Haifa and it many conveyances

After a short-but-sweet tiyyul with my classmates on Wednesday which included visiting the archeological sites at Tzippori and eating an amazing lunch in a Druze village I caught a bus to Haifa. One of my students from the Genesis program last summer had invited me to come and speak to his English class at Leo Baeck High School. I don't recall ever going to Haifa before so I decided to take the day to look around.

I stayed at a beautiful and peaceful Carmelite monastery called Stella Maris. The Carmelite order was founded there by a group of Crusaders who decided to try to settle down and live as hermits in emulation of the Prophet Elijah who is said to have hidden in a cave. There are actually at least three different places in Haifa which are said to be Elijah's hiding place. Next to the monastery (and its guest house) is a church built around one such cave. There is a feeling of ancient reverence in this building constructed protectively over a small room of stone.

Much of my time in Haifa was spent in much more modern circumstances though. Spefically, Haifa provided a wide array of fascinating transportation options and I ended up more or less structuring my visit around riding around in as many different conveyances as possible. The grand total: a funicular, a cable car, three bus lines, a train ride to Tel Aviv, and finally, exhausted, a cab to my hotel.

Yes, Haifa has what I thought was a subway, but Alan corrected me and told me it was a funicular. It's called the Carmelit and it goes straight up the mountain. After buying my ticket and walking down lots of stairs to the platform, I initially got on it going the wrong way. I couldn't understand where to be to get on it going in the other direction until one of my fellow passengers explained that the cars run on the same tracks and you know which one to get on based on whether it's going uphill or downhill. Both the platforms and the train cars themselves are built to accomodate the slant of the hill. At each station, the platform is actually a series of platforms: a small platform and then some steps up and then another small platform, etc. And inside the cars the floors and seats are similarly stepped and built at what must be a reverse slant so that you are sitting straight up and down even though the train car itself is flush with the grade of the track. If this explanation is confusing, let me assure you that the feeling of riding on this contraption is somewhat disorienting as well. When I got off at the top, I felt as if I had "sea legs."

The monastery I stayed in is built on high hill overlooking the rest of the city and the bay below. Right across the street is a cable car (the kind that hangs in the air, not the kind on tracks) all the way down to the sea shore below. In Hebrew it's called a רכבל/rakebel which combines the words רכבת/rakevet/train and כבל/cable. This one has three small pods rather than a larger gondola.I rode in my own pod and got a kick out of its resemblance to the persimon I munched on at we zoomed down the side of the mountain. Here are some views.

One of those tall buildings was my marker for the train station which I walked too after reaching the bottom.





At the train station, I bought my ticket and then rushed to the platform because I had been told the next train was coming in two minutes! But this is a picture of not-my-train...there were several of those that came first.

The train itself was very fast and very cheap (26.50 NIS or about 7 bucks).
But it was also very crowded, standing room only for part of the trip. Many of the passengers were young soldiers heading home for the weekend. Some found seats for themselves under the luggage rack.





I was sad not to be able to share these many modes of travel with Alan. He's much more a transportation buff than I am. In addition, while there are many wonderful and important lessons to be learned from traveling alone (e.g., the fact that both bouts of crankiness and moments of bliss can arise without any change in external circumstances whatsoever or the fact that one can actually use a public restroom without removing one's backpack), I feel I've spent enough time already learning these lessons and, having found such a wonderful traveling partner, would very much prefer to have his company.

And now I'm going to take a quick dip in the Med before shabbat comes in.

Pilgrim Watching

Last week I tagged along with the Kleins on a visit to Bethlethem/בית לחם, where Jen and Daniel had eached worked in the past. Jen still has adopted family there.

I found myself to be very much in "observer" mode during the whole trip; just a bit removed emotionally from the various highly evocative scenes I was passing through. First was the getting there.

While Alan and I had definitely been over the Green Line before in our travels together, all the checkpoints we had passed through had been relatively low-key, at least for two Jews driving a car with Israeli plates. An American might have easily mistaken the most casual for sobriety checks (albeit with a very well-armed staff) and the most formal for toll booths (also with well-armed staff). We were usually waved through without even being asked to stop. When we were stopped, the soldier usually wished us "Good travels" or something equally friendly. We were never asked to identify ourselves in any way.

The "terminal" at Check Point 300 (as the cab drivers call it at least) on the road to Bethlehem is another matter entirely. The separation barrier here is very much a wall and the fortress-looking terminal is built into it. We presented our passports at booths much like security/passport/customs checks at the airport and then exited through a somewhat confusing set of hallways and revolving gates. Busloads of Christian tourists/pilgrims were also passing back and forth between Jerusalem and the West Bank. Jen said that some Palestinians reported receiving better treatment at the terminal than they used to at this checkpoint because the soldiers felt more secure and comfortable. I wondered what behavioral intentions had gone into the terminal's design and couldn't help but be reminded of the work of Temple Grandin on designing slaughterhouses to have a comforting effect on the animals.

And then we exited into another world. One of the brothers from Jen's adopted family picked us up in his taxi and took us to Manger Square. Our first stop was the Church of the Nativity. The original church was built by Emperor Constantine I in the 4th Century with his mother, St. Helena, serving as something of a general contractor. There were large groups of Christians speaking at least a dozen languages. They listened intently to tour guides, waited patiently in long lines for a personal glimpse of the silver star said to mark the very spot of Jesus' birth. We wandered here and there among them, past them. I don't recall any situation in which I have felt more like a fly on a wall. We did have one moment of excitement when Daniel inadvertently set off a small "incident" with a guard of some kind by wearing his baseball cap. Whose holy places require you to cover your head and whose require you to uncover your head??? It's all very hard to keep track of!

I was impressed with this tour guides enthusiasm as he explained that the 4th century mosaic was still visible beneath newer wooden floorboards:











I felt both emotionally moved and somewhat alienated by watching other people have spiritually moving moments. The overall effect of this combination of feelings was a sweet but distant wistfulness.


Here are pilgrims leaning in to touch or kiss or at least get a snapshot of the spot of Jesus's birth:










We wandered down into the grottoes and could hear a group of Americans who had gathered in a small room to pray and sing. Their voices echoed hauntingly off the stones walls of the grotto.

When we walked back up and then out into the courtyard, their songs floated up through gratings creating a sense of endlessness.

Then it was on to the shuk where we wandered a bit and ate falafel, noting the differences between Palestinian and Jewish-Israeli varieties. Here, they smoosh the falafel balls in the pita which makes for a much more compact, less messy snack. I wanted to stop and take a closer look at the posters of "martyrs" plastered on many of the walls, but didn't feel comfortable doing so.

Here are some obligatory shuk pictures
of hanging meat. Note the lovely sprigs of fresh herbs hung with the carcasses. In one picture you may also note that the animal's tale has been left with a tuft of hair on it. Don't know why.




From there we walked down hill to the neighboring village of Beit Sahour where Jen's adopted mom had cooked up a simple but delicious feast. Micah was definitely the star, being passed from sibling to sibling to sibling.

We ended our visit in The Tent, a large restaurant where, if one were inclined, one might drink beers, smoke nargilla, eat french fries, relax, or do all of the above. It was a lovely evening with warm and welcoming company and the place had a feeling of respite.

And then it was back to the checkpoint. The terminal itself was largely closed for the night so we walked in on the road. The young woman soldier checking our passports was ready to just let us all through but then suddenly looked at me and said, "Bromberg. You're Jewish?" I didn't lie. I wasn't sure what kind of trouble we were about to get into, but I felt very nervous. She smiled but said firmly "Jews can't go to Bethlehem." We tried to clarify what she meant by this. Had we violated some unknown regulation? No, she meant that we shouldn't go there because it wasn't safe. I definitely felt safer after she let us go. Thankfully, on this trip, the checkpoint was the scariest part of the experience.

It was only on returning home that I was looking at the news on line and found that maybe we hadn't really picked the best day to visit....turns out the IDF was raiding Tekoa, a nearby Palestinian village, after one of its residents stabbed an Israeli police officer and an 86-year-old passer-by in Gilo, a neighborhood in southern Jerusalem which Israel thinks of as part of Jerusalem and the Palestinians (and some other countries too) think of as an illegal settlement. The 86-year-old man died of his wounds.

Old City Stroll

After a huge and delicious lunch with Alan's visiting family members, we changed our mind about toddling home with our full bellies and instead turned left out of the hotel and headed to the Old City. How had we managed to spend two months together here and never done this before? We walked toward the Jaffa Gate through the new and fancy outdoor mall that sits just outside the Old City.

One interesting thing about this holiday of Shemini Atzeret is that all the sukkahs stand empty, not yet disassembled but no longer in use. As we've noticed throughout the last week, the sukkot vary from makeshift to fancy. In the mall, we saw an excellent example of the way that holiday observance and commerce intertwine here. It's something I feel joyously alienated from during the Christmas season in the United States. But here it was: a sukkah outside a coffee shop that is part of a growing and popular chain whose walls were gigantic banners advertising the chain. Not quite McDonaldization, but pretty close.

Most of the boutiques in the mall were closed for the holiday, but we saw people coming out of the Old City with goods they had purchased there. Passing through the Jaffa Gate we moved into the lively shuk where all the shops were open and catering to both foreign tourists and secular Israelis visiting the city. Here, one could buy any number of varieties of shofar...if one spent money on the holiday. Making our way through the crowd, a bit unsure of the best way to the Western Wall, we decided to start following the growing stream of Orthodox Jews holding prayerbooks and heading intently past all the open shops -- they were not here to shop.

We spent a little bit of time by the Wall. Being there with Alan makes it all the more distressing to me that we can't go up to the Wall together. Last time my parents visited Israel, my dad just stayed with my mom and they went up to the Wall on the women's side. I'm honestly not sure that would be safe at this point. I found the feeling of being under an Orthodox regime saddening, angering, and decidedly unwelcoming.

Leaving through the Dung Gate, we then walked along the outside of the Old City walls, down a street that was better-suited for tourist buses than pedestrians. The sidewalk disappeared and we walked atop low wall, looking out over amazing views of both Arab and Jewish neighborhoods. Suddenly we were walking high above a park in which a young man was riding bareback on a white horse. Our stroll continued but the young man on his horse sums up for me the evening's magical quality.

Here's the route we took:


View Larger Map

Among the . . .

. . . many things I will miss from Israel once I return (too soon!) to the States is the ready availability of delicious and inexpensive cucumbers. I like to wash and dry them as soon as I get them home. Here, I have repurposed an egg container (30 super fresh eggs for only 22 shekels at the shuk!) to speed the drying process.

Other things I will miss (foodwise, at least) include the many wonderful dairy products, the shwarama and the "black coffee". . . and the kosher Burger King!

Perhaps I will find some consolation upon my return in finding the things that are not so easily available here. Hard cheeses (like cheddar and swiss), drip coffee and alike.

Tonight will begin the last חג/hag (holiday) of my trip. . . . I hope it's a memorable one!

Hag sameach!

Sukkah in the country

Jerusalem has grown out so much that the once-rural moshav of Beit Zayit has almost become a contiguous part of the city now. Still, as we sat with Minna's classmates in Rabbi Michael Schwartz's sukkah there tonight it really did feel like we were out in the country. My favorite part of the evening was when Minna and her friends sang a tune she knows that uses the words of a Mishnah that celebrates an ancient water libation ceremony and the great lights of fire that were lit high above the Temple courtyard during it:

ולא היה חצר בירושלים שאינה מאירה מאור בית השואבה
And there was not a courtyard in Jerusalem that was not illuminated by the light of the beit hashoeivah.
--Mishnah Sukkah 5:3

[Beit hashoeivah is the name of the water libation ceremony.]

Tomorrow (well, really since sundown tonight) is Hoshanah Rabbah, which will be our last chance to sit in a sukkah this holiday.

We had a great time, tonight. It's been a great Sukkot!

Finally

For a Jewish person of my generation coming to spend time in Israel, the number one destination to come and see is Masada, the famous Dead Sea fort where an band of Jewish rebels made a heroic and desperate stand against the Romans not long after the Romans destroyed the great Temple in Jerusalem in 70CE.


But somehow -- even after spending a year of rabbinical school in Jerusalem -- I never found my way there. That finally ended last Friday when I made my first trip to Masada and walked up the steep "snake path" up to the fort.

It was a moving trip and I was glad I went, but it brought me to reflect on how it is that I had never made it there before. I think the main reason is that I was never in Israel on the kind of whirlwind group or youth tour in which most people find their way to Masada; my first trip to Israel was not until I was in my mid-30s when I came here to study for a year.

But I think it's also because of what it is that interests me most about Israel -- I am interested in the living Israel. The Israel of today. Masada is a great testament to the will and spirit of the Jewish people, but an even greater testament is the outdoor Mahaneh Yehuda food market, where -- especially as Shabbat approaches on a Friday afternoon -- you can witness the intensity of today's Israeli life continuning to go on despite the desperate attempts of terrorists to end it through murderous attacks. Similarly, it is the sight of school children laughing and speaking in the tounge of their ancestors -- a tounge that was long dead before Zionists strove to begin its revival in the 19th century -- that speaks to the Zionist within me. Even among the things that speak deeply to my heart are the commercial monuments that are the office towers full of booming high-tech companies that surround Tel Aviv. These are the things -- the living things -- that I love to go to see in my free time while I am priviledged to be here.

But few of these living things is more inspiring than the sight of the living practice of the biblical command to the Jewish people to "dwell in sukkot for seven days". All around Jerusalem you can see evidence of the commitment of the Jewish people to live up to this command -- in every neighborhood there are sukkot to be seen. Some high in the air, built on people's rooftops and apartment balconies. Some built on the ground in whatever open space people could find for the holiday. Nearly every restaurant -- even the most humble felafel stand -- has set one up, often right on the sidewalk, for people to eat in. Many of them are richly decorated (the picture on the left is of the inside of a sukkah where Minna is meeting some friends to sing with tonight). From many of them can be heard the sound of song as people meet to share meals together.

May it be the will of the Blessed Holy one that you will find shelter -- and peace and comfort and joy -- wherever you go.

Hag sameach.

Living on the edge

The sukkah -- that fragile, temporary, partially roofed hut that is characteristic of the holiday that began Monday night -- is not just supposed to be a place of joy and community, but also a reminder of the fragility of life and of the possibility of change. The holiday, itself, comes at a time of the turn of the seasons here in Israel. Yesterday was a pointed reminder that we are at that point of change. The daytime was unusually warm -- almost just like the long, rainless summertime here, again -- and it was a perfect time for us to sit in the shade of a friend's sukkah and enjoy food and company during a long afternoon lunch. But when evening came we were pointedly reminded that it is no longer truly summer as rain fell and chased people throughout Jerusalem out of their sukkot.

May it be the will of the Blessed Holy One that you should find the courage to welcome our fragility and to be open to changes and change. And may those changes bring you joy.

Moadim l'simcha!

Last chance (as the time of joy approaches)

In a week and a half, I will be returning to the States and Minna and I wanted to get one last trip out of Jerusalem together. I really had two places I wanted to go -- to return to the hills of Mt. Gilboa and I also wanted to see the famous mosaic floor of an ancient synagogue in Tiberias,

Even though it was not the season for Gilboa's famous Irises, it was still a treat to walk along its high ridge and see the views for miles around -- down into the Jezreel Valley and off across the Jordan river into the country of Jordan. The weather was almost perfect.

The drive down to the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee) was spectacular, although I think the best views of the day were when we were a bit lost trying to find the synagogue and ended up on this narrow road along the ridge above the Kinneret. I suprised Minna at one point by suddenly stopping. There was a turtle crossing the road who I did not want to run over.

The synagogue mosaic was really worth the visit. I had read much about the archeological and historical debates about how to understand an ancient work of art that both contains clearly Jewish symbols and pagan ones -- the zodiac! -- that you would think were theologically inconsistent with Judaism. It was so exciting to actually see this thing that I had read so much about.

It was especially interesting to see what Jewish symbols the artist had chosen to highlight. The most prominent one was the seven-branched menorah of the ancient Temple, but second only to that was a representation of a most central part of the holiday that is to start tonight -- the lulav and etrog of the holiday of Sukkot.

Sukkot is a particularly special holiday here in Israel. During the week of intermediary days -- called חול מועד/hol moed -- children are normally off from school and many parents are either also on holiday or working reduced schedules, resulting in a nation-wide festival atmosphere for both the secular and the religious Jew. It's one of those ways that modern-day Israel had developed to be something like what ancient practice was like: Sukkot was the greatest of the ancient festivals -- as reflected in the fact that the ancient mosaic artist chose to feature Sukkot's lulav and etrog instead of such other alternatives as Passover's matzah or Hannukah's eight-branched menorah -- and today modern Israeli practice has made Sukkot again perhaps the greatest festival.

The ancient rabbis dubbed sukkot זמן שחתנו/zman simchateinu -- the time of our joy. May it be the will of the Blessed Holy One that your days of Sukkot will also be filled with joy.

___________

Quick Bread

I'm writing a quick post about the delicious quick bread I just had for breakfast. I've been computerless for a while now with my new computer arriving later this week (thanks, Mom and Dad and Diane!). Between that and the High Holy Days and maybe a touch of post-ulpan blues, my blogging life has been in the pits. BUT! I did want to sneak in a post about the very yummy banana, apple, date, no sucrose treat that Alan made in the oven. Necessity is once again being motherly and moving us (mainly Alan) to experiment with oven cooking (in our continuing gas-less state).
Today we're heading off in the car mostly to parts unknown. Har Gilboa? Tiberias? The Jerusalem Mall? Hopefully there will be a blog update on the day's adventures.
AND sometime between now and sunset tomorrow we also hope to buy lulav, etrog and be prepared for the wondrous rain dances of Sukkot.

No gas

Our stove here (as do most stoves in Israel, I believe) runs on cooking gas from a tank (somewhere!) outside our building. We ran out a few days ago and I don't know when we'll be able to get someone to deliver more (or even figure out which one of the tanks is ours; they don't appear to be labeled in any way).

You might think I would be upset about this as I have really enjoyed cooking during my time here. But, at least for the moment, I'm thinking of it as an adventure. We still have a pretty good oven. I'm traditionally the kind of cook who prefers to do most everything on the stove-top, but I can move my frittatas from the stove-top to the oven (even using the same cast iron pan!) . . . and discover other oven cooking options I've never used before.

Perhaps more importantly, we also still have a microwave! I expect to be consulting this Minimalist article about stretching the limits of the microwave quite a bit!

City by the sea, people before the gates

The sidewalk tables at a fashionable cafe, the ubiquitous presence of two-wheeled conveyances (both the people-powered bicycles and the gasoline-fueled scooters) -- these things you find in the above pic are typical elements, along with the warm Mediterranean sea, of the Tel Aviv Minna and I got a taste of in a short visit there this week shortly before Yom Kippur (which starts this evening!).

The Tel Aviv of today is a bustling, diverse and economically booming city. While the newspapers we read there very much reflected the concern that is rising worldwide over declining stock market prices and other elements of the current international financial crisis, one of the major questions the papers addressed was one that would only be asked by people who are still looking optimistically foward to how they will spend their money: how the crisis would affect Israelis' overseas travel plans. It turns out Europe is looking real good because of the strong Shekel, but the United States is still a bargain for Israelis as well.

We used our time here in Tel Aviv to mix work and play, using the cafes as (wireless internet-equipped) workplaces. We walked along about two miles of beachfront one late afternoon and evening to the South Street Seaport-like old port complex where we sat and drank coffee by the sea for a bit and reread (on my phone courtesy of the cafe's wireless internet connection) a New York Times travel section article on Tel Aviv that came out this past summer. It was interesting to read how the writer described things that we had seen now with our own eyes. He starts his article at the "separated beach", which men and woman use on alternate days to accomodate Orthodox concerns about men and woman bathing together. I wasn't expecting the visceral negative reaction I had to seeing the beach itself. I think it was probably because -- and I wasn't expecting this -- the beach is not only separated, but they have built a wall around it so you can't even see it (or the sea) from the beachside pathway.

We also took a daytime walk through some of the once-downscale neighborhoods in the south that are becoming gentrified. This plaza at a renovated school complex in the Neve Tzedek neighborhood was a perfect place for some folks (and their children and their dogs) to pass a peaceful late afternoon:
While we were sitting in one cafe near Neve Tzedek, Minna found a flyer for an organization that is working to advocate for the interests of non-religious couples in Israel. One of the unusual characteristics of Israel is that the Orthodox rabbinate controls matters of family law for Jews. This means it can be very difficult, for example, for some people to marry legally in Israel. This has led to the phenomenon of some Israelis flying to Cyprus just to get married (Israel, as part of the practice of recognizing marriages legally performed outside the country, recognizes these marriages as legal). The organization is called משפחה חדשה/mispahah hadashah, or New Family.

I really enjoyed our time in Tel Aviv. Jerusalem has the spiritual force and focus that attracts me -- and countless others -- there for study and spiritual growth. But the future health of the state of Israel -- something very dear to my heart -- will depend much more on what happens in Tel Aviv than Jerusalem. It is here that Israel strives for its success in the "knowledge economy" that has become the key for success -- especially for a very small country without much in the way of natural resources -- in the world marketplace. Here are high-tech engineers and dealmakers. Here are the artists and media creators who can make export their products (like Betipul) to foreign markets.

__________________

More than once since I have been here in Tel Aviv I have felt reminded of the war that started on Yom Kippur exactly 35 years ago and that cost Israel dearly in lives lost before the invaders were beat back. As we enter Yom Kippur -- the holiday that more than any other in Judaism asks us to contemplate our own mortality -- I wish for peace for all. May war once and for all disappear from our earth and may it be the will of the Blessed Holy One that we will all come to see the wisdom of the peaceful ways in which the Holy One has instructed us.

[x-posted to abayye]

Where the animals and the people play

Minna and I managed to get out of Jerusalem this afternoon for the first time in a bit. We headed east to Ein Gedi (above is a view from where we hiked to; there's an ibex in the distance to the right and the Dead Sea -- the lowest point on earth at some 400 meters below sea level -- in the background). [You can click on the image for a better view.]

Israel is largely a desert country, so spots with water you can play in -- like the pools of Ein Gedi -- are prized. Ein Gedi even has some waterfalls. That's Minna (on your right) standing below the biggest one, David Falls.

After we left Ein Ged -- where the ibex play -- we went to a couple of malls -- where the people play.

First we went to Maale Adumim, which is a very large -- and highly controversial -- Jewish settlement of over 30,000 people to the east of Jerusalem. Minna was struck by just how ordinary this place of so much contention seemed to her. We stopped in a mall there and got a cup of coffee and walked around. Then we went for a bit of a walk in the surrounding neighborhood. We found ourselves in a low-lying park that was populated by some of these guys of all things:


Then we headed back to Jerusalem to the mall and got some kosher Burger King, which was a real treat.

Here are some more pictures from Ein Gedi, etc.:

Here's a woman enjoying the scene by one of the other waterfalls while a friend swims in the pool by her:

Here are a couple of more pics of the ibexes on the ridge:



Here's a nice pic of Minna and me taken by the David Falls:



And here's Minna looking contemplative in Maale Adumim:

Death of a Leader

Minna traveled to Jerusalem in search of opportunities for study and to experience joy in this ancient (and now modern) home of the Jewish people. But sad events can follow us wherever we go. Yesterday, we found ourselves at a funeral for the father of one of Minna's most beloved teachers in her rabbinical school at Boston Hebrew College. The funeral was at Jerusalem's main municipal cemetery, Har HaMenuhot, pictured to the right. It's built around a huge hill on the northwest side of Jerusalem, just south of the main road to Tel Aviv. There were quite spectacular views to the north from the burial site.

The funeral was attended by many of Minna's classmates. I found the below picture on a memorial page to the deceased, Zelig Leader. From right to left is Zelig, his son Ebn (Minna's teacher) and Art Green (the leader of Minna's school).

In the Israeli fashion, the words spoken at the funeral were short and intense. Ebn spoke first and, very much in his style, led the assembled in the wordless tune of a niggun.

I did not know Zelig, himelf, but I very much knew of the famous "Leader Minyan" here in Jerusalem, which is known for the intensity and length of its Shabbat and holiday services and which has been an important spiritual home for many American rabbinical students and others coming to spend a year or so in Jerusalem. I was suprised therefore that the second speaker was not a participant in the minyan, but was a leader in the Jerusalem scrabble club who spoke in English. Apparently, Zelig's inspirational spirit was an important force there as well.

Zelig's youngest son also gave a powerful and tearful talk, begging for forgiveness. Zeglig's brother also spoke powerful words.

After the words of those הספדים/hespidim were spoken, Zelig's body was carried out by members of the black-hatted הברה קדישא/hevre kasisha (burial society) on a stretcher wrapped in a burial shrowd (no coffins are used here in Israel). The stretcher was placed in a van that we walked behind to the burial site where he was laid to rest in the presence of his family and friends.

May his memory be a blessing.

[x-posted to abayye]