept, woke up for dinner, came back and slept…and sleeping, resting, and drinking fluids is what I’ve been doing most of the weekend.

Last Week

So we’re currently in the budget planning phase, what this means is that I should have my answer soon as to whether or not we’ll receive the line item which will allow me to be promoted to an Academic Officer. If not, then in 1 year, six months, and 18 days I’ll be heading to teach High School in Israel while working on my masters degree. My teaching options are right now an offer to teach in Jerusalem, the potential to teach in Ashkelon, the

I am rediculously behind in email…I cannot wait to buy a desk this month so I can have a place to sit for more than five minutes that doesn’t send my back into fits while hunching over a keyboard.

Today

A Year in the IDF Ground Forces Command Foreign Relations Branch

moocowinthecity 2009-11-19 No Comments

November 26, 2009 will mark one year in the Foreign Relations Branch at the IDF Ground Forces Command .

It has been an incredible year and a once in a life time opportunity. I’ve gotten to do fieldwork across the country, setup and run a field office during Army to Army Staff Talks, I’ve run examinations while standing on top of a tank, and along the way I’ve met some incredible people. All off the soldiers that I work with have also become my friends, and we’ve developed a close knit community which has made the experience half of what it is.

The only problem I and the other chayalim bodedim (lone soldiers) have run into is that the army really doesn’t meet our needs financially (for food, housing, etc). We’re on an open base (compared with a closed base, where you go home every few weeks, we go home every night). The army doesn’t take this into account when figuring out how much money we should receive each month. On top of this, my kibbutz still hasn’t been paid for the year that I’ve lived there (and I may have to seek new housing shortly because of this). All of us don’t make enough at the moment to cover “extra” costs…like…food, toilet paper, toothpaste, etc. This is currently a work in progress and a cause I’ve taken up on behalf of the lone soldiers in my branch. It is my hope to have it resolved soon, to the satisfaction of all parties involved. Through all of this, all of us remain committed to the State of Israel, the IDF, the Ground Forces Command and the Foreign Relations Branch.

That being said, any debt I’ve incurred due to my service in the IDF I’m writing off and considering part of my (eventual) graduate school tuition (I think I’ll file it under ‘pre-room and board’). I’ve started working in my field within one year of graduating. I oversee translations, run a growing ESL program and I’m in charge of testing and diagnostics for the entire Ground Forces Command. Awesome. I’m in a unit with eight other soldiers (right now there’s nine soldiers and nine officers in my branch) and I’ve been afforded with a rare opportunity to work alongside the leaders of this army. I’m thankful that my commander had both the command and common sense to let me do my own thing (within reason) and to allow me to define my own position in the branch. He’s a rare find in the IDF.

So, what’s next?

Despite what I do in the army, the army doesn’t recognize “linguist” as an army profession (there are army professions that you can have added to your file after a 30-90 day course. These professions range from medic to tank repairman). The army does, however, recognize both my degree and teaching certification (as does the State of Israel – I had my degree recognized by the state as part of the process I went through to enter the army). So they recognize I have them, they just won’t recognize them as something valid or worthwhile in keeping in the army (which makes signing on for more time as a contract soldier or future officer more difficult).

I’ve already extended my time to the maximum time allowed for someone without a military profession. My officer has been trying to convince the army to have them give me the rank of Academic Officer (which I qualify for). The problem that we ran into was that our branch doesn’t have a line budget item for an Academic Officer (welcome to the Middle East, home of red tape). I was invited to attend the Officer Candidate School. However, to attend the OCS you either need to a) already have a military profession, having gone through a course after basic training or b) attend the OCS for a particular profession. The program they offered me was the OCS for Human Resources…

…I’m in charge of English testing and diagnostics…I’ve sat with generals from around the world and provided linguistic support at meetings with the world armies…I write the correspondence for generals…I do what I love, working with languages and text daily and they want me to move from this to be a low level officer in charge of vacation time and making sure people properly log their days off? I declined (graciously) and instead of just signing the form that said “I’m not interested in the OCS” I sent them a letter enumerating the OCS programs that I would be more than happy to sign on for.

Either we’ll get the line item in the budget and I’ll be promoted to Academic Officer and then two years later Senior Academic Officer or I’ll be sent another letter in the mail telling me I’m invited to either the same or a different OCS program or I’ll finish out my service as a Staff Sergeant (I’m promoted to Sergeant May 20, 2010 thanks to time based, not merit based promotions) and then head to teach in Jerusalem. Ether way I’m happy with how things will work out…I just think it will be unfortunate if I only have a year and a half left to work with my current students.

The benefit to teaching in Jerusalem is that while I’ll be teaching in a High School or a Middle School I’ll have ample time to attend language courses at night. I’ll have plenty of time to study Hebrew and Arabic on my own, and with easy access to the Old City, native Hebrew and Arabic speakers are at my disposal and just a heart beat away. I’ll once again be able to purchase my food at the shook (oh…oh how I miss the shook…cheap, cheap, cheap amazing food)…and, as always, public transportation is my best friend and is in abundance in comparison to where I’m presently living.

Shirah’s (stoicdaydreamer) uncle is the mayor of Ma’aleh Adumim and he’s told me that I have a job teaching as soon as I finish my service. This has relieved a great deal of the “WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO AFTER I FINISH MY SERVICE” stress that most soldiers feel before they’re released from the IDF. I finish my service (if all things remain the same) on June 19, 2011. This means I’ll be able to begin teaching as soon as school begins in August 2011.

I’ll have my debt paid off after a year of teaching (if not sooner), two more years and I should have enough to cover the first year or so of graduate school (I’ve narrowed down my options to a M.A./Ph.D. in either Hebrew, Arabic, Linguistics, or something similar, a combined MA/MSW program in Judaic Studies & Social Work, or something in the realm of Translation, Judaic Studies and/or Anthropology).

Before I begin applying to graduate school I want to do some form of internship or work with the Dead Sea Scrolls (another benefit to working in Jerusalem is that it’s at the epicenter of Hebrew documents and lots of other really, really old things…). My plan of attack for getting into some kind of Dead Sea Scroll internship is to work off of past experience…find a place offering an internship, go there every day…pester harass stalk talk to everyone until they relent give up plead for mercy offer me an internship (or create one for me).

So, I was lucky (blessed) enough to move out of the US and gain dual citizenship right before the market crashed, I’m working in my field in a job that I can’t be fired from before my contract runs out on June 19, 2011, living rent free in a country where LGBT people have more rights than they do in the US, can serve legally and openly as a gay man in the army, and I have socialized medicine – thank God.

What I am not so successful at is my NaNoWriMo word count…which is pitifully low…it’s been a long month…

This weekend I’m going to be camping out on the beach at Ma’agan Michael, reading, and relaxing.

Peace, Love & Hummus,

Matan

A Year in the IDF Ground Forces Command Foreign Relations Branch

moocowinthecity 2009-11-19 No Comments

November 26, 2009 will mark one year in the Foreign Relations Branch at the IDF Ground Forces Command .

It has been an incredible year and a once in a life time opportunity. I’ve gotten to do fieldwork across the country, setup and run a field office during Army to Army Staff Talks, I’ve run examinations while standing on top of a tank, and along the way I’ve met some incredible people. All off the soldiers that I work with have also become my friends, and we’ve developed a close knit community which has made the experience half of what it is.

The only problem I and the other chayalim bodedim (lone soldiers) have run into is that the army really doesn’t meet our needs financially (for food, housing, etc). We’re on an open base (compared with a closed base, where you go home every few weeks, we go home every night). The army doesn’t take this into account when figuring out how much money we should receive each month. On top of this, my kibbutz still hasn’t been paid for the year that I’ve lived there (and I may have to seek new housing shortly because of this). All of us don’t make enough at the moment to cover “extra” costs…like…food, toilet paper, toothpaste, etc. This is currently a work in progress and a cause I’ve taken up on behalf of the lone soldiers in my branch. It is my hope to have it resolved soon, to the satisfaction of all parties involved. Through all of this, all of us remain committed to the State of Israel, the IDF, the Ground Forces Command and the Foreign Relations Branch.

That being said, any debt I’ve incurred due to my service in the IDF I’m writing off and considering part of my (eventual) graduate school tuition (I think I’ll file it under ‘pre-room and board’). I’ve started working in my field within one year of graduating. I oversee translations, run a growing ESL program and I’m in charge of testing and diagnostics for the entire Ground Forces Command. Awesome. I’m in a unit with eight other soldiers (right now there’s nine soldiers and nine officers in my branch) and I’ve been afforded with a rare opportunity to work alongside the leaders of this army. I’m thankful that my commander had both the command and common sense to let me do my own thing (within reason) and to allow me to define my own position in the branch. He’s a rare find in the IDF.

So, what’s next?

Despite what I do in the army, the army doesn’t recognize “linguist” as an army profession (there are army professions that you can have added to your file after a 30-90 day course. These professions range from medic to tank repairman). The army does, however, recognize both my degree and teaching certification (as does the State of Israel – I had my degree recognized by the state as part of the process I went through to enter the army). So they recognize I have them, they just won’t recognize them as something valid or worthwhile in keeping in the army (which makes signing on for more time as a contract soldier or future officer more difficult).

I’ve already extended my time to the maximum time allowed for someone without a military profession. My officer has been trying to convince the army to have them give me the rank of Academic Officer (which I qualify for). The problem that we ran into was that our branch doesn’t have a line budget item for an Academic Officer (welcome to the Middle East, home of red tape). I was invited to attend the Officer Candidate School. However, to attend the OCS you either need to a) already have a military profession, having gone through a course after basic training or b) attend the OCS for a particular profession. The program they offered me was the OCS for Human Resources…

…I’m in charge of English testing and diagnostics…I’ve sat with generals from around the world and provided linguistic support at meetings with the world armies…I write the correspondence for generals…I do what I love, working with languages and text daily and they want me to move from this to be a low level officer in charge of vacation time and making sure people properly log their days off? I declined (graciously) and instead of just signing the form that said “I’m not interested in the OCS” I sent them a letter enumerating the OCS programs that I would be more than happy to sign on for.

Either we’ll get the line item in the budget and I’ll be promoted to Academic Officer and then two years later Senior Academic Officer or I’ll be sent another letter in the mail telling me I’m invited to either the same or a different OCS program or I’ll finish out my service as a Staff Sergeant (I’m promoted to Sergeant May 20, 2010 thanks to time based, not merit based promotions) and then head to teach in Jerusalem. Ether way I’m happy with how things will work out…I just think it will be unfortunate if I only have a year and a half left to work with my current students.

The benefit to teaching in Jerusalem is that while I’ll be teaching in a High School or a Middle School I’ll have ample time to attend language courses at night. I’ll have plenty of time to study Hebrew and Arabic on my own, and with easy access to the Old City, native Hebrew and Arabic speakers are at my disposal and just a heart beat away. I’ll once again be able to purchase my food at the shook (oh…oh how I miss the shook…cheap, cheap, cheap amazing food)…and, as always, public transportation is my best friend and is in abundance in comparison to where I’m presently living.

Shirah’s (

stoicdaydreamer) uncle is the mayor of Ma’aleh Adumim and he’s told me that I have a job teaching as soon as I finish my service. This has relieved a great deal of the “WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO AFTER I FINISH MY SERVICE” stress that most soldiers feel before they’re released from the IDF. I finish my service (if all things remain the same) on June 19, 2011. This means I’ll be able to begin teaching as soon as school begins in August 2011.

I’ll have my debt paid off after a year of teaching (if not sooner), two more years and I should have enough to cover the first year or so of graduate school (I’ve narrowed down my options to a M.A./Ph.D. in either Hebrew, Arabic, Linguistics, or something similar, a combined MA/MSW program in Judaic Studies & Social Work, or something in the realm of Translation, Judaic Studies and/or Anthropology).

Before I begin applying to graduate school I want to do some form of internship or work with the Dead Sea Scrolls (another benefit to working in Jerusalem is that it’s at the epicenter of Hebrew documents and lots of other really, really old things…). My plan of attack for getting into some kind of Dead Sea Scroll internship is to work off of past experience…find a place offering an internship, go there every day…pester harass stalk talk to everyone until they relent give up plead for mercy offer me an internship (or create one for me).

So, I was lucky (blessed) enough to move out of the US and gain dual citizenship right before the market crashed, I’m working in my field in a job that I can’t be fired from before my contract runs out on June 19, 2011, living rent free in a country where LGBT people have more rights than they do in the US, can serve legally and openly as a gay man in the army, and I have socialized medicine – thank God.

What I am not so successful at is my NaNoWriMo word count…which is pitifully low…it’s been a long month…

This weekend I’m going to be camping out on the beach at Ma’agan Michael, reading, and relaxing.

Peace, Love & Hummus,

Matan

Last Shabbat, Last Week, This Shabbat, This Coming Week

moocowinthecity 2009-11-15 No Comments

Last weekend I went to meet a new friend for the first time. Itai (nir1) introduced the two of us to each other because he thought that we would enjoy each others company. The friend I was introduced to is Aleks. He wanted to come to my Kibbutz for the weekend (he’s currently studying on the same ulpan I did when I arrived in Israel…he’s even working with the same cows I worked with!).

I told him that, in all honesty, there is nothing to do on my Kibbutz on the weekend (really, the place is dead). Instead, I suggested that we go to Jerusalem for Shabbat at the Kotel. I have been to Shabbat in Jerusalem many times before, though never at the Kotel…and I thought it was about time.

We decided to stay at Heritage House, a free religious hostel in the heart of the Old City (I stayed there during my pre-aliyah trip). After dropping off our bags and after I was able to jump out of my uniform and he was able to change, we made our way down the main road to the Kotel.

When we got to the stairs, I couldn’t believe what I saw – the stairs were teeming with people. A group of girls were singing and people were joining in…the only thing I could think of as their voices reached the heavens was Miriam leading the women to the river…dancing…people weren’t walking…everyone was dancing! Even if they were dancing slowly, they were dancing none the less…it was a sea of people making their way down the stairs to the Kotel. I turned to my friend and told him to say hello to his extended, global family, apparently they all decided to show up. We waved hi.

As we finally started to make our way down the stairs we began to dance with everyone. We made our way through security and entered. We rushed to ritually wash our hands at the fountains. Three times each hand and then we continued to make our way down to the wall itself…our bodies moving us. I was wearing jeans, converse sneakers, a t-shirt and a jacket and my very obvious tattoos. I don’t own much more than jeans and a few t-shirts outside of things that are green with “Tzahal” imprinted on them these days. My friend was similarly dressed. No one thought anything of it. Not a single comment, not a single evil eye.

So here we were…

We had our Kippot on

…now what?

Somewhere in the middle of the men’s section a Haredi man (he was wearing a tall black fur hat and a black coat, and he had pais…no shiny bathrobe though…I’m not sure what sect he was, but he was definitely Haredi) was shouting “Minyan! Minyan!” so we walked up to him and we said “we’d love to…but we’ve never prayed with someone who’s Haredi before…we don’t know how you pray” he asked us what our first language was and if we were Jewish (we had refused to speak in anything other than Hebrew that weekend and outside of once or twice – primarily to tourists and a nun – we did a good job of it) and we told him English and that yes, we were Jewish. He asked us where we were from and we told him – it turns out he’s from Upstate New York. He said not to worry, he’d show us.

He got out two prayer books, and waited for a few more people to arrive…and then we started to pray, and all around us voices were singing…people rocking back and forth, myself included, because your body moves to the beat of the prayer…like when camels move across the desert and flow like a ribbon, there’s a beat that everyone just picks up and you can’t help but to move.

If the sound of re-constructionist, reform, conservative, orthodox and haredi singing together in what ultimately turns into a cannon of Lecha Dodi as we all started Kabbalat Shabbat just a few moments apart from each other does not move Hashem and lift the angels and please them all, I don’t know what will – I’m still walking on the clouds.

And we prayed together, this Haredi man turning the pages for us and pointing to where we were if we got confused, and while I might not have known the order or why we turned pages back and forth and I still don’t think reading as fast as possible is the best way of doing things, I certainly knew the prayers…and then something happened that I have been praying will happen at Or-Elohim (my congregation back in New York) for years.

Everyone who I was praying with, primarily old men, started clapping…they were clapping out to the Lord, and singing…clapping and singing LOUDLY! We were uninhibitedly rejoicing in what Shabbat has to offer us…every embroidery of Jews dancing, every tapestry, every appliqué, every talis border of Jews dancing the Horah flashed before my eyes as I clapped and prayed and sang out, as it is written in the book of Psalms “from the depths of my soul I will call to you” with the Hebrew jumping off the pages of the prayer books and swirling around us, wrapping us in the warmth of Shabbat.

CLAPPING! Singing! Swaying! You’d think we were at a rock concert! Nothing else mattered because Shabbat was finally here! The Midrash says that the Land of Israel is situated in the center of the world, and Jerusalem is in the center of the Land of Israel, and the Holy Temple is in the center of Jerusalem…and if anyone comes on a Friday night and sees the moving masses of skin colors that traverses the pallet of colors that comprise the human flesh then they will know that there have been few truer words ever spoken…perhaps only: “Shema Yisrael…”

If clapping and singing and dancing is good enough for the Kotel, if bringing in people regardless of how they are dressed is good enough for the Haredim at the Kotel, if all of this is good enough for the Kotel then it has to be good enough for everywhere else in the world! This…this is the standard that we should be striving for!

After we finished praying and we shook hands with those who prayed with us, Aleks and I made our way to a rooftop that I know of. This particular rooftop happens to be where all of the quarters in the Old City intersect and we shared fresh vegetables from the shook and looked out over the Temple Mount and we enjoyed the night sky of Jerusalem, lit up by the stars.

…this didn’t save us, however, from being yelled at for daring to feed ourselves: “HOW DARE YOU! THERE ARE FAMILIES WHO ARE DYING TO FEED YOU!” the manager of Heritage House screamed at us hours later as we (sheepishly) promised that next time we would take them up on their dinner offer and made our way upstairs to sleep for the night.

There’s a man and a Rabbi in the Old City who have been matching people, tourists, students, and guests up with places to eat every Friday night and for every lunch on Shabbat for the past thirty years (and if you’re vegan or diabetic, does he have a family for you!).

…this is my kind of Judaism.

The next day we woke up early and went to the Citadel of David to explore the museum and see one of my favorite movies on Jerusalem. I’m still trying to find a copy on the Internet and I’m going to email the Citadel and see if they won’t post one later tomorrow. The movie is a fifteen minute introduction to Jerusalem which I think should be required viewing for anyone who wants to talk about the subject, regardless of political or religious persuasion.

After we finished the video, toured the museum, and ate a lunch of cucumbers, tomatoes and pomegranate we walked out through the Jaffa Gate and around to the Lion Gate to walk the Via Dolorosa, the road that Jesus took to his death.

Along the way we stopped to have coffee at my favorite café (also introduced to me by nir1), the café at the Austrian Hospice. After sipping on coffee and resting for a bit, we continued walking the Via Dolorosa.

The Via Dolorosa ends at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. A place that I have been to many times, and will go to many more times in the future. The church is big, beautiful, and mysterious; always comfortable inside (by any measure) and something that has to be experienced to really understand. I have had the pleasure of being there on Easter as well as many other times of prayer and it is truly just awesome.

After finishing, we finally made our way back to the Jewish Quarter of the Old City where we moseyed on back to the Hostel where I changed back into uniform and we then welcomed the new week at Havdallah services with a Rabbi, the hostel manager and fellow guests over a wonderful dinner (I am of the opinion that it is next to impossible to starve in the Old City).

After we said our goodbyes and helped clean up a bit, we walked back from the Old City to the Central Bus Station (about thirty minutes) and took a bus to Tel Aviv where we parted ways and I went back down south and Aleks went back up north.

This past week was incredibly busy – between translations, writing speeches for generals going abroad, telling them what they should write in books they’re giving as presents (“I hope you’ll enjoy this book as much as I did!”), administering examinations, grading and teaching I was ready to pass out.

The entire week, by and large, remains a blur…but a productive blur, spent with friends. I’m truly blessed by working with fellow soldiers who have become a second family for me.

The more stressed I am, the more I clean and the more I organize…which means my room on the Kibbutz is almost at the point where Moshe Rabbeinu could eat off the floor if he felt like it, my classroom is spotless, and my office is anal retentive to the point where they don’t have ICD9 codes strong enough to cover the situation.

I spent a rather solitary Shabbat by myself on the Kibbutz this weekend, a stark contrast to last weekend, but a necessary break primarily involving sleep, cartoons, and comedy. Tomorrow I’m being sent to interpret between two different groups of people, which is exciting…and we’ll see how it goes.

Now, time to pack my bag for tomorrow and head to sleep.

G’night everyone.

Last Shabbat, Last Week, This Shabbat, This Coming Week

moocowinthecity 2009-11-15 No Comments

Last weekend I went to meet a new friend for the first time. Itai (

nir1) introduced the two of us to each other because he thought that we would enjoy each others company. The friend I was introduced to is Aleks. He wanted to come to my Kibbutz for the weekend (he’s currently studying on the same ulpan I did when I arrived in Israel…he’s even working with the same cows I worked with!).

I told him that, in all honesty, there is nothing to do on my Kibbutz on the weekend (really, the place is dead). Instead, I suggested that we go to Jerusalem for Shabbat at the Kotel. I have been to Shabbat in Jerusalem many times before, though never at the Kotel…and I thought it was about time.

We decided to stay at Heritage House, a free religious hostel in the heart of the Old City (I stayed there during my pre-aliyah trip). After dropping off our bags and after I was able to jump out of my uniform and he was able to change, we made our way down the main road to the Kotel.

When we got to the stairs, I couldn’t believe what I saw – the stairs were teeming with people. A group of girls were singing and people were joining in…the only thing I could think of as their voices reached the heavens was Miriam leading the women to the river…dancing…people weren’t walking…everyone was dancing! Even if they were dancing slowly, they were dancing none the less…it was a sea of people making their way down the stairs to the Kotel. I turned to my friend and told him to say hello to his extended, global family, apparently they all decided to show up. We waved hi.

As we finally started to make our way down the stairs we began to dance with everyone. We made our way through security and entered. We rushed to ritually wash our hands at the fountains. Three times each hand and then we continued to make our way down to the wall itself…our bodies moving us. I was wearing jeans, converse sneakers, a t-shirt and a jacket and my very obvious tattoos. I don’t own much more than jeans and a few t-shirts outside of things that are green with “Tzahal” imprinted on them these days. My friend was similarly dressed. No one thought anything of it. Not a single comment, not a single evil eye.

So here we were…

We had our Kippot on

…now what?

Somewhere in the middle of the men’s section a Haredi man (he was wearing a tall black fur hat and a black coat, and he had pais…no shiny bathrobe though…I’m not sure what sect he was, but he was definitely Haredi) was shouting “Minyan! Minyan!” so we walked up to him and we said “we’d love to…but we’ve never prayed with someone who’s Haredi before…we don’t know how you pray” he asked us what our first language was and if we were Jewish (we had refused to speak in anything other than Hebrew that weekend and outside of once or twice – primarily to tourists and a nun – we did a good job of it) and we told him English and that yes, we were Jewish. He asked us where we were from and we told him – it turns out he’s from Upstate New York. He said not to worry, he’d show us.

He got out two prayer books, and waited for a few more people to arrive…and then we started to pray, and all around us voices were singing…people rocking back and forth, myself included, because your body moves to the beat of the prayer…like when camels move across the desert and flow like a ribbon, there’s a beat that everyone just picks up and you can’t help but to move.

If the sound of re-constructionist, reform, conservative, orthodox and haredi singing together in what ultimately turns into a cannon of Lecha Dodi as we all started Kabbalat Shabbat just a few moments apart from each other does not move Hashem and lift the angels and please them all, I don’t know what will – I’m still walking on the clouds.

And we prayed together, this Haredi man turning the pages for us and pointing to where we were if we got confused, and while I might not have known the order or why we turned pages back and forth and I still don’t think reading as fast as possible is the best way of doing things, I certainly knew the prayers…and then something happened that I have been praying will happen at Or-Elohim (my congregation back in New York) for years.

Everyone who I was praying with, primarily old men, started clapping…they were clapping out to the Lord, and singing…clapping and singing LOUDLY! We were uninhibitedly rejoicing in what Shabbat has to offer us…every embroidery of Jews dancing, every tapestry, every appliqué, every talis border of Jews dancing the Horah flashed before my eyes as I clapped and prayed and sang out, as it is written in the book of Psalms “from the depths of my soul I will call to you” with the Hebrew jumping off the pages of the prayer books and swirling around us, wrapping us in the warmth of Shabbat.

CLAPPING! Singing! Swaying! You’d think we were at a rock concert! Nothing else mattered because Shabbat was finally here! The Midrash says that the Land of Israel is situated in the center of the world, and Jerusalem is in the center of the Land of Israel, and the Holy Temple is in the center of Jerusalem…and if anyone comes on a Friday night and sees the moving masses of skin colors that traverses the pallet of colors that comprise the human flesh then they will know that there have been few truer words ever spoken…perhaps only: “Shema Yisrael…”

If clapping and singing and dancing is good enough for the Kotel, if bringing in people regardless of how they are dressed is good enough for the Haredim at the Kotel, if all of this is good enough for the Kotel then it has to be good enough for everywhere else in the world! This…this is the standard that we should be striving for!

After we finished praying and we shook hands with those who prayed with us, Aleks and I made our way to a rooftop that I know of. This particular rooftop happens to be where all of the quarters in the Old City intersect and we shared fresh vegetables from the shook and looked out over the Temple Mount and we enjoyed the night sky of Jerusalem, lit up by the stars.

…this didn’t save us, however, from being yelled at for daring to feed ourselves: “HOW DARE YOU! THERE ARE FAMILIES WHO ARE DYING TO FEED YOU!” the manager of Heritage House screamed at us hours later as we (sheepishly) promised that next time we would take them up on their dinner offer and made our way upstairs to sleep for the night.

There’s a man and a Rabbi in the Old City who have been matching people, tourists, students, and guests up with places to eat every Friday night and for every lunch on Shabbat for the past thirty years (and if you’re vegan or diabetic, does he have a family for you!).

…this is my kind of Judaism.

The next day we woke up early and went to the Citadel of David to explore the museum and see one of my favorite movies on Jerusalem. I’m still trying to find a copy on the Internet and I’m going to email the Citadel and see if they won’t post one later tomorrow. The movie is a fifteen minute introduction to Jerusalem which I think should be required viewing for anyone who wants to talk about the subject, regardless of political or religious persuasion.

After we finished the video, toured the museum, and ate a lunch of cucumbers, tomatoes and pomegranate we walked out through the Jaffa Gate and around to the Lion Gate to walk the Via Dolorosa, the road that Jesus took to his death.

Along the way we stopped to have coffee at my favorite café (also introduced to me by

nir1), the café at the Austrian Hospice. After sipping on coffee and resting for a bit, we continued walking the Via Dolorosa.

The Via Dolorosa ends at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. A place that I have been to many times, and will go to many more times in the future. The church is big, beautiful, and mysterious; always comfortable inside (by any measure) and something that has to be experienced to really understand. I have had the pleasure of being there on Easter as well as many other times of prayer and it is truly just awesome.

After finishing, we finally made our way back to the Jewish Quarter of the Old City where we moseyed on back to the Hostel where I changed back into uniform and we then welcomed the new week at Havdallah services with a Rabbi, the hostel manager and fellow guests over a wonderful dinner (I am of the opinion that it is next to impossible to starve in the Old City).

After we said our goodbyes and helped clean up a bit, we walked back from the Old City to the Central Bus Station (about thirty minutes) and took a bus to Tel Aviv where we parted ways and I went back down south and Aleks went back up north.

This past week was incredibly busy – between translations, writing speeches for generals going abroad, telling them what they should write in books they’re giving as presents (“I hope you’ll enjoy this book as much as I did!”), administering examinations, grading and teaching I was ready to pass out.

The entire week, by and large, remains a blur…but a productive blur, spent with friends. I’m truly blessed by working with fellow soldiers who have become a second family for me.

The more stressed I am, the more I clean and the more I organize…which means my room on the Kibbutz is almost at the point where Moshe Rabbeinu could eat off the floor if he felt like it, my classroom is spotless, and my office is anal retentive to the point where they don’t have ICD9 codes strong enough to cover the situation.

I spent a rather solitary Shabbat by myself on the Kibbutz this weekend, a stark contrast to last weekend, but a necessary break primarily involving sleep, cartoons, and comedy. Tomorrow I’m being sent to interpret between two different groups of people, which is exciting…and we’ll see how it goes.

Now, time to pack my bag for tomorrow and head to sleep.

G’night everyone.