Dad’s Ribbon Cutting Ceremony is in half an hour (he’s built a handicap tree house for kids with Cancer) so we’re heading out to that, and then Dad and I are going to go shopping for what isn’t being catered at the BBQ and Mom’s going to get her hair and nails done…and then I need to do laundry…
…a real post, soon.
…god damn it’s freezing in NY
Hey Everyone,
I’ve arrived safely back in the USA and will be doing my wrap-up email shortly. Just wanted to let everyone know that I arrived safely!
Talk to everyone soon,
– M
Hey Everyone,
I’ve arrived safely back in the USA and will be doing my wrap-up email shortly. Just wanted to let everyone know that I arrived safely!
Talk to everyone soon,
– M
Hearing that Gay Pride was not canceled in Jerusalem, I decided to go back to support my brothers. Regardless of whether you agree with where it was held or not, and the politics and motives behind the march, as I rode the train from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem the words of Hillel kept running through my head “If I am not for myself, who will be? If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?” When your brothers are marching on your behalf, placing themselves at risk for you, you march with them. There is never an excuse to not do the right thing. If, what seems like the right thing to do, turns out to be a mistake at least you were not divided and then you can collectively learn from the mistake and rebuild.
Given the current climate in Jerusalem, however, I had to find a new Hostel. Heritage House was no longer an option. Calling home, Mom was able to google a hostel for me called the Citadel. The Citadel is a gorgeous, 700 year old, multi-level house built into the stone walls of Jerusalem, hidden within the Christian Quarter, two steps from the Muslim Quarter and the Muslim Shook.
The Citadel is run by some young Arabs (mid-twenties). Salamon and Faddi, Salamon constantly laughing and smiling and in general, enjoying life. Faddi (his counterpart) mostly looks like a forlorn puppy who’s never had quite enough sleep or quite enough coffee, but will smile if you ask him to in thirty second increments – both, however, are incredibly gracious hosts. For 40NIS a night (10US) you can sleep in a mixed dorm, for 30NIS you can sleep on the roof and see the sun rise over Dome of the Rock (the downside, to this, is that the sun rises at around 5am and the Imam can be heard at roughly 3am for morning prayer).
Not being a morning person, I chose ‘the cave’ which is the mixed dorm at the lowest point in the hostel, far in the back of the building. The Citadel also has Men’s Dorms, Women’s Dorms, and private rooms available for rent. Free Internet, Television, Coffee, Tea and other amenities are provided to their guests and both Faddi and Salamon are always willing to have a conversation with you about pretty much any topic that you want to discuss.
I quickly made friends with three of the other tenants (Kate, Jacklyn and Rudy) and the three of us became a clique for the duration of our stays (as it would later turn out, most of the residents of the hostel were LGBT or ‘Mostly Straight’ or ‘sort of straight’ or ‘straight…but this one time at band camp…’)…ahh Mispucha!
The next morning my new friends and I woke up and made our way to the Western Wall to pray. As Kate went to the Women’s section and Rudy and I went to the Men’s section, on the way there Rudy asked for paper so he could leave a message in the wall too (after we explained the custom to him), and after writing his message, he turned to me to ask – earnestly – if God would listen to a message left by a Goy (Non-Jew) and I was slightly stunned. I took a moment to phrase properly what I wanted to say and told him “of course, we’re all screwed if whatever divine power exists has such low self esteem that they would care if they were referred to as Hashem or Allah or Jesus or Bob” so, with Rudy feeling better about the whole thing, we washed our hands and approached the Western Wall for Morning Prayers.
Meeting up again with Kate and Jacklyn after we finished, we exited the Western Wall and made our way to get to the entrance for Dome of the Rock. Passing through security, an IDF Soldier who was stationed there as a security officer grabbed me by the shoulder to pull me aside and asked me if I knew where I was going. According to the Chief Rabbi of Israel, Jews are not supposed to go to the Temple Mount which is a matter of Religious Law and not Secular Law; so I answered him in the affirmative and he let me pass through. It was courteous of him, seeing that I was wearing a Kippa, to ask me out of concern for my spiritual self.
Walking up a long rickety, wooden ramp, I wasn’t really sure I knew what expect.
Entering dome of the rock is slightly shocking, because it is so calm. Almost perfect silence surrounds you. Footsteps seem to float on ancient rock. All around you are gardens and parks and fountains. Birds perch themselves on lattice fence-work that surrounds many of the fountains and some of the other areas throughout.
As you approach the Dome of the Rock, there are large foot washing stations set into the ground, built out of and into the stone. These foot washing basins are circular, and in the middle of the circle, raised high, plants and trees grow and more birds find homes. Walking up the flight of steps, I left some coins with the beggars on behalf of one of my Muslim Friends (like in Judaism and Christianity, charity too has its place in Islam).
Continuing up a large set of steps, it hits you. The golden dome glistens in the sun and in the mosaic that comprises the outside of the Mosque gorgeous Arabic script becomes art and it comes bursting to life when you hear the Call to Prayer and birds flap their wings as they rise with the call into the sky.
From various steps surrounding the Dome, you can look off into the distance, and all you see around you is beauty…however, sadly, the moment is cut short. Visitors are only allowed for a very short amount of time (if they let any in at all), and we stayed over by ten or fifteen minutes and we were asked to leave. While I’m not yet fluent in Arabic, my Arabic professor did teach me the most important lesson: how to be respectful. So I used what I knew and thanked them (and then asked for directions to the nearest exit).
Leaving Dome of the Rock/The Temple Mount one has a haunting feeling with them.
Later that day, my friends and I participated in the pride march. Everyone in attendance wore respectful clothing, no skin was bare. We marched for the two allowed blocks, and then peacefully dispersed. Jerusalem has not turned to salt, but I can’t help but think that salt might have been poured onto some old wounds…though, while it burns…salt heals as well. 20 Haredim protesters against the march were arrested, one with a bomb.
On Saturday, with Jewish Businesses closed (for Shabbat) Kate, Dave (a new friend) and I went on the Via Dolorosa, and followed the stations of the cross (a somber trip). I felt it was important to go, to get a better feel for the religion that a large portion of my friends find happiness in. The Via Dolorosa ends at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher is considered to be on The Hill of Calvary and also said to contain the place where Jesus was Crucified and Buried (the sepulchre). I lit a candle there for a family friend.
Saturday night we had Havdallah at the Western Wall and we found a traveling reform synagogue to Sing With (…if you can’t sing well, sing loud!) and it was nice to see a synagogue travel together to the Holy Land. It was truly moving experience; though the divisions amongst the branches of Judaism are (sadly) incredibly prevalent and obvious when they all get together, at the same location, for prayer.
Sunday Kate and I woke up bright and early to go to the Tower of David Museum, where we learned about the History of Jerusalem through its birth to how it is today, which was fascinating. I took lots of pictures for my mother (inside are tons of miniature models of Jerusalem that I thought she, as a miniature artist, would like to see and appreciate). The exhibits were well put together and overall, fascinating. I need to rent some more DVDs on the history of Jerusalem though, as I left with the feeling that I got the cliff notes version and would like to see what a Discovery Channel special has to say about it.
After we finished touring the museum, Kate wanted to know if I wanted to join her as she picked up some gifts for her family members in the Arabic Shook; so I said of course.
As we approached each shop, the shop keeper would say “Shalom” and I would respond with “Salam Aleikum” and the shop keeper, would, inevitably ask if I spoke Arabic, to which I would respond that I was studying it at the university (…considering that “I study Arabic at the University in Buffalo” was on every single test I took over two years of Arabic at University, I have to say, it finally came in handy!). The shop keeper would then tell me that I’m a very good friend (it’s amazing how some relationships can be forged so quickly!). Kate and I soon discovered that introducing ourselves in Arabic would knock the price down by a few shekels at each store (if you paid attention to the price quote he was giving a customer who was standing around before you looking at similar merchandise).
Approaching the second store, Kate wanted to buy some tiles for her mother and, it being a breakable objects store, I didn’t go in (Bull + China Shop = Possible International Incident). The shopkeeper came out and we talked in Arabic for a bit (he wanted to know what I had learned in school), and finally he goes “don’t you want to see what’s inside” and I said “no thank you, I’m not shopping” and he says (looking at the band of my linguistics ring on my finger) “Ahh, I see…you let your wife do all the shopping. You do the work, she spends the money…” and feeling no need to dissuade him of the belief that Katie and I were married I said “yup, she even carries my wallet…” When it came time to pay, Kate pulled out her wallet (a large, thick, black, leather wallet) and he just gave me a look of “You poor, poor man” and I shrugged and nodded, solemnly. It’s okay, Kate got a 2 for 1 deal.
The next shop keeper, was, however, my favorite. There are wooden camels, made of olive wood throughout Jerusalem for sale. You can (if you bargain) get a decent sized one for around 10 Shekels. Kate went to purchase one and the shopkeeper says “150 Shekels!!” at which point, we started laughing…it was so incredibly over priced that we couldn’t believe he was serious. So he runs up to us and begins to sing the laurels of this wooden camel, that looks (shockingly!) identical to every other wooden camel we had seen in the shook. He begins to explain to us that this camel is Olive Wood (to which we responded that ALL OF THE CAMELS in the shook were of olive wood). He then tells us that this one wasn’t made in China (to which we responded that ALL OF THE CAMELS ARE MADE IN CHINA) and he tells us that it was carved out of one piece of olive wood (to which we question why, then, a line is running down the middle) and he tells us, that for us, he’ll make us such a deal (“140 Shekels!!”) and at this point, we’re almost in tears, because we’re laughing so hard. We’ve seen this on T.V…we never thought we’d haggle this hard in person. So we finally start to walk out of the store and he follows us as we walk through the shook and asks how much Kate wants to pay for it, so she says “30 Shekels!” and he goes “But I paid 50 Shekels for it!” (which our general response was “then you don’t know how to haggle AND you paid too much!”) so (and he’s still following us through the shook) he finally says “I’ll sell it to you at cost, 50 Shekels!” (and we’re still having none of it) so finally, he offers 40 Shekels (“Because you’re students!”) and Kate accepts…mostly, because we were laughing so hard, and were so tired, that 40 sounded just right at that point…walking away from that experience though, I now know that I’m a good friends with a few shop keepers (actually, I’m apparently a good friend of every shop keeper I met!). I certainly hope they remember that, when I ring the doorbell and ask for a couch to sleep on and for some dinner.
Today I went to Kfar Saba (which, like all the other places I’ve been, is beautiful) to sit Shiva with a friend and I am now back in Jerusalem. Tomorrow I head back to my friends apartment in Tel Aviv for my last full day in Jerusalem. Wednesday night I head to Ben Gurion Airport and will be there by 9PM; I’ll be in the air by 1am, and early Thursday morning my feet will touch ground back on U.S. Soil. This was an important trip, for many reasons, but mainly because it confirmed (to me) that I do want to make Aliyah and that I’m making the right decision…so when I get back home, I start a paperwork process and a the beginning of a new stage in my life.
Salam Aleikum my very, very good friends!
– M
Hearing that Gay Pride was not canceled in Jerusalem, I decided to go back to support my brothers. Regardless of whether you agree with where it was held or not, and the politics and motives behind the march, as I rode the train from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem the words of Hillel kept running through my head “If I am not for myself, who will be? If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?” When your brothers are marching on your behalf, placing themselves at risk for you, you march with them. There is never an excuse to not do the right thing. If, what seems like the right thing to do, turns out to be a mistake at least you were not divided and then you can collectively learn from the mistake and rebuild.
Given the current climate in Jerusalem, however, I had to find a new Hostel. Heritage House was no longer an option. Calling home, Mom was able to google a hostel for me called the Citadel. The Citadel is a gorgeous, 700 year old, multi-level house built into the stone walls of Jerusalem, hidden within the Christian Quarter, two steps from the Muslim Quarter and the Muslim Shook.
The Citadel is run by some young Arabs (mid-twenties). Salamon and Faddi, Salamon constantly laughing and smiling and in general, enjoying life. Faddi (his counterpart) mostly looks like a forlorn puppy who’s never had quite enough sleep or quite enough coffee, but will smile if you ask him to in thirty second increments – both, however, are incredibly gracious hosts. For 40NIS a night (10US) you can sleep in a mixed dorm, for 30NIS you can sleep on the roof and see the sun rise over Dome of the Rock (the downside, to this, is that the sun rises at around 5am and the Imam can be heard at roughly 3am for morning prayer).
Not being a morning person, I chose ‘the cave’ which is the mixed dorm at the lowest point in the hostel, far in the back of the building. The Citadel also has Men’s Dorms, Women’s Dorms, and private rooms available for rent. Free Internet, Television, Coffee, Tea and other amenities are provided to their guests and both Faddi and Salamon are always willing to have a conversation with you about pretty much any topic that you want to discuss.
I quickly made friends with three of the other tenants (Kate, Jacklyn and Rudy) and the three of us became a clique for the duration of our stays (as it would later turn out, most of the residents of the hostel were LGBT or ‘Mostly Straight’ or ‘sort of straight’ or ‘straight…but this one time at band camp…’)…ahh Mispucha!
The next morning my new friends and I woke up and made our way to the Western Wall to pray. As Kate went to the Women’s section and Rudy and I went to the Men’s section, on the way there Rudy asked for paper so he could leave a message in the wall too (after we explained the custom to him), and after writing his message, he turned to me to ask – earnestly – if God would listen to a message left by a Goy (Non-Jew) and I was slightly stunned. I took a moment to phrase properly what I wanted to say and told him “of course, we’re all screwed if whatever divine power exists has such low self esteem that they would care if they were referred to as Hashem or Allah or Jesus or Bob” so, with Rudy feeling better about the whole thing, we washed our hands and approached the Western Wall for Morning Prayers.
Meeting up again with Kate and Jacklyn after we finished, we exited the Western Wall and made our way to get to the entrance for Dome of the Rock. Passing through security, an IDF Soldier who was stationed there as a security officer grabbed me by the shoulder to pull me aside and asked me if I knew where I was going. According to the Chief Rabbi of Israel, Jews are not supposed to go to the Temple Mount which is a matter of Religious Law and not Secular Law; so I answered him in the affirmative and he let me pass through. It was courteous of him, seeing that I was wearing a Kippa, to ask me out of concern for my spiritual self.
Walking up a long rickety, wooden ramp, I wasn’t really sure I knew what expect.
Entering dome of the rock is slightly shocking, because it is so calm. Almost perfect silence surrounds you. Footsteps seem to float on ancient rock. All around you are gardens and parks and fountains. Birds perch themselves on lattice fence-work that surrounds many of the fountains and some of the other areas throughout.
As you approach the Dome of the Rock, there are large foot washing stations set into the ground, built out of and into the stone. These foot washing basins are circular, and in the middle of the circle, raised high, plants and trees grow and more birds find homes. Walking up the flight of steps, I left some coins with the beggars on behalf of one of my Muslim Friends (like in Judaism and Christianity, charity too has its place in Islam).
Continuing up a large set of steps, it hits you. The golden dome glistens in the sun and in the mosaic that comprises the outside of the Mosque gorgeous Arabic script becomes art and it comes bursting to life when you hear the Call to Prayer and birds flap their wings as they rise with the call into the sky.
From various steps surrounding the Dome, you can look off into the distance, and all you see around you is beauty…however, sadly, the moment is cut short. Visitors are only allowed for a very short amount of time (if they let any in at all), and we stayed over by ten or fifteen minutes and we were asked to leave. While I’m not yet fluent in Arabic, my Arabic professor did teach me the most important lesson: how to be respectful. So I used what I knew and thanked them (and then asked for directions to the nearest exit).
Leaving Dome of the Rock/The Temple Mount one has a haunting feeling with them.
Later that day, my friends and I participated in the pride march. Everyone in attendance wore respectful clothing, no skin was bare. We marched for the two allowed blocks, and then peacefully dispersed. Jerusalem has not turned to salt, but I can’t help but think that salt might have been poured onto some old wounds…though, while it burns…salt heals as well. 20 Haredim protesters against the march were arrested, one with a bomb.
On Saturday, with Jewish Businesses closed (for Shabbat) Kate, Dave (a new friend) and I went on the Via Dolorosa, and followed the stations of the cross (a somber trip). I felt it was important to go, to get a better feel for the religion that a large portion of my friends find happiness in. The Via Dolorosa ends at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher is considered to be on The Hill of Calvary and also said to contain the place where Jesus was Crucified and Buried (the sepulchre). I lit a candle there for a family friend.
Saturday night we had Havdallah at the Western Wall and we found a traveling reform synagogue to Sing With (…if you can’t sing well, sing loud!) and it was nice to see a synagogue travel together to the Holy Land. It was truly moving experience; though the divisions amongst the branches of Judaism are (sadly) incredibly prevalent and obvious when they all get together, at the same location, for prayer.
Sunday Kate and I woke up bright and early to go to the Tower of David Museum, where we learned about the History of Jerusalem through its birth to how it is today, which was fascinating. I took lots of pictures for my mother (inside are tons of miniature models of Jerusalem that I thought she, as a miniature artist, would like to see and appreciate). The exhibits were well put together and overall, fascinating. I need to rent some more DVDs on the history of Jerusalem though, as I left with the feeling that I got the cliff notes version and would like to see what a Discovery Channel special has to say about it.
After we finished touring the museum, Kate wanted to know if I wanted to join her as she picked up some gifts for her family members in the Arabic Shook; so I said of course.
As we approached each shop, the shop keeper would say “Shalom” and I would respond with “Salam Aleikum” and the shop keeper, would, inevitably ask if I spoke Arabic, to which I would respond that I was studying it at the university (…considering that “I study Arabic at the University in Buffalo” was on every single test I took over two years of Arabic at University, I have to say, it finally came in handy!). The shop keeper would then tell me that I’m a very good friend (it’s amazing how some relationships can be forged so quickly!). Kate and I soon discovered that introducing ourselves in Arabic would knock the price down by a few shekels at each store (if you paid attention to the price quote he was giving a customer who was standing around before you looking at similar merchandise).
Approaching the second store, Kate wanted to buy some tiles for her mother and, it being a breakable objects store, I didn’t go in (Bull + China Shop = Possible International Incident). The shopkeeper came out and we talked in Arabic for a bit (he wanted to know what I had learned in school), and finally he goes “don’t you want to see what’s inside” and I said “no thank you, I’m not shopping” and he says (looking at the band of my linguistics ring on my finger) “Ahh, I see…you let your wife do all the shopping. You do the work, she spends the money…” and feeling no need to dissuade him of the belief that Katie and I were married I said “yup, she even carries my wallet…” When it came time to pay, Kate pulled out her wallet (a large, thick, black, leather wallet) and he just gave me a look of “You poor, poor man” and I shrugged and nodded, solemnly. It’s okay, Kate got a 2 for 1 deal.
The next shop keeper, was, however, my favorite. There are wooden camels, made of olive wood throughout Jerusalem for sale. You can (if you bargain) get a decent sized one for around 10 Shekels. Kate went to purchase one and the shopkeeper says “150 Shekels!!” at which point, we started laughing…it was so incredibly over priced that we couldn’t believe he was serious. So he runs up to us and begins to sing the laurels of this wooden camel, that looks (shockingly!) identical to every other wooden camel we had seen in the shook. He begins to explain to us that this camel is Olive Wood (to which we responded that ALL OF THE CAMELS in the shook were of olive wood). He then tells us that this one wasn’t made in China (to which we responded that ALL OF THE CAMELS ARE MADE IN CHINA) and he tells us that it was carved out of one piece of olive wood (to which we question why, then, a line is running down the middle) and he tells us, that for us, he’ll make us such a deal (“140 Shekels!!”) and at this point, we’re almost in tears, because we’re laughing so hard. We’ve seen this on T.V…we never thought we’d haggle this hard in person. So we finally start to walk out of the store and he follows us as we walk through the shook and asks how much Kate wants to pay for it, so she says “30 Shekels!” and he goes “But I paid 50 Shekels for it!” (which our general response was “then you don’t know how to haggle AND you paid too much!”) so (and he’s still following us through the shook) he finally says “I’ll sell it to you at cost, 50 Shekels!” (and we’re still having none of it) so finally, he offers 40 Shekels (“Because you’re students!”) and Kate accepts…mostly, because we were laughing so hard, and were so tired, that 40 sounded just right at that point…walking away from that experience though, I now know that I’m a good friends with a few shop keepers (actually, I’m apparently a good friend of every shop keeper I met!). I certainly hope they remember that, when I ring the doorbell and ask for a couch to sleep on and for some dinner.
Today I went to Kfar Saba (which, like all the other places I’ve been, is beautiful) to sit Shiva with a friend and I am now back in Jerusalem. Tomorrow I head back to my friends apartment in Tel Aviv for my last full day in Jerusalem. Wednesday night I head to Ben Gurion Airport and will be there by 9PM; I’ll be in the air by 1am, and early Thursday morning my feet will touch ground back on U.S. Soil. This was an important trip, for many reasons, but mainly because it confirmed (to me) that I do want to make Aliyah and that I’m making the right decision…so when I get back home, I start a paperwork process and a the beginning of a new stage in my life.
Salam Aleikum my very, very good friends!
– M
Back from Pride March in Jerusalem, I have a lot to write about but that will come with the next travelogue.
Back from Pride March in Jerusalem, I have a lot to write about but that will come with the next travelogue.
On Thursday Shirah and I met up at the Tel Aviv Central Bus Station and walked from there to catch a Sherout (I’m sure that my transliteration is off) over to Nazareth. A Sherout is a cheaper, mini-bus-esque alternative ride for those who wish to save a few shekels.
On the way to Nazareth, at a certain point, if you look off into the distance, from the side of the mountain that you’re traveling on, you can see a wonderful patchwork of farms and agriculture – in the dessert, often shown to us in Western Media as being comprised of bones and barren, Israelis have succeeded in creating life (in so many ways); vineyards, and trees, and vegetables all grace the land in a wonderful monochromatic display of defiance against the elements (much like the personality of the natives: success against all odds).
Nazareth is heavily populated with Arabs, and the majority of signs are in Arabic (which was nice, as it let me put my site reading skills to use – this trip, has been incredibly humbling for me, as a soon to be graduated linguist). As we waited at a crossing, I was staring out the window trying to take in all of my surroundings and an old man saw me looking at him through my window and he waved at me and smiled, so I waved and smiled back. He was sitting in front of a coffee shop, a grey fedora on his head, just enjoying the day as he looked at all the people traveling through his town.
Arriving in Nazareth, I was surprised to find that it’s far more hilly than I imagined, but it is beautiful (all of the buildings are a vibrant white). Fabulous Condos are found populating Nazareth Ilit and construction is taking place all over Israel, renovations, restorations and new construction are abound…and it’s a great thing to see such positive growth in the Holy Land.
In Nazareth Ilit, if you ride the bus you get the added bonus of British Humor: rotaries are everywhere and when coupled with Israeli Drivers you get a medically accurate test for heart function.
From Nazareth we headed to Tiberias and made our way to the apartment-esque building that Shirah was staying in (a converted hostel that Oranim is currently using to house their Volunteers). After depositing our bags, we walked down city streets that were inviting with pagodas lining the sides, and music playing as small children danced while others ate ice cream or had their face painted and problems (at least, temporarily) are forgotten by all who walk through this wonderful town.
Walking down, making our way through all the vendors and sloped steps, we climbed over a fence, and made our way, walking across a sand bar, to lay on rocks and look up at the stars. Shirah and I spent a couple of hours relaxing. star gazing, and talking about life as we were surrounded by the Kinnert (also known as the Sea of Galilee). As we were getting ready to return to her place of abode a party boat drove by…with religious, Jewish, techno-remixes of all our favorite songs that we sing at synagogue…quite a party.
Next to the hostel are two twenty-four hour bakeries, one serving loafs of bread (usually for no more than a shekel a loaf) and the other selling pastries by weight (here, even cheaper than the previous bakery!). I had to walk by both regularly on my way to explore, and made a semi-successful attempt to hold my breath for fear of catching the scent of tantalizing food that can only serve to increase my waist size.
Shabbat was spent in quiet reflection and discussion with Shirah as we talked and planned out the next phases of where our lives and academics were going to take each of us, both of us bouncing ideas off of the other. Sunday morning we walked back down to the Kinneret and I saw a woman fishing off of the side to which one can only really remark “if you teach a (wo)man how to fish…”
Saturday night Shirah and I went out to experience some of the night life as we danced the night away at one of the local pubs where we were able to meet up with some fellow friends from Buffalo and I ran into the group of teenage girls that don’t think I speak English despite it being the only language I communicated with them in…it was a wonderful night, with all the local hits being spun by one of their resident DJs. On Sunday, Shirah and I made our way to the beach front, and I walked to the Kinnert and stood in it…and sadly, I must have been wearing the wrong brand of sandals, because I couldn’t walk on it.
Eventually, Shirah and I had to part ways and I made my way down to Meggido and then back to Tel Aviv where I spent two, wonderful, sun filled days at the beach, drifting in and out of sleep as I watched the waves crash on the Mediterranean shore.
Tonight I am sleeping, once again in Jerusalem. This time at a wonderful hostel called the Citadel Youth Hostel, which is built into the walls of Jerusalem providing a wonderful and cool rocky interior for the weary traveler.
Until Next Time, Am Yisrael Chai!
– M
On Thursday Shirah and I met up at the Tel Aviv Central Bus Station and walked from there to catch a Sherout (I’m sure that my transliteration is off) over to Nazareth. A Sherout is a cheaper, mini-bus-esque alternative ride for those who wish to save a few shekels.
On the way to Nazareth, at a certain point, if you look off into the distance, from the side of the mountain that you’re traveling on, you can see a wonderful patchwork of farms and agriculture – in the dessert, often shown to us in Western Media as being comprised of bones and barren, Israelis have succeeded in creating life (in so many ways); vineyards, and trees, and vegetables all grace the land in a wonderful monochromatic display of defiance against the elements (much like the personality of the natives: success against all odds).
Nazareth is heavily populated with Arabs, and the majority of signs are in Arabic (which was nice, as it let me put my site reading skills to use – this trip, has been incredibly humbling for me, as a soon to be graduated linguist). As we waited at a crossing, I was staring out the window trying to take in all of my surroundings and an old man saw me looking at him through my window and he waved at me and smiled, so I waved and smiled back. He was sitting in front of a coffee shop, a grey fedora on his head, just enjoying the day as he looked at all the people traveling through his town.
Arriving in Nazareth, I was surprised to find that it’s far more hilly than I imagined, but it is beautiful (all of the buildings are a vibrant white). Fabulous Condos are found populating Nazareth Ilit and construction is taking place all over Israel, renovations, restorations and new construction are abound…and it’s a great thing to see such positive growth in the Holy Land.
In Nazareth Ilit, if you ride the bus you get the added bonus of British Humor: rotaries are everywhere and when coupled with Israeli Drivers you get a medically accurate test for heart function.
From Nazareth we headed to Tiberias and made our way to the apartment-esque building that Shirah was staying in (a converted hostel that Oranim is currently using to house their Volunteers). After depositing our bags, we walked down city streets that were inviting with pagodas lining the sides, and music playing as small children danced while others ate ice cream or had their face painted and problems (at least, temporarily) are forgotten by all who walk through this wonderful town.
Walking down, making our way through all the vendors and sloped steps, we climbed over a fence, and made our way, walking across a sand bar, to lay on rocks and look up at the stars. Shirah and I spent a couple of hours relaxing. star gazing, and talking about life as we were surrounded by the Kinnert (also known as the Sea of Galilee). As we were getting ready to return to her place of abode a party boat drove by…with religious, Jewish, techno-remixes of all our favorite songs that we sing at synagogue…quite a party.
Next to the hostel are two twenty-four hour bakeries, one serving loafs of bread (usually for no more than a shekel a loaf) and the other selling pastries by weight (here, even cheaper than the previous bakery!). I had to walk by both regularly on my way to explore, and made a semi-successful attempt to hold my breath for fear of catching the scent of tantalizing food that can only serve to increase my waist size.
Shabbat was spent in quiet reflection and discussion with Shirah as we talked and planned out the next phases of where our lives and academics were going to take each of us, both of us bouncing ideas off of the other. Sunday morning we walked back down to the Kinneret and I saw a woman fishing off of the side to which one can only really remark “if you teach a (wo)man how to fish…”
Saturday night Shirah and I went out to experience some of the night life as we danced the night away at one of the local pubs where we were able to meet up with some fellow friends from Buffalo and I ran into the group of teenage girls that don’t think I speak English despite it being the only language I communicated with them in…it was a wonderful night, with all the local hits being spun by one of their resident DJs. On Sunday, Shirah and I made our way to the beach front, and I walked to the Kinnert and stood in it…and sadly, I must have been wearing the wrong brand of sandals, because I couldn’t walk on it.
Eventually, Shirah and I had to part ways and I made my way down to Meggido and then back to Tel Aviv where I spent two, wonderful, sun filled days at the beach, drifting in and out of sleep as I watched the waves crash on the Mediterranean shore.
Tonight I am sleeping, once again in Jerusalem. This time at a wonderful hostel called the Citadel Youth Hostel, which is built into the walls of Jerusalem providing a wonderful and cool rocky interior for the weary traveler.
Until Next Time, Am Yisrael Chai!
– M
On Monday night I made friends with the bunk mate next to me who was from Quebec and we decided to go to Yad Vashem together. We left early Tuesday morning and went for my first day there (I was only able to get through the first half due to time constraints); however, I went back for many hours the next day. I went in hungry, forgoing breakfast and lunch and water because there are some things that you should experience with hunger and thirst and I started back at the beginning.
When you go to Yad Vashem after you walk through security, you walk past luscious green trees that seem to speak to you as the wind blows through them, whispers that you can’t quite make out the words to. You walk across a bridge into a building that comes to a point on top, almost like an extended triangular prism. All the walls around you are cold and stone; this is a place that serves as a dichotomous reminder of death surrounded by the life of Israel.
Everything around you is cold and the walls are vast…surrounded by dozens if not hundreds of people, you find yourself alone (no doubt the intent of the curators). Walking through each of the exhibits, videos translated from German into Hebrew and then again into English play on repeat throughout the halls, showing you documentation that the Nazis took themselves to show to the world when they believed it was time to finally re-write history.
It was hard, and no matter how much you want to look away you have to force yourself to keep going: if my family could bear cold nights at Auschwitz…if they could bear the torture, beatings and rape the least I could do was read every placard, every information card, listen to every video they were showing me…because I know that I would be walking out of the museum again. I was not at risk, my person was not in jeopardy…I do not know, at all, from suffering and this was something that I needed to see.
I was managing to keep myself fairly well composed. For someone who does not often cry, this has been an emotional – usually the good kind – of trip, mostly just being moved by beauty; however, when I saw the two Torahs, desecrated…murdered, next to each other bearing silent witness to crimes of another land, resting in a glass tomb here in Israel I wept…there was nothing I could say, no emotion to cover how I felt: here were two fallen heroes, what Jews around the world have smuggled and hidden in times of danger and at times, have given their life for. Here laying before me, the crown of Jewish Life that provides happiness to all who cling to it, broken. You want to hug them, to hold them, to heal their wounds…but they sit before you in pain, torn, defiled telling in silence their story and they, sadly, have to stay that way…I was not, however, prepared for what would hit me later…I did not think it could have gotten worse from everything that I had already seen
in the first few halls…the living skeletons, ‘doctor’ Mengel’s human experimentation…but it does, it gets worse…so much worse.
As I continued through the exhibits there are countless video screens, each with a person on it, and they are are survivors who are testifying. Their voices will forever be heard to those who seek to deny the mass murder, rape, dehumanization, criminal, cruel and sadistic ‘medical’ experimentation of and on my people (Jewish and Gay) and my family members who died in the Pogroms and the Camps. They are there to tell their story…and you hear it, painfully, loud and clear. All around you photos and names are flashed on walls to remind you that these weren’t figures or statistics…these are people, and I don’t say were…because were implies that they’re gone…and they’re not…through us, they live.
What hit me hardest, though, was a letter that a young teenager wrote on some paper he had in his pocket and threw out of the train on his way to a camp (he thought he would be returning). In the letter, he asked whoever found it to please deliver it to his mother (the address he included on it) so she wouldn’t be worried, and so she would know where he was and for how long he thought he would be gone. It does not matter the country, the generation, or the family…there are certain values and traditions that have been and will forever always be a part of the Jewish community and keeping your family informed about where you are, is one of them. Hundreds (literally) of times my mother has reminded my brothers and I to call in so she should know where we are (just so she would know in case something – God forbid – happened to us…every time we go from building to building, we call and check in “I’m going to the dentist now, and then to the store…I’ll call when my plans
change…”)…and even as a sort-of Adult, I still get reminded. It hit me, hard because it was so Jewish and as this young man was headed to his death (though he didn’t know it), he was certainly scared, crowded on a train…and though he was facing horrors yet unknown…he thought first of his mother and his family, before he thought of himself…I could physically feel my heart breaking.
Continuing through the museum there are countless shoes, clothes, weapons used to beat my people at the camps, documents, photographs, videos all bearing witness to crimes that happened not that long ago. There is no question that we are a people who are survivors (we have survived, and will continue to survive any army that seeks to conquer us, we always have and we will always continue to do so)…I just have no idea if my generation would be strong, educated, savvy and skillful enough (think of the document forgers) to do what was necessary if God forbid we came under attack again…it’s a chilling thought.
Walking further, you approach the hall of the names…where in books, the identities of those who perished are still being collected and recorded…and further, the Righteous Amongst the Nations…those who aren’t Jewish, who risked life, limb, torture, rape and certain death to safeguard my people: these are the bravest of the brave, who did not have to help…but were compelled to because they knew right from wrong and were brave enough to do something about it. How many of us, having a family and children, would be willing to risk the torture, rape and execution of them…for a stranger?
As you exit the museum there is an overlook off the side of the mountain/cliff that it’s on and you can see, again, countless trees…life, right after death…but we are not done yet; walking outside into another building is the Hall of Memories which is a dark room, a hut with open, slatted walls. In the room, on a floor that you look down on are the names of all the camps and a Yarzheit fire burning at all times, in honor and memory of those who died.
Walking from there, you head up to Janus Korczak Square, in memory and honor of Janus Korzack. There is a statue there, of his arms wrapped around the children of the world, trying to protect them and keep them safe. Janus Korczak was the Dr. Seuss of his time, he ran an orphanage…and despite being given amnesty offers twice… he went with his 200 children, as they marched in silence, to the train…and he rode with them, to his death, to the camps so they would not be afraid, so they would not be abandoned: he gave his life so his children would not be scared even as they went to meet death and so they would not meet death alone. I left a rock on his hand on behalf of my Mother. He has become a personal hero for many, my mother and myself included.
However, while Yad Vashem documents the genocide against the Jewish People during the Holocaust it is important to remember that this is not the only genocide that has occurred and that Jews and Gays were not the only victims of the Nazis. The Armenian Genocide which is still denied by many, the Burnings of Pagans and Witches in Europe and in the United States, Darfur (which no one is doing anything about) are just but a few of the Genocides that have occurred.
Walking down from Janus Korcak square I made my way to the Cafeteria so I could get some food and some coffee; I had been there for close to five hours. I then took the bus back to Ben Yehuda street, and walked from there to Jaffa Gate and back into the Old City where I toured around and checked out a couple of museums that were of interest and mostly tried to get a grasp on the day and then went back to the Western Wall to pray.
On my way down, a Kippa Vendor yelled Kippa, Kippa, Kippa, Kippa, Kippa at me, so I just lowered my head so he could see that I had mine on and he smiled at me and laughed. Coming back up from the Western Wall, I ran into a group of students from the United States who were there on a tour. They thought I was a local Israeli and when they asked me I informed them (in English, with a New York Accent) that I was, in fact born and raised in New York and that this was my first ever trip to Israel…they ignored this (very crucial) fact, and they asked me many questions about Israel (most of which I had the Answer to, as I prepare to make Aliyah) and so when they asked what people did in Israel for work I responded that there are the same jobs here as in New York, though here there are some that New York may not have (Shook Cleaner, Kabbalah String Maker, etc)…at which point one girl in the group (perhaps not the sharpest tool in the shed) begins speaking very slowly to me in
English, enunciating (…because, apparently I don’t speak English as my native language…) and says “In OUR Country Most of the jobs are COOOORPOOOORAAAATE…you know…in NEEEW YOOORK”…I tried explaining, again, that I was, in fact, from New York and spoke English…to no avail.
I called Shirah that night and found out that she would be in Tel Aviv for two Days (which would make it easier to meet up with her) so I packed my things up, thanked Heritage House for their hospitality, and on Wednesday (Today) made my way back to Tel Aviv by Bus so I could meet up with her. I met her at the Tel Aviv Central Bus Station and we walked through the Shook on HaHagana street as we caught up with each other and made plans for Thursday.
Thursday (Tomorrow) we’re heading up to Tiberias and stopping in Nazareth on our way there. I’ll be spending a few days in Tiberias with her, seeing the sites and the archeology digs, and exploring that area in more depth before I head to Magido.
I’ll be back in Israel sooner than I thought though. I finish school (in fact, my undergraduate career) on December 7, 2007. Towards the middle of December Shirah and I are going to be doing the Israel Hiking Trail (which takes a month and a half to two months to complete). We’ll be hiking from Northern Israel to Eilat following the Israel Hiking Trail map and markers…and conveniently, February is when all of the Ulpans on the Kibbutzim start so after we’re done in Eilat I’ll be busing to whatever Kibbutz I’m on. This of course means that I have a lot of paperwork to go through beforehand to register, get funding, etc as I prepare for the next stage in my education (mastering Hebrew).
The Temperature in Israel is a Warm high 80s to low 90s and, since I’m 7 hours in the future from you all in New York I can tell you that today will bring wonderful things for all of you (I can also say, for a fact, that I’m more accurate than Miss. Cleo who didn’t see that giant lawsuit coming…).
B’Shalom (in Peace)
– M
moocowinthecity